isle gets mail service from Lewistown, too.”
“ Just summerhouses, recently developed land,” said Quarels.
Jessica said, “We've got to get the wife's phone number. Warn her he's coming for her.”
Sorrento got on his phone and contacted Lewistown police, reminding Sheriff Danby Potter of who he was and asking, “Is Mrs. Swantor on the island?”
“ She is… or was when I went out there yesterday, yes.”
“ We're chasing the Skull-digger, Sheriff.”
“ My Lord…” “And we fear Mr. Swantor is involved. I need the phone number to the house on Grand Isle.”
“ I always said that Jervis Swantor was some kind of puddinghead. I'll get that number for you.”
Sorrento heard Potter ferreting through paper for the number. “I got the number!” He read it off to Sorrento and quickly added, “I'm damn confused by you people. I checked out the place early this morning, a second time. Mrs. Swantor was there, so far as I could tell alone, no sign of that Dr. Swantor or his yacht. You asked me to ascertain his whereabouts, but the missus, she claims not to know or care so long as her check's on time.”
“ We believe he is on his way there now, Sheriff, and to say that she may be in danger is an understatement.”
“ So you fellas suspect Swantor's the Skull-digger now. I can't believe it, but you know, I can at the same time.”
“ Please, listen, Sheriff. It's a little more complicated than-”
“ I know what he looks like. Used to come into town for groceries and the hardware. Maybe I should go back out there to the island and sit with Mrs. Swantor till you-”
“ No, don't go out there alone, Potter. We think she has time to get out, and we're going to call her to warn her from here. We're on a Coast Guard cutter only a few hours away.”
After he hung up, Sorrento telephoned the number Potter had provided for the Swantor summer home, but only an answering machine responded. He left his name and number for Mrs. Lara Swantor to get back to him as soon as possible-a matter of life and death.
Jessica took Sorrento aside, saying, “Perhaps we ought to ask the sheriff to organize a few deputies and go out there to the house, cover Mrs. Swantor until we can get there.”
“ She's not answering her phone,” he replied. “Let me give it another shot.” Still no answer. “She must not be there.” “Or she may be unable to answer her phone.”
He nodded. “OK, I'll call the sheriff back.” He did so, only to get a recording stating that Potter was out and would return within an hour. The tape gave them another number in case of emergency.
“ Damn, I hope that old fool hasn't gone out there alone. He doesn't know what he's dealing with.”
“ Try the other number,” Jessica suggested.
Sorrento dialed this number, getting the sheriff on his cell phone, the sound of rain splattering a hard surface like static in Sorrento's ear. “Sheriff Potter, it's Agent Sorrento again. You're not to go out to the house alone. If you must go, do so with a team of men.”
“ Ahhh, yeah, I'm getting a posse together right now.”
“ Good… good. There's more danger than you realize. Let me set the stage for you.”
Real static obliterated anything Sorrento might have said. He turned to Jessica. “He's on his way out there. Claims to have gotten help.”
“ Claims or did?”
“ I'm not sure.”
The cutter made its way deeper into the black shaft of the canal. 7.00 P.M.
Inside the expansive house on Grand Isle, Mrs. Lara Swantor and her newfound lover, James Harris, drank wine and played with massive bubbles in the large, oval bath. They played with one another as well, fondling and kissing, when the phone rang. “Now, who knows I'm here? Who could be calling?” she slurred her words while glancing at a clock that read 7 P.M. Outside the storm shook the house, and its intensity frightened Lara, but James, a psychiatrist, said the best way to overcome such a fear was to enjoy oneself in the midst of adversity. It sounded good, but what he really meant was that he wanted to bathe with her.
Besides, the latest newscasts had the brunt of the hurricane heading toward Mobile now. All the same, each lightning strike shook her to the bones. Only James's attentions took her mind off the storm.
When the phone rang, James had said, “Let the machine get it,” as he held on to her, caressing her in the way she could not resist.
“ All right… good thinking,” she replied. “Hmmm… baby.”
She heard the sound of someone she didn't recognize leaving a message she could not make out. “What did the man say?” she asked James who, being younger, must surely have better hearing, she thought.
“ Didn't catch it. Likely a neighbor worried about the storm.”
“ Old Mrs. Philbin, I suppose.”
They continued with their bathing of one another. A second time the phone rang, and James got up and walked naked and bubbly to the phone, but it quit ringing-no message this time. He lifted it off the hook and put an end to it.
“ Get back in here, you!” she called out to him.
“ On my way!” he called back. “Just going to get us another bottle of wine from the pantry. Are you hungry?”
SIXTEEN
He cometh to you with a tale that holds children from play, and old men from the chimney corner.
Even in the darkness and the storm, Jervis Swantor had easily maneuvered his yacht, equipped with the best radar and sonar instruments in the land, through the treacherous canal. He had more trouble locating and docking the yacht in the boathouse than he had with the river and the canal. Down below, he'd re-chained Kenyon in his cabin, placing his tools just out of the man's reach. Now all he had to do was find Lara, whose small transport craft was tied to the dock. Once he found her, he would introduce her to his new friends Grant and Philip.
Knowing that the authorities were extremely close, and that they likely already knew of his final destination, he must act fast. Once the boat was secured, he climbed off and onto the boathouse landing. From there, he could see the house. A light was on in the master bedroom. From all appearances, Lara was home despite her ignoring the phone. Any servants would have gotten off the island by nightfall, especially with such a storm brewing.
Fighting the driving rain, Swantor made his way up the long flight of cedar steps to the house, lit by the occasional lightning bolt. Soaked, wild-eyed, he stared up at the bedroom light again. Some shadow moved across the room. Lara, he decided, unable to sleep. She had always hated storms.
Swantor meant to make his way around toward the back of the house. He had kept a key to the rear door.
“ Now, sweetheart, time for judgment day.”
Her dog, a Jack Russell terrier named Opal, began barking from her doghouse. He went to the dog and strangled it with his bare hands, silencing it. “Never liked that dog,” he muttered to the corpse.
Sheriff Danby Potter, fifty-nine, approached the house via the river directly across from the mainland, knowing the dock area well. His uniform covered by a yellow rain slicker, he warmed his insides with the moonshine liquor he sipped at. From what he had gathered over the phone with Sorrento, it appeared that Dr. Jervis Swantor was the butcher that the FBI was in search of. He knew Swantor on sight, and he knew the man's boat. He didn't need any pimply-faced young squirt of an FBI cop telling him how to proceed, and when he saw that there was no other boat at Mrs. Swantor's place other than her own, he knew he'd arrived in time.
He'd tried to telephone her from his cell phone, but he'd been unable to get through, getting a busy signal instead. He had pictured the worse, that Swantor was already inside the house, that he'd taken the receiver off the
