Grave Instinct

THIRTEEN

The same night 11:45 P.M.

Jessica and her skeletal team were working around the clock now that the AOC files were available to them. The photo of Kenyon, provided by Mrs. Emily Kenyon, cooperating with local FBI in New Jersey, was immediately used to place features on the phantom, and now he looked out from the FBI's Most Wanted website. By tomorrow morning, his image would be duplicated and sent out across the country, putting his likeness on every TV and newsstand and post office as a suspect in the Skull-digger murders.

Jessica stared into the screen image of Dr. Grant Kenyon in suit and tie. For all the world, he looked normal and healthy, certainly far from a mad killer. There were no stones for eyes, no overhanging brow, no scars or misshapen features. In fact, he was handsome in his three-piece suit. Quite urbane, she thought. No one would guess him to be a brain cannibal. Nonetheless, everything pointed to Kenyon as the real Digger, who'd led them on this horrific chase.

Armed with the photograph of Kenyon and the make, model and the by-now-discarded license plate number of the van belonging to the missing doctor, Jessica believed for the first time that they actually had a bead on the right man, the real brain thief.

Among the names found on Cahil's subscribers according to AOC files was Grant Kenyon, using the handle of “Seeker.” His most recent online correspondences, some arguing with Cahil over statements and beliefs Daryl professed, some chatting with young people, had been from library terminals, making his contacts as he moved. These E-mails corresponded by time and place in or around the cities that the Skull-digger had visited and left victims. All indications pointed toward Kenyon.

A telephone call came through to the task force ready room. It was from authorities in New Orleans. Jessica put it on the speakerphone for all to hear. Two police officers had been shotgunned to death after giving chase to a dark green Chrysler '96 or '97 with a kidnap victim named Selese Montoya inside.

The report came two hours after the incident, from Field Agent Michael Sorrento, placed on conference call. Jessica informed Sorrento of their new suspect and that he need only go to the Most Wanted Web page. “You can toss that lousy sketch we've been using. It was way off.”

“ Did anyone get the license plate?” asked J.T., joining Jessica at the wall map, which they used to trace the killer's known movements.

“ One of the lost officers called in a partial number on a Georgia plate. Likely stolen during his time in Savannah,” replied Sorrento.

A look at the map showed how close New Orleans was to Mobile. J.T. said, “He's most likely switched out the plate with another one. His original plate is New Jersey 14H-555.” After shooting down two police officers, he's got to be feeling the heat,” replied Jessica. “He's got to find a hole to hide in.”

Sorrento in New Orleans said, “He has every cop in the city dedicated to one thing-locating that van and putting an end to his sorry ass. But he's got the hostage; abducted the woman right off the street.”

“ He's got to dispose of the van or disguise it again,” said Jessica.

Sorrento informed them that he had alerted local authorities along the I-10 corridor west of New Orleans with the description and last-known partial license number. “I'll get word out on the photo. We're canvassing all body shops in the manhunt for a van fitting the description.”

“ He's most likely to feed on his latest victim and dump the body before he attempts to rid himself of the van,” Jessica predicted. “He may dump the van with the body this time.”

“ We're on highest alert status,” Sorrento assured her. “Thanks for forwarding this creep's likeness. Have it up on my computer now. Too bad Labruto and Doyle didn't have more to go on. Maybe if they had

… who knows…”

“ I'm coming there, Agent Sorrento,” said Jessica. “I'll want to examine the bodies and be on hand when you apprehend this creep. He can't get far now.”

“ We'll get him,” Sorrento assured her.

She hung up and stared from Eriq to J.T. “John, find out whatever else you can about Grant Kenyon.” She then turned to Eriq and added, “And I want full support from our field office down there. Not like the last time I went to New Orleans on a case.”

“ You'll get full cooperation, Jess. And my apologies. You were right about this all along.”

Jessica was on her way out the door when J.T. shouted, “Hold on, Jess!” He pointed to Cahil's website on the computer screen, which he'd been monitoring for activity. The screen had come alive with a digitized image, that of a man struggling for consciousness, but not just any man. It was Grant Kenyon's live image being e-mailed to them. J.T. stammered. “It's him… I believe it's Grant Kenyon.”

“ The Seeker is finally checking in?” she asked, rushing to J.T.'s side. Eriq joined them. They were treated to a glimpse of Kenyon, out cold, lying against a bloodstained pillow in a sparse room with only a bed and a nightstand, possibly a hotel room. It appeared the camera was moving, all the angles going from side to side, up and down-sometimes jarringly so.

“ He looks as if he's on something,” said J.T.

“ Blood stains on the pillow.”

“ Who's photographing him?” asked J.T.

“ He's trying to say something,” added Eriq. “His lips are moving.”

