Deadly Fate (13 page)

Naturally, they wanted her to drop everything and come home.

She convinced them that she couldn't, that she was doing well, and that as soon as the
Fate
had sailed a few times with the new show, they had to come aboard.

“Personnel,” Amelia murmured when Clara had hung up. “I'm personnel for a different company.”

“Amelia, I'm sorry. I had to say something to my parents.”

Amelia nodded. “My mom died when I was kid. I haven't seen my father in fifteen years. Bet he'll be crying for me now, though. That will put him on the news.”

“I truly am sorry.”

“Guess it's best that there's no one out there to really care,” Amelia said. “I never even had any real girlfriends. Natalie was the closest—we were both ambitious. That made us pals, I guess.”

“Amelia...” Clara hesitated, feeling ridiculous. Oh, God! If she ever told any of this to a shrink, they'd lock her up forever.

But...

“Amelia, we're friends,” Clara said. “We didn't have time to know each other well, but we're friends.”

“Think we could have talked about guys and done pedicures together and stuff like that?” Amelia asked her.

“Sure.”

“I should have done things like that,” Amelia murmured.

There was a sharp rap on Clara's door. “Hey, Clara! It's Simon!”

“Hang on, two minutes!” she called, hurrying over to her drawer for clothing. “Friend of mine!” she told Amelia, and she paused to smile. “Another friend,” she said softly, and ran quickly back into the bathroom to dress.

When she emerged, however, she didn't see Amelia. She was glad in a way; she wasn't sure that she could keep Simon from seeing how weirdly she was behaving if Amelia had remained and kept talking to her.

She opened the door. Simon looked at her expectantly. “I had to pass muster with the guy in the hall,” he told her. “You okay?”

“I'm fine. Come on in.”

Simon did so.

“Everyone is as jumpy as Tennessee Williams's
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
!” he said, finding a perch at the foot of the bed—almost where Amelia had just been. “And you're worrying me,” he told her.

“I'm worrying you? Why?” Clara asked him.

She had just met Simon when he'd joined the chorus of
Les Miz
on the
Destiny
—his first chorus role, one he'd never gotten to perform. He had a really nice voice, good movement, and she'd been thrilled when he'd been cast in
Annabelle Lee
.

He had a great look—long, lean and thoughtful—which boded well for his career. He was caring, too—he'd taken some major chances trying to save Alexi on the
Destiny.

“Well, Amelia Carson was really gorgeous—and I see you that way, too,” he told her.

She smiled. “Thanks. But look around. There are a lot of pretty young women in the area.”

“I don't know. I mean, we're associated with all this. It was the day we all thought we were just doing
Vacation USA
that this all happened.” He sighed deeply. “I guess I'm glad our new girl isn't here yet,” he murmured. “Long dark hair—cute as a button.”

“Simon, don't worry.”

“Don't worry. We were just on a ship with the Archangel killer!”

“Yes, but...that was different.”

“Yeah. We're not on a ship. Alexi isn't here. I guess I'm scared because... I don't know. I was watching television. The reporters caught Misty Blaine coming out of the police station. She's terrified! She said so. They have cops all over now, though, at the Nordic Lights Hotel. And she's...she's kind of a frazzled-looking little thing. Like Marc Kimball's assistant. Man, someone should tell that guy that slavery and indentured servants went out over a century ago! Jerk, huh?”

“Yes, an amazing jerk,” Clara agreed.

“Good. I was afraid you might be unable to withstand his adoration, and money, power, all that rot.”

“Simon! I'm not that shallow.”

“Shallow? Hell, you endure a guy like Marc Kimball for a year, get a divorce and walk away. Now, I guess that's shallow. But what good business sense.”

“I have a job—I'm a lucky actress. Not a household name, but working in theater, which I love. I don't need a fortune.”

“Yes, but...well, anyone could use a fortune, right?”

She shook her head. “Simon, he is a creepy jerk of a man. I will remind you of this conversation when creepy women are after you, okay?”

