A Barricade in Hell (17 page)

She was dressed in a green linen dress and a short, beaded black jacket, stockings shredded and both shoes lost to the shifting tides. A small garnet ring on her right hand caught the sun, glittered with bloodred sparks. Her face was a ravaged mess, swollen from water and sun, mauled by birds and fish. Seaweed tangled in her long black hair.

“Oh God.” Jack wiped his mouth, his voice hushed and shakey. “It's not her. It's not Amanda Poe.”

Gabe looked from the woman's ruined face and back to Jack. “You're sure?”

His partner nodded. “Very sure. Amanda's hair is red, not black. This is someone else.”

He clapped Jack on the shoulder, sharing a moment of guilty relief. Neither of them would have to break bad news to their wives. But this woman was someone's friend, someone's daughter, wife, or sister. That she wasn't Amanda Poe didn't make her death less important.

“Ryan, take a look at this.” Rosen had been with the coroner's office longer than Gabe had been a cop. The clues he followed were different, but Rosen was as much a detective as any investigator on the force. And Sal never flinched, no matter what condition they found a body in. Gabe couldn't make the same claim.

Sal pulled a fountain pen from his pocket and traced a line on the dead woman's wrists. “See this? It's hard to be sure with all the swelling and tissue damage, but my guess is that both her wrists were slit. I won't know until I get her to the morgue, but you're probably looking at the cause of death right here.”

Gabe crouched down, barely able to make out the wounds Rosen said had killed a young, well-to-do woman. “Are you thinking suicide?”

“I don't think so, not dressed like that. She looks ready to go out to supper, not bleed her life into the washroom basin. And if the clothes were intended to send a message to someone, we'd have found her at home. Probably in her bedroom.” He bent her arm at the elbow. “Rigor's gone. Given the temperature, my guess is she's been in the water for five to seven days. All of which raises the question of how she ended up in the Bay to begin with.”

“Leave finding the answer to us.” The scent of sun-rotted fruit and spoiled meat grew stronger, turning Gabe's stomach. Sal kept poking at the body, seemingly oblivious. “And you're sure she didn't do this to herself?”

Rosen turned one of her arms so that her wrist was more exposed. He leaned in and squinted. “The edges look too smooth and the depth of the wound too even to be self-inflicted. Even the most determined suicide flinches from the pain. The cuts get the job done, but they tend to be ragged and uneven.”

Jack scribbled furiously in his moleskine. “Could she have drowned?”

“Anything's possible. But there's very little postmortem lividity visible.” Rosen shrugged. “Call it a professional hunch if you like, but I think she was dead from blood loss before she hit the water.”

Sal's hunches weren't offered lightly and usually turned out to be fact. If Rosen said the girl bled to death, Gabe accepted that as fact.

Isadora had told them to follow the trail of bodies. Thanks to Edwards and his concern with Poe Construction's good name, they might have missed two along the way.

He stood, brushing off his hands before shoving them deep into his coat pockets. The clouds were thickening, bringing a deeper chill to the air and the promise of rain before morning. “I need to ask a favor, Sal. The body's in pretty rough shape, but if you find evidence of other wounds, would you let me know right away? I've got a hunch of my own that this might tie in with another case.”

Sal paused in his examination of the body, squinting up at Gabe. “Before I write my formal report?”

Gabe nodded. “That would be a big help.”

Rosen motioned two of his men over. They lifted the woman's body off the tarpaulin and onto a canvas stretcher. A nondescript gray blanket covered her for the trip in the back of the coroner's van.

“I'm not going to make any promises, Ryan. I'll see what I can do.” Rosen pulled off his rubber gloves and replaced them with worn, brown leather ones retrieved from a coat pocket. He packed everything away and shut the doctor's case at his feet. “Anything in particular I should look for?”

“One thing. Pay close attention to the injuries on her neck.” He knew Sal well. Telling the deputy coroner what to look for wouldn't send him down the wrong trail. “Find out if her throat was cut before she died.”

Rosen quirked an eyebrow. “This must be some case you're working, Ryan. Be careful. You too, Jack.”

