A Barricade in Hell (14 page)

“You shouldn't pay attention to rumors, Officer Dodd.” Delia smiled, appearing serene and utterly normal, and looked the young rookie in the eye. “The people spreading gossip are only half-right. Dora is a spiritualist, a very knowledgeable one with years of experience in dealing with the spirit realm. I'm the one who sees ghosts.”

Randolph Dodd gaped, mouth working like a carnival goldfish in a bowl of cloudy water. He managed to get his mouth closed and stammer an apology, but the shocked expression remained. “Mrs. Ryan, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—You see ghosts?”

“I do. And please, call me Delia. Most days I wish that weren't true, but I've come to accept that the spirits aren't going away. I've learned a lot from Isadora. More importantly, I trust her. She believes you can make handling the evidence in this case less difficult for her.” She sat in Gabe's desk chair, hands folded in her lap. “Any death generates spiritual energy, but the energy from a violent death includes all the victim's pain and suffering. Items from a crime scene, even photographs, absorb all the energy generated. Dora feels everything from a victim's last moments as if it were happening to her right now.”

Randy wiped a hand over his mouth. “That sounds hellish. Again, no disrespect intended, Dora, but if that's all true … why put yourself through that? You're not a cop.”

“Trite as it may sound, because someone has to help Gabe and Jack catch the villains. Not that they need my assistance all the time.” Dora's smile was tight and brittle, but that didn't stop her from winking at Gabe. “But I have knowledge that falls beyond the bounds of normal police work. Occasionally one of their cases drifts outside those boundaries and into the realm of the occult, and they ask me to consult. I'm more than happy to help keep them safe under those circumstances. A detective's job is dangerous enough.”

Jack raked fingers through his disheveled curls and sighed. “I understand why Patrolman Dodd is hesitant. This is all new to him and he doesn't know you. But I've seen you examine evidence a hundred times, Dora. If you need to bring in someone other than Delia for this case, let me try. At least I'd know what I'm getting into.”

“That's very sweet, but I'd have asked you or Gabe long ago if either of you were suited. And much as I enjoy corrupting impressionable young men, that isn't why I need Randolph to help us.” Cats circled garden snakes the way Dora approached the evidence on Gabe's desk, wary and mindful of being bitten. “Spiritually neutral people are rare, but they do exist. The best way to explain what makes them different is that they always have one foot in the spirit realm and one in the land of the living. Energy of all sorts can pass through them from one plane to the other and cause no harm.”

Gabe frowned. “And you're saying Patrolman Dodd is spiritually neutral? How do you know?”

“His aura, Gabe.” Delia watched Randolph Dodd with the same distracted, faraway expression he'd grown accustomed to seeing on Isadora's face. How alike they'd become frightened him at times. “The nimbus surrounding Randy shimmers with mother-of-pearl rainbows. All the energy in the room, good or bad, flows through him. It's really quite beautiful.”

“And very distinctive.” Dora pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and sighed, the sound weary enough to worry Gabe. She was uncomfortable at the very least, but she'd never say so. “Given what we suspect about this case, finding Randy in the lobby was either a stroke of luck or divine providence. I'm not willing to prod that idea too hard, but I'm grateful to have found him, whatever the reason. Now, be a dear and let us work. Assuming Randy is willing and agrees to trust me.”

She offered her hand to Dodd. He hesitated another instant, uncertainty flickering in his eyes, before grasping her hand firmly. “If the lieutenant and the captain trust you, I guess I can too. Tell me what to do.”

“We'll start with the photographs. I think this will work best if you handle them first before I see the image. That should siphon off a great deal of the pain.” Dora turned on the desk lamp and adjusted the shade so the light shone on the dark green blotter. “Lay them faceup so the light hits them.”

Under other circumstances, Gabe might have found Randy Dodd's obvious relief over not bursting into flames or being struck by lightning comical. But nothing about this case was comical. His stomach soured watching his wife work side by side with Isadora, partners the way he and Jack had always been. He didn't find that the least bit funny.

Dora studied the photos, holding tight to Delia's arm for support with one hand, her other hand hovering over the photos. For some of the images, she used Delia as a buffer between her and the photographs. Even with Randy running interference and absorbing the worst, she took a lot of punishment.

