Against a Brightening Sky (33 page)

“I can take care of that.” Lynch pulled his coat open, revealing his long-barreled Colt holstered at his side. “I didn't think walking around without this was a good idea. Turns out I was right.”

“You were right. And you saved me from answering the desk sergeant's questions about why I'm issuing you a sidearm.” Gabe tossed the desk keys to Jack. “Lock up when you're finished with the files. I'll get the keys from you later. Sam, I need a favor.”

“Sure. What do you need, Gabe?”

“Drop by the union hall. Find out if Mullaney will meet with me at Saint Mary Magdalene this evening.” He stuffed his old fedora on his head and put on his overcoat. “I don't want Aleksei to know I'm talking with Dominic. And make sure Dominic knows that Father Colm is welcome to join us. That might make him feel better about talking to me.”

Sam checked his pocket watch. “I need to be back at the paper a little over two hours from now. Should be plenty of time to visit Mullaney first.”

“Thanks.” Gabe held the door for Jordan. “Do me another favor, Sam. Be careful.”

Butler nodded gravely. “You and Jordan do the same.”

Gabe and Jordan Lynch hurried down the hallway. They all needed to be careful, to watch each other's backs, and look out for the people they cared about. He was rarely afraid, but something—no, everything—about this case scared him. The overwhelming feeling that he couldn't trust his own eyes was at the heart of that.

The only cure was to catch the killer. Maybe then the nightmares would stop and he could sleep at night.

*   *   *

Fog had begun to move in by the time Gabe and Jordan drove out to Dogpatch. Swirling mist caressed the car windows, leaving smeared fingerprints of moisture behind. That the sun was out, hidden by the lowering clouds, made the fog all the more ominous to Gabe. Working in the shifting half light meant taking extra care not to miss things. And the concealing nature of fog made it all too easy for someone to come up on them unawares.

Jordan had never seen San Francisco fog. He got out of the car and stood on the curb, watching gray tendrils creep down the side of dirty brick buildings and slither along the sidewalk. Lynch watched silently for a moment, fascinated. “I've read about San Francisco fog, but I had to see for myself to believe. Easy to understand why people describe it as something alive. Lake fog in Chicago is nothing like this.”

“Work a few murder scenes on foggy nights, and you'll be convinced all the stories are true.” Gabe buttoned his overcoat and flipped up the collar. Damp chill still clung to his skin, trying to work its way to the bone. “Funny how many times thick fog comes in around a murder scene too.”

Lynch's eyes were full of mirth, but his expression remained serious. “Are you saying the fog's full of ghosts, Captain Ryan?”

Gabe smiled and moved toward where Maxwell waited, Jordan matching his pace. The mouth of an alley gaped behind the patrolman, an open maw full of mist. “That's for you to decide, Lieutenant Lynch. You might want to have a talk with Delia before you make up your mind. For now, let's go see what my men have to say.”

Maxwell was huddled into his uniform coat, hands in his pockets. He nodded to Jordan, his brief smile friendly. “Afternoon, Lieutenant. The body's at the end of the alley, Captain. Dr. West hasn't said yet, but from the looks of things, he's been there for days. Maybe as long as a week.”

Jordan touched the brim of his hat and returned Maxwell's smile. “Afternoon, Officer. Are you sure the dead man is Supervisor Devin?”

“Three of us were assigned guard duty during his last campaign. I spent a month following him around the city, listening to him give speeches, and watching him shake hands. Even after what the rats did to the body—there's no doubt it's Devin.” Maxwell frowned. “None of it makes any sense, Captain. How could his body have been lying there for a week? I saw him at the church when that woman was murdered. That was only a few days ago.”

“We all saw him, Maxwell.” Gabe clamped down hard on the shivers threatening to well up and rattle his teeth.
He'd looked the man in the eye, stood not three feet away from the killer
,
and not known.
Clearing his throat let him speak. “How did a street sweeper get to the end of that alley?”

“Mr. Jansky needed to relieve himself, and he didn't want to do so in sight of the street.” Maxwell pointed at the blank walls overlooking the alley on either side. “There aren't any windows for people to look down and see him. Lots of tradesmen use alleys in neighborhoods like this. He knew something was wrong when he heard the rats and went looking for what they were after. Mr. Jansky found a beat cop, who called it in.”