“How creepy?”

“Argh!”

He grinned. “Well, at least I made you smile. Seriously, though, watch out for that guy.”

“I will. I promise. I don't trust Marc Kimball at all.”

“Want to have dinner with Ralph and Larry and me and talk about people?”

She grinned at that. “Sure. I'm here until the Feds go back.”

Simon's smile faded. “Why are you going back? You should be here with us—recuperating, as the bosses see it.”

“I just feel that I can help.”

He bit his lip, lowering his head. “You hang on to the FBI guys with everything you got, okay?”

She nodded.

“Okay, downstairs in an hour?”

“Downstairs in an hour,” she said.

He left; she looked out in the hall. Her officer was still there. He'd gotten a chair, at least. He smiled and waved to her. She smiled and waved, too.

Turning back into her room, she almost walked straight back into Amelia.

“I really like him,” Amelia said. “Wish I could have gotten to know him.”

“Simon is a good guy,” Clara assured her. She wished, however, that Amelia would have stayed gone awhile longer; she needed some private time.

Her wish was going to be fulfilled—the ghost began to fade.

“Oh!” Amelia said.

“What's wrong?”

“I don't know. I just... I fade sometimes and I think I sleep and... I really can't control it yet,” she told Clara.

“Then you need rest,” Clara said.

“I'm a ghost!” Amelia said indignantly.

“Maybe even ghosts need rest!”

Amelia didn't reply. She was gone. Clara tossed herself back on her bed and closed her eyes.

She really needed a little rest herself.

* * *

The task force meeting took place at the offices of the state police. There were dozens of officers in attendance along with representatives from every conceivable law enforcement agency and the Coast Guard.

Special Director Enfield was there, and so was Detective Brennan.

There was a fine air of determination in the room. Every officer just wanted answers, and the killer caught.

They began with what they knew about the murder of Natalie Fontaine. Natalie was last seen the evening before her death in the lobby meeting with her crew, including Amelia Carson, Becca Marle, Nate Mahoney and Thomas Marchant. She had seemed excited—according to the surviving members of her crew, it was because they had just returned from “setting” Black Bear Island for the day to come.

The call about a commotion had come at just about 5:00 a.m.—minutes after the desk clerk had briefly seen Amelia Carson on the phone in the lobby.

The only cameras at the Nordic Lights Hotel were in the lobby and at the ATM.

Every boat captain at every point was being queried about Amelia Carson; the captain who had gotten her across to the island could not be found. Speculation was that the killer did indeed have a boat and that he perhaps got her to the island, strangled her, removed her to the pine forest for bisection and then displayed her where she was found.

The medical examiner, Dr. Andropov, who had been the lead on both bodies, stated the women had been strangled and were dead before being decapitated and bisected. Before being strangled to death, they'd both been struck with a blunt object, the nature of that object unknown. The tool used on the bodies after death, he believed, had been either a custom or specialized spade or woodsman's ax or hatchet; a broad weapon with a honed blade. He displayed various sketches of what he believed the weapon to be, emphasizing the fact that it wasn't easy to remove a head—it required a sharp instrument and a fair amount of strength—and that it was even more difficult to cut a human being in half.

Detective Brennan reported on his interviews, a member of each forensic crew reported on their findings or lack thereof, and Thor gave a report of what they'd discovered on the island.

“Can you tell us anything else?” someone asked Dr. Andropov.

“Yeah,” he said. “This killer is one sick son of a bitch.”

“Who doesn't like reality TV!” someone else cracked.

“Taking it to the extreme!” another officer said.

“Yeah,” Andropov said quietly. “Problem is, this guy isn't the kind who stops. Whether reality TV triggered him or not, I've been around long enough to know that it's not like shooting a pal in a bar because he changed the station on the sports screen. This kind of killer—he keeps going. Until he is caught.”

There was silence.

It was Thor's turn to speak.

