Krewe of Hunters, Volume 6: Haunted Destiny ; Deadly Fate ; Darkest Journey

by Heather Graham

  “What if it was someone in the house?” Jackson asked. “Thing is, you were out there for a few hours, Thor. Then I was, and then Mike was. And a cop was out there. No one came down the hallways, but what the hell? Someone could have gone out a window—just as someone went out a window from Becca’s room.”

  Thor cursed softly. “We have to get out there now. Has to be Mike and me—Jackson, you just don’t know this place like we do.”

  “Agreed,” Jackson said. “There are no tracks. There were some fresh powder flakes this morning, covered everything up. Go figure. Snow, in summer.”

  “Late summer, almost fall. And it’s the elevation of the landscape and…” He let it go, still swearing to himself. “It is what it is. Either Becca Marle is out there on her own, or she’s been taken. If she is on her own, Mike, we ought to be able to find her.”

  “I’ll watch here,” Jackson told Thor. Thor nodded to his friend and ex-partner. He knew that Jackson would watch over Clara.

  “It had to have been Becca who did it herself,” Thor said. “If it was the killer…”

  “One of the killers,” Jackson interjected.

  Thor nodded. “He had time—he had her silenced. Why not kill her?”

  “Unless Becca did it herself. She was angry—really angry—at Kimball at dinner last night.”

  Thor nodded. “We’d better move. It’s amazing how quickly someone can disappear when they’ve chosen to do so.”

  * * *

  Once again, Thor and Mike were gone.

  Clara had watched them for a while; they were out front with members of the police who had arrived. Thor was tense as he pointed out different aspects of the landscape, assigning men to areas of search, she assumed.

  Then he was gone.

  And she was left with Jackson Crow, Marc Kimball, the cheerful duo of Magda and Justin Crowley, Emmy Vincenzo, Tommy Marchant and Nate Mahoney.

  To Clara’s surprise, it was Emmy who spoke first. She cleared her throat. “Um, may I fix myself something for breakfast?” she asked.

  “There is coffee already,” the police officer offered.

  “No one mucks around in my kitchen,” Magda Crowley said. “No one but me.”

  “I think breakfast would be good,” Jackson said.

  “Am I allowed to be in the kitchen alone, with Justin?” Magda asked.

  “This is still my property!” Marc Kimball said angrily. “And if I say that you may work in the kitchen, you may do so.”

  “At the moment,” Jackson said quietly, “I will be calling the shots, Mr. Kimball. I’m afraid that your property is involved in all this, whether or not you are directly involved yourself.”

  “My God! How dare you—” Kimball gasped, staring at Jackson.

  “It is what it is, Mr. Kimball,” Jackson said.

  “I’ll have your badge,” Kimball said.

  “You must do what you must. But, for now, really—don’t do more than sneeze without my permission. Magda, Justin, the officer will accompany you to the kitchen. We’ll just enjoy sitting here together.”

  Kimball was quiet for a minute as the officer and the Crowley couple headed off.

  “I don’t know why I’m paying the price for these horrid people!” he muttered.

  “Having spent some time with you, I’m not sure how we’re horrid people at all,” Nate said evenly, his eyes on the man.

  “You’ll be off this island—off my property for good—the moment I can get an officer to make it happen,” Kimball assured him.

  “It will be our pleasure,” Tommy assured him.

  Clara said quietly, “Please, we’re in the middle of really horrible and confusing circumstances. If we’re all civil, we’ll get through the hours here far more quickly.”

  “Just what is the plan?” Kimball asked Jackson. “We’ll all be prisoners here together because that bitch of a woman decided to create another of her horror scenarios? This is ridiculous. I am calling my lawyer—and the mayor. And the senator. And—”

  “Mr. Kimball, I’m expecting that my coworker will back with answers in a few hours. Hopefully, Miss Marle was angry—staged the scene and perhaps even panicked about our reactions. If not—someone was in the room with her. Someone has her now. And we’ll hope for the best. My next step is to see that you’re all brought in for questioning. We can hold each or any of you for up to twenty-four hours for questioning before charging you—more, under certain circumstances, if necessary. Mr. Kimball, I’m sure you’re not accustomed to the living facilities provided at our establishments.”

  “There just needs to be an end to this!” Kimball muttered.

  “Yes,” Jackson agreed.

  “Maybe I can help with breakfast,” Clara said. She stood quickly.

  “I have to pee,” Kimball muttered. “You going to hold my hand while I go, Special Agent Crow?”

  “Please, Mr. Kimball, feel free to use the facilities as needed,” Jackson said. “We will, of course, be just outside the door.”

  Clara fled to the kitchen.

  It was sad to leave the one group for the other. The police officer stood with his arms crossed over his chest. Magda was at the stove, working on a large batch of eggs.

  Justin manned the toaster.

  “Can I do anything?” Clara offered.

  “Grab some table settings,” Magda said.

  “She’s a guest,” Justin said.

  “No guests no more—just all of us in a cage,” Magda said. “Go ahead, Miss Avery. There’s a pack of us here. Don’t mind you helping out.”