Lines, each one a marker of pain, formed around Dora's eyes. “You were right, Gabe, this was a ritual. A particularly nasty one, given the way Mr. Wells was bound and his throat cut. I can't say what the purpose was, not with any certainty, but I've no doubt this was a blood sacrifice. Bradley Wells was made a victim in more ways than one.”

Jack whistled through his teeth. “That's not something a San Francisco cop hears very often. I'm not doubting your word, Dora, but how do you know? You can't have seen this before, you said as much.”

She swayed for an instant, but Randy put a hand on her arm, bleeding away whatever force caused her pain, and some of the color returned to her face. Gabe's view of the world and people shifted again, leaving him unsettled.

Dora squinted at the photos. “No, Jack, not exactly like this, and not anything that's occurred in our lifetime. But there are texts and drawings, some that date back hundreds of years that describe these types of rituals. I was very young when I first delved into the spirit realm, but my teacher believed in showing me the dark things as well as the light.” She rested a hand on Randy's arm and passed the other over the assembled photographs, still careful not to touch them. Dora shut her eyes, trembling. “He didn't struggle.”

“No. We couldn't find any signs that Wells put up a fight.” He and Jack had gone over what to tell her beforehand and what to hold back. Influencing a witness was bad police work, and Isadora was a witness of sorts, even if it was long after the crime. Gabe cleared his throat. Telling Isadora and Delia the rest of what they knew would help clear away the last of his doubts about the connections between his cases.

Telling them made what he had to say true. “Before Wells died in his father's shop, there were two murders in Chinatown. Sung Liang and his granddaughter, Sung Lan, were killed in the back room of his herb shop. The girl fought her attackers and according to Liang's brother, Sung Wing, she didn't die easily. But her spirit was intact and Sung Wing was able to send her ghost to be with their ancestors.”

Dora sank into the desk chair, drawn and pale. “Really … Wu Mai died nearly four years ago. She was the last in Chinatown with that much power or skill, or so I thought. I've not heard of Sung Wing before now.”

“I'm not surprised. Lieutenant Benson's squad works Chinatown full-time. I spoke with him and some of his men as soon as we got back to the station. None of them have heard of Sung Wing either.” Gabe stuffed his hands deep into his trouser pockets and leaned against the file cabinet. “At least one of the beat cops should have heard Mr. Sung's name before. He's a tong leader.”

“I suspect he's much more than that, Gabe.” Dora frowned and gripped the arms of the chair, fingers white. “Tell me the rest.”

“Liang's throat was cut. The bodies were cremated, but from Sung Wing's description, his brother died the same way as Bradley Wells. He never mentioned his brother fighting his attackers.” Gabe traded looks with his partner. “Mr. Sung was very angry about his brother's death and what happened to his great-niece. But what upset him the most is that his brother's ghost vanished. He thinks the killers stole Sung Liang's spirit.”

“Oh dear God.” Delia stared, owl-eyed and breathing too fast. “Dora … they took his ghost. That's what they wanted all along.”

“Let's finish this before jumping to conclusions. Sung Wing could be mistaken. And remember what I said about belief making it so.” Dora stood, bracing herself against the edge of the desk. “Randy, open the box, please. We'll do this the same way, with you handling everything first. Perhaps seeing what's inside will help me determine what's going on.”

That his wife and Dora knew, or at the very least, suspected, something he didn't was obvious. He wouldn't press for an explanation yet. The pasteboard evidence box looked mundane, harmless, but he knew that wasn't true. Not given its effect on Isadora.

Gabe stood next to Delia and took her hand, trying not to be obvious about hovering over Isadora. Jack moved to stand on the other side, positioned where he could catch Dora if she fainted, something Randy Dodd wouldn't know to expect.

“I'll make a bargain with you, Captain Ryan.” Dora scrubbed her hands up and down her skirt and watched Randy lift out Wells's white shroud through narrowed, pain-filled eyes. “I promise not to swoon if you and Jack let me breathe. Step back, please.”

