Once Bitten, Twice Dead Page 30

“You must have a lot of money, Ms. Jones.”

  “I’m the heiress to the Lays Potato Chip fortune. ‘When you open a bag, you know you just can’t eat one.’”

  So maybe she was going to be David’s future victim, or maybe it was simply a safe place for him to stay. All Capricia knew was that he had picked her up in a bar and had been living at her place for three days. He had told her he was a Wall Street day-trader there on vacation.

  “Did he give any hint as to where he was heading after he left you?” I didn’t add: “left you for dead.”

  “I didn’t think he was going to leave me—at least not for awhile. He did mention Miami a couple of times. Yes, he said he might go to Miami, but I thought he’d be taking me with him.”

  Swell. Not exactly a tiny town. I was on the road again and headed for whatever Miami vice I could dig up that would lead me to David Selby.

  CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN

  Before I left Marathon, Capricia did give me a more specific lead.

  “David was looking at some pamphlets before he went out to tinker with the boat. He did leave in a hurry, as you know. Those pamphlets are still here. I’ll get them for you.”

  All the pamphlets were from Miami travel agencies, and the brochures featured cruises. It seemed that David was going on a “get away” vacation—getting away from me. He could easily get off the boat in some foreign country and stay there.

  I was now heading back north, to Miami.

  I struck out at the first two agencies. David had not been there. But then at the third agency, Southern Travel, I hit the jackpot—almost.

  Posters from the Caribbean and South America dotted the walls. I showed my picture of David to the girl at the first desk. “Yeah, he was just in here. He didn’t find anything to his liking. He left maybe five minutes ago.”

  I got excited. “Which way did he go?”

  “I wasn’t stalking him like you’re doing, but I think he turned left and headed across the street.”

  “Thanks.”

  I hurried across the busy street, almost getting picked off by a speeding cab. And there he was, eating a hot dog and leaning against a storefront. However, again a kind of sixth sense made David look right at me. I was a distance away and trying to hide behind a crowd of shoppers, but David still spotted me. He flung away his hot dog and took off running.

  I wasn’t in excellent shape, but I thought I could keep up with him. I was wrong. Maybe David had been working out in training so he could continue to kill without getting caught. All I knew was that in the space of a minute he had widened the distance between us from a hundred feet to now a half block. He was dodging in and out of the clusters of people like he was a pro football player. I remembered he had said he played football in college. Why couldn’t I be chasing a serial killer who was a geek?

  A couple of times during the chase David knocked over a person who didn’t get out of his way fast enough. In contrast, my almost polite excusing of myself as I tried to get by the crowds put me even further behind the rapidly disappearing runner.

  Way up ahead I saw him duck into an alley. By the time I got to the mouth of that alley, he was nowhere to be seen. I vowed I wasn’t going to lose him this time. Calling upon a little extra, I sped down toward the other end. There seemed to be some kind of commotion on the street that crossed the alley. I saw what looked like a couple of TV cameras, and I heard: “Take three—action!”

  The next thing I knew I had slammed into someone who was running up the alley toward the other end. The guy’s mirror glasses went flying against a stucco wall shattering both lenses. Both of us hit the stones on the street. I scraped both hands on the cinders trying to break my fall. The guy I had run into was wearing a suit, which now was ripped at the shoulder. My only thought was, it was 85 degrees—why was he wearing a suit? The guy was breathing but dazed, almost unconscious. Why did she look so familiar?

  A crowd of maybe six people started running toward us. What they were shouting totally confused me: “David, David, are you all right??” Why were they yelling David’s name? He didn’t seem to be here at all. The only person I could see near me was the guy on the ground.

  The first guy up to me yelled, “You just knocked out our star.”

  Their star? Were these people on drugs?

  No one offered to help me up. Another person yelled at me, “Didn’t you see that sign back there?”

  “What sign?”

  “The one that says, Keep out. You ran right into a shooting.”

  “What do you mean shooting? David shot someone?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “What are you talking about?? I was running after David.”

  “If you were running after him, then why did you both run into each other?”

  I felt we were enacting some kind of insane comedy routine.

  The red-haired guy on the ground was being revived. He sat up. “What happened?”

  “This ‘person’ ran into you and knocked you down, David.”

  David. So this guy was David—another David—not the guy I was chasing

  “What exactly is going on here?” I asked.

  The first guy who had run up to me, the guy with the wild hair, finally explained: “This is the cast and crew from CSI Miami. You just did something that no one on the program has been able to do in four years—you knocked out the lead actor, David Caruso, known as Horatio Caine.”

  Now I recognized Caruso. He had once been a detective on the series NYPD—Blue. I never did watch much TV, but now I did remember him.

  Back to my reality. I had to ask: “Did you see a guy run through this alley before I did?”

  The wild-hair guy gave me the scoop. “We were actually shooting a half block away from here, but we wanted a short ‘clip scene’ that we could insert later, so we had David start running down the alley. We didn’t see any other guy.”

  I was still on the ground. Not one of those gracious people had offered to help me up. I stood now on shaky legs. Someone shoved a blue piece of paper in front of my face. “What’s this?” I inquired as I started to slip back into my bewildered state.

