A Barricade in Hell (23 page)

“I'm glad you think so, because I hadn't planned on giving her up.” The kitten stretched, flexing tiny claws, and promptly went back to sleep. “Now that we've established she's definitely coming home with me, perhaps we can get on to useful things, like naming her.”

Isadora smiled, but a trace of worry still clouded her eyes. She stroked the kitten's head with a finger. “Mai maintained her cats were ghost hunters. She truly believed her cats kept spirits with ill intent from entering any house they lived in. That's why she offered me one, for protection.”

Cats of various sorts had lived in our house when I was a child, orange tabbies, calicoes, a gray and black male with markings that reminded me of an ocelot, and a white cat with one blue and one green eye. All of them watched things on the ceiling I couldn't see, sprang at empty corners, or chased phantoms down the hall. That cats might see into the spirit realm wasn't difficult to believe.

“I certainly have an abundance of ill-tempered spirits in my life lately. Heaven knows Gabe needs more protection than I can give him. A cat that hunts malicious ghosts might not be such a bad thing.” Imagination can be a terrible thing when let run wild. The way this tiny scrap of fur had growled at the wind rushing through the conservatory suddenly loomed large. If my hand trembled slightly as I pulled her closer, that wasn't surprising. “And Mr. Sung was right. I know the perfect name for her. She wants to be called Mai, after your friend.”

“Are you sure that's wise?” Dora fiddled with her hat, frowning at finding water spots on the silk. “The cat's origins are problematic as is. Naming her after a powerful Chinese shaman is just begging for trouble.”

“I'm willing to risk it. I'm willing to risk almost anything to keep that little girl ghost out of Gabe's dreams.” Mai nestled against me, purring loudly even in her sleep. She was still very small, but that wouldn't last, and I wasn't sure her size mattered when it came to hunting ghosts or even demons. How fiercely she pursued her prey in the spirit realm likely counted more.

And if Mr. Sung was right and she thought herself a tiger, all the better.

 

CHAPTER 14

Gabe

Rain was falling heavily when Gabe and Jack started the drive from downtown to Noe Valley. Moisture fogged the car windows inside and out, blurring the view of brightly painted row houses and dripping trees. Henderson maneuvered cautiously along the slick streets, doing what he could to avoid sliding on the thin sheen of oil glistening on the pavement. Wipers swished back and forth on the windshield, their metronome ticking marking time.

The dreary skies matched Gabe's mood. Commissioner Lindsey had moved his daughter into the family home on Elizabeth Street and had promised Gabe he'd meet them there. That the commissioner wanted to be present while they questioned Adele was understandable, especially given her fragile health. Neither he nor Jack would object.

Running down the list of questions he needed to ask Adele Wells made Gabe's stomach hurt. He wished there were another way to find out what he needed to know, a way that wouldn't cause a grieving woman more pain.

He wadded the lining of his overcoat pocket in a fist and muttered to the raindrops. “If wishes were horses, then everyone could ride.”

Jack turned from his own contemplation of the rainy landscape. “What did you say?”

“Something my grandmother used to say when I wanted things I couldn't have.” Gabe sat up straighter, easing the knot between his shoulders. “Gram used to recite old rhymes or sing songs while washing the breakfast dishes. She wanted to pass on what she'd learned while growing up in Ireland to me and Penelope. I couldn't have been much older than three at the time.”

“You're lucky, Gabe. I never knew either of my grandmothers. Neither will Stella.” Jack gave him a sidelong glance. “What made you think of that now?”

“I'm not sure. I didn't think I remembered much of anything from the year my sister died, other than my mother crying.” Gabe shifted in his seat, strangely uncomfortable remembering his mother weeping in the bedroom and his father's bright, red-rimmed eyes as he held her. Even at the age of three, he knew he'd intruded on something private between his parents. A large part of his discomfort was how close the memory hit home. He'd held Delia the same way after their baby had been stillborn. “I'm not even sure I told Delia about my sister. It's not something I think about, but lately I've been waking up with pieces of Gram's rhymes going around in my head.”

