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

by Heather Graham

  “Oh…oh…oh! Miss Avery. You do have claws. Nice survival instincts. I almost wish I was still the Fairy Tale Killer. What a beautiful Sleeping Beauty you would make! Or, if I had to stretch—I mean, no one’s hair is that long these days—you might be Rapunzel. You do let down that long hair, don’t you? Ah, but you’re not with lover boy right now, are you? You see, I know where Thor is and I know that you’re with Jackson Crow. Yeah, like I said, I see all! I’ve not decided exactly where I’m going next…there are still a few tasty ideas rolling about in my mind! You shouldn’t make me mad.”

  She glanced at Jackson, not sure who he was now on his phone with—and really having no idea if anyone could trace this kind of cell phone coverage in any way, shape or form.

  “You’re a cruel human being. You’ve stolen all that matters in any way—you’ve stolen life. You’re horrible, worse than the lowliest crawling bug, because even a bug does good things, and you…”

  He broke in. “Oh, really? I’ve ended some bad TV!” he said, and seemed to think that his words were hilarious. He started laughing.

  “Well,” he said finally, and she could hear a deep inhale, as if he was trying to get over his spurt of mirth, “you don’t need to try to pinpoint my location, Miss Avery. I’ll be happy to tell you where I am,” he said.

  “And where are you?”

  “Closer than you can begin to imagine!”

  * * *

  Because communication could be so patchy—even with Wi-Fi and their walkie-talkies—Thor wanted to see Mike Aklaq before he left the island.

  He had the feeling that the killer was no longer there. He held the firm belief that the actual killer was Tate Morley—whether he had been abetted by Becca Marle or someone else, Morley had done the killing. He’d had an accomplice who had known Alaska, known the Alaska Hut and Black Bear Island. He was able to come and go easily. With the amount of law enforcement officers looking for him, he should have been caught by now. He knew how to disappear at will. Be here when he chose, escape when he chose. He wasn’t using the docks; that meant some kind of a small conveyance he’d been able to pull up onto the shore—and hide.

  That meant a cavern.

  Though how he was managing to come and go was a mystery, Thor wasn’t sure solving it would help, except that he’d quit being torn as to where he’d best be putting his own efforts. Thor knew how good an agent his partner was, but he still wanted to see him before he left. Because while his gut told him that Morley was no longer here, the latest victim had not been discovered long ago.

  Taking one of the snowmobiles, he headed past the forest toward the southern tip of the island where the icy cliff jutted up from the sea and an ancient wall of ice had carved out the peculiar landscape.

  He could see that there were snowmobiles and the larger snow sleds used by the forensic teams present at the base, closest to the shore and cavern entrances. Men and women in uniform moved about the area, looking like ants from a distance and growing larger as he approached.

  One of the crime scene investigators he knew waved to him and indicated that Mike was in one of the caverns. Thor waved his thanks and hurried on down.

  The cold here seemed to be exceptionally fierce; people breathed as if they were dragons as they worked, spouting steam rather than fire.

  He almost slid down one icy ledge, caught his balance and righted himself, and arrived at what might be considered “the ground,” where the ice crunched beneath his feet. He could see Mike was back speaking with a few of the officers—asking them, Thor was certain, to see that no crevice remain unseen.

  “Thor—thought you were leaving,” Mike said. He smiled suddenly. “You have to trust someone, my friend. You can’t be everywhere.”

  “I am leaving. I’m going to find Kimball,” Thor told him.

  “Kimball is off the island?” Mike asked, surprised.

  “Apparently, he left with the others. None of us can be trusted. He wants the protection of being in the city. Or so he told Magda.”

  “Maybe he is afraid,” Mike said with a shrug. “Hey, the man is an ass. You know as well as I do that being an ass isn’t illegal.”

  “No, but something about him…”

  “He treats people really badly.”

  “Yeah. Anyway…”

  Thor broke off, blinking. The sun had shifted just slightly, casting a different light onto the scene. He felt his muscles tighten; the fierce sun could play tricks on the mind. And for a moment, he could have sworn that he saw Mandy Brandt standing there, a shimmer of white mist in the ice and sunlight. And then she was gone, but, of course, he still stared at the place where she had been standing.

  While there had been people there since they’d first discovered the killer’s stash of cutting tools, and the ground was well trodden, Thor was pretty sure he saw a strange line in the crunched ice ground.

  “What?” Mike asked.

  “There it is,” Thor breathed, because, where Mandy had stood, he thought he saw what he had been seeking.

  “There what is?”

  “His trail.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “A boat. Look at that line. He’s been using a boat himself. Something incredibly small, but must have a motor or he’d never make it here or back. He dragged it here—it’s how he kept any of the patrolling Coast Guard vessels from seeing it. I’m willing to bet if you head further to the west you’ll find marks like this, as well. That one strange line that only shows under a direct ray of the sun. He’s come and gone with ease, Mike. And I’ll bet he is off the island now. He chopped up his latest victim and headed straight back into Seward.”

  “We’ll search with a fine-tooth comb, farther to the west,” Mike assured him.

