Caribbean Rain (12 page)

“Oh, ah . . . a friend.”

Never missing a beat, he smiled. “The first thing I would say, in this hypothetical scenario, is: why wouldn’t this ‘friend’ go directly to the authorities?”

“Good answer, or question. Say they tried, over and over, and all day, but simply couldn’t get the total situation, especially the sexual side of it, out of their mind. It was too . . . gratifying.”

Leaning closer, he expected her to shrink away, but instead she followed suit. Their faces were less than two feet apart.

Interesting isn’t the right word. Fascinating is more like it.

“Well, we call that a conundrum. Life’s full of those. In the environmental arena, it’s referred to as a stakeholder’s interest. Making or accepting one positive decision and sacrificing another, and then weighing the overall benefit. That’s the critical part of these situations: what benefit is the most . . . desirable.”

She nodded. Her cheeks were shading red, her breathing shorter, slightly labored. Young Anna was becoming aroused. Interesting didn’t cover that.

“Ah. Could I get a glass of water? It’s kind of warm in here.”

“Certainly.”

He left for the kitchen and came back with a bottle of distilled water and a glass of ice.

“Thank you.”

Anna poured the water and quickly drained the first helping, repeating the action. She, then, seemed in more control. He wanted to say the same for himself.

“So, young Anna, tell me about this hypothetical crime.”

“Okay. My friend was hiking on the north side of the El Yunque trail, when she heard two men talking, then some yelling. She got curious and worked her way over to that area just in time to see . . .”

She took another drink, her eyes wider than ever. He wondered if the girl was going to melt on the spot. His mind was churning, but his emotion had settled down. That deep voice of rage was gone, replaced by a renewed sense of control. He suspected what was coming next.

Anna inched even closer to him, her breath warm and sweet. “I saw you hack that man to pieces, rearrange the body, then take pictures.” She swallowed hard. “I was so horrified that I couldn’t move. The blood, the sword flashing in the sun, the sounds it made as it struck the body. I wanted to run, but I was mesmerized by my own fear. When I snapped out of it, I started to crawl away, then out of nowhere I was so overcome with . . . desire, I, well, I didn’t get very far.”

“I see.”

He stood and then paced for a few moments, then he sat beside her, taking her hand. Amazingly, she didn’t flinch.

“How did you find me?”

“I watched you leave and did my best to follow you. I lost you when you turned off the main road, but I remember the vehicle you were driving. It took me three hours of running through neighborhoods, but here I am.”

“Very persistent, I see. Did you tell anyone?”

She shook her head, her long, black hair swinging back and forth. “No. But before you think about doing that to me, know that I took my own pictures of the place and copied them to a disc. Then I left a coded email message that will be sent to my father, pictures and all, if I don’t change the send date every twelve hours.”

“It seems you’ve covered your bases.”

Moving quickly, he gripped her soft throat with his right hand. Pulling the small dagger from his ankle sheath, he raised it tight against her neck.

“While I admire your courage and preparedness, what makes you think that anyone will believe what you’ve said? That it was me? Furthermore, why do you think your story will stop me from getting rid of a witness that has no idea what this is all about?”

Her smile was unexpected. “You’re right, it was a gamble. That’s why I have a friend sitting in the car down the street. I told her I’d be less than an hour. If I don’t get there, well, this was the last place anyone saw me alive.”

Pressing the knife closer, she yelped as a small cut began to bleed.

“I don’t scare easily.”

“Please,” she begged, “Just hear me out. I want to be part of whatever you’re doing. If you say no, I’ll destroy the pictures, delete the email, and you’ll never hear from me again.”

He doubted that. Easing the knife from her neck, he spun her toward him, his eyes on fire.

“You have forty-five seconds.”

Letting out a breath, she locked onto his eyes. “I can’t explain how what you did made me feel. I’d never been more alive, my thinking clearer. It’s like everything I’d ever been taught was a lie. I struggled with emotions as a kid, and couldn’t understand why I didn’t ‘feel’ like others said they did. I faked it with the best. I just didn’t get it. All of those huggy, kissy moments were nothing more than a ritual. I never felt a thing. The only thing that ever got a rise out of me was killing a lizard, or even a couple cats—that was amazing. I also loved how fire felt against my skin.”

