Haunted Destiny. Heather Graham

toiletries and articles of clothing he’d purchased at one of the ship’s stores. His phone, however, was the next best thing to his computer, and that was in his pocket.

      Rumors abounded. But research into the Krewe didn’t give him much other than the knowledge that whatever they did, they were damned good at it. Looking up newspaper reports of the cases they’d solved gave him a little more. Jackson Crow was indeed familiar with New Orleans; he’d solved a case in the city that involved the death of a politician’s wife in one of the city’s “haunted” houses.

      As he went on, he even found more information on the Krewe’s cases, many speculating that the Krewe of Hunters had an uncanny ability to deal with situations of unusual scope.

      He buried his face in his hands for a moment as he stood outside Jackson’s door.

      Great.

      He was on a ship chasing a killer, and he was working with a man who believed they could question a ghost.

      Did Crow think they were chasing a dead man? It was all too crazy.

      Jude had to assume Crow saw the dead, and he based that on the Krewe’s reputation as much as anything.

      It was time to confront Jackson Crow with what he’d learned.

      Jude tapped at his door. In the silent hallway, the sound reverberated loudly. Or it seemed to.

      The door opened immediately. “You’ve got something?” Jackson asked.

      “A ghost,” Jude told him.

      “Come in.” Once again, Jude found himself sitting on a chair in front of a tiny dressing table built into the cabin wall. Crow settled on the narrow bunk.

      “You talked to a ghost?” His voice was calm, reserved, and Jude couldn’t tell if he was being mocked.

      “I didn’t,” he said. “But the piano bar hostess claims that the man she was talking to—the man we followed on the ship—is dead. And yes, that she was talking to him.”

      Crow took that in. Once more, his expression revealed nothing.

      “The man escaped you again?” Crow asked.

      Jude leaned forward. “I saw him, clear as day, sitting at the piano bench with her. I saw him—clear as day—jump up and run. I couldn’t stop him. Ms. Cromwell stopped me instead and then insisted I come to her cabin so she could tell me that he’s a dead man.”

      “What information did she say she got from him?”

      “Not much. Apparently, my arrival interrupted him. She said he wanted us to follow him onto this ship—because he believes the killer’s on board.”

      “What do you think of this young woman?” Jackson asked him.

      “What do I think of her? I don’t know. She’s either delusional—or this guy’s as real as you and me, and she’s helping him in some way. And if she is, well, then, God help her,” Jude said.

      “But she seems sane to you?”

      “I have to admit, I’ve been through plenty of behavioral classes, and yet I can’t come up with a reliable definition of sane. She seems to be sincere. So yeah, maybe she’s just delusional. Maybe this guy has her fooled, but she might also come from some crazy family that believes in all kinds of weirdness.” He watched Jackson for a moment. “But what the hell. I’ve read a few strange things about your unit, too.”

      He thought Jackson gave him the hint of a smile.

      “I haven’t apprehended a murdering ghost yet,” he assured Jude. “But then again, we don’t discount anything on heaven or earth or anything in between.”

      “But...ghosts?” Jude asked.

      Jackson shrugged. “Let’s see if we can find this man. Tomorrow is a day at sea. We have the ship’s security forces and we have ourselves. By tomorrow morning I’ll have a full manifest of anyone on board who could possibly have committed the murders. We believe—every profiler out there believes—that this is the work of one killer and we assume that he’s male. That said, I’ll have reports by tomorrow that should tell us who could and couldn’t have been in the cities where the other murders took place. Of course,” he added with a dry smile, “it would be nice if Ms. Cromwell’s ghost happens to know who the killer might be.”

      “Her damn ghost just might be our killer,” Jude muttered.

      “Since the killer struck in several cities and we’re going to learn who, on the Destiny, was in those cities at the relevant times, we’ll be able to concentrate on those particular people.” He looked at Jude, studying him. “Good call on the ship. Makes perfect sense. Ships contract crew and entertainment for specified periods of time. Crew and entertainers might work on other ships, too. A great way to get around port cities—and kill.” Jude rose; Jackson hadn’t given him any kind of satisfactory answer regarding Alexi Cromwell.

      “Stay close to Ms. Cromwell,” Jackson told him. “She might be our key.”

      Key to insanity! Jude thought. But there was no point in saying anything else.

      He’d been dismissed.

      “Good night, Jackson,” he said as he stepped into the deserted hallway.

      The ship was quiet for the night, although somewhere, members of the crew were still working.

      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