The Night Is Alive (12 page)

“I have no idea, Sullivan. Maybe I
was
a little crazy. Gus was everything to me,” Abby said.

One thing she’d learned: an agent shouldn’t share thoughts or information with anyone other than those also working the case, unless someone was at risk. Information in the wrong hands could be dangerous.

Not that she considered Sullivan a suspect. It would’ve been impossible for the man to slink through the restaurant, since he was always behind the bar.

“I’m so sorry, Abby. You know we all loved him,” he was saying.

“Thanks. I do know that.”

He touched her cheek, a brotherly gesture. “Be careful, okay?” he said huskily.

“I am careful. And guess what? I excelled in marksmanship. I’ll be fine. Thanks, Sullivan.”

He backed away, looking toward the door. “Hmm. Your FBI man is back—with a suitcase.”

“Yeah, he’s going to be staying here.”

“Oh?” Sullivan said. A smile twitched his lips.

“No
oh,
” she told him. “Helen Long was last seen here, and we’re near the river, that’s all.”

“Now that’s a shame,” Sullivan teased. “That it’s just business, I mean.”

“Sullivan,” she warned.

“Tall, dark and handsome. Has a nice aura about him, full of confidence. You could do a hell of a lot worse, you know. Hmm. You
have
done worse.”

“Hey!”

“Just sayin’. You always dated pretty boys. Not up to par. And from what I’ve seen in the past few years, you date someone for a few months, then you’re bored.”

“That’s not true! I’ve been focused on my career, that’s all.”

Malachi was coming to join her at the bar. She frowned fiercely at Sullivan.

“Well, then, just jump his bones. Everybody’s life is better with some hot sex in it,” Sullivan told her.

“Stop it!”

He made a show of buttoning his lips. Malachi slid his suitcase up beside his bar stool. “I’m...back,” he said a little lamely. “Everything okay here?”

“Right as rain,” Sullivan said before she could respond.

“Come on up. I’ll show you Gus’s room.” Abby smiled sweetly at her bartender.

“Yep, and don’t worry about anything,” Sullivan said. “Grant and I will see that the place is locked up tight.”

“Thanks,” Abby said.

Malachi smiled at Sullivan, got his bag and followed her up the stairs. She flicked on the light as she opened the door to the apartment. “I talked to Roger English. We’re all set to meet him in the morning.”

“Good,” Malachi said absently. He stepped into the apartment and glanced around. “Nice.” He walked in, noted the little coffee nook and moved into the center of the living room area. He went straight to the balcony. “Do you mind if I look out?” he asked her.

“Of course not.”

He opened the door and stepped onto the balcony. Leaning, he looked to the left. She followed him.

“So you grew up here?” he asked.

“Here, and at our family’s house on Chippewa Square,” she said. “When my parents died—my mom and then my dad—I spent my time here with Gus. And my grandmother, of course, when she was still with us.”

“It’s hard to lose family,” he said, but he didn’t elaborate.

A moment later, he gave his attention to the view. “You can see the river from here.”

“You can,” Abby agreed. “Of course, if they build up anymore, it’ll block the view.”

“It’s pretty,” he said. “And made sense for old pirates.”

“And maybe new pirates?”

He turned and looked at her. “You’re worried that this place is somehow being used. But because a woman was last seen here doesn’t mean the Dragonslayer has anything to do with what’s going on.”

“What about Gus?” she asked.

He was thoughtful for a minute and then said, “Kat will go over the M.E.’s records for Gus. I believe he did die of a heart attack—but the heart attack might have been brought on when he accosted someone or vice versa. Whatever happened, it won’t happen again. With your blessing, Will Chan will set up a camera system in the tunnel. No one will get down there by
any
means without being seen. Does that make you feel better?”

“Yes, thank you.” She hesitated. “How did you wind up on this case? You said you’re not an agent, that you’re a consultant.”

He shrugged. “I was recently part of a high-profile case in Virginia. Then Jackson Crow, Logan Raintree and a man named Adam Harrison—you probably know he started the whole Krewe of Hunters branch—came to see me. I told you, this is on a trial basis. And...” He paused, lowering his head, smiling slightly. “I’d been working alone since I left New Orleans because I got tired telling fellow workers that I’m not a psychic. Most people want to lock you away when you tell them you came up with some of your deductive reasoning because of a ghost—and therefore you don’t tell them. Jackson apparently knew what I was doing because he’d studied the work I’d done. After I got to spend time with him, Logan and the other agents, I felt right at home. As if I’d found my people, so to speak. Jackson sent me down here to see what’s going on, and I let him know what I’ve learned. They work in groups, which is why the others have joined us.”

“I’m glad,” she said. “Did you leave New Orleans because you lost your partner—David Caswell?”