  “It’s a release form. Just sign it. We might use this scene where you knocked David out. We’ll clip you out of it, of course, but we’ll keep the part of David flying through the air and hitting the dumpster. It’s great footage. We can use it for a future program. Also, if you’re injured right now, you can’t sue us.”

  “I don’t want to sue you. I was just chasing. . .” What was the use telling them I was chasing a real killer.

  Wild Hair spoke to me again. “You don’t have to sign this, but if you don’t we have to report this accident to the police in order to cover our insurance.”

  Waiting for the police would lose me valuable time. My David might still be in the area. “All right, give me a pen.”

  As it turned out my running into CSI David looked so realistic (which it was) that they kept me and the entire scene in. Two months later I got a check for $76, for my work as an “extra.”

  CSI David shook hands with me before I left. “Nice to meet you,” he said, “but I hope we don’t meet like that again.”

  “Exactly. I do hope I don’t ‘run into you’ again.”

  So the CSI Miami show had benefited from me running down that alley, but I definitely was the loser because again David Selby had escaped.

  I remembered what the girl at the Southern Travel agency had said: that David had not found what he was looking for. I still had two more pamphlets from travel agencies in Miami. Maybe at one of these David had found the kind of booking he wanted.

  I got to Suncoast Tours just as it was closing. I was told to come back tomorrow. “Please, just look at this one picture,” I pleaded.

  “Yes, he was in here an hour ago.”

  “Did he book anything with you?”

  “No, he didn’t. Now can I close up now?”

  “Do you remember what he asked about?”

/>   “He was such a nice man. I did spend a lot of time with him. He said he wanted to taka long cruise, as far away as possible. I gave him a list of five ships that were leaving in the next two days. He said he’d be back tomorrow to book with us.”

  “Can you give me a copy of that same list?”

  “You are a pain.”

  “Yes, I am. Please. It’s important.”

  “All right.” She clicked on her computer. “I found the list. I’ll print it out for you. You really must want to find this guy. I don’t blame you. He is a hunk.”

  “I do want to find that ‘hunk.’”

  I wasted the entire next day across the street from Suncoast Travel. No David Selby appeared. I then went to the five ships on the list—two of them had already departed, but I was able to check their passenger lists at the little guard house by the port. David was not on those lists, and neither was he listed on the manifest of any of the ships that were still in port.

  David had told that girl agent that he was interested in a cruise and had gone so far as to select particular ones. She had said he made no other inquiries. It was frustrating. I seemed to be at another impasse.

  That night I stayed at a pricey hotel, not far from where a famous designer had been shot a few years earlier. Of course David could have left Miami and headed back up the coast, or even toward New Orleans to seek some ship passage, but I was going to give Miami one more day. If nothing happened tomorrow, maybe I had lost David Selby permanently.

  That night I called Phil to give him my “no progress report.” As usual he was encouraging that I would capture David. We talked for maybe five minutes, and then he said he had to go. As he signed off he did tell me he loved me, but there was something in his voice that gave me a warning signal. I had been fanatical in my pursuit of David, and maybe I had been neglecting Phil. Our conversation for those minutes had been about what was happening to me. I hadn’t asked Phil much about himself. Would my attachment always be to my job and not toward my personal life? At that moment I was too worn out to even begin to attempt to figure that one out. Sleep was necessary, or I would begin worrying the life out of me.

  The next morning I woke up early, ready to keep wandering around the area where those travel agencies and the docks were located. After my “run in” with CSI David, I did check with the fifth agency whose pamphlet I had, but they had not seen anyone who matched my picture. So I was stuck with only the word, “cruise,” as a clue for where David might be. It wasn’t much to go on.

  I ordered a room service continental breakfast, and while waiting for it I flipped on the TV. It was eight A.M., not a quality time for good programming, as far as I could see as I went through the first ten channels. I eventually got to the Travel Channel, and I decided to keep it there as my breakfast arrived. If I didn’t track down David today, maybe I could take a vacation and declare myself a loser.

  A program was just starting. I wolfed down my sweet roll—again I had forgotten to eat for awhile. I was just sipping my coffee when the narrator began introducing an extraordinary cruise ship. The vessel was called, The World. It was a legitimate cruise ship that had been turned into live-in condos. The company that had formulated this idea was called, RESIDENSEA.

  For the mere pittance of seven million dollars you (not me) could purchase one of these condos. That condo would be your permanent home while the ship cruised ports throughout the entire world. Thus the name, The World, because that’s what you saw. A ship of that size could normally hold 1800 people, but it had been redesigned to house 250 condos, thus giving the residents vast space within which to live. When the living space was shown it was grandiose: two bedrooms, an office, kitchen, two baths, and a recreation room complete with a running machine and pool table. Three flat-screen TVs were sprinkled throughout, giving the occupant all the comforts of home because the ship would actually be the person’s home.

  The program advertised that this ship was the only one of its kind in the world. The company was building a second one, but it was still in its construction phase.

  Oh, my god! I almost choked on my coffee. I now knew where David was. I immediately called the Residensea Corporation and found that The World had been docked in Miami yesterday.

