A Barricade in Hell (40 page)

Gabe put an arm around my shoulders and frowned. “Is that what you think is wrong, a curse?”

“Is that my official medical opinion? No, Captain Ryan, it's not.” Dr. Jodes shrugged. “Unofficially, a curse makes as much sense as anything. I've known Dora a long time. Given who she is and what she does—I'm not ready to rule anything out.”

The hospital wasn't far away, and the drive home not long. Neither Gabe nor I felt like talking. Knowing Dora was in that ambulance, quiet and seemingly unaware of all that went on around her, was an empty feeling. I thought hard about what Scott Jodes said about curses.

Randy Dodd was on our doorstep when we pulled up behind the ambulance. He looked haggard and worn, still wearing the expensive suit he'd dressed in to attend the lecture. I was certain he hadn't slept at all.

Officer Perry left his post at the end of our walk and came to Gabe's side of the car. He tipped his hat and smiled. “Everything's quiet, Captain. No sign of anything out of the ordinary. Taylor's out here with me, Baxter and Mitchell are around the back. Sergeant Rockwell has four men watching the lieutenant's house too.”

Gabe gestured toward the porch. “How long has Dodd been here?”

“All night, near as I can tell. He was here when I came on at six.” Perry glanced at Randy, his expression unsure. “Should I send him on his way?”

Gabe gestured toward the ambulance. “Help the orderlies get Miss Bobet inside. I'll take care of it.”

I touched Gabe's arm before he got out of the car. “Let Randy stay. His being here might do Dora a world of good. Remember what she said about him bleeding away negative spiritual energy? That might be exactly what she needs to fight this off.”

“You're serious.” Gabe stared at Randy, shoulders tight and gripping the steering wheel hard enough, his fingers were white. “You think Jodes was right about Dora being under a curse.”

“I can't say for certain. But I keep thinking about Archie and what Miss Fontaine did to him. She's to blame for Dora's condition, that I am sure of, but I'm not experienced enough to know how she managed. And I've not the first idea how to fix it.” I put my hand over his and managed a smile, wan and small, but a smile nonetheless. “Both of us are swimming in deep waters, Gabe Ryan. I'll take all the help I can find.”

Some of the tension went out of his shoulders. Gabe wrapped his fingers around mine. “All right, he can stay. I just hope Dodd doesn't make himself sick. He looks exhausted.”

“So do you. But sitting at Dora's bedside won't do Randy any harm. He'll be sitting in one spot and forced to rest. He's more apt to fret if he's not with her.” I squeezed his fingers. “I should get inside. I want to get Dora settled. Will you be late?”

“I hope not, but I can't promise.” Gabe kissed my cheek. “Jack and Sam Butler are waiting in my office. Don't worry about supper. I'll make something when I come in.”

He'd come home as always, I knew that, but saying good-bye was hard. I stood at the curb, waving until his car was out of sight. Turning to follow the stretcher carrying Dora into the house was even more difficult. How much our slow progress toward the front door resembled a funeral procession struck me hard.

Mai came out of hiding once the ambulance attendants left. She sat on the chest of drawers, tail flicking, and watched while I tucked pillows under Dora's head and made sure she was well covered. Randy stood at the end of the bed, clutching the scrolled-iron footboard, his expression bewildered and lost. “What can I do to help? There must be something.”

“There is.” I pointed to a small, upholstered armchair in the corner. “Help me move this.”

Together we dragged the chair to the side of the bed and positioned it next to Dora. I pointed at the comfortably padded seat. “Sit down, Officer Dodd. Hold Dora's hand and don't move until I come back. That will be a huge help.”

Anger glinted in Randy's eyes and he remained standing. He was a true match for Dora and her stubbornness. “I held her hand all the way to the hospital. Damn lot of help that was. If I'm in the way, say so.”

Mai leapt from the top of the chest of drawers and landed on the coverlet. She made her way from the foot of the bed to Isadora's side, curling up so that her chin rested on Dora's chest. The small gray cat stared at Randy. I don't think I imagined the reproach in her eyes.

“You're not in the way, I promise. I need you here.” I sighed and sat on the side of the bed. “Call it a hunch if you like, but I think Dora might have slipped away if you hadn't been there last night. None of us were prepared for this, Randy, least of all Dora. I need your help keeping her anchored here until I find a way to bring her back.”