Raising her shirt, she showed him a dozen tiny scars that were probably caused by matches or a lighter.

Her eyes grew harder. “I still piss the bed. Another reason I wanted to kill myself a hundred times over. Do you know what I was doing in the rainforest? I was getting ready to kill an iguana, just for the joy of it. I’ve read all of the research, all of the profile shit, and I know what I am. Watching you confirmed it.”

Her voice had grown detached, but still sincere. She was perspiring profusely and trembling, waiting for him to answer. He frowned. A profile for a killer without doubt, if what she had said was true.

If what she has said is true.

He made his decision quickly.

“You’ll have to prove yourself, and I have just the thing for you. If you pass the test, I’ll explain everything to you. This isn’t about killing, but about a much nobler goal.”

“But you enjoyed the killing, didn’t you?”

“Let’s just say I’ve grown to appreciate that part of the mission far more than I imagined, and it has . . . certain benefits.”

Running her hand down his thigh, she smiled. “I can see that benefit.”

“Later. The test?”

“I’m ready.”

“We shall see. Call your friend up to the house. Let’s see how committed you really are.”

She stared at him. “I lied. I don’t have any friends, let alone someone who would wait for me this long. Is it getting warmer in here?”

“I see. And the pictures and email?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and stood, her eyes darting back and forth. “Both lies. I was too afraid to take any pictures and I don’t use email. You need friends for that. I wanted you to hear me out. To know what kind of help I could be to you. I’ve lived such a lonely life, nothing but lies and insincere babblings. I’ve finally discovered what I am and I want to embrace it. I think I need to sit down.”

“I suspected so. But you’ve come to the right place. I can use your help—and help you at the same time.”

Anna began to sway and sweat even more. She sat back on the couch and then slid off the front. She was having a hard time focusing.

“Wha—what did you do to me?”

“Oh, a concoction I confiscated from one of my students. It works quite well. Don’t you think?”

“Please. I—my dad is . . .”

Pulling the Katana out from underneath the sofa, he gently opened the case.

“I’m going to help you like I said I would.”

Chapter-22

The coroner's technician swallowed nervously as she opened the door leading to the archaic, stone-front lobby of the morgue in Toa Baja. Randall Fogerty noticed the dank, musty odor that even the air conditioner couldn’t mitigate. It mingled with antiseptic smells and one overpowering scent that he was more than familiar with. He wondered, for a moment, if it was really just an odor or something more. Perhaps a feeling or some primordial sixth sense that would trigger a flight response in most people. Either way, death lived here.

“How can I help you, senõr?” asked the attendant. She had a pretty face with a clear complexion and large, dark eyes, but not as large as her waistline. The woman was huge. He never understood that one: young ladies with great looks attached to a chassis that could have plowed fields back in the day.

“I’m here because I think there’s been some mistake. I, for some unknown reason, have been led to believe that Amanda Fogerty, Griggs is her married name, has checked into this Godforsaken hotel.” His voice was calm, yet uninviting.

The attendant became even more fidgety. She nodded, then closed the door to the outside. “I just came on duty, so I’ll have to check the records. I know we had a busy day because the reports are stacked up. Please give me a few minutes to check, senõr. May I see your identification?”

He pulled his passport from his pocket. She took it, glanced up to him, then handed it back.

“Thank you.”

He glanced at her name tag. “Colita, is it? I’m not a patient man and, as you might imagine, a little more than distressed at this moment.”

“I’ll hu—hurry.”

She waddled away and swiped her card at the electronic terminal. The stainless-steel doors opened as slowly as any he’d ever seen.

Once she’d disappeared down the dimly lit hall and the doors closed behind her, he folded his hands and stood still. He’d give her three minutes, then he’d send for Braxton and the others, to find out for him if Amanda was. . .

Emotion had always been a little strange to him, but this one was more than strange, more like estranged. And now he knew why. He felt fear. Not the kind that sent you blubbering to your momma, but the type that says you’ve lost something precious, including the control to protect those you care about. Fogerty hated this feeling. He’d vowed to never experience this situation again, but vows and reality are always at conflict on some level. Today, the conflict had escalated.

