Delia's Shadow (12 page)

“Letters?” Understanding shone in Delia’s eyes. “You mean letters from the murderer.”

Gabe nodded. “We haven’t released that information to the press yet. You don’t have to make the trip tomorrow, but I thought you might find what Colin has to say interesting. I’m hoping he can give us both some answers.”

“I’ll come. It does sound interesting and I’d like to see this through.” Delia sank into a chair again, tired smudges under her eyes. She peered up at him, face perfectly serious and solemn. “Tell me what time you’ll call round and I’ll be ready. And is this a strictly professional request for my company? I’d like to know how to dress.”

Gabe didn’t know what to say. He hunted for a hint in the way she watched him that she was teasing. Some dimly remembered and rusty social skill took over, and he answered without thinking. “The request for your assistance is professional, but wanting to spend time in the company of a new friend is wholly selfish on my part. Is twelve-thirty too early?”

“Twelve-thirty is fine. I’ll see you then.” She stared at a spot behind him for an instant before giving him a shaky smile, throwing him more off balance. “Be careful tonight.”

“I will. Good night.”

Gabe hurried across the empty entry hall, footsteps a muffled echo against the high ceiling. He shut the front door softly and paused on the step to flip up his collar. Fog-laden air hung in a damp veil between him and the car at the curb, dark shapes forming and vanishing again in the constantly moving mist. Faces peered at him, hauntingly familiar, and melted back into the swirling wall.

Ghosts of a different sort, made from fallen clouds and memory. He’d face them later.

CHAPTER 7

Gabe

Gabe rubbed his hands together briskly to get some of the blood moving and regretted leaving his gloves at home. Damp and cold penetrated his overcoat, soaked through his suit jacket, and seeped through skin to the bone. The calendar might say June, but summer fog carried winter in its heart. He’d worked many a December night and not been near as miserable.

He’d handpicked his squad, looking for men who followed orders but thought for themselves as well. That always paid off in ways both big and small, and tonight was no exception. He and Jack arrived to find the murder scene closed off and the investigation well underway. That gave Gabe hope he might get to bed before dawn.

One of the men had driven two patrol cars over the grass to the edge of the grove and trained the headlights on the body and the surrounding area. It was probably still too dark for Baker’s pictures to expose properly, but Baker snapped away with his Kodak and Officer Turner set off the magnesium powder in the flash pan when given the word. The two men were a good team. If anyone could get photographs of the murder scene on a foggy night, they could.

Gabe’s stomach flipped. What he saw in the shifting fog and uncertain illumination of headlights was bad, worse than he’d ever seen. At least one of the men had been sick. Dirt and old leaves scuffed over the splash of vomit didn’t hide the sour smell. It blended with the scent of blood and piss into an unnaturally foul odor, held close by the fog and not allowed to dissipate.

Cops who survived long term on murder squads found a way to shut out the gore and the smells, and turn off their human side that recoiled and wanted to run. Gabe had learned to become an observer, distancing himself to note facts, patterns, and record details. Observing let him do his job and if he dealt with nightmares later, that was on his own time.

He’d have nightmares about this victim.

A sturdy, middle-aged man hung upside down from the tallest tree in the small grove. His shoes were gone, his white shirt and trousers cut up and tattered, but the victim still wore his wool coat. The bottom of the coat brushed the ground behind the man’s head, a dark drapery that hid his pale face from anyone approaching from the street. A hat rested against the tree trunk, trampled on until its shape was unrecognizable.

The rope knotted tight round the man’s ankles had been tossed over a sturdy branch to haul him up, looped three times to keep the victim from slipping to the ground and tied off around the trunk. His arms were unbound and dangled next to his head, congealed blood sticky on the backs of his hands and hanging in long strings from the end of his fingers. Dark urine stains soaked the front of his trousers and open eyes stared, the knowledge he was going to die frozen on the murdered man’s face.

He’d been strung up, gutted, and field dressed as if the grove were a forest and the victim a hunter’s prize kill. His entrails lay on the ground, tossed aside in a slimy coil. The killer hadn’t bothered with a gag this time. Cutting out the man’s tongue worked just as well.

