A Barricade in Hell (27 page)

Mai purred under my hand, fuzzy and warm and totally unconcerned by the storm noises, while I pretended to read a book. I turned pages, but I couldn't have said what words were written there.

Brooding was closer to the truth. I couldn't stop mulling over everything that had happened outside Archie's cell and trying to make sense of what I'd seen. The ghosts surrounding his cell were much too aware of me and Dora, and bent on driving us away. In many ways, the encounter reminded me of visits from the little girl spirit that had invaded my life, an idea that chilled me. I'd thought her an aberration.

But I'd never doubted the dead soldiers were ghosts, real ghosts, despite their strange behavior. The recently dead all have a look about them, as if pieces of the life they'd left still clung fast. I couldn't say the same of the little girl spirit, and my puzzlement about what she truly was grew daily.

One thing I knew without question: Ghosts played by certain rules in the world of the living, respected boundaries. Passing into death left them little choice in the matter. That didn't mean spirits couldn't cause great harm, even go so far as take others into death with them, but ghosts had little in the way of free will. Once set on a path, they followed that road until they accomplished their task or faded out of existence.

Dora and I were able to send spirits on or keep them from haunting someone by forcing them onto a new path. Haunts could resist commands from the living, but they couldn't say no. Not for long.

That was one thing that had perplexed me about the little girl spirit, back when I thought her nothing but a ghost. She'd said no and made it stick.

The clink of whiskey glasses and hoots of triumphant laughter came from behind me as Dora won a hand. I glanced over and smiled. Thom's scowl made it clear Isadora's revenge was well under way.

I turned another page, still thinking about ghosts and commands, and the control exercised over the dead by the living. Commanding spirits for a séance took a great deal of effort, and a spiritualist's hold never lasted long. Part of that was by design. The dangers to everyone involved increased as time passed and the spiritualist grew tired.

Dora had mentioned during one of my early lessons that other ways to command large numbers of spirits had existed centuries ago. The gathering of dead soldiers who'd tormented Archie Baldwin were all focused on making him suffer. Their numbers were frightening enough, but the idea that they might be acting under someone's control was both terrifying and revolting. Torturing a person that way was excessively cruel.

But Isadora had also made a point of saying all the texts containing knowledge of how to raise an army of ghosts were destroyed. The danger to the living and the potential for abuse were too great, and the keepers had ordered the books burned. Now I wondered.

Isadora and Randy were taking turns fleecing Officer Russell at poker when the front bell rang, announcing Gabe and Jack's arrival. By the time I disentangled myself from cushions, my book, and the cat, Gabe was already standing in the doorway.

When Gabe was first promoted, the wife of an older police captain sat me down and instructed me on the proper way to conduct myself as a captain's wife. Her instructions involved a great deal of stiff, prim, and dignified behavior, and most of all, maintaining a proper distance from my husband in the presence of others. I'm sure she'd have been horrified to see me fling myself into Gabe's arms, and equally shocked to see how tight he clung to me in return.

I was in no hurry to let go. Neither was Gabe. I rested my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. The two of us spent far too much time surrounded by death to take our life together for granted.

Jack edged past us, going straight to the settee and taking a seat. He was worn-looking and haggard, more subdued and down-spirited than I could ever remember seeing him. The loss of a friend was never easy and the circumstances of Archie's death were heartrending. That he'd taken things hard was to be expected. Archie had been his friend, a true friend, as Amanda Poe had been Sadie's.

That I thought of Amanda as dead and not just missing saddened me. She'd been gone too long for me to hold out hope she was off on another one of her escapades. Gabe didn't need to tell me she was never coming back. I already knew.

Mai pounced into Jack's lap, batting at his necktie. He scratched the kitten behind the ears, smiling for the first time and obviously bemused. “I never imagined you with a cat, Dora. Especially after Daniel went to Europe and left his parrot behind.”

“Don't be gauche, Jack. The parrot belongs to me as much as to Daniel.” Dora lounged back in her chair, a whiskey glass in one hand and a cigarette dangling from the other. “And you know perfectly well that I adore cats. In any case, the kitten isn't mine. She belongs to Delia. Dee found the cat at the conservatory this afternoon. Or maybe the cat found her. I'm not at all clear on the sequence of events.”

