Robert Walker - Grave Instinct

He turned to Jessica and said, “Two dead cops and a missing woman in one night has helped a little to raise the spirit of cooperation, but not by much. Every cop in the city wants to John Wayne this thing.” He then pointed at the masts of ships at a marina they sped by. Two squad cars were parked among some unmarked vehicles. “That's where Lands End disappeared from last night. We have men interviewing neighbors and the harbormaster for any additional information, maybe get up a sketch of Swantor.”

“ Coast guard should be able to locate the boat from the call numbers kept in harbor records,” suggested Jessica.

“ And the fact it's a white Even rude Windjammer 2000, capable of moving at great speed through the Gulf waters. It should stand out.”

“ Let's hope so, before he reaches Mexico.”

They arrived at the van site where the wrecking crew sent up a screeching sound followed by a thunderous belch, and then the dripping van settled on its four tires beside the road. The day had remained dismal and overcast, imprisoning a dense, low-lying fog in the gullies along the river. Shrubbery and dead branches added to the morbid feel of the place. It obviously had been a gargantuan effort to remove the mud-caked van from the muck and mire along this stretch of river. And they had done it in thick fog. The work crew looked like pencil sketches of gray ghosts, Civil War ghosts, each caked with mud.

“ Get your mud boots on, Dr. Coran.”

“ 'Fraid I didn't pack any.”

He pointed his key holder and an electronic blip indicated that he had popped the trunk. “I have an extra pair.”

They quickly donned heavy Wellington boots. Everything was covered with slippery mud from the evening rains and the water, spilling geyserlike, from every crevice of the Chrysler van. “It's definitely the make and model,” said Jessica as they approached.

“ And the color Labruto and Doyle had radioed in. I gotta wonder how the bastard ever got from the French Quarter to here without being detected?”

“ Luck of the devil,” she said.

“ I suspect you know all about that, Dr. Coran. I read about that weird case in London, and that strange business in Philly.”

Jessica bit her lower lip and nodded. “Unfortunately, yes, I've danced with the devil a time or two.”

Jessica rushed ahead toward the back of the van, where she saw a field of debris-destroyed paper, cloth, maps, packs of gum, a comb, a toothbrush, coins and small bills- that'd been dumped out. Someone had already opened the back doors and inspected for the Montoya woman's body, yet no one was talking. Rather, everyone stood stone silent as if in mourning. “Have you found the dead girl or not?” she asked a man who introduced himself as Assistant M.E. Brunner.

“ Dr. Coran… heard about you from downtown. The van's empty except for a lot of soaked rags and trash. We're having it towed to a place where we can thoroughly work it,” he said in a nasally voice. Fighting a cold, he sneezed into a handkerchief, knocking his glasses down his nose.

“ We found nothing. Apparently, the perpetrator saw no reason to lock his doors,” said a voice in her ear. She turned to stare at the fiery blue eyes of a determined man. “Lt. Besant, NOPD, Dr. Coran,” said the tall, thin man with a mustache who now stood between her and Brunner. Brunner had chosen to back off. “You should first let us determine if there're any water moccasins or other poisonous snakes inside. We're still removing water and-”

“ Yes, I can see you've removed quite a lot,” she indicated the debris at the foot of the van doors, seeing a license plate swim by, wondering what else had floated out. “Thanks for your concern, Lieutenant, but please, out of my way.”

After donning gloves, Jessica climbed in the van, where the water was still ankle deep. The officer in the front shouted, “The rest of the water'll come out when we hoist it again. Then we can tow it.” Jessica pulled a penlight from her pocket and scanned the rear of the van. She felt Sorrento before she saw him climb in behind her. “Whata we got, Doctor?”

Her light showed the leather viselike head shackle peeking out from beneath the water. She estimated where the hands would have been held, and she found thick blood-crusted chains attached to both seats. Her light telegraphed this fact to Sorrento. He then located the ankle shackles lying beneath the water, heavy and slick like a string of mollusks.

Jessica announced, “It's his killing ground all right.”

“ We've got men in the water, searching,” said Besant. “They are black water divers, capable of locating anyone who might be down there.”

“ Did you find any tools? The damned bone cutter, a scalpel, anything along those lines?” asked Jessica.

Besant shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “Cutting tools, no. But we did fetch a shotgun, a completely ruined laptop computer and some audiotapes and a tape machine, all soaked, but with FBI help perhaps we can restore the tapes, and get something out of that computer.”

“ We have that capability here in New Orleans, right, Michael?” Jessica asked.

“ That's right,” replied Sorrento.

Besant turned the laptop and the tapes over, exactly five, the number of known victims. They were labeled by number, not name. “This could be a good sign,” Jessica suggested. “If he has a tape for each victim, and he failed to make one for Selese Montoya, she may still be alive.”

“ You think she's on Lands End, too?” asked Sorrento in a conspiratorial whisper.

“ I'm thinking aloud. If he didn't have time to make a tape, he may not have had time to feed on her, and if Swantor's incapacitated him, she may still be alive.” And you think Swantor's taken her with them.”

“ And if the two of them are kindred spirits… Swantor may be as dangerous as Kenyon,” said Jessica as she and Sorrento climbed from the death van.

“ Taken her where?” asked Nick Besant who'd listened to their conversation.

“ We're not sure, but we have a Coast Guard cutter and a helicopter searching the river for any suspicious-looking watercraft.”

“ Suspicious how?”

Sorrento updated Besant.

Jessica heard only snatches of what Agent Sorrento told Besant, but she heard enough to know that he had made it a simple abduction theory, that Kenyon had commandeered the boat and taken its owner hostage along with the girl. She did hear Sorrento add, “It's a long shot, but one we thought worth pursuing.”

“ I'll see about getting some NOPD water cops out there to help the Coast Guard,” Besant replied.

“ That's the scene, Nick,” lied Sorrento, the look in his eyes told Jessica to play along. Jessica wanted no part of the petty games played between these two, so she instead turned away and returned to Mike's still open trunk to remove the boots and climb back into the car. Once settled in her seat, she opened her laptop to check Cahil's Web page to see if any additional images of Kenyon had been put up on the board.

Sitting amid the mud, shrouded in a fog that chilled her to the bone, Jessica keystroked in the necessary dot-com.

Jessica was startled to find a woman cuffed to a bed in what appeared the same room where she'd seen Kenyon in earlier. The camera motion was the same, too, swaying… bobbing.

The woman on the screen appeared exhausted from long hours of tears and crying. She only whined now, unable it seemed to shout. Her eyes appeared glazed and dull. She looked as if drugged.

Jessica stared at the struggling young woman, presumably Selese Montoya. She felt the helplessness of the poor woman's situation from where she sat in Sorrento's car, unable to affect anything. The victim was likely miles and miles away, and here Jessica sat hopelessly mired in the gloom of a place called Turtle Fork Bend.