She held out her hands. “Larry Gordon is a prepper. He does have a lot of strange stuff in his basement.”
“I’m sure none of it is nuclear,” I countered.
“Who’s to say?” Marjory smiled and then went back to working on her computer.
I went to the magically warded filing cabinets against the wall and studied them for a moment. They were compiled by the DDA, whose members had been ousted from power. There were a lot of secrets in these files — some that people would kill to ensure never got out — but I’d warded the cabinets so no one could sneak in and look through them. Marjory wasn’t allowed to look through them either. She was only slightly bitter about it.
“What are you looking for?” Marjory asked from her desk.
“Is there a serial killer section?” It was a weird question, but I didn’t know how else to ask.
“Because of what you saw on the other plane?” Marjory left her desk and moved closer to me. “Do you think whoever is over there came from here?”
“Clive’s tableau felt like it was ripped straight out of aCriminal Mindsepisode,” I replied. “Or even that weird showHannibal, which was completely homoerotic and yet had me getting hot and bothered for a serial killer.”
“I have no idea what that means,” Marjory said blandly.
“It doesn’t matter.” I waved her off. “I’m wondering if there was ever a serial killer on the island.”
“Sixty years ago, Mo Whitman blew up his wife and sister-in-law in a cabin,” Marjory offered.
“That’s not a serial killer. A serial killer has multiple victims but not from the same act. Someone who kills multiple people during the same event is a spree killer. Serial killers are normally highly organized and like to stalk their victims.”
“Do you think Clive was stalked?”
“The only thing I know is that it felt as if Clive’s body had been strung up that way to cause maximum damage. The killer wanted me to be upset when I saw it.”
“But why?” Marjory made a face. “You had no love for Clive.”
“He was ripped apart.”
“It’s not as if he didn’t have it coming.”
“You’re all heart,” I teased Marjory.
“He tried to kill my son.” Marjory’s countenance darkened. “I don’t harbor love for a man who wants to kill my child.”
“Good point.” We were getting off track. “Did you ever have a serial killer on the island?”
“Not that I can think of. There may have been one before the island embraced law and order.” Marjory thought for a bit. “There’s no way to access that information that I know of, but we might have had one person who fit the bill.”
She had my full interest now. “Who?”
“Look for the name Declan Wilkes.”
I went to that drawer and looked. There was a file. “Who is he?” I asked as I removed it.
“He was a very bad boy.” Marjory’s forehead creased. “Read the file. Then we’ll discuss.”
It was obvious she didn’t want to talk about this. I was fine reading the file and having her plug the holes. I started toward my office, then paused. “Just one thing.”
Marjory slid her eyes to me and waited.
“Is Declan still on this island?”
“Nobody knows what happened to Declan. He disappeared twenty years ago.”
“He just disappeared?”
