Caribbean Rain (18 page)

Still looking good.

Rarely had he had thoughts like that in the past, at least no more than others, but it occurred to him lately that it was part of “the gift,” the complete package needed to attain his destiny.

No one would listen to an unattractive crusader.

Standing before the closed bathroom, he noticed more blood, much more, on the floor and on the door, just beneath the glass knob and lock.

“What are you thinking, young Anna?” he asked quietly.

Pressing his ear tightly, he listened for any sign of her. It was a heavy oak door, matching the others in the room, but certainly not impenetrable. Thirty seconds later, he moved away. She wasn’t in there either.

Obviously, she was running out of hiding places. For the first time in this little game of hide-and-seek, he felt a twinge of nervousness.

Could she have somehow gotten out?

“Where are you Anna? I grow tired of this. Come out now, and I’ll make your contributions to this grand scheme less painful.”

Then he heard it. A delicate rustling from underneath the bed, near the foot. Circling around to the bed’s left, his feet scarcely touching the Oriental rug, he lowered himself to his knees. He grasped the island-designed comforter, felt its soothing texture, then jerked it up. He immediately noticed the string attached to the small storage box, running along the floor just as the closet door burst open behind him.

His days as a fencing addict served him well. He spun out of the way of Anna’s desperate charge and nudged her as she passed close to him, the sound of her hand swooshing far too close to his face. She landed heavily on the bed. The odor of perspiration and fresh blood attacked the air, then seemed to settle on his shoulder, at least figuratively. He loved it.

She lay on the bed, breathing harshly. Her eyes were clear, but moving back and forth like a caged animal looking for any escape route. She thrust her hand at him again, and he caught it, wrenching the six-inch dagger from her. She must have found the dagger on the shelf of the second closet, because that’s where he’d left it.

“Here, here. That’s certainly no way to treat a host. You might have hurt someone with that. And after I’ve been so kind to you.”

“Please. I ne—need a doctor. I’m bleeding.”

“That you are. But I’m all the doctor you’ll need. If you’ll do what you’re told, you’ll play an important role in this tragedy.”

Her face contorted. “I could have helped. I could have—”

He watched as her eyes rolled up in her head and she passed out.

“You are helping, my beautiful Anna.”

Glancing at the right arm that was missing its hand, he smiled.

“Piece by piece, you’ll help more than you could imagine.”

Chapter-33

The second-floor interrogation room at SJPD Headquarters was smaller than Manny had expected. There were only six chairs and a long, worn-out maple table that wobbled when he leaned on it. Add a small, barred window about six feet up on the south wall and the faded one-way mirror and that was it. Except for the pointed graffiti that remained strangely untouched. He smiled to himself.

Isn’t it physically impossible to do that to one’s self?

The stale aroma of old cigarettes and spilled coffee added to the claustrophobic feel, and he wondered if the room’s setup was intentional to make the subject of any intense questioning more uncomfortable. He thought so. Good ploy, for most perps, especially the local garden variety B&E or assault offender, but not for the man sitting across from him. This man was confident, and his smug expression showed more than Randall Fogerty wanted to say. And Manny had a feeling Fogerty didn’t care, not one iota.

Detectives Ruiz and Crouse were trying to track down the source of the package that had ended up on Ruiz’s desk. They were talking to the delivery service and the young woman employee who had dropped off the box. So, that left him and Sophie to “talk” with Fogerty. Josh and Chloe stood outside the room to observe. Not a bad idea, more eyes and ears never hurt in this business. Besides, Josh was looking a little beat, and he and Sophie worked well together.

Added to that, Chloe didn’t want to run the risk of being recognized by Fogerty, but that wasn’t the only reason for her absence in the room. The distraction she caused for Manny was on the rise, more than he’d ever imagined, and she sensed it.

Each time she touched him, or whispered something just for them, or smiled that Galway Bay smile, he fell deeper. That included the physical. How could he not? She was knockdown, drag-out gorgeous, and it had been a long time.

“Hey, Williams, you gonna start this story or you want me to?”

“I’m sure Mr. Fogerty won’t mind, either way,” answered Manny, glad that Sophie had taken him off that other horse.

