“ But Santiva will want to know about the mark inside the cavity. If it's there or not, before he issues that warrant request. What are you going to tell him?” “That it's the work of the same man.”
“ That's risky, Jess. You're putting your-or should I say our careers on the line, lying to a superior.”
“ Regardless, John, it's our chance to get the federal order we need against AOC. Look, you've got nothing to do with this decision. It's all mine. As far as you know, I told you the mark was found.”
Police Chief Randall Boyd and Agent Douglas had stepped off and were conferring together. Boyd now sauntered in his bowlegged fashion back over to their conversation, asking, “Well? Is it the work of the same guy as over in Jacksonville and Savannah?”
“ It is,” Jessica firmly replied. “Victim number five.”
Boyd eased off and now Agent Douglas joined them, saying, “I took the liberty of contacting Jacksonville, courtesy you know-let them know we have another brain snatching.”
Boyd pulled out a sketch of the suspected killer, a composite made up of two possible witnesses now, the Fayetteville woman and the street beggar. “The sketch looks nothing like that creep you have locked up in Virginia, that Cahil guy,” said Boyd.
“ How do you know what Cahil looks like?” she asked Boyd.
“ Douglas here had a likeness of him.”
“ Is that true, Agent Douglas?” she asked the field agent.
“ There was an old press picture of him from his first trial. Everyone's assumed he's the Skull-digger, so our office had the pictures made up.”
“ For what possible reason?”
“ Public relations, to show that the FBI got their man, but now it appears it isn't so.”
“ Yeah, I'd say any case against Cahil has been blown out of the water with poor Sharon here,” she replied. “So, Dr. Coran, what advice do you have to offer?” asked Boyd.
“ He has never struck in the same place twice, so he's likely on the move already, most likely heading due west, on 1-10. I'd like you to alert all law enforcement due west that the Skull-digger may be in their jurisdictions in the coming days, maybe hours.”
“ Unless he's reversed himself,” suggested Boyd.
She ignored this, adding, “Forward this suggestion with the artist sketch and description of the van he uses. And please don't confuse the witness sketch with Cahil's photo.”
“ Sounds like a good idea.”
Jessica then got on her cell phone and contacted Eriq. “It's his work, Eriq. I'd stake my career on it.”
“ Then a renewed request for a federal warrant to get AOC to open up Cahil's lists is on its way.”
“ We'll need more manpower to make contact with all of the John Doe's contacting that Web page of Cahil's. Can you get us the help we need?”
“ OK… you told me so. I'm heading to court, and I'm keeping your team together. That's the best I can do right now. I've got personnel stretched to the limit on other cases, and there's been another bomb explosion on a college campus that we're tracking down.”
“ I need more manpower, Boss.”
“ I can give you half of your Behavioral Science Unit on a part-time rotation, but I can't promise any more… not at this time.”
“ I have an idea. What if we just seek a warrant for this guy calling himself the Seeker, Eriq?”
“ Gamble on the say-so of Cahil?”
“ If it's him, the Skull-digger, then it will have paid off.”
“ And if it isn't? You might speed up the process to a dead end.” “Scale the warrant down to this guy alone, and maybe we'll get some cooperation,” she countered.
“ But if we're wrong about the Seeker, what are our chances of getting another warrant for all the other people on the list?”
She breathed deeply. “You're right. It's a gamble either way. We push for one breach by AOC for one individual, or we continue to push to open them all in a massive search for their whereabouts and send agents to every suspicious address.”
She hung up to find J.T. in her face. “Well… I hope this doesn't backfire in our faces, Jess. Lying to the chief…”
“ I didn't exactly lie. He didn't specifically ask about the symbol inside the head.”
“ So a lie of omission.”
“ I believe I'm right on this, John.”
“ All right,” he relented. “So… what do we do now?”
“ One thing we don't do is sit it out here until another victim surfaces. It's time we stalked this guy before he stalks and kills another young woman.”
“ Then it's back to Quantico and the computer trail.”
“ We'll turn this crime scene over to Douglas with strict instructions that the red marker and bone cuts be microscopically filmed and sent to us in Quantico immediately.”
“ Think Douglas will go for that?”
“ You ever meet a field op who wasn't eager to have it his way?”
J.T. nodded knowingly. “Then let's explain it to him and get back to the E-trail connection.”
ELEVEN
They flee from me, that sometime did me seek With naked foot, stalking in my chamber.
Hardscrabble, Mississippi July 21, 2003
Grant Kenyon lingered over breakfast, finding it not half bad with the hot coffee. He again thought of his last contact made with Cahil's website. He'd gotten through to the website, but something was up. Cahil was backed up, not answering. Perhaps Phillip's plan, as the Seeker, to implicate Cahil was actually unfolding. Maybe Daryl and his website had been busted, and he was in custody for the murders Phillip had committed with Grant's assistance. It was for this reason that Grant had argued with Phillip to stop killing, so that Cahil would be brought to trial for the deaths, and then Grant could go back to his old life in New Jersey.
However, Phillip wasn't accepting any of it, and so Grant could not help himself, or rather, he could not stop himself, or rather, he could not stop Phillip. And so, Phillip had again killed for the brain matter he craved, this time a young woman named Sharon. This time, he decided to throw authorities off, not marking the victim with the Rheil symbol as he had before, wanting to confuse them into thinking it a new killer, a copycat.
After the kill in Mobile, Alabama, Grant knew that Phillip had lessened his chances of ever returning to a normal life. The authorities were probably closing in, as indicated by Cahil's absence. While he'd seen nothing about an arrest, he knew Cahil never left his computer for long, and it had been a week without an update from him.
Before the killing in Mobile, Grant had tried desperately to explain to Phillip that they should not strike again until they had gone as far west as they could go, across the continent to California. But no, Phillip couldn't wait that long. They'd driven from Valdosta, Georgia, but had only gotten as far west as Mobile, Alabama, off I-10 when Phillip had demanded to be fed again.
From there they'd made their way to a Biloxi, Mississippi, area hotel in a crossroads patch of buildings in a place called Hardscrabble. While there, Grant arranged to have the van painted green, as he tried to plan for a future that didn't include getting caught or killed. As Grant worked out a plan-since Grant could not prevent Phillip from killing-Phillip slept.
From California, he planned to go north after perhaps three or four feedings. As he moved north, Phillip could continue feeding. Once he got to Washington, he'd turn east and go back across the continent on a northerly track, again taking some time off from feeding to throw authorities off. He would continue to move and Phillip could feed as they went.
Still sitting at the table in the restaurant, his brains and eggs long finished, he opened a single sheet of paper with the names and addresses of people who had confided in him their real-time addresses, people he had chatted with on Cahil's website. Four of the names had been marked off, and now he marked off a fifth. He had rendezvoused with only two of them, three others had refused to meet, but he had learned of their addresses because they trusted him. He told them he would help them get a fresh start. Each one was in a troubled relationship or was having difficulties at home with parents. He sent them bus tickets and timetables where to meet him. He told them his name was Phillip. There was always the chance that one of them would use the tickets he'd forwarded. He'd also struck up an online friendship with males, and one lived just north of New Orleans. Grant had chatted online with this fellow for more than a year, knowing him only as Mr. SquealsLoud on the computer, but he had given Grant his real name and address. Now Grant and Phillip knew him as Dr. Jervis Swantor and they knew he lived at a marina outside New Orleans. Swantor had said he'd be in Florida sometime this month as well, but Grant and Phillip had found themselves too busy and they'd missed the agreed upon date, and when Grant had checked at the marina in Jacksonville, it had been crawling with cops.