Chapter Twelve

Patrick Swain's beach home on the southern tip of Blue Harbor was pale blue and four stories tall. Beyond were miles of blue water and a small archipelago. It wasn't exactly a private island, but an underdeveloped and secluded area of beachfront property. If Hurricane Jodie was as strong as they were predicting, this place was toast.

Palm trees framed the home, and it resembled a place for family reunions and vacations, not a den of dark and wicked dreams. Ty stood next to Violet as they surveyed the house. Asa had gone back to their beach house to brief Selah and get her going on anything she could find about Patrick Swain and this lucrative business.

Right now all they had was Ethan Lantrip's word against Patrick Swain's, and he wasn't going to confess. Not when there was no proof and Ethan hadn't had any proof. He might be lying, and if he was lying about Patrick then he might also be lying about Ahnah.

Ahnah involved in men's dark fantasies after what she went through as a child? Maybe. But Ty didn't want to believe it, and until he had concrete proof, he wasn't sharing her alleged side hustle with Bexley. One more devastation might send her over the edge. He was on the precipice himself.

"Think Selah will find anything?" he asked.

"I doubt it. These kinds of businesses are run through the dark web, and you know how untraceable that is."

"I was thinking the same thought. He's smart, and smart people don't Google or put their nefarious acts online where anyone like us can see it." No single person about to commit a crime had any excuse, other than idiocy, to Google how to murder or search poisons or best places to hide a body. Not when they had free access to private browsers where search histories were nonexistent. But those idiots did make law enforcement's job catching diabolical criminals like this UNSUB easier.

Why was he leaving Ty cryptic notes? What was he setting up? The anticipation of knowing he had twisted plans coming down the pike on top of the ticking time and a hurricane that wasn't ebbing or shrinking was enough to send Ty into a spiral. Rand Granger wouldn't give them what they needed, and they had no probable cause for a warrant. Nothing was going their way, and this new information given by Skipper didn't sit right in his gut. What did he have to gain by confessing to a crime he was an accomplice to after the fact?

Violet leaned on the SUV. "You going in or are you just going to enjoy the view?"

He shot her a scowl. "I'm thinking."

"Can't multitask? Is that a man thing?"

"That's sexist."

"I've noticed it's a man thing." She punctuated the air with her index finger.

"Whatever. I'm thinking, why would Skipper incriminate himself to give up Patrick Swain? The only goodness in his heart is directed toward his ailing granny, and I'm not even sure that's true." When Violet had called the assisted living center, she'd discovered Grandma had dementia, making her no valid use to them, which may be why he gave her as an alibi. Ole Skippy might be smarter than he looked. Maybe that was the point. To appear stupid and unable to pull off this elaborate revenge scheme. By offering information, he would appear to be cooperating, all while having Ty right where he wanted and inserting himself into the investigation. Killers had done it many times before. And no body meant no crime. He might be counting on that.

Violet pulled her credentials from her blazer pocket. "I agree that's odd. He wasn't remorseful. He seemed agitated, to be honest. As if he didn't want to be there at all. But we need to follow the lead, though I don't like interviewing this guy blind. I wish we had Selah's findings. Something we knew concretely so we could establish a baseline. Is he a liar? Is he not? Discover any tells."

"Well, if he's a psycho, you'll know it better than anyone."

She snorted and headed for the door under the carport. A newer navy blue Audi glimmered. Sweet ride.

Violet rang the doorbell. "You want this one? He might respond to a man better. Women are likely nothing but objects of pleasure to him. I'll get no respect."

"R-E-S-P-E-C-T—"

"Shut it."

Aretha's song died on his lips as a good-looking dude about six-two with dark hair and eyes, wearing a tailored suit, cracked open the door.

Ty showed his creds, and the man's casual perusing of Violet vanished. "Patrick Swain?"

"Yes," he said, his tone buttery and baritone.

Ty introduced them. "Could we ask you a few questions?"

"Regarding?"

"Lily Hayes and Amy-Rose Rydell." He studied Swain's face, but he showed no recognition, no shock or fear. His early-forties face was smooth, calm and confident. But Ty hadn't mentioned Jenny Davis yet. He was saving her.