I gave Gabe a hug and moved to rescue Jack from Mai's sneak attack on his fingers. She snuggled into the crook of my arm, purring loudly and watching Gabe. I could almost imagine she knew who he was and that charming him thoroughly was in her best interest. “Don't exaggerate, Dora. We both know what happened. The kitten was a gift from Mr. Sung.”

Gabe looked from the small gray cat in my arms and back to me, wide-eyed with surprise. “Sung Wing? The tong leader?”

“Dora tells me he's apparently the resident shaman of Chinatown as well. One kind of power would feed into the other, I imagine.” I held the kitten up to Gabe. “Her name is Mai. Isadora and I talked over why Mr. Sung might have come to the conservatory at the same time we were having our picnic. We came to the conclusion that Mr. Sung was there to bring me the cat, not out of any need to look at flowers. Why he felt the need to give me a kitten is still a mystery.”

He turned to Isadora, his expression stormy. She ground out her cigarette and made the effort to appear somewhat apologetic. “The conversation we had was a little more involved, but yes, that's the gist of it. I'm reasonably certain I know where the kitten came from inside Chinatown and the family involved. Otherwise, I'd never have let Mr. Sung leave the cat with Dee.”

“Keeping a present from the most powerful man in Chinatown doesn't strike me as a good idea at any time. The timing right now couldn't be worse.” Gabe crossed his arms and dragged a toe across the Persian carpet, watching the pile change from dark to light. He looked me in the eye, frowning. “Aside from anything else, Sung knew right where to find you and Dora. That scares me, Delia. I have to wonder how long his men have been watching you and worry about what he'll do next. What if he thinks he can use you as leverage against me? A man like Sung Wing doesn't do anything out of the goodness of his heart. He wants something in return.”

Thom coughed and pushed back his chair. “Come along, Dodd. We should let the captain and Mrs. Ryan talk in private. Let's see if Miss Ella's got any more chocolate cake out in the kitchen.”

Dora gave me a look as they left the parlor, but didn't say anything. Jack watched keenly, bright-eyed and attentive, but he didn't interject himself into the conversation either. I'd no way to know how he felt.

I was on my own. “Frankly, Gabe Ryan, I don't care who Mr. Sung is or what he thinks I can do for him. He's doomed to disappointment on that score. And even a powerful man can do a good deed without expecting payment.” I ran my hand over Mai's back, stroking fur softer than eiderdown. “I'm keeping her. We belong to each other.”

He watched me, conflict and worry clear in his eyes. “I don't ever want you to be hurt because of my job or a case I'm working on. But all right. If you want the kitten that badly, then we'll keep her.” Gabe offered Mai his hand to sniff. She smelled him quite thoroughly before licking the ends of his fingers. That made him smile. “One small cat really isn't much of a bribe. Just promise me that you'll let me know right away if Mr. Sung contacts you again.”

“I promise.” I stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.

Dora tapped her long nails on the side of her glass, rattling the ice inside. “I share your concerns about Sung Wing and his motives, Gabe. I can't say I was very kind once I discovered he knew who Delia was. But in the end we are talking about a very tiny cat, not a jade necklace. I don't see how any harm can come from this.” She glanced at me, her smile secretive and conspiratorial. “Cats are useful creatures. Give Mai a little time to grow, and she'll be a formidable hunter.”

I hadn't said anything about Dora's belief that Mai might hunt ghosts or keep spirits with ill intent out of our house. Coming from a long line of ghost-hunting cats wasn't why I wanted to keep Mai. And I needed to be certain about what my small gray cat could or couldn't do before I told Gabe, perhaps raising his hopes. We'd all had enough upset for one day.

Dora drained the last drop of whiskey and held the glass out to Jack. “Be a dear and pour me another one. If Gabe and Delia are quite finished making eyes at each other, we can confront the unpleasant subject staring us in the face. I'd like to hear what happened with Archie.”

“Only for you, Dora.” Jack leaned over to kiss her cheek as he retrieved her empty glass. He pulled open the doors on the rosewood and black lacquer bar cabinet, lifting out several bottles and reading labels before choosing one. “I could use a drink too. This has been one hell of a day. Can I get you something, Gabe?”

