Thor and Jackson answered the questions carefully first, and then asked their own, wanting to know if either man had actually seen Marc Kimball on the plane.
“I never saw him,” McGruder said. “His car is always here for him when we arrive. I’m in the plane at the time—he clicks a button to tell me to leave. I’ve already been questioned, you know. I didn’t see Marc Kimball or his little minion when we took off. Or when we landed. Not in the flesh and blood. Look, he pays me and pays me well. I fly the plane at a moment’s notice—else I’d be in a bar right now or enjoying a good time seeing whales or watching salmon jump or something! It’s good money, I’m a good pilot, and I’m paid to fly and mind my own business. It’s what I do.”
He was sincere. They all thanked him; Thor gave him his card and asked him to call if he thought of anything. Then they left.
As they drove, Clara murmured, “It still doesn’t mean anything. I mean, don’t we all have to watch out for the fact that we really dislike Kimball?”
Thor glanced over at Jackson, who smiled.
“Yes, we have to be aware of that,” Thor said, and he put a call through to Enfield, who arranged for a Coast Guard vessel to get them back out to Black Bear Island.
Tate Morley was here; Thor was certain of it—just as he was certain now that the man wasn’t working alone.
“It was him,” Jackson said flatly. “It was Tate Morley sitting in that chair. He might have targeted Natalie already, but he made up his mind when they interacted in the lobby.”
As they left the dock, Thor noted that Clara was looking at the many vessels there—including the Celtic American ship the Fate.
“We can go back. I can get you aboard her anytime,” he said.
“She’s a beautiful ship, isn’t she?” Clara said, smiling. “I loved being hired on by the company. They take such good care of their ships. And, of course, all of the company’s ships are old and historic. The Fate dates back to World War I. She was a hospital ship and avoided a number of torpedoes. She was also used to carry South Vietnamese families to safety at the fall of Saigon. She’s really a grand old dame and...”
“And?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I was just thinking that it’s ironic that my role in this play is that of a ghost.” She studied him. “Amelia really likes to just hang out with me. Talk and all,” she told him.
“And you’re not afraid anymore?”
“Not of Amelia,” she told him.
“Amelia just wants help,” Jackson said, studying the Fate, as well. He turned to smile at Clara, then directed his attention at Thor. “He’s here—we both know that he’s here. He’s changed over the past decade. I think you were right when you said that it wasn’t so much the fairy-tale thing that he needed, but the dramatics of it. The theatricality. First fairy tales. Now infamous murders. The first, the Black Dahlia. And, I believe, he would have killed Connie Shaw in a manner like the Ripper’s murder of Mary Kelly. As to what we believe to be his first murder, I’m not sure.”
“They weren’t caught,” Clara said.
“What?” Thor asked.
“The Black Dahlia killer was never caught, and neither was the Ripper. Do you think that he’s replicating killers who were never caught—maybe even suggesting that you can’t catch him now?” Clara asked.
Thor and Jackson looked at one another, and then at Clara.
“What?” she asked.
“I think you’ve got it,” Jackson said. “I’m going to try to FaceTime Angela before we get out to the island.”
He left them, pulling his phone from his pocket, turning it in different directions.
Thor and Clara remained by the rail, watching as they left Seward behind.