“Thank you, Maxwell. Pull Walken out of the car. I want the two of you to keep anyone who doesn't belong from wandering down the alley. Coroner's men and squad members only.” Gabe clapped him on the shoulder on the way past. “Anyone else comes nosing around, find me.”

“Yes, Captain.”

The alley trapped the fog, making it thicker, darker. Not only weren't there any windows looking down from above, but the two doors Gabe saw were boarded over and padlocked as well. Broken glass crunched underfoot, bigger pieces spinning away when he or Jordan kicked one by accident. No ash cans lined the alley, but the ground was strewn with all kinds of trash nonetheless.

He saw food scraps in the mix, discarded remnants of a half-eaten lunch left behind, or food stolen from the grocer a block over. That helped explain the large number of rats. Dark forms scuttled into holes chewed into the bottom of walls as Gabe and Jordan approached, glittering black eyes angry at being chased away from their feast.

They came upon the street sweeper, Mr. Jansky, being questioned by Officer Warren. The street sweeper was well over seventy, slight and stoop shouldered, his clothes patched and threadbare. Jansky's coat was too thin for the weather, but he'd expected to be working, not standing still in clammy fog, answering questions.

Gabe considered having Warren send the old man home and quickly changed his mind. The chances of Mr. Jansky having seen anything useful were slim, but they wouldn't know that until Warren got all his answers.

The flash from Baker's camera was muted by the fog, light diffused into an indistinct glow. Long experience said Baker would get his shots anyway.

Devin's body lay facedown, the top of his head hard up against a brick wall. One arm was thrown up over his head as if to ward off a blow. Water dripped off the eaves, each drop landing square in the middle of Devin's back and soaking his suit coat. The puddle around him was stained with blood, part from where the rats had chewed exposed flesh, a larger part from the knife shoved into the base of his skull.

“Gabe.” Jordan's voice was a low rumble that carried in the fog. “The knife. Do you see it?”

“I see.” He stepped back, getting out of Baker's way as he moved the camera. “The blade's bigger, but it's the same spot he used to kill Eve Rigaux. Wish I knew what the hell that means.”

“Does it have to mean something?” Jordan edged around the body, bending down to take a closer look at Devin's hands. “I'm not disagreeing with you, Captain, just trying to see where you're headed with this.”

Dr. West stood a few feet away, still wearing his black rubber gloves and scribbling notes in a large notebook. He looked up, openly amused. “Lieutenant Lynch is right. The placement of the knife is almost identical to Mrs. Rigaux. I didn't find anything hidden in Devin's hands or in his pockets. My instincts say that he died where he fell, but that's only a guess. Given the way evidence has been washed away and the animal damage to the body, an educated guess is probably the best I can do.”

Gabe nodded, still studying the way Devin's body was placed. West was right; there was no hidden message here. “I can't ask for more. How long do you think the body's been here?”

“A week to ten days, maybe a little longer. Rigor's been gone for a long time.” He squatted next to the body, pointing with his pencil. “These bite marks on the back of his hand, and over here on his neck, are fresh. You can't see any evidence of bleeding or blood weeping from either one. That's a good indicator that the body's been here for some time. Any blood left in the body is pooled in the lowest parts.”

“If Mr. Jansky hadn't picked this alley as a privy, he might never have been found.” Some tiny and unrelenting detail still bothered him, dancing out of reach each time Gabe reached for it. “Can we turn him over?”

Jefferson West gave two of his men instructions to do as Gabe asked. They rolled Devin faceup, an awkward job at best. Still, the two men were careful not to splash blood-tainted water on Baker's camera or on any of the cops watching.

A pearl-headed hatpin secured a folded piece of paper to the front of Devin's jacket. The paper was soaking wet, the ink smeared and running together. West slipped the hatpin out and looked up at Gabe with an apologetic smile. “Maybe I was wrong about hidden messages.”

Jordan braced himself with a hand on Gabe's shoulder and leaned in for a closer look. “Maybe not, Doctor. That may not be meant for the captain and his men at all, especially if the killer never expected the body to be found.”

