The Cruising Serial Killer

CHAPTER ONE

He stood patiently outside the entrance to the cruise ship pier, as he had done on many other islands, watching for a man fitting a special description. Forman Blocker had been on this Caribbean island for almost three weeks and decided it was time to move on before the island police became aware of his illegal status.

Forman searched the people coming off the ship for a man who shared his general age bracket and similar physical characteristics. He checked their approximate height, weight, hair color, and facial features. Several men met those requirements, but they were in the company of a wife or girl friend. He required a loner to avoid having to kill them both.

The morning sun was blinding and the temperature exceeded eighty degrees. A bead of sweat dangled from the end of his nose until the tickle became almost unbearable. He wiped it off with a quick brush with his shirt sleeve and resumed his watch.

Around the dock area, sea gulls and pelicans were skimming the water busily looking for a careless fish to eat. Tourists flocked off the giant cruise ship carrying water bottles, back packs, and cameras. A mixed bag of ages and nationalities, most of them were heading for the small shops of old San Juan.

It always amazed him, as he looked at this huge ship, how something that large could float. Considering it was three city blocks long and about thirteen stories tall, he thought it should sink like a rock. If not sink, it should at least tip over on its side. He had to force his mind back to concentrating on the task at hand.

At last, a fellow wearing sunglasses and carrying a bottle of sun screen, walked through the control point. He wore flip flops, Bermuda shorts, and a loose fitting T-shirt. Careful observation of his physical characteristics confirmed that this was not only the person he had been waiting for, Forman was amazed at the resemblance.

Forman watched his quarry navigate the gauntlet of souvenir sellers and stroll through the long row of tourist shops, barely glancing at their wares. The man walked over to the taxi zone and hopped in a cab. Forman jumped in his rental and followed.

After driving about three miles, the cab stopped at San Juan’s public beach. The man walked over to the Paradise Beach Lounge, an open-air bar overlooking the beach. As he watched, the man ordered a Bloody Mary.

Smiling at that action, Forman knew that drinks would loosen his prey up and make him more receptive to his plan. He took a seat at the bar where he could keep a watchful eye. To be successful, he had to get a feel for the man's interests. When the waitress came by, he ordered coffee.

He watched as the man's eyes follow the waitress when she delivered his coffee. Forman knew that this was normal for a single guy and it assured him that the man wasn't gay.

At 10:30 AM, the sun was high enough to encourage the usual beach activity of sun bathing and dips in the crystal clear water. Some of the people were boarding a glass bottom boat for a tour of the coral reefs. Others formed a line at the parasail booth for a flight over the island's showcase beach.

He watched his man finish his Bloody Mary and order a second in a paper to-go cup. The fellow then strolled onto the beach towards a group of bikini clad girls. Hearing their laughter and loud talking, he concluded the girls all knew each other and it seemed obvious that his prey had an interest in meeting one of them.

From his vantage point in the lounge, Forman could see the man strike up a conversation with a couple of the girls, but they soon went back to laughing with their friends. The man strolled on for about a hundred yards, then he turned back toward the lounge.

Forman stood up and stretched as the man approached. He smiled and said, Teeny-boppers in a group are a tough sell.

You noticed, huh? The man answered.

Yeah, I was thinking about doing the same thing, but I decided to wait and see if you had any luck.

Well, the day is young, he replied. Lunch time may offer some better opportunities.

I get the feeling you're experienced at picking up gals on cruise ships, Forman said.

Well . . . I love these singles trips, but I learned that girls are much more approachable off the boat for some reason.

You really think so? Forman asked. How about I buy you a drink and pick your brain.

The man grinned and held out his hand, I'm Jay Bridges.

Forman Blocker, he replied as he shook his hand.

They picked a table and each ordered a Bloody Mary when the native waitress came by.

Where're you from? Forman asked.

A suburb of Miami . . . I get to frequent South Beach a lot.

No wonder you're a pro at picking up girls.

Jay laughed. I wouldn't go that far, but I get my share.

Forman sipped at his drink while Jay finished his.

I'm gonna hit the head if I can find one, Jay announced, these drinks, ya know, and the call of nature.

I'll get you a refill while you're gone, Forman offered.

Great, he said as he ambled off toward a sign that pointed to public restrooms.

When the waitress brought the Jay's next drink, he retrieved a pill from his pocket and dropped it into Jay's glass. He stirred it with the swizzle stick while he awaited Jay's return.