Then the image was gone. Jessica said, “What's going on? Where's it coming from? Is he sending the image?”

“ No, it's another subscriber, calls himself SquealsLoud,” replied J.T.

“ Run him down, J.T. We've got to know who that is.”

J.T. ran the image back. Eriq asked, “Could this have been on a delay, a timer? He's fucking with us.”

“ No… no, that was live, happening now,” J.T. in-formed him.

Eriq asked, “You supposing this other Cahil groupie has Kenyon and what? He's holding out for some sort of reward?”

“ He's got to contact us again. Meanwhile, we'll be tracing him,” replied J.T..

“ Whoever has him seems nervous. Couldn't hold the camera steady,” said Jessica. “Yeah, it was shaky.”

“ Replay it,” said Eriq.

By now everyone in the room had gathered around J.T.'s seat, craning for a look at Kenyon.

J.T. replayed the incoming message. They watched the short clip again.

Eriq said, “He's not doing anything but lying there, muttering to himself.”

“ I'm sure I can hack back to this guy, and if he's in the AOC files we've downloaded, we'll get him,” said J.T.

“ OK,” said Jessica. “Run a geographic list for anyone on our final list who lives in or around New Orleans. Right now, we only know of two-this Wells guy and Swantor. Get someone in Mississippi to visit Elixir, and someone in Louisiana to pay a call to this Grand Isle to check in with Swantor's residence. See if all is kosher there.”

“ But neither Swantor nor Wells are on our single-complaint list,” countered Eriq, holding it up.

“ At the moment, they're the only two we know of with residences in or near New Orleans.”

Eriq said, “Wouldn't it be just poetic to learn that his latest abductee is shooting the footage?”

“ Too good to be true,” she replied.

“ More likely, he's hooked up with another psycho user on Daryl's loony website, and judging from the blood, they didn't quite get along,” added J.T.

“ Perhaps a like-minded psycho,” replied Jessica. “We know how many have gravitated to Cahil's website. It's like a fulcrum for fanatics.”

Eriq said, “The two witnesses to this guy's crimes have said he acted alone. So maybe he did hook up with another Cahil nutcase, and they had a falling out.”

J.T. added, “I've seen some E-mails between this Squeals Loud character and the Seeker, and so if he is in the Orleans area…”

“ We need to check for anyone who got cozy with Kenyon in the chat rooms, who happens to live in and around New Orleans,” said Jessica.

“ Damned AOC,” said Eriq. “We might've shut this guy down before he killed again if they'd cooperated with us.”

Midnight

Grant Kenyon awoke feeling groggy, disoriented, drugged even… like one of his own victims. He awoke to the nightmare he had gotten himself into. He awoke to the realization of being shackled by one ankle to the wall of a cabin on a boat that, presumably, was traveling along the stretch of islands and canals that made inroads to the Mississippi Peninsula.

He worked to recall what had happened to him. He had driven to and searched for his destination, one he had counted on should things get too complicated or hair-raising. Killing two NOPD cops certainly qualified, so he had located a quiet cemetery, parked and found his laptop computer. He hadn't used it in a long time, and he had subscribed to another server on it, wanting to keep his Internet tracks as blurred as possible. He now used it to make contact with Dr. Jervis Swantor.

He had been lucky. Swantor even joked in his reply:

SQUEALSLOUD: I was expecting you sooner. Come to the address on the screen. You will find I live on my yacht.

SEEKER: A yacht. You said you lived on a boat.

SQUEALSLOUD: Only thing I got from the divorce. She got the rest.

After signing off, Phillip insisted they feed on the girl first and dump the body in the graveyard.

Grant put his foot down. “No! This van's too damned hot. We've got to find safe shelter and devise a plan to get rid of the van, the woman and us-you and me.”

He tried to remember more… what had happened. How he had become a captive himself, and what had happened to Selese Montoya. But the drugs wore him down and he again fell into a deep slumber. Phillip tried to rouse him, but nothing could, not now.

He had a vague sense that someone was nearby, but he had seen no one. He also had a vague sense that the camera mounted high above, across the room, was running, capturing his image. He had a vague sense he was in some pain and bleeding from a head wound. But all his vague fears were overwhelmed by the drugs in his system.

While Jessica was on an FBI Cessna headed for New Orleans, back at Quantico headquarters, J.T. began the daunting task of tracking Dr. Grant Kenyon-the Seeker- through time and cyberspace, thanks to AOC's now-downloaded files. He kept a list of the men and women that Kenyon had shown an interest in and they in him. J.T. was amazed when he came across the name of Anna Gleason, first victim of the Digger.

He instantly asked Dana to track the user list sent by AOC to quickly determine if any other victim-other than Gleason-had used Cahil's list, while he himself searched on for information on SquealsLoud.