He looked back out at the night.

“No. I left New Orleans when my wife died. It was her home and I always saw it through her eyes. When she was gone, I couldn’t stay anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” she told him.

He turned to her. “It was a long time ago now. We all lose people, and we learn to go on. That’s life—and death. So, show me Gus’s room. I’ll get that bag put away. And maybe we should try to grab a couple of hours’ sleep, because during those few hours in between shifts when this place is empty, I’m going to want a private tour. If you’re up to it...? Maybe old Blue will let himself be known when it’s just you and me.”

“Definitely. Gus’s room is over here.”

She led him down the little hall within the apartment to the first door. Stepping inside, she switched on the light. The old captain’s bed was just as it had been. She’d spent some time in the week since he’d died cleaning up, gathering up his clothes and donating them to the Salvation Army. Gus had been almost fanatically clean, but she’d given the room a once-over, too. It was decorated with ships’ lamps, a whaling harpoon and other memorabilia from the sea. The walls were paneled, very much like a ship’s cabin.

Malachi nodded approvingly. He set his suitcase on the floor and said, “I guess you accept that I’m more or less legitimate now?”

“Yes, I do.”

He studied her for a minute, and offered her a smile. “I think you’re legitimate, too, you know.”

“Thanks.” She felt strange, looking at him there, feeling that subtle smile of his as if it were a caress.

And liking it.

She stepped back into the hallway.
Tall, dark and
very
handsome.

He was suddenly far too appealing.

“Okay, then...see you in a few hours,” she told him.

She turned and walked the few steps down the hall that led to her own bedroom. She quickly walked in, leaned against the door and realized she was shaking. And she knew then that she was impossibly attracted to him.

Sleep. Oh, hell, yeah. Sure thing.

“Blue, you’re supposed to come when we need help!” she whispered aloud. “And, Blue, I definitely need some help now!”

6

I
t was a good thing he’d never really needed much sleep, Malachi thought.

He’d lain in bed, staring at the ceiling, going over everything he’d seen and everyone he’d met since he arrived. He hadn’t wanted to alarm Abby, but he couldn’t help assuming that the Dragonslayer had been used in some way. Either that or the killer was a patron of the tavern.

Dirk. Most obvious suspect. He ran a pirate ship. He played a pirate daily.

Sullivan? The bartender knew the place like few others.

Aldous, Bootsie, Grant, Macy. Bootsie was an old man. Macy was a woman, which didn’t clear her, but the sexual activity the women had engaged in—rape?—before death had been with a man. Still, she could be in on it. A facilitator.

He wasn’t going to be able to sleep, so he got up and studied Gus’s room. It made him wish he’d had the opportunity to know the man. He’d evidently loved the river and history and ships. His room wasn’t furnished with reproduction pieces; the lamps and harpoons and other paraphernalia were original, probably worth a small fortune.

When he opened the old sea chest at the foot of the bed, he saw that it contained neatly folded blankets. Wandering around the small space, he discovered that the room didn’t have a closet, just an old oak armoire, but it had been emptied except for a few shirts and a woolen captain’s coat.

There was one dresser in the room. On top of it sat a few pictures. One he guessed was Abby as a child with her parents. Another was of Abby and, surely, Gus. Another was Abby’s college graduation photo. She was young and beautiful, and her eyes were filled with the bright light of one anticipating the future.

She still had that look about her, but now it was tempered by loss. The important people in her family had died. She’d made it through the academy and certainly seen enough of the brutality that could exist. It hadn’t silenced the resilient, vibrant chord of life within her; she’d seen something wrong in her grandfather’s death and was determined to get to the root of it.

And, she knew there was more in the world than what was seen by most people. Maybe she hadn’t had a lot of experience—but then, you didn’t really need a lot. Once you’d experienced the dead appearing before you or speaking to you, you recognized that it was possible.

He paused for a moment before opening the first drawer. Although he’d already been prying, he murmured, “Forgive me, Gus, I have to see if there’s anything here that will help us.”

The first drawer held neatly folded briefs and nothing more. It didn’t seem that Abby had gotten around to going through Gus’s more personal items.

In the second drawer he found T-shirts and two sets of long underwear. Savannah, on the river, could get damply cold in winter.

Third drawer contained jeans. He looked under them.

There was a newspaper neatly folded beneath the several layers of jeans. Malachi glanced at the date—three months earlier. He studied the paper. A brief article on the bottom of the front page had a headline that read Savannah Underground!

He scanned the article, which was interesting; apparently, years ago, Savannah had teemed with life below the surface.

He started to put the jeans back, deciding that, with more time, he’d refer back to the article. As he held the jeans, he felt something in one of the pockets.