"I recognize the names from the news. You've got a vicious killer to contend with, Agent Granger."

"Can we come in?" he asked.

"No. No, I see no reason for that, and I have an appointment to which I'm going to be late."

"Would it be to set up a dark fantasy?" Violet asked in her sultry yet cool tone. "The kind where women dress as young girls so sick pedophiles can get their thrills? Maybe an old man needs a good spanking for being bad. I can go on."

Please don't.

"It's vivid," he said with smugness. "I'll give you that. But I run a commercial real estate business. I specialize in beach properties. Not fantasy land. I pay my taxes and give to the poor. So good luck finding anything revolving around niche fetishes and myself."

Interesting way to interpret the business. Swain wasn't going to give them squat. Time to change tactics before Violet went all wiggy-jiggy.

"Here's the deal. We don't care about your side business. It's consensual for both parties. But Lily Hayes and Amy-Rose Rydell have been brutalized and murdered. One of your clients might be a serial killer who wanted more than a night of role-playing. He could have taken it too far. He's going to do it again. Do you want a man like that for a client?" Would Swain take the bait, admit to the dark business so they could start building a case and possibly get a warrant to search his house based on Ethan Lantrip's confession?

Swain's jaw ticked. "I wish I could help you. You have a real conundrum here."

"Yes, I'll admit murder is a conundrum," Ty said.

Swain checked his watch as if bored with the conversation. "I don't know those women. I don't dabble in the dark affairs of men. Where are you getting this rubbish from?"

"Ethan Lantrip. You may know him as Skipper. He gives rides from the mainland to your beach house. And he tells a tale about a woman named Jenny Davis. Know her?"

"I can't say that I do."

Can't or won't? Cunning flashed behind his eyes. Ty's gut screamed Swain was dirty up to his cow-patty-colored eyeballs. "Well, Ethan says you do. So you see how we have a new...conundrum."

"You certainly do."

Ty ground his jaw. He didn't want to lose his grip and say something he and the team would regret later. "You're saying that Jenny Davis never darkened the door of your home?"

He brushed the fancy lapels on his suit. "She did not. I have no idea why this Skipper person would come to you with lies, but if you need anything further, you'll need to contact my attorneys. Yes, attorneys, plural. Good day." He locked his door and sliced between them to his sports car. Revved the engine and backed out without casting them a single glance.

Ty and Violet climbed inside the SUV. "I hate him. Also his voice sounds like Crunk from that Disney movie about the groovy emperor."

"It's The Emperor's New Groove, and his name is Kronk. Why can't you get your Disney movie names together? Remember the humpback of Notre Dame?" Violet rolled her eyes, then batted an invisible mosquito—or maybe she was attempting to bat away Ty. A metaphor for his annoyance. "Let Selah do her thing. He knows we know. He's going to react. Probably need to see about extra protection on Ethan Lantrip. He knows we only have Ethan's word. No hard proof or we'd have arrested him."

"We could get a dive team out to see if they can recover remains."

"By now she's been washed out to sea and deteriorated. We can check if she's been reported missing. That's a good start."

Patrick Swain was a rich entitled tool and reminded him of his father or any other high-ranking member of the Family. "What's your first impression of him?"

"Past his striking good looks, he believes he's untouchable, and that means he's covered his tracks well. But he's never met Selah, and if there's a speck of dirt, she'll uncover it. I also think he's a sexual deviant. I don't believe everything that transpires in this house is consensual, which is how Jenny Davis may have ended up dead."

Ty leaned in that direction too. Patrick Swain felt familiar to him. Could be the resemblance in personality to Rand Granger. Could be something else. He pulled onto the main road.

Violet's phone rang. "It's Selah." She answered. "You're on Speaker, Selah. Ty's with me."

"Hey. So yeah. Okay."

"Are you trying to tell us something, or are you having a stroke?" Violet asked in her dry, unamused way. She wasn't one to waste time or mince words.

"I found something on Lily Hayes."

"Nothing on Patrick Swain to connect him to the allegations Skipper made?" Violet asked.