Dana announced that a second victim came up, the Winston-Salem woman, Miriam McCloud. He instantly contacted Eriq and then Jessica with the news. They had discussed the possibility before, that the killer could be enticing his victims via the Web. Victim families had been asked questions designed to determine this, but here was the definitive proof that at least two of his victims had accessed Cahil's website.

J.T. continued to search for contacts Kenyon had made in and around New Orleans. It appeared that the mad doctor made friends easily and frequently over the Net. While his other victims' names did not appear on the list, he had made contacts with women and men in all the areas he'd visited.

Over the phone, J.T. now told Jessica, “This fellow calls himself Mr. SquealsLoud. Registered to a PO box in a place called Steeple Top, Louisiana, fifty miles from New Orleans. Name is Mark Sweet. Sure is easier to locate information now. We'll have to wake up the postmaster in Steeple Top. Get an address on this PO box for Sweet.”

“ Get back to me when you have it.”

On the plane, Jessica tried to get some sleep. Her thoughts drifted like a ghost ship over a foggy ocean until she fixed on a single boat named Uneven Odds. That was the boat Amanda Manning's body had turned up on. Then she envisioned another, far more spectacular boat, a yacht with beautiful running lights named Lands End. She thought of how persistent Jervis Swantor been about visiting the body. She pictured the man's large yacht in Jacksonville, thought again of his inordinate interest in the case and recalled how the live computer image of Dr. Grant Kenyon had been bobbing.

He's on a boat… perhaps Swantor's boat! she suddenly realized. Swantor had listed his home address as Grande Isle, Louisiana. Cahil's website was Isle of Brain. Could it be coincidence or more than that? Could Kenyon be a prisoner on Swantor's boat?

She immediately telephoned Lorena Combs in Jacksonville, waking her at home. “I need to know what Swantor listed on his manifest as his next port of call after leaving Jacksonville.”

“ Neighbors and the harbormaster told me he was off to Cancun. I can check it for you. What's up?”

She informed Combs about the live feed and her hunch that it had originated aboard a boat.

Combs replied, “The man made my skin crawl, but he checked out clean.”

“ I got bad vibes off him, too, if you remember.”

“ I'll get over to the marina, check it out firsthand. I'll get back to you if anything's changed.”

Grant Kenyon, trying to shake off the latest drugs injected into his arm by SquealsLoud Swantor, tried desperately to piece together how he had been so blind to his captor's mad plan. On meeting Jervis Swantor in the flesh, Kenyon had quickly sized him up. The other man's size and weight, his skin color, the same blue color of eyes and brown hair as his own-it all played out beautifully until Grant got careless.

Soon after shot gunning to death those two cops, Grant's likeness had unaccountably gone out to the world, radio announcers giving details of his appearance down to a mole on his upper lip. Undoubtedly, the TV news would also have his likeness. By tomorrow morning, his picture would be on everyone's kitchen table. On seeing Swantor's general resemblance Kenyon believed he could use Swantor as a body double, should he have to fake his own death-at least long enough to throw off authorities when the time arose, and that time had come. He needed only a little sleight of hand to put such a plan to work. Anyone discovering a pair of torched dead and hopefully long-decayed bodies in his van, one at the wheel, one chained in the rear, might easily be led to the conclusion that he had discovered the body of the Digger and his last victim. Phillip liked the plan. Grant even thought of sending the fiery van over the side of a cliff and into the Mississippi River.

He had had ideas of taking Swantor's yacht before moving on. So he had followed Swantor's directions down to the parking lot at the marina, and next found his way to the Windjammer yacht of Jervis Swantor, his marina address and the name of his boat, Lands End.

Grant had hesitated, for a moment fearful of Swantor's reception, wondering if it was a setup. He had circled for an hour, dangerously so, desperately anxious about the police patrols that were surely looking for him and his van. In the rear, he still held his victim shackled and drugged, but he had had no time to feed on her. Phillip would have to wait.

He went up to the yacht and rang the bell and the cabin door quickly opened. Jervis Swantor beamed with a wide smile and told him to come inside. “So, you are the Seeker. I'm delighted you've come. Mi casa es su casa, and all that, as they say. Anyone with the chutzpah to do what you've done, imagine it. The Skull-digger here with me.”

“ What do you mean? I'm not the Digger.”

“ Your face is plastered all over the tube, Kenyon. Yes, they've got your name, too.”

“ Jeez-us!”

“ It's wrong to worry about me, my friend,” Swantor assured him. “If I only had your guts, I'd be doing the same thing. I tell you, I'm so… touched that you've come to me for help and shelter. I'd hoped we'd have met before now. I just can't tell you.” He took Grant's hand and patted him on the back and insisted, “Sit down, relax, your secret's safe on Lands' End. Have a drink, relax. I waited for you in Florida, but you didn't show up.”