Since the ME and forensic members had done a fair job on reporting the facts, he described hearing what sounded like something falling against the house, their search in the darkness—and then their search by the light, which allowed them to discover that the killer had used “bear” snowshoes to escape the house and changed them in the pines, and that the discovery had led them at last to the small clearing where the murderer had bisected Amelia Carson.

“Naturally, our technical crews are doing their best to determine the movements of all of the people on the island when Amelia Carson's body was found, as well. A number of law enforcement officers scoured the surrounding areas after the discovery of the body and no one was found, though that doesn't mean someone may not still be on the island. The timing means it is possible for one killer to have murdered Natalie Fontaine, called Amelia Carson to set up a meeting, gotten out to Black Bear Island and killed her. On the other hand, it's equally possible that we have two killers working in tandem. Therefore, it's incredibly important that we do know where everyone involved was at any time. While we all know that eyewitness reports can be shaky at best, we need anything that we can get. The information is out—the killings were so horrendous and so many civilians were involved, the media caught hold quickly. Townspeople and tourists will be frightened. All information that we have is being shared nationwide and, of course, with our Canadian neighbors. Please, no matter how small any piece of information may seem, we need it reported. We're keeping joint force members—police and FBI—out on the island at this time, and the Coast Guard is continuing to monitor the shores of the island.”

An officer raised a hand. Thor acknowledged him.

He introduced himself as George Hardwick and said, “We're all aware that the Fairy Tale Killer murdered a doctor and escaped from Kansas. We've heard there is speculation that he's here. Do you have any reason—of which we're not aware—to think this man might have come to Alaska? From what we've seen, there's no indication that the man was ever in Alaska or knows anything about Seward or Black Bear Island.”

“There is no forensic reason at this time to believe that the Fairy Tale Killer has come here,” Thor said. “Kansas is a long way away. The man wouldn't have had a full day to reach Alaska and he's being sought by law enforcement agencies everywhere. Our victims' display doesn't resemble the displays of the Fairy Tale Killer in any way.” He hesitated. “However, in theory, it is possible that he's come here. It is possible that his end goal in displaying his previous victims wasn't to make them beautiful, but to cause sensationalism and earn a moniker. I believe the press has already dubbed this killer the ‘Media Monster.' We all know that talk on the street compares the positioning of Miss Carson on Black Bear Island to that of the Black Dahlia—impossible to see her without that image coming to mind. As to Natalie's murder, we think he had something in mind. Unfortunately, there have been a number of decapitation murders in history, so we're not sure if he is or isn't going for a theme that has to do with history, or perhaps movies—or gruesome historical murders that have been portrayed in movies.”

“You mean, you really think this guy—this Tate Morley guy—might have gotten up here?” another officer asked.

“No, there's nothing that says that it is him. But, there's also nothing that says that it's not him. At this point, anything is speculation. We have to keep our eyes open, be exceptionally vigilant and, yes, warn young women,” Thor said.

“We'll be doing that in a press conference this afternoon,” Enfield told the assembled crowd. “Right now, we're keeping eyes on the Wickedly Weird Production Company, and—to a lesser extent—the folks who were to be interviewed on the island. Unless all three men with the theatrical company suddenly became sickly homicidal together, they're in the clear—background checks on the three come up with nothing but clean slates. We're keeping an eye on them for their safety.”

“You have all received sheets on Tate Morley. They have gone out across the country,” Thor said. “He is capable of being a physical chameleon. He escaped one of his scenes dressed as a nun, one as a clown, and another as simply stoned out. Again, there's nothing that suggests he did come here, but, again, be vigilant.”

When the meeting was over, they spoke with Brennan and Enfield briefly.

Enfield believed that Thor was right; they needed a representative on the island from now until it was determined to be unnecessary.

“Get techs checking up on Marc Kimball for me, too, please, will you, Director?” Thor asked.

“Kimball?” Enfield was surprised.

“He's back on the island,” Jackson said.