"Nothing yet, but give me two full hours already, Violet. Lily didn't have any tattoos in the photos on her social media accounts, but I've been combing the iCloud for photos taken of her that were set to public."

If anyone took a photo and the picture was set to public and synced with the iCloud, it was fair game to anyone, including law enforcement. All they had to do was set up a geofence, which was a virtual geographic boundary, defined by GPS or radio frequency identification technology, that enabled software to trigger a response when a mobile device entered or left a particular area.

"I have one, y'all. It's a good one. I'm sending it now."

Their phones dinged, and Violet opened up her texts. "That's a tattoo."

Ty pulled to the shoulder of the road and leaned over to see the photo. Lily Hayes had been inked on her upper left hip with a tasteful lily. "This tat wasn't noted in the autopsy report."

Violet exited the email. "Let me look at the autopsy photos again." She pulled them up digitally. "Ah. Our sicko ink specialist covered it up with his own lilies. It's good too. You can't even tell it was there. No wonder it wasn't noted in the report." She showed the photos to Ty.

They'd canvassed tattoo studios in the area, showing the killer's work, but no one had been able to pinpoint the ink master. However, they'd hadn't shown around this tattoo because they didn't even know it existed. Someone might recognize this one. The last upscale and reputable tattoo shop in town, Pure Thirteen, said the work was incredible. Straight lines and excellent shading techniques. The owner, Paul, recommended checking shops in more urban areas. "I guess we need to go back to the shops we visited before."

"Inky Octopus in Wilmington is the parlor you're looking for," Selah said. "As if I'd only present y'all with half the info." The sound of nails on computer keys clicked. "I'm looking through the iCloud now for Amy-Rose Rydell and the newest victim, Dahlia Anderson. It might take a little time—hold up. Wait a minute. Sending a photo through now of Dahlia Anderson. It's on her social media account. She has a tat. Small hearts hooked by a blue dahlia on her left upper shoulder."

"I don't have her autopsy photos yet," Violet said. "It was probably inked over as well."

The line was quiet except for Selah's quick fingers. "Don't see where she had it done, but guess what? I found a public photo taken by one Ethan Lantrip. It's of Amy-Rose Rydell receiving a tattoo of a unicorn blowing roses from its mouth. Hold on...same place, y'all. Inky Octopus."

Two victims with tats from the same shop. Interesting to say the least when Blue Harbor alone hosted three tattoo shops. Why travel to Wilmington? Unless it was popular and trendy to have one done there. "You up for a ride to this place?"

"It's a solid start. Thanks, Selah. Keep us posted." Violet ended the call. "I'll let Asa know where we're going." She made the call, and he answered on the second ring.

"Glad you called. Have either of you listened to the news in the past hour or two?" he asked.

"No, why?" Blood drained from his head. Ty wasn't sure he could handle another blow.

"Hurricane Jodie's large eye passed right over a National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration buoy just offshore of the South Carolina coast and is continuing its northeastward motion."

"What's that mean?" Ty asked, dreading the answer.

"They say its eye is going to pass near the Outer Banks, making landfall right over Blue Harbor."

They needed more time. Days weren't enough without solid leads, only more pieces to a puzzle they couldn't sort out. Exactly what this unpredictable killer wanted.

"Everyone might have to evacuate, including the killer. Owen believes he's either on Blue Harbor or on an island nearby like Nags Head or even Roanoke. He won't be taking his victims with him. If we don't find them before Jodie hits, we'll lose all of them."

Talk about the worst timing for a hurricane. Ty glanced out his window. Again, nothing but sunshine and blue skies. The calm before the storm.

"We need to charter a plane out of Kitty Hawk to take us to Wilmington," Ty said. "We have victims who received tats from the Inky Octopus. Our killer tattooed over them. We don't have time to make the five-hour drive. Not now. But the killer might also be our tattoo artist. That would be epic." But nothing was ever that easy.

Asa okayed the flight, agreeing they needed to check out the place and people in person rather than over the phone, but it would have to wait until tomorrow if the shops were closed for Labor Day. Violet did a check.

Closed.

Ty balled his fist. "What do you want us to do in the meantime?"