  Clara nodded and made a quick count. Jackson, Emmy, Kimball, Tommy and Nate. She knew that Magda and Justin wouldn’t sit at the table. Nor would the police officer on duty eat with them. The most any of the police had taken while on duty was a cup of coffee.

  She was setting the plates on the table when she heard a commotion in the living room; moving out there, she saw that the forensic team had arrived—along with another officer. They all had little to say; they headed straight for the room that had been Becca’s—and the scene that had been created there.

  Jackson had apparently just spoken with them; he beckoned to Clara to follow him.

  They went into the office.

  “I’ve got Angela online,” Jackson told her. “I got a message from her. I thought you might want to be with me for this.”

  Clara hurried over to the computer screen. “Thank you!” she told Jackson.

  He reached over her, keying in what was needed; Angela’s face appeared.

  She looked tired; she had probably been up as long, or longer, than any of them. She offered Clara a nod and said, “I want you know that I’ve reached Thor. He’s on police radio and I’ve gotten through to him fine.”

  “Okay, why? What’s happened?” Clara asked, looking from the screen to Jackson.

  “We traced some of the letters at last. There are no cameras at the mailbox facility where the bulk of letters—between Tate Morley and who we believe to be his accomplice—were going. But our agents there found a survivalist who takes pictures of anyone using the same mail company. A kook, I’m assuming, or, who knows? Maybe they believe Big Brother should be watching. I’m amazed we got anything, but…we sent someone persuasive. No corkscrews—just a lot of charm,” Angela said. “Clara, Tate Morley has been carrying on a letter correspondence—romantic correspondence—with Becca Marle. She called herself Jane. They’ve been exchanging letters for more than a year.”

  It took Clara a moment to speak. “Was that research? Was she hoping to start her own reality show? Or—was she crazy? One of those women smitten with a killer?”

  “We don’t know her thinking on the matter,” Angela said. “She wrote to other convicted killers, so maybe it was research. But, her most arden
t letters were to Tate Morley, so…he was either her main focus of research or…or the one who responded to her best. And she is an accomplice.”

  Clara digested the information. “Then Becca set up the room herself. And she’s gone to meet up with him?”

  “Possibly,” Angela said. “It’s hard to tell. We found other letters to him, and email—it truly is frightening to see how some men and women become obsessed with such killers. Some because they believe they can ‘fix’ them, and some because they’re suffering some kind of mental disease themselves and admire the work of serial killers. Law enforcement is often after people like that,” Angela added softly.

  Clara swallowed. Thor was an agent, a representative of the law. He put his life in danger every day. He had chosen to do so. He was very good at what he did. But now, Tate Morley himself might well be out there, a trap set, along with Becca! And, apparently, both were damned good at…killing. If, of course, Becca was his accomplice.

  “They know this, right? You said that Thor and Mike and the other police and agents…they all know this?”

  “They know,” Angela assured her. “But remember, too, that alone would never stand up in a court of law. We know that she’s been corresponding with him, but he corresponded with others, as well. Still, with this information, we’re going to process the room at the Alaska Hut, and then let you and Tommy and Nate leave the island. We’ll get you on the Fate with the rest of your coworkers.”

  “I see,” Clara murmured.

  “Jackson will go with you, and I’m heading out either this afternoon or tomorrow myself.”

  “Angela, that’s great!” Clara said. “I mean, it’s not great that the case is so bad, just that…” Just that there was nothing like having another agent close to her—a woman she knew, liked and trusted completely.

  “I passed the academy, too, you know,” Angela said, smiling. “I’ve always wanted to come to Alaska.” She was silent and looked toward Jackson. “And I’ll be glad to see this man put away—for good this time.”

  Tate Morley’s victims had haunted both of the men who had pursued him.

  Clara understood; Angela needed to be here.

  “What are they saying to the others?” Clara asked. “I think Kimball will feel justified. Tommy and Nate won’t accept it easily.”

  “We’re not making this common knowledge. They’re still looking for Becca. We’re just saying that the decision has been made to bring all visitors back to the mainland. That’s our official line for the moment,” Jackson said. “Enfield is assigning a man to stay here on the island. If we don’t have anything with which to charge Kimball, he and Emmy will soon be free to return to New York or go wherever Kimball wants to be. And, as far as Tommy and Nate go…” He shrugged. “We don’t have anything on them, either. You’re all right with everything?”

  Clara scarcely remembered why she was in Alaska…what she did for a living. She’d almost forgotten that next week, she was supposed to be taking part in Annabelle Lee, and that she loved what she did and the people with whom she worked.

  She nodded at Jackson. Yes, she was ready to board the Fate. And sail far away from the cold and the fear and the…death.

  If only she could.

  She managed a smile for Jackson. “With any luck,” she murmured, “we’ll actually do this show.” She nodded. “And Angela is coming.”

  “She’s always wanted to see Alaska,” Jackson said. “I don’t actually think that she meant like this.”

  * * *

  Thor had law enforcement members assigned to specific areas across the island.

  Everyone had been advised that they had connected Becca Marle to Tate Morley. Nothing had proved yet that she was involved in the killings, but her behavior at the Alaska Hut certainly made her suspect.

