Deadly Fate (Krewe of Hunters #19)(53)

For the early part of the day, Sally fast-forwarded. People moved about like ants. Thor, Jackson and Clara all stared at the screen. They saw Natalie Fontaine meet with Amelia Carson and the rest of her crew—Becca Marle, Tommy Marchant, Nate Mahoney and a young woman Clara hadn’t met, but who Jackson pointed out as Misty Blaine, Natalie Fontaine’s production assistant.

They saw that Natalie seemed to be giving fierce instructions to her workers, and the faces Tommy, Becca and Nate made as they listened and then turned—backpacks and suitcases in hand—to head out to Black Bear Island to prepare the Mansion.

They watched as Amelia and Natalie seemed to have a heated argument. Misty Blaine stood back—definitely not wanting to be part of it.

The tape slowed as night came on. Misty went to the elevators. Amelia went to the elevators. And then Natalie went up at last.

“That’s the last we have of everyone but Amelia Carson—we see her in the morning, berating the desk clerk,” Sally said.

Clara glanced at Thor. He seemed uninterested in that. “Go back,” he said quietly. “Go back, please, to where the crew is leaving.”

Sally did.

Clara had no idea what he was seeing. The Wickedly Weird people were there, talking, involved in what they were all saying to one another.

A woman with a poodle was standing near the counter, apparently waiting for someone to come from the elevators to join her.

A group of businessmen was checking in. A couple was studying a brochure. An old man with a head of white hair, wearing a black coat and a slouched hat, was seated in a chair near the front door, reading the paper.

“What’s the time line on that shot?” he asked.

“Six forty, early evening,” Sally said.

“Slow motion on his face, please. Back it up a bit, zero in on him,” Thor told her.

Sally did as requested. Clara heard Jackson’s intake of breath as the man looked up. He was wearing little horn-rimmed glasses and the lower part of his face was obscured by a white beard.

Clara looked at Thor. He looked back at her.

“Tate Morley,” he said. “That’s him. Tate Morley is here.”





10

The freeze-frame image of the man Thor was convinced was Tate Morley was printed out several times and sent around.

Not everyone who viewed the image necessarily believed that the man pictured in the rough footage was Tate Morley. Enfield himself was uncertain; Detective Brennan was hesitant to agree, as well.

Jackson, however, believed, as Thor did, that the man definitely could be the escaped convict and serial killer. He could easily change his appearance with different hair lengths and colors, facial hair and hats, glasses and all kinds of accessories.

Thankfully, Enfield and Brennan had enough faith in Thor to see to it that the man’s picture was plastered all over the local news, with the warning that he was known to change his appearance.

Thor looked at the footage over and over again—to the point where he thought even Jackson might lose patience—and yet Jackson and Clara sat with him in silence as he did so.

The problem was that no matter how many times they watched the tape, the man managed to disappear.

Not into thin air, but into a large group of people who arrived for what had apparently been some kind of a pharmaceutical convention. He was obscured by a large cardboard cutout of a smiling young doctor pointing to a host of reasons to take a new drug.

The group went by, pausing in front of the man, laughing and chatting for a moment, and then proceeding to the check-in counter.

And then the man was gone. Whether he had headed out of the hotel or toward the elevators, they just couldn’t see.

His disappearance was frustrating; at the least, Thor could be grateful that his superiors believed in him enough to warn the public about the possible appearance of a serial killer in their midst. Of course, the Seward population—actually the Alaskan population—was already on alert.

Before they left the station, Sally gave them her office space so that they could videoconference with Angela Hawkins at the Krewe headquarters.

She was perfect for Jackson, Thor thought. A woman who appeared to be extremely competent and, best of all, not just attuned to what he did with his life, but totally a part of it.

“I’m going through everything,” Angela said over the computer screen. “It’s difficult, because we’re tracing some calls through the routers. And his mail! My God, you wouldn’t believe the amount of women out there who write to men in prison! They think they’re the ones who can change them, or they’re the ones who understand them. I swear to you, we’ll get through all the letters and calls as quickly as possible. Luckily Will Chan is working in the office, and you know how great he is with computers and film, and people who are trying to hide with disguises or pay-as-you-go phones. We need a little time, though—please bear with us.”

“Of course,” Thor murmured. “Grateful that you’re there.”

“Thanks,” she said brightly. “And I’m grateful that you’re there—Jackson has talked about you quite a bit.”

“Scary,” Thor said.

Angela laughed. “All good. Anyway, I’ll do nothing else but this until I have something for you,” she promised.

“Angela, what about Marc Kimball?”

Thor hadn’t realized that Clara Avery was as close as she was until she spoke; neither, apparently, had Jackson.