The magnesium flash stripped away the shadows, each burst of white light burning a new image on the back of Gabe’s eyes. Unlike the other victims, a quartered circle had been carved on the man’s chest, not his forehead.

Jack busily took notes and drew small sketches in his Moleskine, documenting what he could in case Baker’s nighttime photographic efforts failed. Taking notes and asking questions was the way his partner survived and kept his sanity.

Gabe gestured toward the tattered remains of the victim’s white shirt. “That shirt is soaked in blood. He was alive when the killer carved that symbol.”

“I think the poor bastard was alive for most of it.” Jack cleared his throat and took a step back. “What I want to know is how our boy managed to overpower a man that big and string him up like that. Makes me wonder if he had a partner.”

“Don’t buy trouble.” Gabe worked his way around the tree, dodging his men and working toward the edge of the light thrown by the headlights. His eyes scanned the ground, looking for footprints or anything the squad might have missed. “I want day shift out here at first light. The man who moved those cars into place did the right thing, some light is better than none at all. But it’s still almost impossible to see out here.”

“What time do you want me at your boarding house with a car?” Jack bent to pick something up, but tossed it away. “An acorn. Probably not important.”

“You get to handle this one on your own. I need to pay Colin a visit to chase down a piece of evidence. I’m taking Delia with me.” Gabe stopped where the light began to fail and turned back to watch his men working. Pausing also gave Jack time to think about Delia going along. He never doubted that his friend and partner would have a comment to make. “I’ll sleep better knowing you’ll be here to supervise in the morning.”

Jack didn’t say anything at first, but his pencil beat a staccato rhythm on the edge of his notebook. “I can run the investigation in the morning, that isn’t a problem. But is taking Delia to see Colin wise, Gabe? I’m not sure involving her in this case is good for either one of you.”

“Let me show you something. Then you can decide if involving Delia is wise or not.” Gabe dug in his pockets and found the grocer’s flyer with Delia’s sketch on the back. He moved closer to the light and angled the paper so that the headlights shone full on her drawing. “She drew this from memory tonight while you were with Sadie. It was part of a nightmare she had about Shadow.”

By the time Gabe finished telling Jack about Delia’s nightmare, the mask, and her guess about hieroglyphics, his partner was shaking his head.

“Forget I said anything. You’d think I’d know better by now than to second-guess you.” Jack pushed his cap back with the end of his pencil. “The coroner’s wagon is here. Let’s go talk to Ruby and distract her while they cut the body down.”

Gabe found Henderson and asked where Maxwell was looking after Ruby. Marshall pointed them toward a bench on the farside of the grove.

They found Maxwell and Ruby only a few yards from the sidewalk and inside the dim circle of light cast by a streetlight. The young officer watched the street and the darkened park warily, obviously aware of being visible while not being able to see anyone approach. Gabe gave Maxwell credit for letting Ruby have the comfort of the streetlamp and not making her wait in the dark.

Ruby sat with her legs crossed, skirts hiked up almost to her knees, and one foot jiggling rapidly, as if keeping time to music. Smoke from her cigarette curled up to join with the fog. A pile of snuffed out and discarded cigarette butts littered the ground at her feet, none smoked more than halfway down.

“Lieutenant Ryan.” Maxwell’s relief was obvious. “I’ve offered to see her home several times, but Miss Diamond insisted on waiting to speak to you.”

No one called Ruby Miss Diamond, not even Ruby, but pointing that out would only hurt Maxwell’s feelings. “You did just fine, Maxwell. Report to Officer Henderson and have him find something for you to do. Sergeant Fitzgerald and I will make sure Ruby gets home.”

Gabe traded looks with Jack. His partner sat next to Ruby, arm draped casually along the back of the bench. Gabe stood in front of her, feet planted far apart and hands stuck deep in his overcoat pockets. Ruby glanced up at him, a quick, guilty look, and went back to concentrating on her cigarette. He’d let her finish this one before expecting her to speak; he had patience enough for one.

Jack put his hand over hers when Ruby tossed the cigarette away to stop her from lighting another. “You told Officer Henderson you wanted to talk, Ruby. If you’ve changed your mind, just say so. No harm in that, we won’t be angry. I’ll have one of the boys see you home and the lieutenant and I can get back to business.”

