“Since the killer struck in several cities and we’re going to learn who, on the Destiny, was in those cities at the relevant times, we’ll be able to concentrate on those particular people.” He looked at Jude, studying him. “Good call on the ship. Makes perfect sense. Ships contract crew and entertainment for specified periods of time. Crew and entertainers might work on other ships, too. A great way to get around port cities—and kill.” Jude rose; Jackson hadn’t given him any kind of satisfactory answer regarding Alexi Cromwell.
“Stay close to Ms. Cromwell,” Jackson told him. “She might be our key.”
Key to insanity! Jude thought. But there was no point in saying anything else.
He’d been dismissed.
“Good night, Jackson,” he said as he stepped into the deserted hallway.
The ship was quiet for the night, although somewhere, members of the crew were still working.
He prayed that a killer wasn’t doing so, as well.
* * *
“At least we’ve narrowed down the possible number of needles in a haystack,” Jackson said. He sipped from a steaming mug of coffee. Jude had met him at the café on the Promenade Deck. There were a number of tables, spread out a fair distance apart. It was a great area for people-watching, while carrying on a conversation without being overheard.
That morning they were attired in outfits acquired on board. Jude was in navy blue board shorts and a short-sleeved flower-patterned cotton shirt; Jackson wore khakis and a T-shirt with an image of Janice Joplin on the front. Jude figured they looked like the tourists they were pretending to be—or perhaps “bigwigs” disguised as tourists...
Jude nodded as they both studied their phones.
Their task had been made easier than it might have been. Computer programs had allowed tech support workers at the home office to narrow down who, of the several thousand crew and passengers, had been where when. With the majority of the passengers, it must have been pretty straightforward. They’d been in their home states working—until it was time for their vacations. With those who traveled for work, the task was somewhat harder. Their movements had to be traced through hotel and restaurant bills. Same with those who were independently wealthy.
Big Brother might not always be watching—mainly because Big Brother wasn’t interested most of the time, Jude thought wryly—but Big Brother was capable of a great deal of research.
“Angela went through every report personally,” Jackson explained, perusing the list. “She’s meticulous.”
“Your wife, right? Unusual that you’re in the same unit,” Jude said. There was no problem with agents being partners or married, but they were generally required to be in separate units.
Jackson glanced up. “It’s different with the Krewe. Angela and I met when the Krewe of Hunters was first formed. The unofficial name is the Krewe because, as I’m sure you’ve assumed, our first case was in New Orleans.”
“Yes, of course. I know about that,” Jude said.
Jackson returned to studying the list on his phone.
Jude studied his own list. Jackson Crow didn’t act as if he wished he’d managed to have one of his own people on this case.
But neither did he see him as a particularly valuable asset. Or at least that was what Jude sensed.
“So the possible suspects,” Jackson began.
“Passengers Roger Antrim and Hank Osprey,” Jude said.
“And we have an interesting list of entertainers.” Jackson took another sip of his coffee. “Larry Hepburn, Ralph Martini, Simon Green—and head of entertainment, Bradley Wilcox.” He nodded at Jude. “Your friend from the piano bar should be able to help us as far as the entertainers go.”
For a moment Jude wished he had real printouts—paper he could actually write on, the old-fashioned way—and wasn’t working on his cell phone. He refrained from saying so to Jackson.
“Everyone on this list could have been in each city where the murders took place,” Jackson went on. “These are the entertainers who were between contracts. As far as the two passengers go, both are businessmen with deep pockets. And judging by the number of times they’ve sailed on Celtic American ships, there’s every chance they were in the port cities where the previous victims were killed.”
“Wow,” Jude murmured, reading. “The list also includes the ship’s head of security, our friend, David Beach.”
“I’d put him toward the bottom of the list,” Jackson said. “The man has an impeccable background.”
“Which may or may not mean anything.”
“No, but because of his size—”
“He’d be noticed wherever he went,” Jackson agreed. “And the last one we have here is the cruise director, Jensen Hardy.”
“Two passengers, Roger Antrim and Hank Osprey. One security man, David Beach. No regular crew members—dishwashers, stewards, mechanics. Three entertainers. Ralph Martini, Simon Green and Larry Hepburn. Plus the head of entertainment, Bradley Wilcox. And last, but for the moment we won’t say least, one cruise director, Jensen Hardy.”
“Eight suspects,” Jackson said. “I’ll talk to Beach. We’ll give him the list—minus his own name, of course. And we’ll keep a sharp eye on him, but he and his staff need to be on the lookout. You should go and see Alexi Cromwell again. Actually, I’d like to speak with her, too.”
Jude stared down at Angela Hawkins’s report, which included pictures of the suspects. “I don’t believe any of these men are the one we followed on board,” he said.
“No?” Jackson shrugged. “Ghost or not, I haven’t really seen his face yet. I don’t get it. I don’t get what he was wearing. It wasn’t a mask. But he was disguised.”
“A killer would want to disguise himself,” Jude said.