“Maybe that's part of the dreams you told me about. Remembering.” Jack pulled his plaid cap out of a pocket and shook it out before stuffing it over his hair. “Lindsey's house is in this block. If we're lucky, Marshall can park right out front.”

“A little rain won't hurt you, Lieutenant Fitzgerald.” Gabe put on his own hat and buttoned his overcoat. “We walked a beat in worse weather than this more times than I care to remember.”

“Reminding me of our rookie days always makes me feel old. And old men are allowed to grouse about going out in the rain, Captain Ryan.” Jack pointed to the empty stretch of curb down the block. “Looks like we got lucky. The blue house is Lindsey's.”

Marshall parked, sending up sheets of water from the rain-filled gutter. Jack dashed from the car, soaking his shoes and the cuffs of his trousers in a puddle. Gabe didn't need to hear to know his partner swore all the way up the front steps and into the shelter of the porch.

“Wait in the car and stay dry, Marshall. I think the lieutenant is wet enough for all of us.” Gabe flipped up his coat collar and opened the car door. “We won't be long.”

Henderson grinned and pulled a folded nickel weekly out of an inside pocket. “Yes, sir.”

He took his time getting to the front porch, looking up and down the street, getting a feel for the neighborhood. The houses were well kept, each with neat front yards and flower gardens that stretched from the curb to the front door, but not nearly as rich or posh as he'd expected. Lindsey was Commissioner of Police, but he lived in an area not far removed from working class.

Bradley Wells likely lived and grew up in an area like this, running from yard to yard with the other boys, or sitting in the porch swing after dark on summer nights, watching for fallen stars. That was how Gabe had grown up, and the kind of childhood he wanted for his children. But Wells would never get to watch his child grow up.

Gabe shook off feelings of regret and the beginnings of anger. He couldn't change what had happened. The best he could do was catch the killers and find a little justice for Bradley Wells's child.

Once under the porch roof, he took off his hat and shook off as much rain as possible. He disregarded Jack's grumpy expression. “Are you ready?”

“Let's get this over with.” Jack knocked on the door. “I hate questioning widows about their late husband's activities. Given half a chance, I'd give up this part of the job.”

“I know.” Heavy footfalls sounded from inside, drawing closer to the door. Gabe stood up straight, bracing himself for what was to come. “Don't worry. I'll take care of it this time.”

Jack frowned and gave him a sidelong glance. “Not a chance, Gabe. We both know I'm better at this, and I know Adele at least. I feel as if I owe her.”

Lindsey pulled open the door, cutting off their conversation. This was the first time Gabe had seen the commissioner outside of the police station or some city function. He was still large and imposing dressed in suspenders and rolled-up shirtsleeves, and the damp dish towel clutched in one hand didn't diminish his blustering air of authority.

The fear in his eyes accomplished that.

“Ryan, Fitzgerald, come in. Hang your coats and hats in the entry. No need to drip all the way through the house.” Lindsey waved them in with the dish towel, closing the door quickly once they were inside. “Adele is in the parlor, resting. I trust you'll keep this short.”

Gabe handed his overcoat and fedora to Jack, who hung up both coats on a wood and brass coatrack mounted on the sidewall. “We'll do our best to make this as easy on Mrs. Wells as possible. If this wasn't necessary, we wouldn't be here. You have my word on that, Commissioner.” He traded looks with Jack. “Does she know to expect us?”

“Of course she knows. I told her you'd called and let her decide whether to answer your questions or not. She insisted on seeing you.” Lindsey's face reddened and he twisted and untwisted the towel in his hand. “Addie's not worried about speaking to you, but I'm worried about her heart and the harm more stress will cause. Her doctor would skin me if he knew I'd allowed this.”

Jack stepped forward. “Robert, we'll be very careful. And I'm sure Adele wants Brad's killer caught as much or more than any of us. There's a good chance getting the answers to these questions will bring us closer to catching his murderer.”

“All right. Let's get this over with.” Lindsey tossed the dish towel on a side table. “But if I call a halt, you're leaving right then.”