“You really think I can help.” Weariness weighed down each word. “You're not just saying that.”

I nodded. Indecision warred briefly with his pride, but good sense won in the end. Randy sat on the chair and took Dora's hand, sheepish and flushed, but holding tight. “I still don't know what good this will do.”

“Maybe none at all. But if nothing else, Dora will know she's not alone. She needs to know we're here.” Tears burned the back of my eyes. I stood, brushing down my skirts and not daring to look at Randy for fear I'd cry. “First I'm going to the kitchen to make some broth. The doctor said to feed her some every so often to keep her strength up. Then I'm going to write a note to Mr. Sung in Chinatown asking for help. Gabe won't like me contacting him, but I've no one else to turn to.”

“You know more about this than the captain does. Do what you think is right, Delia.” Randy leaned back in the chair, eyes half closed. “Dora trusts you. So do I.”

She did trust me. Now I needed to be worthy of that trust and find a way to bring her back.

Heating broth didn't take long. Putting cheese, apple, and slices of yesterday's bread on the tray took a minute more, but I'd have wagered Randy hadn't eaten since supper last night.

I carried the tray into the guest room to find Randy fast asleep. He'd pulled the chair even closer to the bed and he'd laced his fingers through Dora's, holding tight even in sleep. Mai had moved as well, lying half across Dora's chest so that her head rested near Isadora's heart. The cat opened one eye to peer at me and purred loudly, a signal that all was as well as could be, at least for now.

Randy loved Isadora, quietly and deeply, and knowing all the obstacles that stood between them. Dora's relationship with Daniel was the greatest obstacle of all. But given a chance, Randy would bring all those hidden depths of his to bear and make a life with her. Love was a kind of power in and of itself, one that would help give Dora strength to recover. I found a great deal of real hope in that.

Sung Wing represented a different kind of hope, the hope of Dora waking again and going on as before, hale and hearty. He knew as much about the darker aspects of the spirit world as Dora and much, much more about how to counter those aspects than I did. I wouldn't consider the idea that he'd ignore my message or say no.

I couldn't. I had to believe.

Gabe

Raised, angry voices carried down the corridor from Gabe's office. He recognized Robert Lindsey's booming voice trying to drown out Jack's shouted replies, but his partner was holding his own. Jack wouldn't give an inch unless forced to it. If anything, years of fighting with Sadie probably gave him an advantage.

Gabe shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets, hiding clenched fists and white knuckles. Enough obstacles stood in the way of finding the place where Effie Fontaine had gone to ground. Interference from the police commissioner was the last thing he wanted to deal with.

He shoved the office door all the way open and stood framed in the doorway, his no-nonsense command expression firmly in place. Gabe reserved his coolest stare for Lindsey, giving Sam and Jack no more than a passing glance. The scene was just as he'd pictured it. Commissioner Lindsey stood toe to toe with Jack, attempting to roll right over him. One of the morning papers pulled from the pile in the center of the desk was crumpled in Lindsey's fist. That explained the yelling.

“Good morning, Commissioner.” Gabe nodded to Lindsey and hung his overcoat and hat on the coatrack behind the door. He turned, arms folded over his chest. “What can I do for you?”

Sam Butler leaned casually against the file cabinet, bouncing Jack's baseball in one hand. He cleared his throat, drawing Gabe's attention. “The commissioner takes exception to the article I wrote for the
Call
. He's not too fond of the
Examiner
or the front page of any of the morning papers, for that matter. I suggested he might want to avoid the afternoon and evening editions too.”

Lindsey shook the paper in Gabe's face. “This is slander, Ryan. I want these papers off the street right now! You said Adele was in danger from these people. This … this says Bradley embezzled money and Effie Fontaine blackmailed him. Do you know what you've done?” He tossed the paper against the wall, face scarlet with rage. “If Adele sees this, it will kill her.”

Jack raked fingers through his hair. The frustration on his partner's face might have been funny if the situation weren't so serious. “Robert, stop yelling and listen. Adele knew about the article last night. Gabe and I told her all about what Sam wrote before we gave him the go-ahead to print it. It's a hoax we cooked up to flush Effie Fontaine from hiding. Read the damn thing again. Nothing in that article says Bradley stole money.”