“ You really feel this way?”

“ Absolutely. I admire you.” Swantor smiled wide, his eyes beaming as if meeting his hero.

“ In that case, I need you to help me outside to… to ditch the van. It's hot.”

“ Yeah, nightly news is going on about how two cops were shot tonight.”

“ I need to stow the van,” he repeated.

“ I'll take care of it entirely. You come inside and find your bed. It's got to have been a trying night for you, and it's getting rather late.”

Grant then sized up Swantor, finding him a bit larger than himself, beefier. He thought of how he needed to find the right moment to gain control over Swantor. He wondered if the fire would remove the fingerprints. In the middle of his back, he carried the gun, but he wanted Swantor's death to appear to be the Skull-digger's suicide. However, he might have to improvise and modify his plans as he went. Aside from the gun, he had a ready needle with Demoral in his pants pocket, should it go that way. Should he have to overpower the larger man. But first he needed him to step out to the van.

He awaited the exact right moment to attack Swantor.

“ I've closely watched your development, Grant,” Jervis said to him, “and I guessed you to be the Digger given your sudden absence from the website, along with those girls you were always flirting with, some of whom also disappeared abruptly from the Net. You were busy with the real thing… Or should I say the 'Rheil' thing. Nifty how you sent that Island of Rheil tissue to Cahil to implicate him. You do know they've had him in custody for the killings, right? You really should have laid low after that, but not you… you're something else.”

“ Yes, I guessed as much about Cahil even before the public knew.”

“ An educated assumption.” Jervis had ushered him belowdecks, and he now pushed open a door and pointed, saying, “This cabin is yours, if you want it, for as long as you want it. We'll set off tonight, Cancun perhaps. Get you out of the country. Put some distance between you and New Orleans at least. Whataya say?”

“ And in return?”

“ Showing is better than telling. Come with me.” Swantor turned his back and led the way to the midsection of the yacht where a large living-room space abounded with state-of-the-art computer equipment, several screens sending forth images at once. “It's my control room, you might say.”

“ This is fantastic. Incredible.” Grant and Phillip already thought of it as their own-as soon as they ridded themselves of Swantor.

“ I have the capability of beaming all over the world any words or images I choose, and I can do it from international waters. I've got a stop tracer on my hard drive that's stupendous. I've bought myself a new identity, and I'm ready to start my own Web page, and you, sir, are my star- America's Most Wanted.”

“ Star? What exactly do you expect of me?” Grant walked about, staring at the electronics, awed by the display of power, but confused by the man.

“ All I ask is that you share with me and my audience, what it's like.”

“ What it's like?”

“ To be the Skull-digger! Feeding on human brain tissue. In feet, I'd like to film you in the act.”

“ Film me?” “Doing the operation, yes, and feeding. I'll provide you with the means.”

Grant had swallowed hard at that point. This guy's crazier than Phillip, he thought. “It's a deal, but I need your help with-”

“ The woman you abducted from the city? She's still alive? Perfect.”

“ She's in the van, along with my tools.”

“ Yes, you will need a costar. Don't worry. I'll assist you in discarding the van, and I'll arrange for you to feed on your latest victim, so long as I can film it, you see. By the way, what's her name? I think viewers will want to know her name.”

“ Selese.”

“ Lovely… yes. I think we should get her situated in here first”-he opened a door opposite the room offered to Grant-”and then we can get your tools inside, and then I'll take care of the van.”

“ I think we should take care of the van as soon as possible,” Grant replied.

“ Of course, agreed. We can do the filming later.”

Grant immediately replied, “Of course, you're right. We transport the girl here, and then get rid of the van.” Grant frowned and decided that Phillip had to have the Montoya woman aboard the boat, and that authorities would be left with Swantor's body alone. Phillip wasn't about to give up Selese until his hunger was satisfied.

Amendment one to Grant's well thought out plan.

Jervis Swantor and he had then gone to the van and, careful to see there were no witnesses, they took hold of the still-drowsy Selese and led her, dragging her heels, to the yacht.

“ How're we going to keep her from escaping?” asked Grant. “I'm prepared for that, too,” Swantor replied. He led the girl into what was to be her cabin. There he chained her hands to the metal-framed bed. As he worked the handcuffs, he asked Grant to help him with her ankles.

While Grant worked the bonds, he let his guard down around Jervis for a moment as the other man stood and went to the door, saying, “I know of a road that will take us to a backwash of the river, a perfect place to ditch the van.”

“ And you,” Phillip said only to Grant.

It was then that Grant and Phillip felt a crushing blow to the back of their shared head, and all turned to black.