You on our boat? Jay asked as he sat down.

No, I've been here for three weeks just enjoying the island and its features. I fly out tomorrow for Jamaica for two more weeks.

What kind of attractions kept you here for three weeks?

Tourists, man . . . tourists. People rent cottages for a week at a time and live it up. The resort hotels also attract good looking gals. They do things here that they wouldn't think of doing at home.

That's very interesting, I never thought of that.

I found one really wild gal at the Plantation Paradise Hotel that literally wore me out. Maybe you could keep up with her for a while if you have time.

Jay almost guzzled his drink.

Hey man, just point me in the right direction, he said, I'll be forever grateful.

When do you have to be back on the boat?

Four o'clock . . . that should give me enough time, shouldn't it?

Forman nodded.

Tell you what . . . you seem like a good guy and I'm bored with this beach. I'll drive you to the hotel. It's only about two miles down the beach.

Man, that would be great, he said as he stood up. After a couple of steps, he wobbled a bit, Wow, those drinks must have been pretty strong. I'm feeling a little woozy.

A little walk will get your bearings back. It's about a block to the rented car.

Jay staggered a little as they left the lounge and trudged through the sand. Forman had to steady him a couple of times on the way to the car. He opened the passenger side door and Jay flopped into the seat. Forman helped him fasten his seatbelt, then got in on the driver's side.

After riding about four blocks, Jay passed out. Further down the road, Forman turned off the main highway onto a narrow side road that led up into the mountains. A twenty minute ride over ruts and bumps brought them to a steep cliff overlooking a thickly wooded ravine.

He parked and tugged the unconscious Jay out onto the ground where he stripped him of his clothes. He then pulled him over to the cliff's edge and watched him tumble down into oblivion. He knew that if the body was ever found, it would be noted as just another careless tourist.

Looking through Jay's belongings, he examined the contents of his wallet. Pleased, he discovered that it contained eight one-hundred dollar bills, several credit cards, and the usual identity cards. He found Jay's shipboard credit card, some loose bills, and some change in the right pocket of his Bermuda shorts. He quickly donned them in place of his bright red swimsuit.

He tossed his clothes in the back seat and climbed back into the car wearing Jay's flip flops, shorts, and his T-shirt. Checking his appearance in the mirror, he added sun glasses and a Panama hat. He decided that with his three day stubble, he should easily pass for Jay when he went through security scan as he re-boarded the ship.

Forman abandoned the car near the pier, unconcerned about returning it. The identity he used on the island was now history and a new era had begun. He entered the gate to the pier by flashing Jay's shipboard credit card and made the long walk down the pier to the ship. The real test was yet to come.

It was about 12:35 as he approached the security checkpoint just inside the ship. A couple of groups were ahead of him, so he mingled and began a conversation with an elderly woman. He assisted her as she stepped up the ramp and walked with her up to the crewmember manning the scanner.

He continued the conversation while casually handing over his card for the scan. The crewmember glanced at his face to match it with the photo on record. With sunglasses, the Panama hat, and the beard stubble, there was little to compare.

Take off your glasses, please, the crewman requested.

He looked at Forman, then at the photo that popped up on his computer screen. Satisfied, the crewman returned the card and Jay passed through the checkpoint.

Hungry, he went to the huge buffet restaurant on deck nine and selected his lunch. He picked a window table and requested a glass of Chardonnay, knowing they would ask for his charge card. It was a necessary step while the ship was still in port, knowing the drink chit would show his room number.

The next task he would encounter was probably the most difficult. He had to avoid a meeting with the housekeeping person, since they always made efforts to be personally acquainted. If Jay had been friendly with one of them, his impersonation could be detected.

He decided to walk the corridor of deck six where the room was located to see if the cleaning crew was still at work. The corridor was empty, so he elected to check out the room. Dropping his shipboard credit card in the slot, the green light flashed and he opened the door.

Pleased that it was a small suite with a balcony, he explored the closet and bathroom. The bed was already made and the bathroom looked spic and span. Jay had plenty of clothes in the closet and several nice accessories, such as an iPad, binoculars, and a camera. He found a bathing suit in one of the drawers, donned it, and caught the elevator to the pool deck.

As he strolled around the pool, he took a deep breath of fresh air. The familiar feeling of another successful impersonation made him almost giddy as he looked over the bikini clad sun bathers. He looked for a recliner in the shade knowing there would be plenty of time for girl chasing.

It had been a good day.