  “Is it still there?”

  “No, the ship left at 4 P.M. yesterday.”

  “Where is its next stop?”

  “Nassau in the Bahamas.”

  Ever since he was a child David had been waging his war against rich people. That ship would be like Paradise for him: two hundred fifty of probably some of the richest people in the world all in one spot. What better environment could be had for this serial killer? The people on that ship would be like sitting ducks whom David could pick off one by one.

  And then I had even a worse thought. I remembered the explosion in my apartment that nearly killed me. Of course it was David who had done that. Now, I bet he was planning a grandiose curtain call. He was going to blow up the entire ship, simultaneously sending 250 wealthy people to the bottom of the ocean. Such a feat would be like an orgasm for David. He could destroy, for him, all those awful people.

  I had to get to the Bahamas before that ship did. I headed for the Miami airport.

  CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT

  On my flight to Nassau I checked with my new-found brother, Trevor Dawkins. He had told me that his job was to research explosives for the Navy, and a big bang could be what I was dealing with.

  I took my computer with me on the plane and emailed Trevor asking about certain kinds of explosives. Within a half hour he emailed me back, saying that there were three kinds of explosives that were virtually undetectable by means of any security system. He did know about that ship, The World. He said because of terrorist threats throughout the actual world, the ship had been built with an electronic fence surrounding it, like a Star Trek “shield.” This electronic barrier prevented the setting off of any explosive device by means of a signal outside the ship, for instance, by means of a cell phone. The Residensea owners had already considered espionage attempts against some of the wealthy people who lived on the ship. This electronic fence prevented a detonation from a remote place off the ship.

  But what it didn’t prevent, I said to myself, was someone on the ship setting off the bomb. This was to be David’s last action against the wealthy. He was to become an American suicide bomber. I had to get on that ship and stop him.

  My flight was on time, and according to my cross-referencing of The World’s arrival, I was an hour ahead of the ship. However, by the time I could get off the plane and find a cab that would take me to the airport, I saw that the ship was already there.

  A few passengers were leaving the ship to do some shopping or to visit one of the island’s many banks, possibly to gaze at their money, or at least look at the piece of paper that verified that money.

  I had to find some way to gain access into that ship.

  No one seemed to be standing guard at the bottom of the gangplank. Could I just walk onto the ship? I looked around again. Neither was there any guard at the top of the passageway into the ship. It seemed that anyone could come and go as they pleased. Maybe that’s how David got on the ship in Miami.

  I stopped one of the older ladies disembarking from the ship. She was wearing a ton of jewelry, glittering like a Christmas tree. Here was my chance for some information. “Pardon me, this is my first cruise—my uncle just sold me his condo last week. I’ve gotten off to go buy some trinkets, but I forgot my passport—will I be able to get back on the ship without any trouble?

  “Of course. When we stop at the ports, no one checks. There are too many passengers coming and going. I got in at the beginning. I’ve been sailing for sixteen months now. At the beginning they checked us all the time; you could hardly turn around, but with no incidents for all these months, they’ve gotten lax. Just walk back up anytime you want.”

  From what that TV program had said this ship had been created by an independent company without
any particular governmental ties. So, yes, the United States the last seven years could enact all the terrorist restrictions it wanted, but this ship of the world was not subject to any of those national boundaries. It did seem, then that some of the big money people in the world were sailing without much protection. David seemed to have picked a vulnerable target for his grand finale. If David succeeded, the company would instantly change its policy, but it would be too late.

  I looked around one more time and then simply walked up and into the ship.

  And now that I was inside, where was I supposed to go without attracting undue attention? I didn’t own any condo—the TV program said the last one was sold six months ago. No one new could move in unless one of the residents moved or died. I was here to prevent a mass death, a group execution of the wealthy.

  Not only didn’t I own a condo, but I also had no way to access any of those residences. The information on the TV said that all condos were constantly locked unless opened by a key that only each resident had. If a resident lost a key only the Captain had an extra, and to obtain that new key you had to place your palm on a scanner for identification.

  Walking through the cavernous hallways I felt I was on another planet: a wanderer without a home. I had to head for general access areas. A bar was my first choice. There was a directory in the hallway, and I saw there were five bars on the ship. I decided on the Tequila Traveler Lounge. It was time to be friendly.

  Even though it was early afternoon, there were already four people sitting at the bar. Maybe living permanently on a floating condo isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I sat next to a slight, tanned fellow wearing a cowboy hat. I couldn’t quite tell because he was sitting down, but he didn’t seem much taller than I. I usually like guys to be at least six feet, but I did tell myself I was just sitting next to the guy, not marrying him. He was studying his drink, maybe looking for some hope at the bottom of his glass.

  After a couple of minutes, he finally noticed me, only because I bumped his elbow just as he was going to take a swig. I wanted to see his reaction. If it would be anger, then he might not be the right kind of person to shack up with. That was my new plan: to live with someone momentarily until I could find David. It was the only way I could avoid detection. I had noticed signs that said, “Please have your condo pass available at all times.” Maybe it was easy to get inside the ship but not so easy to wander randomly around it.