the Orleans area…”
“ We need to check for anyone who got cozy with Kenyon in the chat rooms, who happens to live in and around New Orleans,” said Jessica.
“ Damned AOC,” said Eriq. “We might've shut this guy down before he killed again if they'd cooperated with us.”
Midnight
Grant Kenyon awoke feeling groggy, disoriented, drugged even… like one of his own victims. He awoke to the nightmare he had gotten himself into. He awoke to the realization of being shackled by one ankle to the wall of a cabin on a boat that, presumably, was traveling along the stretch of islands and canals that made inroads to the Mississippi Peninsula.
He worked to recall what had happened to him. He had driven to and searched for his destination, one he had counted on should things get too complicated or hair-raising. Killing two NOPD cops certainly qualified, so he had located a quiet cemetery, parked and found his laptop computer. He hadn't used it in a long time, and he had subscribed to another server on it, wanting to keep his Internet tracks as blurred as possible. He now used it to make contact with Dr. Jervis Swantor.
He had been lucky. Swantor even joked in his reply:
SQUEALSLOUD: I was expecting you sooner. Come to the address on the screen. You will find I live on my yacht.
SEEKER: A yacht. You said you lived on a boat.
SQUEALSLOUD: Only thing I got from the divorce. She got the rest.
After signing off, Phillip insisted they feed on the girl first and dump the body in the graveyard.
Grant put his foot down. “No! This van's too damned hot. We've got to find safe shelter and devise a plan to get rid of the van, the woman and us-you and me.”
He tried to remember more… what had happened. How he had become a captive himself, and what had happened to Selese Montoya. But the drugs wore him down and he again fell into a deep slumber. Phillip tried to rouse him, but nothing could, not now.
He had a vague sense that someone was nearby, but he had seen no one. He also had a vague sense that the camera mounted high above, across the room, was running, capturing his image. He had a vague sense he was in some pain and bleeding from a head wound. But all his vague fears were overwhelmed by the drugs in his system.
While Jessica was on an FBI Cessna headed for New Orleans, back at Quantico headquarters, J.T. began the daunting task of tracking Dr. Grant Kenyon-the Seeker- through time and cyberspace, thanks to AOC's now- downloaded files. He kept a list of the men and women that Kenyon had shown an interest in and they in him. J.T. was amazed when he came across the name of Anna Gleason, first victim of the Digger.
He instantly asked Dana to track the user list sent by AOC to quickly determine if any other victim-other than Gleason-had used Cahil's list, while he himself searched on for information on SquealsLoud.
Dana announced that a second victim came up, the Winston-Salem woman, Miriam McCloud. He instantly contacted Eriq and then Jessica with the news. They had discussed the possibility before, that the killer could be enticing his victims via the Web. Victim families had been asked questions designed to determine this, but here was the definitive proof that at least two of his victims had accessed Cahil's website.
J.T. continued to search for contacts Kenyon had made in and around New Orleans. It appeared that the mad doctor made friends easily and frequently over the Net. While his other victims' names did not appear on the list, he had made contacts with women and men in all the areas he'd visited.
Over the phone, J.T. now told Jessica, “This fellow calls himself Mr. SquealsLoud. Registered to a PO box in a place called Steeple Top, Louisiana, fifty miles from New Orleans. Name is Mark Sweet. Sure is easier to locate information now. We'll have to wake up the postmaster in Steeple Top. Get an address on this PO box for Sweet.”
“ Get back to me when you have it.”
On the plane, Jessica tried to get some sleep. Her thoughts drifted like a ghost ship over a foggy ocean until she fixed on a single boat named Uneven Odds. That was the boat Amanda Manning's body had turned up on. Then she envisioned another, far more spectacular boat, a yacht with beautiful running lights named Lands End. She thought of how persistent Jervis Swantor been about visiting the body. She pictured the man's large yacht in Jacksonville, thought again of his inordinate interest in the case and recalled how the live computer image of Dr. Grant Kenyon had been bobbing.
He's on a boat… perhaps Swantor's boat! she suddenly realized. Swantor had listed his home address as Grande Isle, Louisiana. Cahil's website was Isle of Brain. Could it be coincidence or more than that? Could Kenyon be a prisoner on Swantor's boat?
She immediately telephoned Lorena Combs in Jacksonville, waking her at home. “I need to know what Swantor listed on his manifest as his next port of call after leaving Jacksonville.”
“ Neighbors and the harbormaster told me he was off to Cancun. I can check it for you. What's up?”
She informed Combs about the live feed and her hunch that it had originated aboard a boat.
Combs replied, “The man made my skin crawl, but he checked out clean.”
“ I got bad vibes off him, too, if you remember.”
“ I'll get over to the marina, check it out firsthand. I'll get back to you if anything's changed.”
Grant Kenyon, trying to shake off the latest drugs injected into his arm by SquealsLoud Swantor, tried desperately to piece together how he had been so blind to his captor's mad plan. On meeting Jervis Swantor in the flesh, Kenyon had quickly sized him up. The other man's size and weight, his skin color, the same blue color of eyes and brown hair as his own-it all played out beautifully until Grant got careless.
Soon after shot gunning to death those two cops, Grant's likeness had unaccountably gone out to the world, radio announcers giving details of his appearance down to a mole on his upper lip. Undoubtedly, the TV news would also have his likeness. By tomorrow morning, his picture would be on everyone's kitchen table. On seeing Swantor's general resemblance Kenyon believed he could use Swantor as a body double, should he have to fake his own death-at least long enough to throw off authorities when the time arose, and that time had come. He needed only a little sleight of hand to put such a plan to work. Anyone discovering a pair of torched dead and hopefully long- decayed bodies in his van, one at the wheel, one chained in the rear, might easily be led to the conclusion that he had discovered the body of the Digger and his last victim. Phillip liked the plan. Grant even thought of sending the fiery van over the side of a cliff and into the Mississippi River.
He had had ideas of taking Swantor's yacht before moving on. So he had followed Swantor's directions down to the parking lot at the marina, and next found his way to the Windjammer yacht of Jervis Swantor, his marina address and the name of his boat, Lands End.
Grant had hesitated, for a moment fearful of Swantor's reception, wondering if it was a setup. He had circled for an hour, dangerously so, desperately anxious about the police patrols that were surely looking for him and his van. In the rear, he still held his victim shackled and drugged, but he had had no time to feed on her. Phillip would have to wait.
He went up to the yacht and rang the bell and the cabin door quickly opened. Jervis Swantor beamed with a wide smile and told him to come inside. “So, you are the Seeker. I'm delighted you've come. Mi casa es su casa, and all that, as they say. Anyone with the chutzpah to do what you've done, imagine it. The Skull-digger here with me.”
“ What do you mean? I'm not the Digger.”
“ Your face is plastered all over the tube, Kenyon. Yes, they've got your name, too.”
“ Jeez-us!”
“ It's wrong to worry about me, my friend,” Swantor assured him. “If I only had your guts, I'd be doing the same thing. I tell you, I'm so… touched that you've come to me for help and shelter. I'd hoped we'd have met before now. I just can't tell you.” He took Grant's hand and patted him on the back and insisted, “Sit down, relax, your secret's safe on Lands' End. Have a drink, relax. I waited for you in Florida, but you didn't show up.”
“ You really feel this way?”
“ Absolutely. I admire you.” Swantor smiled wide, his eyes beaming as if meeting his hero.