Jack stood his ground, arms folded over his chest. “Not a chance. Daniel made me promise to take care of you.”

“I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, despite what Daniel thinks. You men are all so stubborn. If you insist on crowding me, don't complain if I tread on your toes.” Dora went back to studying the cloth covering the desktop. She skimmed a hand over the top, barely avoiding touching the fabric itself. “Has Mr. Wells been buried yet?”

“This morning.” Gabe put an arm around Delia's shoulders. “Why?”

“Pity. Confirmation would have been nice. I'll have to make do without viewing the body directly.” Her frown deepened. “I thought maybe it was the lighting, or the angle of the photographs. But there really isn't a trace of Mr. Wells here. Nothing at all.”

“Nothing?” Jack looked from Gabe to Dora. “You've been in pain since you came in. How can there be nothing here?”

“I didn't say that nothing lingered, just nothing of Mr. Wells.” Dora sat in the desk chair, tipped her head back, and shut her eyes. “Be a lamb and put everything in the box, Randy, and close the lid. Then take it down the hall to another room.”

Dodd did what he was told, casting sidelong, concerned glances at Isadora the entire time. He closed up the box, but paused before leaving. “Will you be all right?”

“I'll be fine. Thank you.” She opened her eyes and smiled. “I may need your help again later. Captain Ryan will send for you when the time comes.”

Gabe waited for the door to close behind the rookie before asking the obvious question: “If you're not sensing Wells, what is it?”

“Remnants of the ritual and the power generated. It's rather foul, somewhat like being closed in a closet with a sun-ripened corpse.” Dora pushed herself up straight in the chair and dropped her head into her hands long enough to take a shaky breath. “But none of that foulness is connected to Bradley Wells. His pain and suffering, the essence of who he was is all gone. They drained that from him along with his blood.”

Delia shuddered and he pulled her closer. “They took his ghost. Just like Sung Liang.”

Isadora rubbed her temples. “Much as I hate to admit it, Dee's right. Whoever performed the ritual took his spirit. That was their aim all along.”

There were a hundred questions in Gabe's mind, all clamoring to be asked. But the haggard lines newly etched in Dora's face stopped him from interrogating her. He asked only one. “Can you find who did this from the traces they left behind?”

She winced and shut her eyes for an instant before answering. “No, I can't, not directly. But those who practice blood rituals and embrace the darker aspects of the occult are marked. I can see those marks. I suspect Dee can as well. And unless they leave San Francisco entirely, their identity won't stay hidden for long. Raising power that way makes you hungry for more. A trail of corpses will lead you to Sung Liang and Bradley Wells's killer.”

“Damnation, Dora.” Jack tugged his notebook and pencil out of a back pocket and began scribbling notes, scowling. “If anyone else told me a story like that, I'd call the asylum and have them committed. But this is you. It makes my skin crawl, but I believe every word. And that scares the hell out of me.”

“Good.” She kept rubbing her temples, peering bleary eyed at Jack. “Being scared will make you more careful. That goes for you too, Gabriel Ryan. Dee and I will do what we can to protect you, but being cautious will keep you alive.”

A rap on the door was followed by Dodd calling his name. “Captain Ryan?”

He hugged Delia's shoulders and stepped away. “Come in.”

Dodd pushed the door open, looking and sounding as if he'd run back to the office. “Captain, the desk sergeant sent me to get you. A woman's body washed up at the construction site north of the Ferry Building an hour ago. Officer Henderson told the sergeant that you and the lieutenant need to come to Pier 3 right now. A car and driver will be waiting out front by the time you get there.”

Dora looked up, her attention focused on Randy. “Do they know who this woman was or her name?”

He gave Dodd credit for looking to Jack for permission and waiting for a nod before answering. “No, the officers on the scene haven't been able to identify her. Marshall said the body's been in the water for days. Unless someone can identify her clothing or belongings … he said we may never know her name.”

“Oh dear God.” Delia hugged arms over her chest. “Could it be Mandy?”

“No, it's not Mandy.” Jack helped Dora to her feet, the twitching muscle along his jaw the only hint he wasn't as confident as he sounded. “Chances are it's a girl from the streets or one of the taverns near the docks.”