The deputy coroner settled his hat down tighter and followed his men to the waiting van. Jack watched him go, pencil idly tapping on the side of his notebook. “Now what?”

“We wait to hear from Sal. I don't see where we have much choice with this victim. We don't know who she was or have much of a place to start to find out.”

Henderson and Flynn had split St. John's crew into groups of two to take statements, keeping the men being questioned separated from the rest. The squad was doing their job, including keeping bystanders away from the pier and speaking to anyone who came forward offering information. Most of that information was worthless, prompted more by a person's need to feel they'd helped solve a crime than by any real knowledge. No malice was involved, no intent to steer the investigation away from the guilty, just the desire to be useful.

Every so often they got lucky and someone who really did possess information stepped out of the crowd, or showed up at the station later. That was why his men had standing orders to listen to everyone and take each person seriously.

Gabe flipped up his coat collar, attempting to stave off the feel of cold fingers tickling the back of his neck. Not everyone with information came to them. “You and I are going for a walk down the Embarcadero. Three bodies have washed up on the waterfront in the last month, all unreported. Even odds say that if three dead women showed up here, there are more bodies we don't know about.”

“That's a cheery thought.” Jack tucked away his notebook and fastened his overcoat buttons up to his chin. “That might also explain why my contacts couldn't turn up any word on the street.”

“Mine haven't found anything either. But we sent them out looking for stories of people who died the way Bradley Wells and Sung Liang were killed.” They'd wasted time hunting for a pattern that didn't exist. He led the way down Embarcadero, past the Ferry Building and the wharves that serviced bigger cargo ships, and toward the fishing docks, taverns, and rooming houses that faced the harbor. “This area is full of transients. What we need to find are stories about people who vanished and their absence was unusual enough someone noticed. Noticing a person isn't around doesn't mean anyone reported their disappearance to the police.”

“Like that poor woman Sal took to the morgue. I'm sure someone must have noticed she was gone.” Jack tipped his hat to an older woman and stepped off the curb to let her pass, a reflex of politeness. His expression remained distracted, but he still took in everything around them. “I'm not sure how Mandy fits into that description. Before her father died, I'd have been sure. Now … Sadie says she's changed. Losing her father and taking care of Archie made Mandy steadier.”

“People grow up, Jack. Even spoiled rich girls.”

Walking along the waterfront together was a lot like walking a beat again. Neither of them said much, occupied with looking for people and things that seemed off-kilter, noting details and how people reacted to their passing by. They weren't in uniform, but men with hard eyes watching from shadowed doorways knew they were cops without the uniform or being told. The hunted always knew the hunters.

Gabe let those men know he saw them too, going so far as to nod if a man didn't look away. The city was changing, poorer districts and neighborhoods becoming dangerous even for a cop. He blamed a great deal of that on the war. The time wasn't far off when a police officer wouldn't venture out on the streets without a sidearm.

A cold wind blew from behind, each gust a fist in the back pushing them along a few more steps. The prospect of turning around and walking against the wind made Gabe huddle deeper into his overcoat and keep going. They'd gone nearly three miles when Jack stopped and pointed across the street. “I wonder what's going on over there.”

A young man dressed in workman's dungarees, a gray wool coat, and a black cloth cap shouted and waved a stack of handbills at a greengrocer standing in front of his corner store. He kept the hammer in his other hand at his side, but that could change if anger got the better of him. The grocer was white haired and much older, but that didn't stop him from shouting back and swiping at the young man with his cane. If anything, the older man was angrier.

Gabe checked for traffic and darted across the street, Jack a half step behind. “I don't know. I think we better find out.”

“Hoodlum!” The old grocer whacked the younger man on the shoulder. “Get away from my store! Nail your notices up somewhere else.”

“I've the same rights as anyone else, Mr. Glibert.” He deflected the old man's cane with his forearm. “If others can nail up handbills on the electric poles, so can I.”

Jack shoved his badge in the old man's face and grabbed the cane with his other hand before it came down a second time. “Hold on there, Mr. Glibert. I'm Lieutenant Fitzgerald of the San Francisco Police. This is Captain Ryan. Why don't you explain to us what's wrong.”

