Deadly Fate (Krewe of Hunters #19)(77)

“At the moment,” Jackson said quietly, “I will be calling the shots, Mr. Kimball. I’m afraid that your property is involved in all this, whether or not you are directly involved yourself.”

“My God! How dare you—” Kimball gasped, staring at Jackson.

“It is what it is, Mr. Kimball,” Jackson said.

“I’ll have your badge,” Kimball said.

“You must do what you must. But, for now, really—don’t do more than sneeze without my permission. Magda, Justin, the officer will accompany you to the kitchen. We’ll just enjoy sitting here together.”

Kimball was quiet for a minute as the officer and the Crowley couple headed off.

“I don’t know why I’m paying the price for these horrid people!” he muttered.

“Having spent some time with you, I’m not sure how we’re horrid people at all,” Nate said evenly, his eyes on the man.

“You’ll be off this island—off my property for good—the moment I can get an officer to make it happen,” Kimball assured him.

“It will be our pleasure,” Tommy assured him.

Clara said quietly, “Please, we’re in the middle of really horrible and confusing circumstances. If we’re all civil, we’ll get through the hours here far more quickly.”

“Just what is the plan?” Kimball asked Jackson. “We’ll all be prisoners here together because that bitch of a woman decided to create another of her horror scenarios? This is ridiculous. I am calling my lawyer—and the mayor. And the senator. And—”

“Mr. Kimball, I’m expecting that my coworker will back with answers in a few hours. Hopefully, Miss Marle was angry—staged the scene and perhaps even panicked about our reactions. If not—someone was in the room with her. Someone has her now. And we’ll hope for the best. My next step is to see that you’re all brought in for questioning. We can hold each or any of you for up to twenty-four hours for questioning before charging you—more, under certain circumstances, if necessary. Mr. Kimball, I’m sure you’re not accustomed to the living facilities provided at our establishments.”

“There just needs to be an end to this!” Kimball muttered.

“Yes,” Jackson agreed.

“Maybe I can help with breakfast,” Clara said. She stood quickly.

“I have to pee,” Kimball muttered. “You going to hold my hand while I go, Special Agent Crow?”

“Please, Mr. Kimball, feel free to use the facilities as needed,” Jackson said. “We will, of course, be just outside the door.”

Clara fled to the kitchen.

It was sad to leave the one group for the other. The police officer stood with his arms crossed over his chest. Magda was at the stove, working on a large batch of eggs.

Justin manned the toaster.

“Can I do anything?” Clara offered.

“Grab some table settings,” Magda said.

“She’s a guest,” Justin said.

“No guests no more—just all of us in a cage,” Magda said. “Go ahead, Miss Avery. There’s a pack of us here. Don’t mind you helping out.”

Clara nodded and made a quick count. Jackson, Emmy, Kimball, Tommy and Nate. She knew that Magda and Justin wouldn’t sit at the table. Nor would the police officer on duty eat with them. The most any of the police had taken while on duty was a cup of coffee.

She was setting the plates on the table when she heard a commotion in the living room; moving out there, she saw that the forensic team had arrived—along with another officer. They all had little to say; they headed straight for the room that had been Becca’s—and the scene that had been created there.

Jackson had apparently just spoken with them; he beckoned to Clara to follow him.

They went into the office.

“I’ve got Angela online,” Jackson told her. “I got a message from her. I thought you might want to be with me for this.”

Clara hurried over to the computer screen. “Thank you!” she told Jackson.

He reached over her, keying in what was needed; Angela’s face appeared.

She looked tired; she had probably been up as long, or longer, than any of them. She offered Clara a nod and said, “I want you know that I’ve reached Thor. He’s on police radio and I’ve gotten through to him fine.”

“Okay, why? What’s happened?” Clara asked, looking from the screen to Jackson.

“We traced some of the letters at last. There are no cameras at the mailbox facility where the bulk of letters—between Tate Morley and who we believe to be his accomplice—were going. But our agents there found a survivalist who takes pictures of anyone using the same mail company. A kook, I’m assuming, or, who knows? Maybe they believe Big Brother should be watching. I’m amazed we got anything, but...we sent someone persuasive. No corkscrews—just a lot of charm,” Angela said. “Clara, Tate Morley has been carrying on a letter correspondence—romantic correspondence—with Becca Marle. She called herself Jane. They’ve been exchanging letters for more than a year.”

It took Clara a moment to speak. “Was that research? Was she hoping to start her own reality show? Or—was she crazy? One of those women smitten with a killer?”

“We don’t know her thinking on the matter,” Angela said. “She wrote to other convicted killers, so maybe it was research. But, her most ardent letters were to Tate Morley, so...he was either her main focus of research or...or the one who responded to her best. And she is an accomplice.”