“Well, we’ll see, won’t we? How’s your cell working out here?”
“I’m set for international. Should be fine.”
“Let’s head out. Don’t forget, I want to talk to Ms. Cromwell later.”
“We can arrange that,” Jude said.
“All right. I’ll go chase down David Beach. You see what you can do with the entertainer group and we’ll send for more info on our two passengers.” Jackson rose. Like many law enforcement officers in the field, he’d taken his coffee black and finished two cups.
Jude picked up his own mug of black coffee and finished the last couple of swallows. He rose, too. “I’ll find Ms. Cromwell. But all in all, you might do better in dealing with her. I’m not sure she was...comfortable with my response to her last night.”
He was surprised Jackson smiled at that. “I think you’ll do fine.”
They parted ways.
Jude used the stairs to reach the crew and entertainment level of the ship. He paused at her door. The entertainers slept late, he assumed, since they worked late.
He raised a hand to knock on the door.
It opened.
Alexi Cromwell seemed very bright and attractive for someone who’d been up until at least 3 a.m. the night before.
She glanced up at him warily—and yet as if she’d expected him.
“Ms. Cromwell, I’d like your help,” he began.
“To meet the ghost?”
He didn’t answer that. Instead, he asked, “How well do you know your fellow entertainers—and do you ever get to know the passengers?”
“Some of the entertainers I know quite well, but some are here on their first contract with the Destiny. Maybe you’d like to meet a few of them yourself?” she suggested.
“I would, thank you,” he said.
“Come to the employee cafeteria and lounge with me. I can introduce you to some of the people I know.” She looked at him anxiously. “Do you really believe the killer is on the Destiny?”
He decided not to lie to her. “Y
es,” he said.
“Because your man—my ghost—came on the ship?”
“Yes.”
“But since you don’t believe me and you think this guy is alive... Maybe if that’s true, he was watching what was going on, and then realized he was late for the sailing.”
“No.”
“Why do you say that?”
“His behavior.”
“It’s still just a hunch.”
He didn’t admit that she was nearly right.
She smiled. “So you believe in gut feelings and not much else.”
He shook his head, almost smiling, but he wasn’t willing to discuss it. “My partner on this case wants to meet you, by the way. We’ll get to that later. Meanwhile, I’d appreciate going to the employee cafeteria with you.”
“Follow me,” she said. As they left her cabin and walked down the narrow hallway, she added, “You’re aware that there are quite a few entertainers on the ship, aren’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Anyone in particular you want to meet?”
Jude had memorized the names. “Simon Green, Ralph Martini and Larry Hepburn. And your head of entertainment, Bradley Wilcox.”
“Oh!” she said.
“You know them?” he asked her. “Well?”
“Bradley Wilcox was the head on my first contract with Celtic American, too,” she said. “He’s talented at his job.”
“And?”
She shrugged. “To my mind? A jerk. Rude. He seems to think we’re all lesser individuals. His servants. But as I said, I have to admit he’s good at his job.”
“What about the others?”
“This is the first time I’ve been on the same ship—same contract—with Simon Green and Larry Hepburn. Ralph Martini, I do know. I’ve worked with him before. He’s a nice guy and, again, very talented.” She glanced at Jude sideways and he was surprised to realize once more how attractive she was, with her head of sunset-tinged hair and amber eyes.
Just the type the Archangel might choose...
“Be careful around these people,” he said, his voice gruff.
“They’re really suspects? Is there a reason for that?” she asked.
“Proximity,” he replied. “They might’ve been in all the locations where murders took place. And you really shouldn’t know what we’re thinking, and I shouldn’t be speaking to you about this at all. At the moment, though, you’re about all I’ve got.”
“So, I’m all you’ve got. Great,” she murmured.
But he could tell that she did intend to be helpful.
“Grab a tray,” she told him, leading him to the buffet. “I see Simon and Ralph—they’re over there.”
He selected a bagel and a plate of eggs from the buffet and followed her to the table.
Ralph and Simon greeted her with friendly smiles and she introduced them to Jude. “Company bigwig,” she said lightly. “Watching us on board.”
Ralph stood up to shake Jude’s hand. He was a stocky middle-aged man of about six feet. “He’s a great tenor!” Alexi said in a cheerful voice.
“And I’m chorus.” Simon got up to shake Jude’s hand, as well.
“We all start somewhere,” Ralph said.
Simon Green was a handsome man, young, classically good-looking. He was lean, and Jude figured he must be a decent dancer if he was in the chorus of a play like Les Miz.
Ralph grinned. “Should we be afraid of you?” he asked. He obviously wasn’t.
“No.” Jude grinned back. “We’re just observing, trying to see what works and where improvements might be made,” he lied. “I understand that the entertainment on this ship is excellent.”
“That’s a relief,” Ralph said. “Hey, there’s Clara.” He waved and Jude turned. A very pretty blonde had come into the room. She looked over at them and waved, frowning curiously as she saw Jude.
“Just getting some food!” she called.
