Kathy Reichs - Virals

Only two more places to survey. Maybe I’ll find more eagles? That’d be groovy! But then I’m done. Some guy has been showing up everywhere I go. I’ve never seen him before. He gives me the creeps. Maybe I’ve spent too much time on remote beaches! Kiawah Island, then the Morris Light. Then, sayonara!

“Oh, Lord.” Hi looked sick. “Oh, God. That’s awful.”

“She was being followed,” I whispered, overwhelmed by sadness. “Why didn’t she go straight home?”

“What about the last part?” Ben asked. “At the bottom?”

“It’s harder to make out.” I repositioned the lamp. “Looks like the same hand, but shakier.”

I read the short entry to myself. Read it again.

This time I couldn’t stop them. Tears overran my lower lids and rolled down my cheeks.

“And?” Hi asked.

I didn’t reply.

“Tory?” Shelton’s hand found my shoulder. “What does it say?”

I stepped aside. The others watched me, confused. Then Shelton moved to the table and read aloud:

I think someone is below. I don’t know who it is, but I’m afraid. No one should be out here but me. I’m going to stash my journal just in case. Maybe I can hide.

My mind went numb with grief. I closed my eyes. No good. I kept seeing those final words written by that trembling hand.

I heard Ben punch the wall. Hi shift his feet. Shelton lift a hand to his earlobe. I was aware of these things, but apart. Adrift.

I imagined Katherine’s final moments as she scribbled that last terrified entry. I saw her rush to hide the journal, then turn to face her stalker. I felt her despair as she realized she was trapped high atop a deserted lighthouse. Alone. With no way out.

Katherine Heaton was murdered in the loneliest place on earth.

I palmed tears from my face, devastated, revolted. The scene in my head was so real, it seemed I was there.

I didn’t want to cry. I wanted to cry forever.

Then, I got angry. White-hot furious.

Okay. Go with it. Rage will work better than grief.

I despised whoever had done this. A soulless monster walked the streets free, thinking he’d gotten away with it. Callous. Smug. Untroubled by guilt.

I renewed my vow to Katherine. To myself. I will catch this killer. Expose him. Bring him to justice.

Make him pay.

CHAPTER 60

I woke early the next morning, on fire with an idea.

First things first.

Cooper.

A ten-minute hike brought me to Morris Island’s western shore. I checked my bearings, located the ladder bunker, and climbed inside.

Coop yelped when he saw me, tail wagging out of control. Popping up on his back paws, he tried to lick my face.

I snuggled his head, drank in his warm puppy smell. Then I grabbed his rope and challenged him to a tug o’ war. He accepted with vigor.

For a few minutes, my problems receded. Coop was bigger now, strong enough to roam free. Thankfully, he restricted himself to the uninhabited western side of the island. No one in our neighborhood had reported sighting a stray wolfdog. Yet. Coop needed a permanent home, pronto.

“Soon,” I promised. “You won’t be stuck out here forever.”

I wanted to stay longer, but there wasn’t time. I slipped out while the puppy was wolfing down his breakfast.

It was going to be another hot one. Halfway back to the compound, I was sweating up a storm.

I buzzed the other Virals as soon as my phone caught a signal. We met on the front lawn.

“Whose parents aren’t home?” I asked.

Hi raised a hand. “Mine went to temple. They’ll be gone until noon.”

“Then we’ll use your computer.”

“What do we need to research?” Shelton asked.

“Who held title to Cole Island in 1969. Maybe the owner knew about the eagles, or at least can tell us who had access to the island. It’s a start.”

“Good idea,” Shelton said. “We can use the PIS.”

“PIS?” Hi asked. “What’s that? Online dating for nerds?”

“Hilarious. I’m talking about the county’s Property Information System. Land records are accessible there. You can get information about deeds, property lines, whatever. The owners of Cole Island should be listed.”

“Then the floor is yours,” I said.

We hustled up to Hi’s bedroom.

“Hold on a sec.” Hi pushed aside books, dishes, and piles of dirty clothes, trying to make room for all of us to sit. “Make yourselves at home.”

“You’re a pig.” Ben held up a greasy plate. “This pizza must be nine weeks old.”

“I’ve been looking for that!” Hi winged the slice into his wastebasket. “It’s probably still good, but why take a chance?”

“Gross.” Ben moved to the other side of the room.

“Sir, I apologize. I wasn’t expecting company this morning. You’re free to find other accommodations.”

“Come on,” I said. “We don’t have all day.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Hi saluted. “Right away, ma’am.”

Hi booted his Mac, then moved aside.

Shelton pulled up the Charleston County home page and selected “View a parcel.” A black-and-white map appeared on the screen.

“This is a blueprint of the Charleston area,” Shelton explained. “It shows every property line.”

“Cole Island is southwest of Folly,” I said. “On the Stono River Inlet.”

“I’ll zoom that area.” Shelton magnified until individual parcels appeared. Cole Island remained one undivided block.

“Cole is a single piece of real estate,” Shelton said. “I’ll access the owner data.”

He clicked and property information appeared on the right side of the screen.

“Bingo!” Then Shelton whistled. “You’re not going to like this, Tory.”

“Won’t like what?”

“Cole Island is currently owned by Candela Pharmaceuticals, Inc.” His eyes found mine. “Ring any bells?”

“That’s the outfit that funded Karsten’s experiment,” I said. “Someone at Candela wrote the checks to him.”

“What could Karsten’s secret parvo research have to do with bald eagles?” Hi asked.

“Or Katherine Heaton?” Ben added.

“Candela must own the factory out on Cole Island,” Shelton said.

“Why would I not like that?” I asked.

“I wasn’t finished,” Shelton said. “I paused for dramatic effect.”

“Out with it,” Ben said.

“Guess who sold Cole Island to Candela?”

“Who?” I asked.

“Hollis Claybourne.” Shelton tapped the screen. “And it looks like he made a bundle.”

“Claybourne?” Ben scowled. “Are you talking about Chance’s father?”

“The very same,” Shelton said. “State Senator H. P. Claybourne, father of Bolton Prep’s golden boy. And it gets worse. Guess when Hollis made the sale.”

“When?” I had a bad feeling.

“January 4, 1970. Just a few months after Katherine Heaton disappeared.”

“Shady,” Hi said. “Heaton drops off the map, then Hollis sells the island.”

“That proves nothing,” I said. “It could be coincidence.”

Damn. That word again.

“It’s suspicious,” Shelton said. “Last night I searched the net, and didn’t find a single mention of eagles ever living on Cole Island. Obviously, they were never reported.”

I scrambled to make sense of things.

Chance Claybourne’s father, Hollis, owned Cole Island at the time Katherine Heaton was doing her school project. Katherine found bald eagles nesting on Cole. Soon thereafter, Katherine vanished. Months later, Hollis Claybourne sold Cole Island to Candela Pharmaceuticals. For boatloads of money.

What did it all mean?

“Can we learn more about Candela?” I asked.

“I’ll check the corporate records database.” Shelton’s fingers flew over the keys. “Bull’s-eye! Candela is registered in South Carolina. I can pull the filing documents.”