"Come on back and help Owen. Violet and I can continue interviewing family members of the missing girls, and hopefully Selah can dig up some dirt on Patrick Swain and find connections to him and our vics as well as Jenny Davis."

If she could make those connections, they'd have enough to get a search warrant for Swain's house, and Ty was sure that searching his home would result in a break in the case. "How were the girls contacted for jobs or even knew this house and this business existed?"

"Good question. Ethan Lantrip is going nowhere for now. He's admitted to accessory after the fact. I'll have Deputy Dorn talk to him. But we can only hold him forty-eight hours since we have no proof a murder has been committed. We do know that Jenny Davis was reported missing the day after this alleged event transpired."

"We can talk to him since we're stalled until tomorrow."

"Go ahead."

Ty ended the call and headed back to Manteo to the sheriff's office with Violet. "If you were the killer, would you live and work five hours away from where you imprisoned and murdered the women? That's risky."

Violet was moving her thumbs across the keyboard of her phone, texting. Probably to John to keep him in the know. His late wife had been undercover DEA and ended up murdered. Violet's job was far from safe, and she often kept him updated, but he'd never once asked her to quit—as far as Ty knew.

Her phone chimed, and she read the text and grinned. After she pocketed her device, she shifted in her seat. "Our killer believes he's invincible, so I think it's possible for him to work at a tattoo shop in Wilmington and keep the victims out here. He'd find it thrilling. But I'm not sure he's doing that. How does one have two homes on a tattoo artist's salary? He could be the owner, though. That's a different story and would make his schedule flexible."

"It's our only connection either way. We have to chase it." He turned right. "So, subject change. When is the big day? You set a date yet for the wedding?"

"January 25. Friends and family—his family. Nothing outrageous. I don't want it and he's already had it."

"Ruby going to be your maid of honor?"

"Yes. Lula and Stella will be flower girls."

Lula was her niece, and she and Stella were both around the same age. "I don't know if I can ever hear ‘flower girl' and not think of this case, but they'll be cute. They gonna dump violets on the ground?"

"Maybe." She half smiled.

"No one has brought up the fact that your name is a flower, Violet. And you're close to me."

"Only by proximity," she deadpanned, and adjusted the air-conditioning vent away from her. "You think I haven't already thought about that, Tiberius? He might make a go at me at some point. It'd be a mistake."

Ty would have laughed if Violet was making a joke, but she wasn't. Still, it was a possibility she could become a target for both her name and her connection with Ty.

Violet's cell phone rang again. "It's Selah." She answered. "You're on Speaker with me and Ty."

"I got something on Patrick Swain. A photo in the iCloud with him and Ahnah Hemmingway at his beach house. You said Skipper told you she was one of the girls he ran to the fantasy island house, right?"

"Right." Ty had hoped that Skipper had been lying. "That all?"

"No," she drew out with an edge of excitement.

"I have enough suspense going on in real life, Selah. I don't need any on your end," he said. "Get there faster."

"Dude," she said. "Jenny Davis and Amy-Rose Rydell are also in that photo. And you've ruined the climactic moment for me. I'm over it now." She ended the call.

Ty looked at Violet. "We got him."

Patrick Swain still wore his fancy suit, but the smugness wasn't quite as strong sitting in an uncomfortable metal chair in the Manteo Sheriff's Office interview room. Finally, Ty was getting somewhere. He'd pulled his history, and Patrick traveled often due to his line of work in commercial property.

"Well, hey again, Mr. Swain. Or can I call you Patrick? Pat? Patty?"

Swain's glare was enough to send Ty six feet under. Violet sat beside him silently, her arms folded on the table.

Swain's chin lifted, and pride rolled in sheets from his skin. "I have nothing to say."

"No worries. You don't need to speak to us. We'll let the photos do all the talking." Ty laid out the printed photos Selah had snagged from the iCloud public domain and put them in a nice neat row. "You said you didn't know any of these girls, but here's Amy-Rose Rydell, Ahnah Hemmingway and Jenny Davis—she's the one you had dumped. In case you're getting dementia or selective amnesia. They're right here with you, smiling, and if I'm not mistaken—and I rarely am—that's your beach house."

Finally, Swain's entitled face fell.