That parlor was just down a short hallway. Family photographs hung on the walls, including pictures of Robert Lindsey as a young merchant seaman, and posing with his wife on their wedding day. Tall and willowy, radiant in the way happy brides were, the top of her head barely came to the top of her new husband's shoulder. Gabe remembered reading in the papers about Ida Lindsey's death, but that was before Lindsey had been appointed police commissioner. He hadn't paid more than passing attention to how she died.

Adele Wells was propped up on a stack of pillows in the corner of a brown chesterfield sofa, a book in hand. Gabe's first impression was that she looked a great deal like her mother. Her dark russet hair was tied back with a green ribbon that matched her housecoat. The housecoat in turn was an attempt to match the color of her big, blue green eyes, but ended up being shades lighter.

Stark, dusky shadows bruised the fair skin under her eyes. Blankets and a coverlet swaddled her from the chest down, but Gabe didn't think that was an attempt to hide how hugely pregnant Adele Wells was. If so, the camouflage failed. He traded looks with Jack. Lindsey hadn't exaggerated how close to confinement his daughter was nor how fragile.

“Jack! I haven't seen you since Katherine's party last spring.” Adele's smile lit her face, taking away some of the tiredness. She held out a hand. “Daddy didn't tell me you were one of the detectives coming to talk to me. I'd have been less nervous if I'd known.”

Jack took his cue and sat on the floor next to her. He held the offered hand, cradling it between both of his, and smiled. “Hello, Adele. It has been a long time. I can't tell you how sorry I am about Brad. Is there anything Sadie and I can do for you?”

Gabe pulled up a chair near the foot of the sofa, out of the way, but where he could see Adele's reaction to Jack's questions, or ask his own. He didn't miss how tightly Adele gripped Jack's fingers.

“You can catch the people who did this.” Her voice caught and her lower lip trembled, but she didn't cry. She looked between Jack and Gabe. “That's why you're here, isn't it? You think I know something that will help you find Brad's killer.”

“We hope so, Mrs. Wells.” Gabe leaned forward, hands folded and arms resting on his knees, and smiled. “I'm Captain Gabe Ryan. Jack and I won't keep you long, but if you feel strong enough, I'd like to ask you a few questions. If you want to stop at any time, just say so.”

Adele kept hold of Jack's hand, but she looked Gabe in the eye. “Ask me. I'll be fine.”

“All right.” Her heart might be weak, but Gabe wouldn't make the mistake of thinking of Adele Wells as anything but strong. “How often did your husband work in his father's store?”

“Not often.” She fingered the blanket stretched over her lap, mouth quirked to one side as she thought. “Not often at all. It's been more than six months, maybe as long as eight, since Bradley—He hadn't worked in the shop in a long time, Captain Ryan.”

“So no one outside the family knew he was going to be there that day.”

She looked him in the eye. “No one. I found his note when I woke up that morning. He'd propped it on the night table before going out.”

Gabe thought for an instant before asking his next question. He didn't want to plant ideas in Adele Wells's mind. “Had your husband joined any new social clubs, or started any new business ventures in the last few months? Anything at all you can think of that might have attracted the notice of strangers?”

“Bradley was an accountant, Captain, with a well-off clientele. His business ventures were limited to taking on new clients occasionally, but most of the people he worked for had been with him for years.” Adele swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. She looked exhausted, more drawn than when they'd started. Lindsey stood behind the sofa at Adele's head, fingers curled and digging deep into the tufted leather. He kept quiet and didn't interfere, something Gabe gave him a great deal of credit for. “And I'm afraid doing sums in a small office doesn't attract the notice of strangers or garner invitations to social clubs.”

Gabe sat back in the chair. “Did your husband socialize with clients often?”

“I'm afraid not, Captain. Other than church functions and the occasional party with friends, neither of us went out in the evenings. We lived a fairly quiet life.”

“Adele.” Jack had been sitting on the floor, listening and chewing his lower lip. He half turned to look at her directly. “Brad was on your church board, wasn't he? I remember him saying last year that he booked the church hall for wedding receptions and special events that couldn't be held in the sanctuary. Was he still responsible for doing that?”

Anticipation coiled tight in Gabe's chest, waiting for Adele's answer. He saw the possible connection to Effie Fontaine, just as Jack did, and one connection would likely lead to more.