Kelsey winced. I know what youre saying. At the Hard Rock in Hollywood, Florida, people vie for the room where Anna Nicole Smith died. And people book way ahead for the murder room at the Lizzie Borden house in Fall River, Massachusetts.
Exactly! Sandy said. But now, the stories about Room 207 are scaring people away from the inn, not bringing them in!
As if to confirm Sandys words, a high-pitched scream pierced the hum of easy-listening music. Kelsey had just picked up her mug, but the earsplitting cry of terror startled her so badly that coffee sloshed over the brim. She leaped to her feet, staring at Sandy.
Sandy stared back at her, stricken, shaking her head. Kelsey set her mug on the table and went flying out to the inns grand salonnow its lobbylooking around for the source of the scream.
It came again, stretching long and loud, and Kelsey raced toward it.
* * *
When he reached the riverfront area and parked, Logan was still mulling over the strange behavior of the birds. He knew that the Native American half of the familyno matter how modern or forward-thinking they might bewould see omens in the situation. He couldnt help wondering about it himself.
But he had to put it out of his mind.
Logan had been told by his captain that this meeting was important. In that case, he wasnt quite sure why he was meeting an FBI agent beneath a brightly colored umbrella on the Riverwalk. It wasnt that he had anything against the Riverwalk; it just didnt seem like the place for an important meeting. Tourists thronged the area, along with locals. The shopping included both high-end boutiques and Texas souvenir shops, and the restaurants were varied as well as plentiful. He loved the river; watching water always seemed to improve anything. Still, this was unusual.
He wasnt surprised that he was noticedand hailedby many people. Hed spent his life in San Antonio, and hed been called on during many a situation at the riverfront, so he knew a number of bartenders, shopkeepers and restaurant owners. Of course, the tourists and visitors were something else entirely. One teenage boy called out, Look! Its Chuck Norris! Hey, Walker, Texas Ranger!
He tipped his hat to the kid. No need to make their visitors think Texans werent hospitable and friendly.
He was dressed in standard departmental wearboots, white hat and gun belt. He was carrying a Colt .45, his weapon of choice, and a popular gun among Rangers. He guessed that, in a way, he did look like Chuck Norrisor the character hed played on a long-running TV show. Except, of course, that Norris was blond and light-skinned and he had dead-black hair and hazel eyes. People did stare. There werent even two hundred Rangers in the whole state, so he supposed that made his appearance especially interesting for tourists.
Another reason not to carry out an important meeting in a public place.
He did, however, recognize the man he was supposed to see, despite never having previously met him. Agent Jackson Crow was seated at one of the tables lining an iron fence that arced right out over the water, a cup of coffee in front of him. He was dressed in a black suit that seemed to scream FBI, to Logans mind at least. He wore dark glasses and seemed perfectly comfortable, sitting at ease while he waited for the meeting. Whatever people thought of him, he obviously didnt give a damn.
Logan walked straight to the table. Crow was aware of him; he stood.
Raintree, I presume, he said, smiling as he offered his hand.
Logan shook hands, studying Crow. Yep, Indian blood. He assumed Crow was staring back at him, thinking the same thing. Yes. Im Logan Raintree.
Comanche? Crow asked.
All-American mutt in every way, Logan told him. One ancestor was Comanche, one was Apacheand two were European. Norwegian and English. You?
Cheyenne and all-American mutt, as well, Crow said. I like the concept of that. Sit, please. Thank you for meeting with me.
Youre welcome, but I wasnt really given a choiceI was given an order.
Crow didnt respond to that. Coffee?
Crow didnt respond to that. Coffee?
Coffee sounds good, Logan said, pulling out a chair. He noted that the table had been set for three. Someones joining us? he asked.
Yesa U.S. Marshal, Crow said. Well eat when she gets here.
Logan slowly arched his brows. All right, what kind of felon, madman or serial killer do we have running around San Antonio?
We dont know much about him as yet. Thats where you come in, Crow explained. And Im meeting with you first. Marshal OBrien isnt due for another half hour or so.
Doesnt that mean you have to go through all of this twice?
Crow gave him a grim half smile and shrugged. Logan had the feeling that there was always method to his madness, though at the moment, he sure couldnt tell what it was.
A leather briefcase lay on the table. Crow reached into it and produced a sheaf of papersphotos, Logan saw.
He didnt immediately recognize what he was looking at. At first glance it appeared to be a trash pile, but then, peering closer, he saw human bones beneath the branches, boxes and other refuse.