  “I’m heading back to Seward,” Thor said. “Now.”

  “I’ll find what there is to find,” Mike promised quietly.

  Thor turned, left Mike and drove the snowmobile straight for the docks. Just as he reached them, his phone—via the Wi-Fi hookup—rang. He glanced at the caller ID, and was grateful that the call had come through.

  It was Jackson. Thor answered quickly. “Yeah?”

  “Morley called Clara.”

  “What?”

  “Yes, he’s actually called her twice. I have our techs working with her cell provider, finding satellite usage, pinpointing a position. We’ve traced the number—”

  “And it goes to a pay-as-you-go phone?”

  “No. That’s just it. It was a business line purchased by one of Marc Kimball’s companies.”

  “Kimball’s companies?”

  “Yep.”

  “Morley threatened her?”

  “He’s taunting her—not a direct threat. You know. Defending his actions, touting his prowess—and letting us know that he’s near.”

  “Kimball is off the island,” Thor said. “And Tate Morley was on the island. But I believe he’s off it now, too. I’m heading to the docks right now.” He hesitated. “Has anyone checked? Did Kimball come aboard the Fate?”

  “Passengers haven’t boarded yet,” Jackson said.

  “Marc Kimball can buy his way many places,” Thor reminded him.

  “There were no orders out not to let the man board a ship,” Jackson said. “I’ll look into it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Yeah, get here, Thor. I’ve called the Alaska State Troopers. They’ll get a man down to me so we can sandwich Clara out of here. I’m going to get her to the station.”

  “Perfect. I don’t like this. I’d like to know that she’s safe—in a place filled with law enforcement and with guns all around. She needs to be at the station. I’m on my way, heading to Seward—get there as fast as physically possible. I’ll call when I’m near so I know where to head to meet up with the two of you
.”

  Thor left his snowmobile and hurried down the docks.

  A Coast Guard cutter was there, along with a captain ready to sail him across the water and back to Seward with all speed. Thor scanned the shoreline of Seward and the docks.

  It wasn’t until they had nearly arrived that he saw something that made him pause. “There! Can we pull up?” he asked the captain.

  “There?”

  “That little motorboat, the one tied poorly,” he said.

  No one who really knew how to handle a boat—or gave two figs about it—would leave a boat tied with a simple bow; any sailor worth his salt would have secured the little vessel.

  The water was always somewhat rough; waves lapped at the cutter and the rowboat. Thor trusted his coordination and his years living in the wintry waters and wilderness and leapt from the one vessel to the other.

  It was dotted with bits of something red. He hunkered down and touched it.

  Blood.

  He’d found the killer’s way on and off the island.

  Off—the killer was here now. In Seward.

  He looked up and when he did, he saw a number of the cruise ships down at the distant cruise port.

  Among them, the Fate.

  “Thor!”

  He heard his name spoken softly and he looked up to the dock. The sun was shimmering down; it was late afternoon…maybe even evening, but the sun was still a powerful entity in the sky. Streaks of gold seemed to highlight someone standing there.

  Mandy Brandt.

  She didn’t say more; she seemed to look at him with infinite sadness. She pointed at the Fate, and then she was gone.

  And Thor turned to look at the captain of the Coast Guard cutter.

  “Get me to the Fate, immediately, please!” he said.

  “Special Agent Erikson, there is protocol and there are restrictions—”

  “I’ll fix them. Just get me on that ship. Now!”

  * * *

  There had to be some kind of protection training learned at the FBI; Jackson finished his conversation with headquarters and then after his brief exchange with Thor went into immediate action. “There’s no real proof, but it seems that the satellite signals cross right here—on the Fate. Seems like he’s come here—or he’s very near here,” he told her. “We’re going to head into the police station.”

  Clara nodded. “Whatever you say,” she told him.

  “Kimball is off the island, too. He may—he may be trying to follow or find you.”

  She tried for weak humor. “He does seem to like a good musical comedy.”

  Tate Morley was aboard the Fate.

  How the hell had he gotten on?

  Passengers weren’t boarding—they wouldn’t be for days.

  But Jackson Crow didn’t seem to be surprised.

  “Morley—how?” she asked, trying to remain calm and in control.

  “Morley is a master with fake papers and disguises that make him look like an ‘everyman,’” he told her briefly. “Security is coming down the hallway now—we’ll be off the ship and over to the police station as quickly as possible. A state police officer is heading this way. At his arrival, he’ll lead and I’ll follow until we’re off the ship.”

  Clara felt as if the great glaciers themselves had found a way into her bloodstream. Even with everything happening, she hadn’t felt this sense of intimate personal danger until now. She swallowed and nodded; she was with Jackson. He had been her protector before; he had seen her through a bad and dangerous time. He would do so again.

  “As soon as an officer gets here, we’ll head off the ship,” Jackson said.

  “Well, you’re with me. I’m sure we could—”

  “We’ll wait. If you want to gather a few things, it might be a good idea,” Jackson said.

  “I’ll just grab my toothbrush and a few clothes,” Clara murmured.

