“What’s that?”
“He’s almost never here. Justin and me, we put up with him for about a month a year, altogether. We call the cops on kids maybe three or four times a year. Other than that, we live in heaven. Crystal pure water, lots of wildlife...and a quick ride over to Seward when we need to shop or feel the whim for a dinner out or a movie...not many of those I want to see these days! Salmon jumping...whales here and there...a moose at my window now and then. I love my life, sir, that I do. And if it comes with a pompous ass for a few days here and there, so be it.”
Thor nodded. “Well, then, let me thank you for all the meals here and all you’ve done for us and the people affected by this.” He paused and asked carefully, “You’re not afraid of being out here now?” he asked. “Cops will certainly be around awhile longer, hunting, searching, but...”
“You might not have noticed something about me,” she said lightly.
“What’s that?”
“I’m not exactly a young beauty. Of course, come to think of it...Becca Marle wasn’t exactly a beauty. But, that Natalie Fontaine—she was an attractive woman. And Amelia...she was gorgeous. I still think it’s the pretty, young ones that he’s after. So it seems. Or, hell—those that make reality TV. Quite frankly, how anything you can just turn off could piss someone off so much, I don’t know. But, hey, this guy is deranged, right?”
“I’m not a psychiatrist,” Thor told her, “but in my mind, yes, anyone who can do such a thing to another human being is seriously deranged.”
“And you know who this guy is, right? You’d think you’d just pick him up on the street,” Magda said, shaking her head. “The Coast Guard is patrolling, there are cops everywhere—you should have gotten him by now. I mean, where the hell has he been staying? Even such a guy has to eat, right? If he’s on the island, why hasn’t he been caught by now?”
Justin Crowley, lean and all-American Gothic, walked in as she spoke, a hard look on his face. “Magda, how can you ask such a thing?” He looked at Thor apologetically. “This is, in truth, the last frontier. I don’t think that anyone has ever explored all the ragged edges, the caves, caverns—or even the forests.” He looked at Thor. “I’ve been around a fair amount now, but when I’m not with a cop looking for an obnoxious teen, I don’t go far from where I should be,” he said grimly. “You’ve seen for yourself, Special Agent Erikson. Finding anything on this island...” He paused, shrugging. “Hell, Kimball owns it—and I doubt he knows that much about it.”
How much did Kimball know about the island? Had he discovered some secret nook or cranny among the many caverns and caves carved out by ice that others had yet to discover?
Day had waned to evening; Thor was exhausted. He was suddenly determined to find out exactly where Kimball had gone. He reminded himself that he couldn’t harbor suspicions on the man because he outright disliked him.
But logically, Kimball stood in the line of possible Tate Morley accomplices.
And if they could get the accomplice, they could get the man.
He thanked Magda and turned away. Outside, he put a call through to Mike.
His partner would keep searching the island.
Thor was going to find Marc Kimball.
*
Clara lay down on her bed in her cabin—in what had once been the “Irish” section when the Fate had brought immigrants to America. She was tired, but wired. Jackson Crow had been set up in the cabin next to her and she’d join him in about an hour to have dinner with him and the cast. But she was in a restless mood.
Another woman was dead. Horribly. They believed two people were guilty; even if one person had done the killing, that person had help. Help that was close to home.
Would Thor come here tonight? Was there something between them? Would this all end when the killer was caught?
And most important, would the killer ever be apprehended?
Her cell phone began to ring—something that actually happened now that she was off the island!
Expecting Jackson or a friend—or even Thor—she answered it quickly.
For a moment, there was nothing. She wondered if her connections had gone on the fritz again.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Miss Avery.”
“Yes, hello. Who is this?”
It was only then that a strange sense of dread settled over her.
“We haven’t met, formally. But I’ve seen you.”
“Who is this?”
“I am God, I am the Devil. I am both rolled into one. In a past life, I was the Fairy Tale Killer. Now I see myself as the Media Monster. Some fool at a newspaper gave me that moniker. I suppose it’s as good as any.”
She sat there frozen for a second, wondering if it was real, trying to remember from crime shows what she should do.
Hang up?
Keep him on the line?