Jackson walked back to them, distracted. “Hey.”
Thor tamped down the idea of setting his arm around Clara.
Jackson pocketed his phone and said, “I reached Angela. She found a case that matches Natalie’s scene. Happened in the late 1920s. Jeannette Warren, thirty-two, was found in a hotel room in Chicago, her body curled on the bed, her head displayed on the dresser. The killer was given a moniker—the Deadly Dancer—because Jeannette was a dance-hall girl and she’d been ripped up. The police at the time thought a few other disappearances might have been due to this man. He was never caught. It didn’t hit the media the way it might have now, and while some police officers suspected that Jeannette’s killer might have had other victims, it was never proven.”
Thor looked at him and slowly nodded. “So, this is what we theorize at the moment—there are two killers. Tate Morley is one of them. Somehow, in prison, he communicated with someone who became his accomplice. Morley, we believe, was in the Nordic Lights Hotel, and killed Natalie Fontaine. His accomplice was out on the island, either ready to meet up with Tate Morley, or ready to commit the second murder. The accomplice knows Alaska and Black Bear Island. One of the two was back on the outskirts of Seward today, and terrified—and possibly meant to kill—Connie Shaw. The displays were to appear as close as possible to the murders carried out by the Deadly Dancer and Jack the Ripper and the killer who murdered the Black Dahlia. But there’s one thing I can’t figure out.”
“What’s that?” Jackson asked.
“Where the hell are the weapons? It’s one thing to strangle a woman with one’s bare hands—it’s another to cut up a body.”
They were all silent. Black Bear Island was just before them, snow-covered, wild and dense, and, in Thor’s mind, hiding the secrets that could lead them to the truth.
*
Marc Kimball’s behavior was oddly like that of a father who was distraught with a college-age student’s tardiness when coming home at night.
And he seemed to be all theirs that night; the Wickedly Weird crew had made arrangements to return the next day and gather the last of their property from the Mansion. Kimball told them that he had asked them all to stay the following night.
But tonight it was just them.
As usual, he made Clara uncomfortable.
“Miss Avery! My God, thank goodness you’ve come back here. I mean, this is the right place for you to be right now. We’re isolated—in a good way! In this house, you have police all about you.” He looked from Thor to Jackson. “Anything? Anything at all? Are you any closer to catching this heinous criminal?” he asked.
“We like to believe that every lead brings us closer, Mr. Kimball,” Thor told him. “And we remain grateful for your complete cooperation with law enforcement.”
“Of course, of course. I’m horrified that this took place on my property. I should have known better. I don’t really watch television much, except for the business news now and then. I saw a show by Vacation USA, though, and thought it was quite good—that’s how I allowed my business manager to make arrangements with the television people. Ghastly business! I hadn’t realized that they planned to terrify people with such a grisly scene as the one they fabricated at the Mansion. One can’t say ‘how fitting,’ because it’s absolutely horrible.”
“Ironic,” Mike Aklaq said, arriving in the living room to stand behind Kimball.
Clara liked Mike. He was a patient man, and that was excellent for an agent; he’d wait until he got what he wanted, come what may. And he waited now for an update from his partner and Jackson, not at all anxious or ready to speak in front of others.
“Ironic, yes,” Kimball said. “Well, Magda has something of a late dinner prepared. Agents, you weren’t about to head out now, were you? Even here, in Alaska, the light won’t last much longer.”
“Actually, dinner sounds wonderful. I hadn’t realized myself how late it had gotten,” Thor said.
“It’s the hours of daylight,” Jackson said.
“Yeah, but I’m accustomed to days that are light forever,” Thor said.
“Magda!” Kimball called. “Our guests are back. Dinner!”
He wasn’t polite; Magda didn’t care. She wasn’t polite, either.
“It’s stew. I’ll set the pot in the middle of the table. There’s rice, some salad. Tea and sodas are on the sideboard. You’ll help yourselves. Mr. Kimball, you do know your way to your own liquor cabinet,” Magda said.
Marc Kimball was oblivious to her tone, as well.
“Shall we?” he said cheerfully. “This is a horrible situation, but we must eat. And, of course, you gentlemen deal with bad things all the time. I mean, you must eat and laugh and all, right?”
“Yeah,” Mike Aklaq said, “haven’t you noticed? I’m a regular comedy club.”