CHAPTER TWO

Downtown Miami

Walter Cromwell looked at the latest report from the detective agency he hired three months ago. As President of Trans Ocean Cruise Line, he had been very concerned about the disappearance of various passengers over the last year. The report showed that they were all men and about the same age, but seemed to have absolutely nothing else in common.

All of the listed disappearances took place on Trans Ocean's Caribbean cruises and they seemed to be spaced about two or three weeks apart. Those passengers boarded ships from several locations such as Ft. Lauderdale, Miami, New Orleans, Galveston, and Mobile. The ship's computer showed that each missing person was aboard during the entire cruise, yet they never exited when the ship returned nor did they return to their homes. Those missing person's reports had been coming in too frequently and piling up on his desk.

The detective's report also analyzed Trans Ocean's security systems and gave them good grades. It noted that a couple of bodies turned up on separate islands, but the identification process had been hindered by lack of cooperation from island police. He knew that the island's political powers didn't want any bad press which might slow tourism.

Walter looked out his corner office window towards the Miami Port where three of his ships were docked. From the thirty-third floor, the view was magnificent. He realized that if the word got out that twenty-six people had disappeared from their ships in one year, those ships would likely remain docked for lack of passengers.

He punched the intercom button. Mary, get me Burt Holmes, the President of South Florida Security.

Yes sir, she replied as she twirled the Roledex.

Burt, he said when she got him on the line, can you meet me for lunch? We need to talk.

Of course, Walter . . . where and when?

How about the Sunfish Club in the Sun Bank building about 12:30 today?

I'll see you there.

Walter hung up and buzzed Mary to pick up the agency's report folder and file it. His watch showed 9:15, so he had a little more than three hours to put his thoughts together. He reached for a note pad and began to write.

After spending over an hour refining his concept, he called his chief of security. It only took Ken Abney five minutes to ride up to the thirty-third floor and enter Walter's office.

This problem is worse than serious, he said, as Ken walked into the room. You've seen the statistics, we've checked and double checked, and still no answers.

Walter's fleshy face began to redden with anger as he reviewed the statistics for Ken.

Ken hung his head, knowing that this might be a preliminary meeting to his forced departure. He started to speak, but Walter interrupted him.

I hired South Florida Security three months ago to analyze our procedures on the QT. They studied our systems and found no flaws, but the disappearances have continued.

Ken registered surprise. He had not been in the loop for that move.

Don't feel left out, Walter continued. I didn't tell anybody. It wouldn't have been much of a security check if anyone knew about it.

Ken nodded.

Have a seat and listen, I want to try something off the wall, he said as he explained his concept to Ken.

Ken thought for a minute after hearing the idea and said, We have fifteen ships island-hopping the pond , so we will need a minimum of fifteen good men for the job.

Walter nodded, That's correct. You work on that part and I'll be meeting with Burt Holmes, the agency president. Check through our ship's officer pool for likely candidates.

Good idea, said Ken, however, we may have to hire from outside for some of them.

Walter nodded, It would have a better chance for success if we use our own experienced people. They know the ship and the routine. If not, Burt may have some men that could do it.

Ken stood to go, but he turned back to say, I want to solve this as much as you do. My reputation is at stake.

The grim look on his face said it all.

Then try to gel something by Friday, Walter said without smiling. I shouldn't have to do all the thinking around here.

Seething as he watched Ken walk out the door, he mumbled to himself, That's why I hired that Bozo.

Walter sat down to calm his emotions as he looked at his watch. He still had twenty minutes to get over to the Sun Bank building, eighteen blocks away.

* * *

Burt Holmes twirled a pen between his fingers as he thought about Walter's call. The security work they performed for Trans Ocean had been a major income source for his company during the past quarter. He had been able, with some interim reports, to prolong the investigation and add many more hours for billing purposes.

Now, he was sure to get another opportunity to further fleece the golden goose. He recognized that if it weren't for clever criminals, he would have very little business. He had always theorized that computer virus protection marketers paid hackers to create the virus in the first place. As long as there was a new virus threat, their software sales would boom.

It was also clear to Burt that Walter didn't trust his own security chief to find the answers. This fact alone insured South Florida Security's continued employment.

He looked forward to the luncheon meeting with Walter.

Cruise Ship

Forman Blocker, posing as Jay Bridges, found a reclining chair in the shade after surveying the pool deck and its occupants. He opened Jay's iPad and touched the library icon to see what books Jay had downloaded. To his surprise, the bookshelf was full of best sellers and a few erotic books. He wondered when this Jay found time to read since he seemed to make a career of chasing women.

