This was bad. There had been another grisly vampire-style murder - in Savannah. Kyle and I rushed down to Georgia in a shiny black Bell Jet helicopter that would have done Darth Vader proud.  Kyle wouldn’t let the case go. He wouldn’t let me go either.  Even from the air, the seaport city was stunningly beautiful, with its clusters of mansions, quaint shopping districts, and the Savannah River winding through golden yellow marshes out to the Atlantic.  Why were the attacks taking place in crowded, attractive locales?
Why these particular cities?
There had to be a reason why this was eluding all of us so far. The killers had to be playing out a complex story/fantasy. What the hell was it?
An FBI sedan was waiting and it rushed us to the Cathedral of St John the Baptist. The church was on East Harris in the historic district of town. Police cruisers were parked everywhere among the antebellum homes. So were EMS vans.
‘The highways around Savannah are completely blockaded,’ Kyle told me as we made our way through the heavy traffic near the church. ‘This is the most............