Mr. Glibert glared past Jack, all the while yanking on his cane, trying to get it back. “Joey Harper is the problem! He wants to scare people away before they ever come inside my store. I told him yesterday not to put those notices up, but he doesn't listen.”

“This doesn't have anything to do with your business, Mr. Glibert. Everyone posts handbills on this corner.” Joey's face was red and a vein in his neck throbbed, but he was much calmer than the grocer. He held up the sheaf of papers. “People in the neighborhood have a right to know what's happening. And maybe this will help me find my brother.”

“Joey, isn't it?” Jack glanced Gabe's way. He nodded and let his partner ask the questions. “How old is your brother?”

“Thad's going on twenty-six, a widower with a little daughter. He hasn't come home for more than a week.” Joey clutched his flyers tighter. “He's not the kind who'd run away and leave her.”

“Grown men up and leave all the time.” Mr. Glibert started to cough, the sound wheezy and liquid. That didn't stop him from waving his fist and continuing to scold. “You'll make everyone afraid to walk the block, that's what your notices will do.”

Gabe took an empty crate from the stack near the door, upending the wooden box. “Sit down and try to relax, Mr. Glibert. Let the lieutenant and me sort this out.”

He walked Joey a few feet away, out of reach of the grocer's cane but not out of sight. They'd set out looking for stories of people who were missed. Thad Harper fit that description all too well. “Tell me what this is about. Start with your brother and why he might not come home.”

“Nothing would keep Thad from coming home if he was able.” Joey pulled off his cap, freeing wavy, chestnut hair. He looked younger that way, closer to sixteen than the twenty that was Gabe's first guess. Freckles were sprinkled across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, and dark circles underneath shadowed his green eyes, adding a haggard look to his face. “Nothing would keep him away from work either, and he hasn't shown his face. He's got a good job at the cable car barn. Something happened to him, Captain. I know it.”

Wind swirled around them, threatening to rip away the paper in Joey's hand and howling round the corner of Mr. Glibert's store. Dozens of handbills tacked to the pole on the corner fluttered, edges shredding and pulling loose. A fanciful man might think the scraps of paper waved, seeking his attention.

Gabe wasn't prone to fancy. He pulled his mind back to the young man in front of him. “When was the last time you saw your brother?”

“He came home last Friday and fed Lizzie supper. Thad said he had a chance to pick up an extra job for a few hours that night. He asked if I'd mind Lizzie and get her to bed.” Joey swiped at his eyes and cleared his throat. “We need the money. Thad's still paying doctors from when Lizzie's mama died.”

Jack frowned and tugged on his mustache. “And your brother hasn't come home since?”

“No, sir. And it's long past time.” Joey held one of his handbills out to Jack and another to Gabe. “That's why I'm going around putting these up. Maybe someone else in the neighborhood went on the same job. If nothing else, they might remember the men promising two dollars to anyone who met them in Mr. Glibert's store.”

The grocer's reasons for being so angry became clearer.

“Two dollars is a lot of money for a night's work.” Gabe held out Joey's handbill. “Is what Joey says true? Did these men meet in your store?”

“What if they did? Everyone within ten blocks knows me and my store.” Mr. Glibert started coughing again and Gabe waited him out. The grocer spit on the sidewalk, glaring at all of them. “Gathering a work crew's not against the law, last I knew. And it's not like the people paying were socialists or union organizers. The job was honest labor.”

The old man believed what he said; honest men had offered honest wages for a night's work. That Thad Harper hadn't come home again afterwards didn't shake Mr. Glibert's belief in the slightest.

“I'd still like to talk to these men, Mr. Glibert. One of them might remember something important.” Gabe stuffed Joey's handbill into his coat pocket. Hope kindled in the boy's eyes. The police were on his side. “Do you know their names or where I can find them?”

“Jonas and Max are the names they gave. Never heard a last name for either of them. They posted notices of their own.” The old man pointed his cane at the tattered papers fluttering on the electric pole. “Find the woman they work for, and you'll find them.”