  Thor had chosen the back woods—leading out from the rear of the Alaska Hut and down toward a glacial peak above a group of caverns—for himself and Mike. A number of people had been thirty to fifty feet away at all times, but if Becca had done the work herself—or been instantly incapacitated—it was understandable that nobody had seen anything.

  But no one could have passed the front of the Alaska Hut. There was a clearing before the woods; even if a police officer had done some blinking, it would have been nearly impossible for someone to have gone that way undetected.

  Of course, that person might have skirted around the woods from the back and gotten just about anywhere. But Thor didn’t think so. Becca couldn’t know the island that well, and if someone was dragging along her lifeless body, they just couldn’t have moved that quickly.

  “Being pissed off at Kimball—I can see that,” Mike commented as they moved into a section of the woods. “I can see her wanting to hurt him, maybe even proving what they can do. I don’t know. I just didn’t see the woman as a killer.”

  “Did you see her carrying on a letter romance with a serial killer?”

  Mike shrugged. “Well, frankly, I don’t see anyone doing that. But people do.”

  They’d moved deep into a pine forest. Mike paused, taking a breath, pointing to a tree. “Grizzly territory,” he noted.

  Slash marks had torn away the bark. Great.

  Thor nodded. “Yeah. Let’s not tick off any grizzlies, huh?”

  “I’m with you, my friend.”

  They both stood still for a moment. Looking high above the trees, Thor saw circling vultures. He pointed them out to Mike.

  “Aw, crap,” Mike said.

  They began to stride in their direction and found a break in the trees.

  And there she was.

  Birds were flocking around the corpse. A timber wolf was moving in.

  Mike reached for his gun and fired a shot into the air. The birds and the wolf moved off.

  “I guess she wasn’t a killer herself,” Mike said.

  “If…”

  “If?” Mike asked.

  “If that is Becca Marle.”

  Thor walked toward the corpse. He winced as he hunkered down, and he thought about the display in the woman’s bedroom at the Alaska Hut.

  He knew that Clara had been shocked by what she had seen. It had been hard for him to convince her that what she saw was a display and not real. But he’d known in an instant. He was far too familiar with the tinny scent of real blood. And here, in the woods, with the buzz of flies…

  With the work of buzzards and insects and hungry wolves. Yes. The Alaskan wilderness creatures had been at the corpse.

  But…

  The killer had meant to display it…

  Just like the tableau in Becca’s room at the Alaska Hut.

  She lay on her one side, an elbow up, her face gone. Flesh had been stripped off her naked thighs and much of her body. Lumps…her organs and breasts…had been laid strategically around her, except that now…

  Some parts had already been dragged away, a meal for hungry carnivores.

  One daring and hungry blackbird remained, pecking at a bloody mound.

  “Holy Christ!” Mike said, crossing himself.

  The killer had found a “Ripper” victim.

  This time, he’d been able to carry through with the deed.

  CHAPTER 14

  “Kiss me one last time…

  A whisper of memory

  To the sweetness of the past

  Love, my darling, is all that can last

  Kiss me one last time…

  I’m that whisper of memory

  That rustle in the trees

  Love, my darling, is all that can last

  Kiss me in your heart

  Locked away in the past

  Where I shall be…

  Oh, there in the stars, twinkling by night

  Beautiful, bright, an
d there…in your heart.”

  Clara finished her last love song as the ghost of Annabelle Lee; she hovered where she stood, as directed, and then made her way fluidly and swiftly to where Larry Hepburn—playing Annabelle’s widowed husband—stood waiting. She brushed her fingers against his cheek, placed a kiss like air on his lips, and turned and floated from the stage. She smiled as she exited stage left; Larry called out, reached out, and then fell upon his knees and began the song that would bring his new wife into his arms. It really was a beautiful finale.

  Clara hurried off the stage, passing Connie Shaw, who gave her hand a squeeze and whispered, “Heartbreaking!”

  The director—Tandy Larson, with whom Clara had worked before—would have a few notes for her, but she knew that she could sneak down to the audience where Jackson had been watching.

  It had been nice to be greeted with an enormous wave of enthusiasm when she had arrived at the ship that afternoon; she’d felt almost like a prodigal daughter, as if the fatted calf would be slain for her. She quickly found out it was because a full rehearsal had been planned onstage that afternoon—and her understudy had realized, even as the ship sat at dock, that she wouldn’t be able to sail.

  She’d gotten horribly seasick. Clara had been needed.

  Of course, it was still nice to be needed. And it was wonderful, for the moment, to concentrate on the show, on music…movement, direction. To interact with an ensemble cast she loved.

  Connie Shaw was doing well. She’d hugged Clara as if they’d known one another forever when Clara had arrived to take up residence in her cabin on the ship.

  She was very grateful to be alive; worried that the killer had yet to be caught.

  Of course, they were all worried. And they would remain that way. That, of course, hadn’t kept Ralph, Simon and Larry from quizzing her about Thor Erikson and teasing her. She had merely shaken her head at their antics.

  Clara paused on her way to the backseats of the ship’s large theater, turning to observe as Larry and Connie Shaw finished up the play in one another’s arms.