Now to the gem Selah discovered. "Also I noticed that over the past several years, you've taken business trips to Virginia. Smithfield, Richmond, Fredericksburg. You know what's in those places besides historic churches?"

"No."

"Dead girls on their doorsteps."

Swain held Ty's gaze, then smirked. "I was born in Virginia and have family there. It's not a crime to visit."

"No, but it is a crime to murder women. Poor taste to paint them in Fire Ice red."

Swain laughed, but there was zero humor involved. "You think I'm a serial killer."

"I think you're slimy."

Swain eyed the photos. "I see photos of me and women smiling without being coerced, and nothing indicates criminality. As far as Virginia, many men were in those vicinities besides me. And as for this Skipper. It's his word against mine. Amy-Rose Rydell and Lily Hayes are dead, and according to him, Jenny Davis is dead. And as for Ahnah Hemmingway...she's missing." Swain had him by the throat, and he knew it. The sparkle behind his cool but menacing glint declared the fact.

"Why did you lie about knowing these women?" Violet asked.

"You seem like the smarter of the two here. Why do you think?"

"I think it doesn't matter what I think."

The corner of his lips quirked. "I like you. These women are dead or missing. I'm not an idiot."

Ty would beg to differ.

Swain stood and straightened his tie. "Now, if you're not charging me, you have to let me go. I'm done talking."

Ty's blood heated. "Don't leave town, Mr. Swain. This isn't over."

Swain swaggered to the door. "Oh, I believe it is, Agent." Ty's phone chimed with a text to keep Swain in place. Asa and Owen were five minutes out.

"I have a few more questions. Two. That's it."

Swain sighed and folded his arms over his chest but refused to return to his seat.

What was going on? Asa must have something solid if he wanted Ty to keep him here.

"You need a drink or anything?" he said, stalling.

"No."

"Snack? Chips...a cookie? You look hungry." He continued asking stupid questions and even offered to share a knock-knock joke to stall him. Finally, Violet had enough and paused the investigation by leaving the room.

A few minutes later, the door opened and Asa, Owen, Violet and Deputy Dorn stood in the hall. Dorn carried a laptop in hand. "Give me a minute." Ty entered the hall, closing the door behind him.

"This thumb drive arrived at the beach house from a FedEx in Charlotte," Asa said. "And a note that it's Jenny Davis. We used our printing kit. Nothing. I'll send it off to the lab in Quantico after we watch it."

"You haven't already?" Ty asked.

"No. We came straight here, and Dorn grabbed a laptop. You can't stall that long believably."

Ty elbowed Violet. "No need to reveal I was reduced to knock-knock jokes, Vi."

Asa arched an eyebrow. "She didn't. I just know you." He shook his head. "Let's watch this while we have him in custody and see what's what."

"The killer sent this, didn't he?" Deputy Dorn asked.

"Most likely," Asa said.

But how did the killer procure it, and what would Jenny Davis have to do with the current case? They entered a second interview room and put the laptop on the table. Dorn plugged the drive into the USB port and hit Play.

The team crowded around the laptop, with full view to the fantasy night unfolding. "I wonder if he films every party without the guests knowing. It's obvious they have no idea the camera is there. They haven't looked at it once."

"I told you what he was," Violet said.

Ty pinched the bridge of his nose. The killer must believe that one of the participants was Jenny Davis, but it was dark and the people wore costumes with masks. "This is flimsy. Unless she takes off her mask before it's over, and I really want it to be over."

Furries weren't his jam.

"Brings a whole new meaning to warm and fuzzy, am I right?" Ty asked, and his comment was met with a punch to his shoulder from Owen. He rubbed it as he stared at the man in his skunk costume with a woman who allegedly was Jenny Davis. Her pink cat head was pretty big. It added height, and according to the missing persons report she was only five foot three. This person looked to be much taller, and there was no way to figure out her weight inside the bulky costume. Nothing proved it was actually Jenny.

Owen shivered and tapped out. "I've seen more than I want to."

But not enough to prove the participant was Jenny Davis. They had no body. No definitive proof that she'd been killed or dumped, only that she'd been reported missing.