One of the titles caught his eye, Sexual Positions Illustrated. Out of curiosity, he touched the cover and the book opened. He slowly flipped through the pages, marveling at the acrobatic illustrations shown there.

Wow, said a soft voice behind him.

Startled, he turned his head to see an attractive lady, probably in her early-thirties, looking over his shoulder.

I didn't mean to startle you, she said, I just happened by and saw those pictures on your iPad.

That's okay, he said, a friend suggested I buy this book and I'm just getting around to looking at it.

Some of those positions look almost painful. Do you really think people do that, she said.

He chuckled, shaking his head. I can't speak from experience, but I know people do some strange things.

You can say that again.

I'm Jay Bridges, he said, have a seat and you can take a better look.

He motioned her toward the empty recliner beside him.

I was about to have one of those tropical rum drinks. Will you join me?

She hesitated, then walked around and eased into the chair. Her short over-blouse didn't conceal the outline of her generous breast or her shapely legs. Short blonde hair framed her pretty face, which showed no trace of makeup.

You're welcome to look through this while I go get our drinks, he said, handing her the iPad. Pina Colada okay?

She nodded, her attention focused on the book.

Wow . . . what a dish, he thought to himself, and the boat hasn't even left port.

The day was getting even better.

Miami

Walter Cromwell picked a window table at the Sunfish Club, not surprised that it wasn't crowded on a Tuesday. The club limited its membership to the upper management of companies in the Miami area. The high ceiling and the expanse of glass offered a view that was magnificent.

He saw Burt walk in and motioned him over. The waiter took their drink order and left them to talk.

Our passengers are still disappearing. You see those three Trans Ocean ships in the port over there? he asked, pointing through the window.

Burt nodded.

If we don't solve this mystery and word gets out, those ships may be permanently anchored there.

What do you want us to do?

Walter paused as the waiter brought their drinks.

Are you ready to order, yet? the waiter asked.

Give us a few minutes, Walter replied. His brusque manner revealed his position of authority. He sipped the glass of wine and continued.

"If you recall from your last report, the passengers who disappeared have only a few things in common. There are some oddities . . . they are all men between thirty and forty years of age. The computer scan records show that all visited the ports of call and returned to the ship. They apparently finished the cruise but none of them exited the ship, which is really strange.

Burt's face reflected a puzzled look. He stroked his mustache as he thought. I know, that would suggest a stolen identity occurring on the islands, he offered.

That's possible . . . and since all of the victims are about the same age, this would tell something about the person stealing the identity. We may have a serial killer on our hands.

Can you give me the itineraries of all the cruises where these men never left the ship? I might be able to track the incidences using the timetable of those cruises.

Hmmm . . . I never thought of that. I had planned to put a look-alike decoy on each ship to try to discover what was happening.

They paused as the waiter returned for their order.

What's the special today? Walter asked.

Grilled flounder with assorted greens.

I'll have that, Walter said, accustomed to making quick, decisive decisions.

Me too, echoed Burt and the waiter departed.

If this list of itineraries with dates gives us a track, Burt continued, we might be able to focus on one of the cruises with several men instead of just one. It would increase our odds of finding out what is happening.

Brilliant, said Walter. I'll put someone right on it. You’ll have the information this afternoon.

They discussed some of the mechanics of such a plan until their food arrived.

Mmmm . . . great flounder, said Burt.

Walter agreed, but his mind was on the pressing issue at hand. As they finished, he reached for his cell phone and called Mary. He listed the information he wanted sent to Burt.

Phone me as soon as you have something, he ordered, as he walked away, gesturing goodbye to Burt.

He phoned his security chief, Ken Abney on his way back to the office. Meet me in my office in about twenty minutes, he said.

It was not a request.

Cruise Ship

Forman Blocker, posing as Jay, came back to the recliners carrying two Pina Coladas. He sat the drinks on a small chair-side table and resumed his place in the recliner.

Did you go to the island? he asked the girl.

No . . . I'm not much of a beach bum, she answered, laying down the iPad.

Cheers, he said handing her the drink.

You too . . . by the way, my name is Salirah.

Hmmm . . . unusual, but a pretty name.

Is this your first cruise?

Oh no, he said. I've been on many of these ships. I could give you a list of the ones I enjoyed the most. I particularly like meeting nice