He pulled out a small plastic bag. There was a Post-it stuck to the bag with a note. “Police. Found at bottom of tunnel ladder. Must get to right person.”

Curious, Malachi examined the contents of the bag. He couldn’t figure out what the object was and then a chill seemed to settle in his bones. The...thing was small and oddly dark, as if it were growing charred. He had to open the bag and let it spill out before he saw what it was.

A finger. Presumably a ring finger. Decaying. He looked at the note again. It had to mean that Gus had found the finger and meant to give it to the police. But he’d wanted to talk to his granddaughter—someone he trusted. Gus had known or suspected something.

“Hello?” Abby tapped at his door. He opened it.

“I heard you rummaging around,” she said. “So I knew you were awake. I wanted to tell you that Grant and Sullivan are gone. The Dragonslayer’s empty except for the two of us.”

He didn’t reply right away.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Gus was onto something.”

“What?”

He hesitated. “Gus found a...um, finger. He found a finger at the bottom of the tunnel. He knew that someone who had some involvement with the murders had been in the tunnel. Except the police never released the fact that the ring finger of the left hand had been taken from each of the victims. So he probably didn’t know exactly what he’d found—which was why he wanted to talk to you.”

Abby lowered her head. “He died,” she said dully, “because I didn’t get here fast enough.”

“Abby,” he said, lifting her chin, “he died because it was his time. He died doing what was right, and that would’ve been important to Gus.”

She nodded and he released her. “You’re right, even though you didn’t know him.”

“I wish I had, but I know that much about him.”

He realized she was far too close. She smelled sweetly of soap and shampoo, and he was surprised that it was suddenly so difficult for him to separate a coworker from someone...

Someone he wanted.

“What should we do with the finger?”

He stepped awkwardly back as her words broke through his thoughts. “Give it to Kat,” he said. “She’ll tell us whether it’s new and showing some kind of decay or if it’s been in the tunnel for ages.”

“Unlikely—since this killer is taking fingers.”

“I agree. But we’ll give it to Kat,” he said.

“All right.”

He paused for a minute. “We’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

“And then we’ll give it to the cops, right?”

He nodded. “Okay, now show me the Dragonslayer,” he said.

She led him through the upstairs first, leaving the family apartment behind to show him Gus’s office, the manager’s office, the employee lounge, lockers and restroom. They went to the supply room and she showed him the stairs that went down to the dining room below.

Only the night-lights were on. When they went down the stairs, they were greeted by the image of Blue Anderson standing guard over the grate that led to the tunnel below. The robotic mannequin—handsomely crafted—was eerie in the half-light.

But it wasn’t the Blue he’d met the night he arrived.

“You’ve been in the bar and the dining rooms,” Abby told him. “Oh, and the kitchen is reached through the server entrance over there.” She paused and pointed to a doorway. “It’s always open. Gus thought diners had a right to see where their food was cooked. And there’s a little service window that opens to the bar.”

He gazed carefully around. “If someone knew the routine here—the hours of business, when people were where—it would be possible for that person to be upstairs, maybe, in the storeroom, and come down those stairs...and all the way to the tunnel.”

“But we keep the grating locked,” Abby said.

“It wasn’t locked when I got here.”

She knew he was right. “The lock on the grate is a combination lock Gus had for years.”

“And you really don’t know who—or just how many people—might have the combination.”

“That’s true,” she admitted. “New lock in the morning.”

“I think we’re okay for tonight,” he said. “But tomorrow I’ll go out and get a combination lock. How many people have keys to the tavern?”

“Grant, Macy, our morning chef and Sullivan. That’s as far as I know. I don’t think Gus would have given the keys to anyone else. When I was a child, we were almost broken into one night.” She hesitated. “That’s when I saw Blue for the first time. He woke my grandfather. I heard them and came out of bed and looked downstairs—my grandparents were outside with the police by then—and I saw Blue standing by the door. My grandfather suggested I not mention that I’d seen him to anyone else. I never did. Until now...”

“I never talked about seeing people, either,” Malachi told her. “I had—have—a few friends who suspect I see things that they don’t. They tend to think I’m a real psychic, regardless of what I say. Or they accept the work I’m able to do, know I don’t want to explain and let it go at that. Like David. As far as others are concerned, I avoid the topic. Too many people want stock tips and that’s something I truly can’t give,” he added dryly. “Look, I’m a really early riser. I’ll run out to buy a new lock, and I’ll make sure that Jackson and the group get in here to set up some cameras. That’s something we almost always do in this kind of investigation. It’s possible that the killer will realize the Dragonslayer has been identified and try something else. But it’s also possible that...”

He paused, looking at her and wondering if he should go on.