“You’re right, Agent Williams, but Agent Lee seems like a woman who gets right to the point,” smiled Fogerty.

The man didn’t sound like someone who had just seen his daughter in the morgue, appearing like a butcher-shop mistake. His hands didn’t shake; his crossed legs indicated that he was more than relaxed and willing to talk. But his eyes . . .

“Okay. Let’s get to it. First, let me say I’m sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine.”

“Thank you, Agent. And you’re right, you can’t.”

“What time did you leave the morgue, Mr. Fogerty?” asked Sophie.

“I’m sure you have that on record. I’m assuming the security video will verify my statement, but I’ll humor you. I left around 8:05.”

“Thank you. We don’t have working video yet, and our records need to be verified.”

Sophie sat back in the chair, her eyes narrowing. “Did you return to the morgue after you left?”

Her voice was calm, professional. Manny gave her a quick glance just to make sure it was her.

“Now why would I do that, Agent? Once was all I needed.”

“Yes, I understand. It must have been tough on you. I mean, seeing your daughter like that, right?”

Fogerty didn’t flinch. Incredible. But that look in his eyes reappeared, then disappeared just as quickly.

Cold bastard.

“It’s not something I’ll forget, Agent, ever.”

Leaning forward, she spoke in a low voice. “You didn’t answer my question, Mr. Fogerty.”

“No, I suppose I didn’t. No. I did not return to the morgue. Why do you ask?”

Manny waited for Sophie to go forward. He didn’t have to wait long.

“It seems there was a terrible disturbance there. One attendant was brutally murdered and several of the bodies were desecrated.”

In one smooth motion, she floated the picture of his daughter's arm sticking out between the legs of the unfortunate Colita. She’d circled the tattoo that identified the arm as his daughter. Manny braced for the reaction Sophie was trying to evoke.

It never came.

Fogerty stared at the photo, inhaled, exhaled, then leaned toward Manny and Sophie. “Is it normal FBI protocol to attempt to enrage, embarrass, or stimulate some kind of emotional response that serves no purpose? Unless, of course, your reasons are veiled under some sick need to look at my daughter’s severed arm shoved up some fat woman’s crotch. In that event, you both should be fired and forced into an asylum.”

That look waltzed into his eyes as he spoke with perfect control. It dawned on Manny what Fogerty’s eyes reminded him of: a shark. Dark, unfeeling, bent on nothing other than satisfying the most basic of needs. The difference was that sharks only wanted to eat. Fogerty had a much deeper agenda, and it was psychopathic, no doubt. He believed there would be a blood bath that would never reach the papers. They seldom did in the drug world. But if that’s what Fogerty suspected, he was dead wrong. This had nothing to do with the drug realm; these murders were committed by a killer with a purpose. This had nothing to do with a drug-war hit, or whatever the hell term people like this scumbag used, but instead. His daughter was a victim of a killer whose game was afoot.

“Damn. You really have control over your disgust switch, or maybe you just don’t have a bit of compassion in that heart of yours. So which is it?” asked Sophie, not backing down.

“My emotional state is none of your business. Could it be that I’m still in shock?”

“Yeah, that’s it. You look like the type who shocks easily. Should we call one of the department’s counselors? Or you can talk to Manny here; he’s a great listener.”

“I don’t like your tone, Agent. But I will say we all grieve in our own way. Like the way you grieved over your divorces.”

Meeting Fogerty’s resolve, Sophie stayed on track. “I don’t know, and don’t care, how you know about my divorces, so we’ll keep my personal life out of this, but I guarantee we’ll be finding out a whole lot more about yours.”

“Excellent. I’ve nothing to hide.”

“Then you won’t mind if we dig into your income sources. I’m sure the treasury officials in Barbados, after we employ certain Bureau policies, will help us figure that out,” she smiled.

His lips tightened as he leaned back in the chair.

A reaction. Good girl.

“I’ve cooperated fully, yet you threaten me. I don’t care for that, Agent Lee, especially from loser dykes like yourself.”

Before Manny could stop her, she grabbed Fogerty by the shirt and pulled back her hand. “Dyke? Dyke? Loser . . . maybe. But a dyke? I’m going to kick your ass,” she roared.