Gabe put an arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. “None for me, thanks. Maybe later. If we're going to talk about what happened with Archie at the station, I want Dodd and Russell to hear this. They need to know.”

Jack handed Dora her drink. “I'll go get them.”

By the time Randy, Jack, and Thom returned from the kitchen, I'd settled down on the settee again. The kitten perched on my lap, calm and quiet, making no effort to run and play. She watched Randy move into place, purring in an odd rhythm I'd not heard before, and shut her eyes once he'd taken a seat next to Isadora. I wondered at that.

Gabe paced the center of the room, shoulders held stiffly and hands stuffed deep into his pockets. I knew my husband well. He was working up to telling us unpleasant truths.

He stopped pacing, looking at each of us in turn, and cleared his throat. “I wanted Dodd and Russell to hear what I have to say about how Archie Baldwin died. Thom Russell's been on my squad for years. I know him pretty well. I know his family and the kind of man he is. And Randy's been at the station just a few months, but Delia and Dora trust him. That means I can too.”

“Gabriel.” Dora leaned forward, blue eyes narrowing and the newly lit cigarette in her hand forgotten. “Let me make certain I understand. Are you saying you can't trust all of your men?”

“That's exactly what he's saying, Dora.” Jack leaned on the wall behind Dora's chair. He swirled his glass, watching pieces of ice careen off the sides. “Archie didn't commit suicide. He was murdered.”

Thom's face went slack with shock. “Murdered in the cell block? Are you sure, Captain?”

“I'm as sure as I can be until I get the coroner's report. Sal says that will take a few days, but based on what he found today—he agrees with me.” Gabe raked fingers through his hair, looking exhausted and utterly defeated. “Baldwin didn't hang himself. I'll spare my wife and Dora the details, but Archie couldn't have managed on his own. He had help.”

“So it had to be one of our squad.” Thom wiped a hand over his mouth and shook his head. “I'd never have believed that, not in a fistful of years.”

“Christ Almighty!” Jack slammed his glass on the tabletop, sloshing whiskey onto his hand. His voice was rough and ragged, and his face grew red and blotchy. “How the hell did she get to one of our men? Fontaine struts into the station bold as brass, and two hours later, Archie's dead. Explain that to me, Gabe. How did that happen?”

Dora laid a hand on Jack's arm. She winced at the strength of his emotion, but didn't pull away. “Sit down, Jack. Please. Let Gabe tell the rest of us what happened.”

He sank into the chair next to Dora, staring at his shoes. She kept an arm looped through Jack's, offering what comfort she could, and endured the pain his grief and anger forced upon her. I knew what that cost her.

I caught Randy frowning as he studied Isadora's face. That he understood she was in a great deal of pain was clear, but then again, he'd helped Dora endure the agony of handling evidence the first day they met. Randy reached for her free hand, holding tight, and much of the strain left Dora's face. His ability to channel away her pain was a true blessing.

We sat quietly listening as Gabe explained who Effie Ladia Fontaine was and recounted her unannounced visit to his office, and all that he and Jack suspected about her. His voice broke as he told us about mentioning Archie's name and how that may have been the reason Archie was murdered. Gabe cleared his throat and went on, giving us the details of Miss Fontaine's connections to Archie, Bradley Wells, and a young man named Thad Harper, and how devoted Amanda Poe had been to the pacifist cause.

Those were ties he and Jack could prove, the first links in a chain. All the people Gabe had mentioned were dead or missing after crossing Miss Fontaine's path. The facts they knew for certain made a damning case in my mind, but lacked legal proof.

The list of horrors Gabe laid at her feet went on: bodies of young women washing up under a pier, men recruited for a day's labor and never coming home, young women vanishing. He and Jack suspected Miss Fontaine of somehow being a party to the murder of Mr. Sung's brother and niece, a ruthless killing much too like the way Bradley Wells died for them to ignore the similarities. Gabe couldn't prove Effie Fontaine was directly connected, not yet, but he knew. Listening to him speak, I became certain as well.