He looked back at Jackson Crow. I wish I could say that a dead body was something unusual, he said.
Its the circumstances that are unusual, Jackson murmured. Heres another.
The next picture was of a half-decayed body on a gurney in an autopsy room. This was a far more gruesome sight, resembling a creature imagined by a special-effects wizard; the flesh was ripped from most of the jaw and the cadaver seemed to be grinning in a macabre manner.
Where was this body discovered? He? She? Logan asked.
She. Both sets of remains belong to women. Both disappeared from the San Antonio area, one a year and a half ago, one about a year ago. Both had made it to San Antonio and were never seen again. Or not alive, anyway, he added.
Im assuming traces were done on their credit cards, and the usual procedures carried out.
Jackson nodded. Neither actually checked into a hotel. The bones in the first picture belonged to a young woman named Chelsea Martinschoolteacher, part-time gemologist. The cadaver on the gurney was once a dancer named Tara Grissom. She worked out of New Orleans.
Dancer? As in stripper? Logan asked.
Jackson shook his head. She was with a modern dance company. The show she was in closed down and they werent due to cast the next show for a few months. She headed out to Texas. According to friends, she was fascinated with the Alamo. She flew from New Orleans to Houston and on to San Antonio, and she was never heard from again after she waved goodbye to the fellow whod been sitting next to her on the plane.
What about the other girl?
Similar story. She was a new teacher, and when budget cuts came down, she lost her job. Chelsea Martin left New York City for San Antonio, took a cab straight to the Alamo and wasnt seen again.
Logan frowned. I shouldve heard about this by now.
You probably did. Think about all the missing-persons reports, Crow said with a shrug. There are hundreds of themthousands. Some people go missing on purpose. You have to remember that. Thing is, until you really start digging, you dont always know if someones disappeared on purpose or not. He pulled out more sets of pictures. They were all of bodies in various stages of decay. Female bodies.
Logan frowned at Jackson Crow. All these corpsestheyre from here?
Crow nodded. Most of these women have yet to be identified. A number of them might have been prostitutes or women living on the edge. When someone doesnt have family or close friends, theres no one to hold law enforcement to task once the case has gone cold. We wouldnt have known about this if an enterprising young officer hadnt stumbled on the first body in a trash pilejust a block from the Alamo. Dont look so appalled. No unit of Texas law enforcement has been neglectful in this case. First off, we still dont know if the cases are related, although studying the way the killer disposed of the bodies, it seems likely. He grimaced. There may be a few who were killed by someone elsesomeone who happened upon a body-disposal system that has eluded the lawbut I believe most of these women met the same killer. They all just disappeared. And of all the corpses and skeletal remains weve discovered so far, weve only been able to match two of the women to missing-persons reports.
Are you putting together a task force? Logan asked him.
More or less. Im putting together a team.
Logan began to feel uneasy. Hed looked up Jackson Crow. He had a reputation for being a crack behavioral profiler; he also had a reputation for running a crew offor lack of a better termghost hunters. Hired by a somewhat reclusive government bigwig, Adam Harrison, he investigated the unusual. To the mans credit, it seemed that his team generally found real human beings whod perpetrated the crimes and brought them to justice.
Still
Somehow, he felt Crow knew something about him. It wasnt a comfortable feeling.
And you want me to be on this team? Logan asked.
We have one special unit working nowa team of six, and six seems to be the optimal number. Im starting a second team. I dont just want you to be on the teamI want you to head the team.
Why?
Youve had incredible success finding missing people, Jackson said smoothly.
Logan didnt blink. Logic, he told Crow. And a little luck
Logic is the most important tool we have, Crow agreed. Im a man of logic myself.
Logan winced, then said flatly, You look for ghosts.
I look for killers, Crow said, correcting him. He indicated the briefcase. I have a lot of info on you, too, of course. I know youre exceptionally talented. Crow hesitated, thoughtful for a minute. When he spoke again, it was with both respect and empathy. And I know that your wife was kidnapped by the brother of a drug runner you put in jail. I know you found herburied in a pine box. The killer had been playing a game with you, but he screwed up. He didnt provide enough oxygen. You were able to find her, although no one ever really knew how. You just found her too late.
Logan felt tension seep into his bones. Alana had been gone nearly three years, yet he still couldnt think about her without a sense of loss and rage burning in his gut. Shed died because he was who he was. Shed been a shimmering spirit of laughter and giving, and she had died because of him. His exceptional talents had been useless.