Manny grabbed her hand, picked her up by the waist, and carried her to the door. She was pointing at Fogerty and opening her mouth to speak, but he whispered into her ear.

“Great job, let’s see if we got his number.”

She stopped struggling and Manny set her on the floor. She slowly opened the door, gave Fogerty the sign that she’d be watching him, then left the room.

Walking back to his seat, Manny sat down and stared at Fogerty. “That wasn’t very nice. Particularly for an upstanding citizen like yourself.”

“Was she offended? I thought it was part of the good cop, bad cop routine that you Feds screw up with the best of them. Besides, I just call ‘em like I see ’em.”

“I see. Now I think we’re getting somewhere. What do you see in your daughter’s murder?”

“I don’t know; that’s why I’m here. I want to know what you know about Amanda’s death, and I expect you to tell me. You owe it to me.”

“Really? Owe it to you?”

Manny looked to the opened window and listened as a few Coqui frogs revved up the mating call that sounded more like a bird than an inch-long reptile. He also heard the car as it passed slowly by the window, again.

“Maybe you're right. And I suppose your lackeys are tired of doing circles around the building. That’s at least eight times since we started this enlightening discussion, so maybe I
should
clue you in.”

Fogerty said nothing, but the shark was back.

“Your daughter and son-in-law are just two of seven people murdered in the rainforest in a twelve- to-sixteen-hour stretch. The attacks appear to be random, as in
the wrong place at the wrong time
kind of random.”

“I see. Do you have any leads?” The shark was swimming faster.

“We’re working on it, and of course, we’ll let you know when we have something more.”

“Pretty stand-pat answer, Agent. I don’t suppose you want to go deeper than that?”

The man was asking the right questions, but Manny knew what he was really thinking.

“No, I don’t. But let me explain something to you. This is an investigation of horrific murders involving a killer that I believe is not finished. The SJPD and the FBI are hard at work and won’t appreciate any interference.”

Fogerty pulled his chair up to the table and put his large hands on the surface. “Do tell, Agent Williams.”

“Furthermore, let me tell you what these crimes are not. They are not an attack on you and your way of life.”

“My way of life? What, pray tell, is that?”

Fogerty’s stare had immersed completely into the dark side, and he reveled in it.

Time to drop the hammer.

“That of a piece-of-shit, drug-lord gig that has ruined lives and killed countless all in the name of what you think you deserve.”

“Really?”

Manny leaned closer. “Maybe there is something to this karma thing. Maybe you get what you give. What do you think?”

The man’s hand left the table and shot towards Manny’s face, but he was ready. He grabbed it in midair and twisted and pulled at the same time. Fogerty yelped in pain as his face jarred the table.

“Assaulting an FBI agent, a Special Agent, could land your ass in a cell, but lucky thing for you, I’m in a good mood. So here’s the deal. You’re going to walk out of here, make arrangements to get your daughter’s body released, and head back to whatever deep, slimy hole scum like you crawl out of. This isn’t about you. If I see you where you don’t belong, I
will
throw your ass in jail, got me?”

There was a slight nod, and Manny let him up. Fogerty straightened his shirt and moved toward the door, wiping at the small trickle of blood oozing from his lower lip. Hatred danced in his eyes.

The shark is ready for a meal, an FBI meal.

As Fogerty brushed past Manny, he stopped, then leaned close and whispered. “Know that this isn’t over, Agent.”

Then he slipped through the door.

Taking a deep breath, Manny rested his backside against the table, knowing what Fogerty said was true: this was a long way from over, for all of them.

The intercom flared on. It was Sophie. “Shit. Why can’t they put the damn talk button on these things where you can find it? Hello? Manny? Manny you need to come quick. We’ve got bigger problems than Fogerty right now.”

Chapter-34

“Damn, this is a real piece of work,” said Dean. The trace of admiration in his voice was undeniable. Alex turned in his direction, and his first reaction was of disgust, but also . . . veneration . . . same as Dean, though admitting it would be like a married woman saying she was waiting for Mister Right.

“That’s kind of sick, you know,” Alex said.