Robert Walker - Grave Instinct

Mrs. Kenyon's tears erupted. Jessica had to calm her. “As long as he's out there, Mrs. Kenyon, he poses a danger to himself and others. We need your help and cooperation if he's to be safely brought in and questioned.” Even as she said it, Jessica knew that she'd rather see Kenyon killed in the field than get the kind of treatment Daryl had gotten at the taxpayers' expense.

“ We would like to post FBI men at your house, and put a tracer on your phone, in case he should call.”

“ All right, whatever you think is best, but in all this time, he hasn't bothered to contact us.”

Who knows. He may get homesick, Jessica thought but did not say. “I'm going to put you on with my associate, Dana. She's going to take down all the information I asked for on your husband. And can you find a recent photograph of your husband?”

“ I'm sure I can.”

“ Hand it over to the agent who comes to your door. He'll get it to us. And thank you, Mrs. Kenyon.”

She handed the phone to Dana, took a deep breath and wondered if she dared believe that they finally had something tangible to go on. Could Kenyon be the Seeker and the Seeker be the Skull-digger? Mrs. Kenyon had said her husband had been fascinated with Cahil's case; it would then figure that he would be a frequent visitor to the website.

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.