“What do you think it is, then?” Gabe held open a large glassine envelope while West gingerly placed the paper inside. As wet as the paper was, the real danger was that the folded square would either fall apart or fuse into one solid mass before they had a chance to dry it out.

“I think the best people to ask are Miss Bobet and Mrs. Ryan.” Jordan looked him in the eye, clearly reluctant to say too much in front of the deputy coroner. “I think they'd be interested in taking a look. Chances are, Miss Bobet will know a way to open it up without the whole thing falling apart.”

“That's a good place to start.” Gabe held the envelope flat on his palm, trying to puzzle out smeared ink lines in the dying light. The fog was growing thicker, deeper. He tried to convince himself that the murk wasn't gathering around Devin's body, a shifting pearly gray shroud that sought to hide the supervisor's ravished face. Gabe slipped the envelope into an inside pocket. “Thank you, Dr. West. Please send your report over to my office as soon as you're finished.”

“You'll have it by morning.” West tugged off his black gloves, letting them dangle from his hand. The young deputy coroner looked uncomfortable and embarrassed. “Gabe—do me a favor, if you would. Tell me what Dora says. I'd really like to know.”

He hesitated but finally nodded. “I'll get word to you.”

The walk back to the car was silent. Gabe hunched into his overcoat once he'd given Walken the directions to Dora's house, trying to get warm. Jordan stared out the window, making a point of studying the fog and the veiled landscape. He had faith that if Lynch wanted conversation, he'd speak up.

Gabe took the envelope from his pocket, laying it flat on the seat between them. Dora would know what it was.

Dora would know.

*   *   *

Dora passed her hand over the glassine envelope for the third time, eyes shut. Each time, her frown deepened and she winced slightly.

Each wince added to Gabe's guilt. Delia slipped an arm around his waist, leaning against him. That she wasn't angry with him too was a blessing.

Isadora was furious. She slumped back in her chair and opened her eyes, giving him a baleful look. “I thought you understood not to bring things into my house without calling first. You of all people should know better, Gabe Ryan.”

“Gabe's already apologized, Dora.” Dee gave him a quick hug and went to stand next to Dora's chair. She planted her feet, watching Isadora sternly. “He's apologized five times by my count, and that should be enough. Why don't you tell us the real reason you're upset?”

The two of them glared at each other, both equally stubborn. Dora gave in first, rolling her eyes and tossing a hand up in exasperation. “All right, you win. I'm not as angry with Gabe as I am shaken by how narrowly we avoided disaster. It's a finding spell, Dee, and it was designed specifically to find Alina.”

“Mother of God…” Gabe extended a hand in apology and let it fall again. “Dora—I'm sorry. I should have called first or asked you to come to the station.”

She peered at him and raised an eyebrow. “I'd appreciate you remembering that beforehand in the future. We got lucky this time. The spell is badly degraded from the paper spending so much time in the water. All the lines have run and the ink is smeared, but the energy mined from Supervisor Devin's death still lingers. I've done what I can to shut it away. Once Randy comes home, I can finish the job.”

Jordan sat in a chair near the window, brooding and pensive. “Devin was already dead the day we were all at the church. This is twice I've looked this man in the face and thought he was someone else. That's an uncomfortable feeling.”

Images, pieces of what they knew and what he'd seen, ran through Gabe's head. He couldn't find a pattern.

Maybe there wasn't one. Maybe he'd been looking at this the wrong way.

Gabe retrieved his jacket from the back of an armchair and slipped it on. “I arranged a meeting with Dominic Mullaney at Saint Mary Magdalene. If I don't leave now, I might miss him, Dee. I'll call the station before I go and have them send a car to take you home. Have one of the men watching the house wait inside with you until I get home.”

“I can wait with her.” Jordan pushed himself up out of the chair and leaned heavily on his cane. Another pang of guilt hit Gabe. He hadn't given Jordan's leg or that the older cop might be in pain a thought. “That is, if Delia doesn't mind having me underfoot. Mullaney doesn't know me, and he might think twice about talking with me around.”

Delia smiled. “Of course I don't mind. Perhaps you could tell me more stories about your grandmother.”