  She walked into her small bathroom. As she reached for her toothbrush to pack in a little toiletries bag, she was stunned to hear a scream—one so loud and piercing that it seemed to tear through the bowels of the ship.

  She burst out of the bathroom. “Stay!” Jackson said. “Lock the door when I’m gone—the second I’m gone. Don’t open it!”

  He headed out. “Wait, Jackson, don’t leave me!” she said.

  But he was already walking away. He turned back. “Lock it!”

  He left; she locked the door.

  Pacing, she realized she was safe. She was almost below the waterline. No one was going to enter by her tiny porthole. The only way was the door.

  And she didn’t intend to open it.

  But Jackson had been gone only a matter of minutes when something slammed against her door.

  She jumped, then she heard a voice. “My God, please, Clara! He’ll kill me. If he can’t talk to you, he’s going to kill me!”

  She looked out the tiny peephole in her door.

  And she saw Emmy Vincenzo, tiny, shaking—looking as if she’d been beaten with dark smudges beneath her eyes…a heavy bruise on one cheek.

  And blood trickling down her forehead.

  “Please, oh, God, please help me, Clara!”

  She screamed, and seemed to slam against the door again as if she’d been stabbed.

  Clara opened her cabin door.

  Emmy Vincenzo was not alone.

  CHAPTER 15

  Thor called Jackson immediately—no answer.

  He continued to call him all the way to the ship. He tried to tell himself that there were logical reasons that Jackson didn’t answer.

  Clara didn’t answer her cell, either.

  He reached Enfield, who had told him there’d been an incident aboard the ship that Jackson was investigating; they were sending men out.

  “Incident? What kind of incident?”

  “I don’t know yet—screams reported. Crow is there. As soon as I know, I’ll get back with you.”

  Yeah, Crow was there—but not answering Thor, either. At least the road was cleared for him when he reached the ship. He was ready with his credentials. He stopped at the ship’s one entry to meet with security, words on his lips before he could be asked the first question. “Special Agent Thor Erikson, here with the investigation into the recent barbaric murders in Seward and Black Bear Island; I have reason to believe that someone involved with the case is on this ship now.”

  He left the security officer just staring after him and he realized that the man had already been notified. The ship had gone on lockdown.

  He dialed Jackson as he hurried aboard.

  Still no answer.

  Swearing, he hurried along to the main salon of the deck he had entered. Once there, he caught hold of the first young woman he saw in a crew uniform.

  “The ship is on lockdown,” the woman informed him. “Sir—”

  “Special Agent Erikson,” he told her briefly. “The cast of Annabelle Lee—where are they?”

  “Waterloo Deck. Elevators are over there and the stairs are just to the left.”

  He nodded his thanks and ran down the stairs.

  When he reached the Waterloo Deck, he found it empty.

  And he cursed himself for not having Clara’s cabin number. He stood in the hallway and shouted her name at the top of his lungs.

  As doors cracked open around him, he felt as if he’d entered a bad version of A Streetcar Named Desire.

  Except that those who peeped out looked thoroughly frightened.

  Ralph and Larry Hepburn were among those who appeared. Thor turned and gripped Larry by the shoulders. “Where’s Clara?”

  “Cabin 827,” Larry said. “She came back here with Jackson. Then there was this scream that was horrible…we’ve been asked to sta
y in our cabins while the sound was investigated. Thor, hell…what else?”

  “I think he’s here. I think the killer is on the Fate,” Thor said. “Get back in your cabin.”

  “Clara?” Ralph said, a catch in his throat.

  “I’ll find her,” Thor said.

  He ran on down the hallway to 827.

  The door stood slightly ajar—the latch hadn’t caught.

  No, it was…open.

  For a moment, he felt a keen and terrible sense of déjà vu. He remembered that day now long past when he had opened another door and seen Mandy Brandt…

  She lay in beauty.

  He shoved the door open, his Glock in his hand.

  The room was empty.

  * * *

  Emmy Vincenzo had fought long and hard; she and Marc Kimball both seemed to have battled ten rounds in a boxing ring.

  “Please!” Emmy had choked.

  She hadn’t entered Clara’s room—but then, Emmy was entangled with Marc Kimball, who had stared at her like a man possessed. He and Emmy were arm in arm. It seemed he was trying to speak but could not—and was letting Emmy do the speaking for him.

  “He says you must come. He has a knife to my ribs. Oh, Clara, I’m so sorry… Clara, Clara…please. I’m so scared!” Emmy had seemed to choke on her words. “He’s already killed a cop—he stabbed him right in the throat…oh, Clara! I should have let him kill me. I shouldn’t have been such a coward!”

  She had cried out; she and Kimball had been so tightly crushed together that Clara could only assume he was pressing a blade into her side.

  “Emmy, it’s all right,” Clara had said, amazed by her own courage as she stared at Kimball. “I’ll go where he wants me to go. Marc—you sick, arrogant bastard. Don’t touch her again.”

  And so she walked ahead of the two.

  Down the hallway where cast and other entertainers were first housed, though now they had moved into another layer of the ship—where a maze led to machinery and storage and, she could only assume, at one time, the lowest of the lowly servants and workers aboard.