Krewe of Hunters, Volume 3: The Night Is WatchingThe Night Is AliveThe Night Is Forever

by Heather Graham

  Whether she understood his message or not, she handled it. “Thank you. I believe it’s important that we see all the victims.”

  David left with Dirk.

  When they were gone, Malachi spoke to Tierney. “She’s missing her ring finger. It wasn’t gnawed off, it was cut off,” he said.

  “We’re not letting that information out,” Tierney said curtly.

  “I understand.” Malachi nodded. “Is it the same with the other corpses?”

  “Yes.”

  Tierney walked over to a wall with numbered sliding doors and placards in little slots. He went straight to drawer nine. A handwritten name tag read Ruth Seymour.

  He pulled the drawer back and gently removed the sheet from her face.

  Ruth had fared better than the unknown girl they’d just seen. Most of her face was intact. Malachi saw the mark of some kind of bondage that had been described in the autopsy notes. He also saw that the ring finger on her left hand had been severed at the knuckle.

  “Head injury is here,” Tierney told him, pointing.

  She’d been struck on the back of the skull—one solid blow.

  “It would’ve knocked her out?” Malachi asked.

  “Probably came close to fracturing the skull, so, yes, likely she would’ve been knocked out. But if you look at the wound closely, you can see there’s healing. So she regained consciousness again—a day, a few days?—before she was killed,” Tierney explained.

  That made something cold curl up inside his gut. Dead was dead—but he wondered what torture she’d gone through before death.

  “What about Rupert Holloway?” he asked.

  “That was different. As far as I can tell, Holloway was knocked out and killed soon after. Maybe a few hours later, somewhere in that time frame, at any rate. Both young women were kept alive longer. I assume you’ve read the reports. Although I can’t state it definitively, I believe both were sexually molested, and killed later. I don’t think they were in any condition to fight off the rapist. They were probably knocked out and held until they annoyed their attacker—or he tired of them. Ms. Shepherd was the last victim found before today. She’s right here.”

  She could have been anyone. “How did you ID her?” Malachi asked.

  “Fingerprints. They were on file at her school. It’s a safety measure taken there.”

  “She’s missing the ring finger?”

  “Yes.”

  Malachi looked at Abby. She was stoic, watching, listening, betraying sorrow but allowing little else to show on her face.

  Tierney went over the young woman’s injuries.

  Malachi moved closer to inspect the corpse again, touching the body. And again, he had no sense of anyone remaining.

  “Mr. Rupert Holloway is the last of our recent victims. You don’t want to visit the entire morgue, do you?” Tierney obviously wanted to be on his way.

  “Just these victims,” Malachi said. “Mr. Holloway, please.”

  Rupert Holloway was in nearly the same shape as their Jane Doe, and his head wound was worse; the skull had been fractured. “He might still have been out cold when he was tossed in the river,” Tierney said.

  “But he’s missing his ring finger, as well.”

  Tierney looked uncomfortable. “Yes. Taken while he was still alive—as with the others.”

  “Any other marks on him?” Malachi asked.

  “Just one. On his back. Help me roll him and I’ll show you.”

  He obliged; Rupert Holloway had been a big man.

  Low on his back there was a wound, which was sharp and broad.

  “Not serrated,” Abby commented.

  “No, it was made by a smooth blade,” Tierney said. “Now, if that’s all...”

  “That’s all, Dr. Tierney. Thank you so much for your time.”

  He led Abby out. They removed the scrubs they’d donned and left them in the appropriate receptacles.

  “Definitely a serial killer,” Abby said. She shuddered and looked at him apologetically. She was ashen, although she’d held up well. “Why...why the fingers? Is there a significance to the ring finger? Are they trophies?”

  “Possibly. And I can’t begin to fathom if there’s a symbolic reason of some kind for the ring finger. Does it have anything to do with wedding or engagement rings? Holloway was married, but the others...” He shrugged. “I don’t know.” As he spoke, he watched something come alive in her eyes.

  “I’m an idiot,” she said.

  “Why?”

  She flushed. “I mean, there is a symbolic reason for the ring finger. Pirates used to cut off the ring fingers of their hostages specifically to steal their rings. Blackbeard supposedly cut off his own ring finger as a warning to others to leave him alone.”

  “Then it is symbolic,” Malachi said.

  “Yes, I believe that has to be it. But still, the killing of Rupert Holloway was different from the others. The injury on his back is completely unlike the injuries on the women. What do you think the blade was?” Abby asked. “And why that mark left there?”

  “At the small of his back?” Malachi mused thoughtfully. “A pirate sword, Agent Anderson. I’m willing to bet that wound was made by a sword.”

  5

  “It’s not Helen. It’s not Helen,” Dirk repeated. He’d said the words dozens of times during the drive back to the Dragonslayer.

  “No, Dirk, it’s not Helen,” Abby assured him.

  “Oh, my God! Did you see her face?”