Commissioner Lindsey gaped, his face growing redder and the cords in his neck bulging. Gabe dragged a visitor's chair over and steered Lindsey into it. “Have a seat, Commissioner. Take a minute to calm down.”

He moved past Lindsey to pull a copy of the
Call
off the stack. Effie Fontaine's picture looked back at him from under a banner headline reading,
PACIFIST USES CAUSE FOR FRAUD
!! The accompanying article was full of names from San Francisco high society who'd been fixtures at Fontaine's lectures. Alleged blackmail, extortion, unpaid loans, and fraudulent business deals were mentioned all through the piece. Henderson's nickel-weekly stories had fewer crimes committed.

It was all very vague, a masterwork of implication unsupported by facts or solid connections. Anyone reading Sam's story would come away thinking that Effie Fontaine had stolen from half the population of Nob Hill, and swindled the other half. Bradley Wells's name was never linked to Fontaine. That Lindsey had read the story that way gave Gabe hope his plan would work.

Gabe finished reading and dropped the paper back on the stack. “I'm impressed, Butler. I wasn't sure you could pull it off.”

Sam shrugged. “Writing was the easy part. Getting the other papers to go along was what took some work. My editor helped by calling in some favors.”

Lindsey looked up from the paper in his lap, more than a little crestfallen and the belligerence bled away. “Very clever, Ryan, but what's the point? Everything you've told me points to Effie Fontaine murdering people. Why not put that on the front page?”

“Because having their money stolen makes people mad. They don't want to look like fools, especially the kind of people Fontaine has been hobnobbing with. I want her believers to turn against her.” He sat in his desk chair, leafing through the morning papers and noting the small differences in headlines, or the size of the photograph. “Someone knows where she's hiding. I want that person to turn her in, not stay quiet because they're afraid she'll come after them or that they'll be arrested as an accessory to murder.”

“And if no one comes forward?”

Gabe slumped back in his chair and traded looks with Jack. “I'll hold a press conference tomorrow afternoon and connect her to some of the murders and disappearances. The idea is to keep the pressure on and give her no place to hide. She'll make a mistake if she feels cornered.”

Sam frowned. “Or she'll claw her way out and not care who gets hurt. Don't underestimate her, Gabe.”

He thought of Sal and Dora, of Sung Lan and Archie Baldwin, Thad Harper and unnamed young women washing up under half-built piers.

Underestimating Effie Fontaine would be difficult.

 

CHAPTER 24

Delia

Owen Perry found me in the kitchen around four that afternoon. He knocked on the doorjamb, warning me before walking in. “Pardon me, Mrs. Ryan. There's an old Chinese gentleman at the door. He insists you sent for him.”

I managed not to drop the teacup I was washing, but it was a near thing. Hope Mr. Sung would come to my aid had faded with the waning sunshine. “That's Mr. Sung and I did send for him. Is he alone?”

Owen's expression was distinctly unhappy. “He's got three men with him. One of them looks harmless enough, but the two youngest are a rough-looking pair of hooligans. I'm not sure Captain Ryan would want them inside the house.”

Captain Ryan likely wouldn't want any of them in the house, including Sung Wing, but I'd already crossed that boundary. “It will be fine, Owen, I did invite him. Put the two young men in the parlor. Bring the other man back here with Mr. Sung, please.”

He frowned and muttered as he left, but did as I asked. I had tea brewing and cookies set out on a plate by the time Owen Perry led my two visitors to the kitchen. Mr. Sung paused at the threshold, a small smile on his face as he studied the entrance. He wore his brown suit and held a bowler hat in one hand. “Mrs. Ryan, may we enter?”

He saw my wards, I was sure of it, and didn't want to test them. I smiled and gave hurried permission, nervous and desperately needing this to go well. “Come in, please, both of you. Would you like some tea before seeing Isadora?”

The younger man accompanying Sung Wing was grave and dignified, and moved as if the weight of his responsibilities was almost too heavy to bear. His hair was beginning to gray, but I didn't think he was too much older than forty. He carried a black lacquered box by the brass handles attached to two sides, carefully setting it in the middle of my kitchen table.