“Possible that?” she urged. She’d stiffened, and he felt she expected his answer, but dreaded hearing it.

“A victim might appear,” he said flatly.

“What?” she whispered.

He drew in a breath, hoping he wasn’t going to sound ghoulish. “It was important for me to touch the victims today. Sometimes, the dead actually talk on the autopsy table. Kat Sokolov can tell you more about that. I may be repeating what you might already know or suspect, but...we should think about it. From what most of us have discovered, ghosts don’t like to be with their mortal remains if they’re trapped on this plane for whatever reason. But if they do stay behind, they may appear where they feel they can find someone to help them achieve justice. If any of the victims did somehow come through here, they could be caught on camera.”

She stared at him, her eyes stricken.

“You okay? You don’t need to fear the dead.”

“It’s one thing to think about Blue hanging around the tavern—he’s my ancestor and he obviously stayed because he loves the family and loves the tavern. But...”

“Murder victims only stay because they need help,” he said.

Abby nodded. “And they just might be caught on camera.”

“Don’t worry. I sleep lightly and I’m just a few steps away.”

He was surprised when her smile was deep and real.

“Funny how things go, huh? You pissed me off when I first met you. That wasn’t very long ago, and tonight I’m
really
glad you’re here!”

“Let’s go up, shall we?”

“Yes, let’s go up,” she said.

She walked ahead of him, directly for the stairs. When they were both back in the apartment, she locked the door to the outer hallway. It was a good measure, even if they were alone in the restaurant. She walked down the hall to her room, beyond the door that led to Gus’s. She hesitated there. “Good night.”

He found himself hesitating, too. “Good night.”

She started to speak, but paused again. “I, uh, meant what I said. I truly am grateful that you’re here.”

“I’m truly grateful that you let me be here. Though I
am
curious now.”

“About?”

“Your home on Chippewa Square.”

“It’s pretty,” she told him. “You’ll see.”

“Well, good night.”

“Good night,” she said. That time, she walked in and closed her door.

Malachi did the same. He smiled as he did so. There was something about her...

As he’d said, he was very glad he was there.

Again he lay awake for hours, trying to concentrate on the case and put all the facts in order. Three female victims now, and one male. The killer, to Malachi’s mind, had killed Rupert Holloway for coming too close, so the victimology didn’t completely fit. That meant the killer was after pretty young women.

Those who might be seen the way women were once seen, as damsels. Lovely young women as prizes.

They’d all been found in the river.

As if forced to walk the plank, at least, symbolically.

And then there was Gus. Dead in the tunnel.

He looked around the room in the dim light, once more wishing he could have met the man. He imagined him as temperate, prone to liking people. But he’d lived a long time and been through a lot. He loved the river, history, antiques—and his granddaughter. She’d grown up with confidence and ability and the strength to choose her own path in life.

“She’s a beauty, Gus,” he said aloud. “And a strong, smart person. I couldn’t know you, but I’m proud to know her.”

He realized that his thoughts were going in a direction he’d never expected when he’d headed down to Savannah. But there was no denying she had a beauty any man would instantly admire and somewhere in his heart—or libido—instantly desire. He’d lost Marie five years ago. When she’d died, they’d been young and madly, almost insanely, in love. While he’d engaged in a few brief relationships since her death, he’d never really known any of the women and nothing between them had ever done more than touch the surface of his emotions.

Maybe this was different because of the ghost thing.

And maybe it was because of the way she looked. Or the fire that seemed to simmer within her, a passion for laughter as well as justice.

At some point, he dozed. He wasn’t sure if he opened his eyes and saw Blue Anderson there, standing over him, and then walking to the window—or if he dreamed it. He managed to get some sleep.

His phone rang early around 7:00 a.m. It was Kat Sokolov.

“Did I wake you?” she asked.

“Not really. Yes, but I need to get up.” He liked Kat. But he liked Will, too, and the other members of the Krewes he’d been brought in to meet after Adam, Logan and Jackson had brought him to their offices. She was the tiniest, cutest little blonde and didn’t look like any medical examiner he’d ever met. But she certainly knew what she was doing.

“I just wanted to let you know I’m heading to the morgue. I’ll be attending at the next autopsy,” she said.

“I hope the local guy, Dr. Tierney, likes you better than he seemed to like me,” he told her.

He heard the soft sound of her laughter. “Not to worry. Adam Harrison has done his magic. We’re officially invited in. Jackson and Angela will be down at the local station, giving a heads-up on what we believe, based on what we’ve seen and learned from you and Abby.”

“We’re looking for a would-be pirate,” Malachi said quietly, “who likes to take the ring finger of the left hand as a souvenir. And...I, uh, have a finger to give you.”