Turning his gold Rolex to the left on his thick wrist, he stared. Two minutes. He felt like he was ready to explode. He’d left his .45 in the car, as was his custom when in public settings like this one, but Braxton could have it to him in less than thirty seconds, and by God, he’d use it if Fat Ass didn’t get it in motion.

One minute. His hands were clenching to the rhythm of an unknown conductor, and the maestro was building a serious crescendo.

What the hell is so hard about getting good help these days?

Three minutes expired, and he reached for his cell just as the metal doors swung open. Colita’s face was bent toward a file. She glanced up, closed the folder, took a moment to compose herself, and then walked directly at him. One look on the woman’s face said everything he needed to know, but never wanted to know, ever.

“Mr. Fogerty. Who did you say sent you here?”

“I didn’t say. Is that file my daughter’s, Colita?” The words were quiet, but filled with venom.

She took a step back, eyes bigger than ever. “Yes, Senõr Fogerty. There were seven bodies brought in from the rainforest today, and she was one of them.”

Out-of-body sensations had long left his repertoire of reactions, but he had one just then, felt it kiss his cheek and remind him that no one is immune to death’s circle of influence, not even him. There was a brief flashback of her playing in the sand at an age he couldn’t recall, a couple Christmas mornings when she’d been beside herself with the gifts he’d given her. He had even made her high school graduation, at least part of it. And of course, she’d been beautiful as a bride. They even did a superficial kiss and dance at the reception, but that was it. He had been far more detached than attached, and that struck home. Maybe he was in shock, but the thought left as quickly as it had come. His mind raced to the next step.

“What happened to her?”

“Her husband was brought in too and—”

“Do I look like I give a shit about him? Just answer my damned question.”

“I’m sorry. I know you’re upset, but there’s a flag on her file to contact the SJPD if anyone asks about the details. You’ll have to reach Detectives Ruiz or Crouse. And please don’t yell at me. I hate this part of the job, but I have my orders.”

Fogerty had always been able to control his reactions, his emotions, and his intent. It made him what he was. The last thing he wanted was a confrontation with SJPD. Although he had several “employees” there, he didn’t have enough to cover his ass in this arena.

If the SJPD is involved and there are seven bodies, this is homicide.

He had to find out for sure if one of his competitors had struck back.

“You’re right; I’m not handling this well. I need to see, to make sure this is my girl. May I see her body?”

“Well, I brought out the file with her picture and that’s the procedure in this situation.”

“Please indulge me, this once,” he soothed, “she’s my daughter.”

He could see Colita’s mind was racing, then she motioned for him to follow her. They made it through the steel doors. Twenty feet later, she stopped at the three-by-three cubicle door that matched the texture of the double doors.

“This is unusual, and I’ve not done my report, so please just identify her, and then I’ll do the paperwork.”

He nodded, searching for an emotion he’d lost long ago: true love. He felt nothing except a growing desire for revenge for an act that was intended to disrupt the business.

No mourning, no sense of loss, maybe they would come. But at this moment, he was relying on what he always relied on; himself.

Pulling the door open, he watched as Colita scowled. The body under the sheet wasn’t positioned like either of them had expected. There seemed to be objects stacked just below the body’s neckline.

Colita pulled back the sheet, swore, and quickly tried to draw the covering back over the body. Randall Fogerty’s hands were far too quick to let that happen.

He tilted his head to the left, then the right. Amanda’s face looked serene, with a few cuts on her graying neck, but that’s where her body ended. Below that, stacked on her severed torso, lay an arm and a discolored leg.

Finally freeing her hand from his grip, Colita pulled the sheet back over the body.

Before she could speak, he was through the door, heading for the limo.

Fogerty stopped a few feet away and stared at the dazzling display of sunset and early evening stars jealously vying for top billing. His daughter had been murdered, desecrated in a manner he’d always tried to protect her from. In his way, he’d loved her more than any other because he’d spent such effort. Now someone had gotten to her anyway. It had always been a possibility in his line of work. He felt her loss, that was a given. But he felt an even more disturbing pang: someone had taken something from him, and that wouldn’t do.