Asa fast-forwarded past the frenzied animal action to the end when the man who was masked wrapped his fur-covered hands around her neck.

"Skipper said it was an accident." Ty cringed as the woman allowed the man to strangle her. She clearly thought he wasn't going to kill her, but as she needed air, fight-or-flight kicked in and she frantically pawed at him, but he hung on, enjoying the role-playing.

"Maybe Swain told him that," Asa said. "If Skipper wasn't there and hasn't seen this video, he'd only know what he'd been told."

"Or this is part of the fantasy. Strangling is the fetish but only to make them pass out." Violet pointed to the screen. "He's letting up now, and she was consensual at first."

The woman lay utterly motionless. The man shook her. Shook her again. But she didn't move. His shaking became more intense, and he hollered, "Wake up. Wake up!" His voice was panicked and his breath ragged as he cursed and undid a paw of his costume, revealing a meaty hand. The man felt for a pulse, then cursed again.

"Oh, this can't be happening," he said, and began pacing the floor. He rushed to the wall and hit a button. Then the feed went blank.

Swain had been watching, the sick voyeur, then cut off the feed when the button had been pressed, an emergency button or something to let Swain know the fantasy was over. Either way they didn't have Swain on camera, and he'd know it. And they couldn't prove this wasn't part of the fantasy—pretending to accidentally murder someone. No definitive proof the man had actually murdered her, but Ty knew it. The panic in the man's voice was real. But other than him being white, due to seeing his hand, they had no idea who he was. And no idea why the killer would send this. Was he in the costume? Was he Patrick Swain? Would this be a fun thrill? To get them so close but not close enough to arrest anyone or find that woman—if she was Jenny Davis?

"We still have nothing," Asa said. "Unless we can trace who mailed the thumb drive. We can get a warrant for Swain's security footage, which is recording this, but my guess is if it wasn't destroyed after you two visited him earlier today, it's gone now. And without a body, we don't have a murder. Without Swain on camera, we can't prove he was even in the house. And we can't prove that this guy in the skunk costume actually killed anyone. For all we know she got up and walked away after the camera went black. And if he did kill her, all we have is a skunk."

Ty kicked at the table leg. "We can secure a warrant for the footage if there is any and to search the house or at least this room. Let's do it. Question him. Maybe he'll slip up. We can hold him a little longer but not much. We gotta find something. This guy...he's involved. I know it."

"You don't know it," Asa said.

"He took pictures with Ahnah and Amy-Rose and Jenny Davis."

"It's a relatively small island, and they were smiling and not being confined," Asa said. "We can't arrest every person who took photos with them. He's lied about knowing them. But that's not necessarily a crime, and he's not been arrested."

"He's impeding an investigation."

"That's Blue Harbor SO business. But I'll let you have a crack at him one more time."

Ty huffed. "Okay. Give me a few minutes to pull it together." He walked outside into the hall, headed for the drink machine and bought a bottle of water. As he was gulping it down, Owen approached.

"Don't let this guy burrow under your skin. I know you got a lot riding on it, but you have to keep a cool head." He put two dollars into the machine and punched a Coke button. It rattled and clanked into the bin. "Do you think it's Swain?"

"I don't know. If he is, then he inserted himself into our investigation with enough information that throws us for a frustrating loop while he walks away. Our killer is that clever. On the other hand, if our killer is giving us this guy—without concrete evidence of any crime—what's his motive? What does it have to do with the women he's tattooing and murdering? What does it have to do with me specifically?"

"I don't know, but if he is the killer and literally gave himself to us like this... I'll be honest, my gut's in knots. Who does that?"

Someone who knows they can't be caught. A voyeur enjoying law enforcement's frustration. Ty wiped drops of water off his chin. "Let's see if he'll crack."

"He doesn't seem to be that kind of egg, Ty."

Ty didn't have a choice but to try. Was this a wild-goose chase? Was he lying? Had Ahnah been involved with this kind of activity? She was in the photo. Why would Skipper come forward, and who sent the thumb drive? Ty's nerves pulled taut. Any moment he was going to explode.

How was he going to get a step ahead of this guy?

If he didn't, people he cared about were going to die.