“Clara Avery,” Alexi told Jude. “She has a gorgeous soprano voice.”
“Part of our Les Miz cast,” Simon added. “I’ll find a chair for her.”
Clara joined them a moment later. “You look peaked, girl!” Ralph said to her. “You up all night?”
“Nightmares,” Clara said shortly. “Hi,” she greeted Jude.
Alexi quickly introduced them.
“Nightmares?” Simon asked her. “On the ship?”
“I shouldn’t have, but I stayed up watching the news,” Clara replied. “That Archangel killer out there—he was in New Orleans!”
“And he’s probably already moved on,” Simon said gently. “He goes from city to city. You’re safe on this ship. And we’re all here with you,” he added.
“They don’t seem to have anything on this guy, nothing at all! They can’t even find some of the actual crime scenes,” Clara said, shivering.
Jude considered himself a good judge of character. He believed that the men at the table were as concerned for their friend as they appeared to be. Their empathy and determination to assure her seemed completely genuine. He was as confident of that as he could possibly be.
A good thing, since this young woman, like Alexi, would certainly appeal to the killer.
He lowered his head.
The ship has many beautiful young women aboard. A veritable feast for the so-called Archangel.
Clara shivered again, then managed a smile. “I’m going to stick close to all of you.”
“The cops aren’t sharing much information,” Simon said. “I read somewhere that the women weren’t just found in churches, but that they were all posed, with saints’ medallions around their necks. What do you suppose it means?”
“I didn’t hear about that,” Ralph said. “I’ll bet the cops weren’t supposed to give out that information. I guess some of ’em talk when they’re off duty. And once the media gets hold of something...well, you know! Of course, I don’t think anyone could miss the news that he leaves his victims in churches. Or sometimes on the steps.”
Jude was intent on watching their faces and was startled when Alexi Cromwell suddenly rose. Her meal was only half-eaten.
She seemed to notice that everyone was staring at her.
She was thinking fast, Jude thought, looking for a plausible lie. Why, he wasn’t sure yet.
“I just saw someone you need to meet,” Alexi said, turning to Jude. “Ralph, would you mind returning our trays? Um, Mr. McCoy, would you come with me?”
“No problem,” Ralph said, but he watched curiously as Jude excused himself and followed Alexi out of the cafeteria.
Then Jude saw why she’d left so abruptly, why she’d summoned him.
The man in the hooded sweatshirt was moving along the hallway.
* * *
“Wait, please!” Alexi called out. The young man who’d tried so hard to speak to her—who’d disappeared at Jude McCoy’s arrival last night—had popped his head into the cafeteria.
Now he was hurrying down the hallway.
If nothing else, she somehow had to convince the FBI man that she was telling the truth.
His quarry was a dead man.
“Please!” she called again.
He stopped and glanced back at her and then nervously scanned the hallway.
Alexi realized that Jude McCoy—once again—saw him, too.
“I need to speak with you,” the agent said. His voice was calm and even.
The young man remained where he was.
Alexi kept walking toward him, with Jude a few steps behind. There was no one in the hallway just then, but at any minute there could be workers coming through, either to get to their gigs or to eat or return to their cabins if their shifts were during the off-hours.
“My ca
bin,” she whispered.
She reached her door and used her key card to open it. The young man paused, looked at her—and then at Jude McCoy.
Then he stepped into her cabin; McCoy followed.
“Who are you and what’s going on?” McCoy asked.
Alexi stared at him. He still didn’t know. He still didn’t get it. But the ghost, whose name she didn’t know yet, answered him.
“Byron Grant,” he said.
The name was vaguely familiar to her; she wasn’t sure why.
The FBI agent knew it instantly, though, and his tension and anger were unmistakable.
“Byron Grant is dead, killed in his attempt to save Elizabeth Williams.”
“Yes.”
Jude McCoy stood completely still, green eyes with their flecks of gold focused on the ghost.
Alexi clutched the edge of the built-in wardrobe as she sank to the foot of her bed. Now she knew. Now she understood.
Jude McCoy continued to watch the man in disbelief and anger. She thought, not for the first time, that he knew the truth—he knew it—but didn’t want to accept it.
Suddenly, his face changed. He reached out as if to place a hand on the ghost’s shoulders.
And, of course, he touched nothing.
Ghosts could surprise you. They could learn to make noise, to displace air about, to move objects...but they weren’t there in substance, as flesh and blood. They were energy, capable of so much—and yet never again would they have bodies that could be touched.
“My God,” Jude breathed.
He didn’t sag onto the floor. He just stared at the man, almost as though he wished Byron would disappear.
He seemed to hope that the ghost’s presence was impossible, a figment of his imagination.
Alexi thought she saw him wince. Saw a slight trembling seize his body.
And then he looked at the ghost again, at Byron Grant, and said, “I don’t suppose you’re going to be able to tell me who killed you?”
“No,” the ghost said. “There’s only one thing I can tell you with absolute certainty.”
“What’s that?” Jude McCoy asked.
“The killer is on this ship.”