Ruby pulled in on herself, suddenly looking older and scared. “You’ve got nice boys working for you, Gabe. They took good care of me.”

“That’s their job, Ruby. I’m still glad to know.” Gabe crouched down, putting his eyes level with hers. She was crying and trying to hide it. “You can tell me anything you know. Jack, too. I promise that whatever you say stays right here with the three of us. But we can’t help you unless you tell us what you’re scared of. Tell us what happened.”

Ruby took a deep, shuddering breath and brushed at her eyes. “The man hanging from the tree, I know him from back when I first started working the streets. His name’s Terrance Owens, married with a couple of nice kids and another on the way. Terry used to run a few girls out of a rooming house near the docks, but he got away from that life years ago. Saved his money until he had enough to do something better.”

Gabe thought he understood now why she insisted on talking to him. Ruby wouldn’t want any of the young officers to see her crying. He took her hand. “I’m sorry you saw any of this. And I’m especially sorry your friend died.”

Sympathy made her cry harder. Jack pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket for Ruby. He let her dab at her eyes for a few seconds before asking the next question. “What did Terrance do for a living?”

She wiped her eyes again, sitting up straighter and speaking to Gabe. “He drove a single horse cab for his wife’s father until he could save up for his own. The last five, six years, Terry drove a four-horse hack, a fancy one with leather seats. Nights when the fog’s thick and business slow Terry would give me a ride home. He never wanted anything in exchange. Just took me to my door and went home to his wife and kids.”

He glanced at Jack and saw the same thought in his eyes. Neither one of them knew what to say to Mrs. Owens about how her husband died. “Knowing who he was is a big help, Ruby. We’ll be able to notify his family so they know what happened to him. Did Terry have a priest or a minister? It might help Mrs. Owens to have someone familiar there when she hears the news.”

“Father Joe, over at Saint Catherine’s.” Ruby clutched Gabe’s hand. “Terry’s name isn’t all I need to tell you. I saw a man drive off with Terry’s hack.”

“Are you sure, Ruby?” Gabe sat next to her, looking over the top of her head to meet Jack’s gaze on her other side. “Finding his body had to be a shock. I’m not sure anyone could tell one cab from another in the fog, especially after an experience like you had.”

Ruby yanked her hand back and scowled at him. “That’s an awful nice way of telling me I was out of my head and seeing things. Except I know what I saw. I didn’t imagine seeing someone drive off with Terry’s rig.”

“Gabe’s sorry.” Jack shook his head and put a finger to his lips when Gabe started to speak. “He didn’t mean it that way. The lieutenant just doesn’t know how to talk to a lady. Tell us what you saw.”

She sniffled and gave Jack a grateful look. “I chased the man I brought to the park out to the street. I was mad as blazes he left me here alone. He was dressed like a gentleman, but the coward refused to go looking for a policeman. I got to the bench here in time to see a strange man sitting in the driving seat of Terry’s cab. My customer scrambled inside and slammed the door closed. They drove straight off.”

“Thank you, Ruby. You’ve been very helpful.” Gabe’s headache came back twofold, joined by a cold knot in his stomach. Running after her customer to give him a piece of her mind and a whack or two sounded exactly like Ruby. His doubts about her state of mind spun away into the fog. “Answer one last question for me, then I’ll have a patrolman take you home. How did you know for certain the cab you saw belonged to Terry?”

“He had a yellow rose painted on the door and another on the back. For his wife. Rose is her name.” Ruby stared at the empty street, tears rolling down her face. “I didn’t make a mistake. That was Terry’s rig.”

Jack helped her to her feet. “Come on, Ruby. Let’s get you in a patrol car. Your ride home tonight is on the mayor’s tab.”

Gabe trailed behind them, the lump in his stomach growing colder. A dead cab driver and Ruby’s word about what she saw on a dark foggy night were all he had to hang theories on. He could hear his father’s voice lecturing him, repeating over and over that he should deal with facts, evidence. The only way to solve a case was to pile that proof up so high, no one questioned your conclusion.

His faith died with Victoria. Gabe hadn’t seen much point in praying since, but he prayed now, asking God to listen this once and for Ruby to be wrong about seeing someone else drive off with Terry’s rig. He desperately wanted the cab driver to be just a cab driver.