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“Let’s hope the killer doesn’t have fifty-two victims in mind,” said Greenberg.
“He definitely seems to be taking the other aspects of the sentence literally,” said Andie.
“What do you mean?” asked Greenberg.
“Notice the pronouncement about the ‘bodies hung in chains, to be thrice washed by the rising tide.’ Three tides is about thirty-six hours. That’s how much time our killer has let expire before making an anonymous call to the media and telling them there’s a body to recover.”
There was silence on the videoconference, as the grim observation sank in.
“Sounds like he’s made himself judge, jury, and executioner,” said Michael.
Judge.Andie’s brief call with Theo was suddenly top of mind, but the next words out of her mouth were even more urgent.
“We need to notify the public we have a serial killer,” said Andie. “And we have to tell them that anyone who visits a piracy website is at risk.”
Chapter 46
The wind was perfect for a Saturday-morning sail. Jack left his Nassau hotel early, and by nine o’clock he was aboard a thirty-foot sailboat with a Bahamian charter captain named Eli. It was research, not recreation. Scores of online reviewers had given Eli five stars, not just for his sailing ability, but for his vast knowledge of local lore and obscure points of Bahamian history—including pirate history. Jack figured that if anyone could lead him to the exact site of the group execution of ten pirates in 1718, it would be Eli.
“People love pirate stories,” said Eli.
“The way they love ghost stories, I guess,” said Jack.
“It’s different, mon. There’s no baseball team named Pittsburgh Ghosts. Everyone love pirates.”
Not everyone,thought Jack.
They were fifty yards offshore, cutting through waters of sun-sparkled turquoise. The beach stretched for miles in either direction, a seemingly endless pinkish-white ribbon of sand. It was deserted, save for a tiki bar, where a half-dozen recreational boaters relaxed to calypso music. The choice between light or dark rum appeared to be their only concern, never mind the fact that it was barely breakfast time. Jack took a seat on the portside rail near the cockpit. He was safely away from the beam, as the main sail was to starboard.
“There’s the spot,” said Eli, pointing toward shore.
Jack saw nothing to mark it as “the spot.” “How do you know?”
“I don’t, mon. That’s just my best guess.”
“Wait. You’re guessing?”
“Wha’choo want, mon? A pirate map that says ‘X mark the spot’?There hardly no records of this sort of thing. We talkin’ over three hundred years ago.”
It wasn’t the answer Jack had been hoping for. “Can I ask you a question, Eli?”
“Sure, mon. No extra charge.”
“Let’s say I have a friend who was on a boat some years ago. She’s trying to remember every little detail about that boat trip. Who was on the boat with her. What kind of boat it was. Who the captain was. She needs to remember everything she possibly can.”
“Must’ve been one important boat trip.”
“It was. To help jog her memory, I want to take pictures of where she was when someone on that boat pointed out the exact spot where the bodies of those ten executed pirates were put on display in 1718.”
Eli laughed. “That’s a good one, mon. The exact spot. Ha! Anywhere the captain say it happened, that where it happened.”
Jack’s heart sank. “Got it,” he said.
“Why you look so sad, mon? Is this not an excellent sail?”
“The best,” said Jack.
“Yes, sir. The best. You be sure to give Captain Eli five stars on the internet.”
