Haunted Destiny. Heather Graham

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      He prayed that a killer wasn’t doing so, as well.

      * * *

      “At least we’ve narrowed down the possible number of needles in a haystack,” Jackson said. He sipped from a steaming mug of coffee. Jude had met him at the café on the Promenade Deck. There were a number of tables, spread out a fair distance apart. It was a great area for people-watching, while carrying on a conversation without being overheard.

      That morning they were attired in outfits acquired on board. Jude was in navy blue board shorts and a short-sleeved flower-patterned cotton shirt; Jackson wore khakis and a T-shirt with an image of Janice Joplin on the front. Jude figured they looked like the tourists they were pretending to be—or perhaps “bigwigs” disguised as tourists...

      Jude nodded as they both studied their phones.

      Their task had been made easier than it might have been. Computer programs had allowed tech support workers at the home office to narrow down who, of the several thousand crew and passengers, had been where when. With the majority of the passengers, it must have been pretty straightforward. They’d been in their home states working—until it was time for their vacations. With those who traveled for work, the task was somewhat harder. Their movements had to be traced through hotel and restaurant bills. Same with those who were independently wealthy.

      Big Brother might not always be watching—mainly because Big Brother wasn’t interested most of the time, Jude thought wryly—but Big Brother was capable of a great deal of research.

      “Angela went through every report personally,” Jackson explained, perusing the list. “She’s meticulous.”

      “Your wife, right? Unusual that you’re in the same unit,” Jude said. There was no problem with agents being partners or married, but they were generally required to be in separate units.

      Jackson glanced up. “It’s different with the Krewe. Angela and I met when the Krewe of Hunters was first formed. The unofficial name is the Krewe because, as I’m sure you’ve assumed, our first case was in New Orleans.”

      “Yes, of course. I know about that,” Jude said.

      Jackson returned to studying the list on his phone.

      Jude studied his own list. Jackson Crow didn’t act as if he wished he’d managed to have one of his own people on this case.

      But neither did he see him as a particularly valuable asset. Or at least that was what Jude sensed.

      “So the possible suspects,” Jackson began.

      “Passengers Roger Antrim and Hank Osprey,” Jude said.

      “And we have an interesting list of entertainers.” Jackson took another sip of his coffee. “Larry Hepburn, Ralph Martini, Simon Green—and head of entertainment, Bradley Wilcox.” He nodded at Jude. “Your friend from the piano bar should be able to help us as far as the entertainers go.”

      For a moment Jude wished he had real printouts—paper he could actually write on, the old-fashioned way—and wasn’t working on his cell phone. He refrained from saying so to Jackson.

      “Everyone on this list could have been in each city where the murders took place,” Jackson went on. “These are the entertainers who were between contracts. As far as the two passengers go, both are businessmen with deep pockets. And judging by the number of times they’ve sailed on Celtic American ships, there’s every chance they were in the port cities where the previous victims were killed.”

      “Wow,” Jude murmured, reading. “The list also includes the ship’s head of security, our friend, David Beach.”

      “I’d put him toward the bottom of the list,” Jackson said. “The man has an impeccable background.”

      “Which may or may not mean anything.”

      “No, but because of his size—”

      “He’d be noticed wherever he went,” Jackson agreed. “And the last one we have here is the cruise director, Jensen Hardy.”

      “Two passengers, Roger Antrim and Hank Osprey. One security man, David Beach. No regular crew members—dishwashers, stewards, mechanics. Three entertainers. Ralph Martini, Simon Green and Larry Hepburn. Plus the head of entertainment, Bradley Wilcox. And last, but for the moment we won’t say least, one cruise director, Jensen Hardy.”

      “Eight suspects,” Jackson said. “I’ll talk to Beach. We’ll give him the list—minus his own name, of course. And we’ll keep a sharp eye on him, but he and his staff need to be on the lookout. You should go and see Alexi Cromwell again. Actually, I’d like to speak with her, too.”

      Jude stared down at Angela Hawkins’s report, which included pictures of the suspects. “I don’t believe any of these men are the one we followed on board,” he said.

      “No?” Jackson shrugged. “Ghost or not, I haven’t really seen his face yet. I don’t get it. I don’t get what he was wearing. It wasn’t a mask. But he was disguised.”

      “A killer would want to disguise himself,” Jude said.

      “Well, we’ll see, won’t we? How’s your cell working out here?”

      “I’m set for international. Should be fine.”

      “Let’s head out. Don’t forget, I want to talk to Ms. Cromwell later.”

      “We can arrange that,” Jude said.

      “All right. I’ll go chase down David Beach. You see what you can do with the entertainer group and we’ll send for more info on our two passengers.” Jackson rose. Like many law enforcement officers in the field, he’d taken his coffee black and finished two cups.

      Jude picked up his own mug of black coffee and finished the last couple of swallows. He rose, too. “I’ll find Ms. Cromwell. But all in all, you might do better in dealing with her. I’m not sure she was...comfortable with my response to her last night.”

      He was surprised Jackson smiled at that. “I think you’ll do fine.”

      They parted ways.

      Jude used the stairs to reach the crew and entertainment level of the ship. He paused at her door. The entertainers slept late, he assumed, since they worked late.

      He raised a hand to knock on the door.

      It opened.

      Alexi Cromwell seemed very bright and attractive for someone who’d been up until at least 3 a.m. the night before.

      She glanced up at him warily—and yet as if she’d expected him.

      “Ms. Cromwell, I’d like your help,” he began.

      “To meet the ghost?”

      He didn’t answer that. Instead, he asked, “How well do you know your fellow entertainers—and do you ever get to know the passengers?”

      “Some of the entertainers I know quite well, but СКАЧАТЬ