  They reached the parking lot and Abby put the car in Park. Malachi was out of the backseat, opening the door for Dirk. When Dirk stood in front of him, he steadied the man with a hand at his elbow. “Not Helen, Dirk. So if you can think of anything at all that might help us find her, it could save her life.”

  “What if he’s doing that to her—to Helen—right now?” Dirk asked.

  “Dirk, the poor girl looks so bad because of what the creatures in the river did to her. Helen could be alive. She’s a bright girl, and if anyone can manage to stay alive, she can. I’ll tell you what might help. You let the police do a thorough search of the Black Swan,” Malachi said.

  “A search?” Dirk asked blankly.

  By then, Abby had come around the car. “If they search the Black Swan, Dirk, they might find something Helen left on the ship. A note, a scrap of paper, a card—something.”

  She watched Dirk carefully—although she couldn’t believe anything evil of him, not in a thousand years.

  His expression didn’t change. “If it’ll help, hell, yeah, search the ship.”

  Malachi might have been surprised by Dirk’s easy agreement; if he was, he didn’t show it.

  “That’s fine, Dirk, thank you. I’m going to call my buddy David back and ask him to get a team in there, okay? You’ll have to give David official permission.”

  Dirk nodded. “Anything that’ll help,” he said. He looked back at Abby. “It will help, right?”

  “It will,” she said.

  “Call him. That detective. Tell him I’ll sign anything he needs.”

  “Thank you,” Abby said.

  Dirk left the two of them, striding for the bar. He stopped and turned back. “You two just saw all that and don’t need a drink?” he demanded.

  “We’re coming,” Abby said.

  She looked at Malachi. “Honestly, it can’t be Dirk. You figure someone’s kidnapping people, taking them on a pirate ship. With the women, he’s making them behave like captives—forcing them to have sex as if they’d been seized by pirates. And because he has a pirate ship, you’re thinking Dirk.”

  He shrugged. “Abby, yes, obviously, I’m thinking Dirk. Helen worked for him, Helen is gone. And he runs a pirate ship.”

  “If someone
is going to search the Black Swan, shouldn’t it be us?” Abby asked him.

  “Get permission from your friend,” he told her.

  Abby whirled around and ran, catching up with Dirk just before he got to the door. He seemed perplexed but told her she was welcome on the ship anytime, any day. He handed her his keys; the gate down at the dock where the Black Swan berthed would be locked.

  She ran back to Malachi. “Let’s go!” She dashed by him.

  “Hey!” he called after her.

  “Faster to walk than to find a parking place on the river. Come on!”

  It was only a matter of blocks to the marina. Abby used the key Dirk had given her to open the gate. She waited for Malachi, and tried not to remember how she’d seen the body here earlier. There was no crime scene tape; it wouldn’t have served much purpose. She assumed the techs had looked for anything they possibly could, considering that the body had floated in the river for a day or two.

  Malachi entered behind her. “Relock it,” he warned.

  She did. They hurried on down the dock. Malachi passed by her and jumped onto the deck of the Black Swan. The little gangplank that tourists used to board was on the ship, taken up at night to discourage anyone who might make it onto the dock.

  Malachi stretched out his hand. She hesitated only briefly and accepted it to join him on board the ship.

  Dock lights lit up the main part of the forecastle and performance area. Abby hurried on to the restaurant area and the restrooms. Employee lockers were in an anteroom. She turned on lights as she went in and heard Malachi behind her, searching the snack stand and environs.

  She found Helen’s locker, which was open. But on inspection of its contents yielded nothing except for a sweater, a makeup bag, a brush and Helen’s costume.

  Frustrated, Abby closed the locker.

  The others were open and she decided to search them, as well. She felt awkward—as if she were sticking her nose where she really had no right—but Blake Stewart and Jack Winston worked with Helen. They were friends, and Blake had been in love with Helen. It had to be done.

  But their lockers yielded nothing, either. There was a small costume and prop area next to them. She went through the swords and guns used by the players, touching each one. None was real. The blades were plastic, although they’d been artfully created to appear real.

  She left the lockers, disappointed, and discovered that Malachi was no longer in the snack shop.

  “Malachi?”

  “Down in the magazine!” he called to her.

  She hurried to the below deck and found him by one of the hammocks against the inner hull, placed there for the use of the cast and crew.

  “Anything?” she asked.

  “Maybe.” He handed her a folded pamphlet.

  “It’s a tour map,” she said. “Actually, this particular map is printed and put out by a friend of mine. You might have met him at the Dragonslayer yesterday. I went to high school with him—he was a major player in our drama department and a huge history buff. He does ghost tours here in the city and they’re supposed to be some of the best.”

  “Roger English,” Malachi said.

  “Yes. You did meet him, then.”

  “No. His name is on the map. It’s advertising for his tours.”

  “And you think Helen might have had it? The map, I mean.”

  He nodded. “I do. Because this looks like a woman’s handwriting—small, neat, lots of curlicues. I know there’s a young woman working on the crew, but the probability that it’s Helen’s is high. And she’s marked something. Here.” He pointed at a location on the map.

  “Let me see it, please.”

  Abby took the map from him. It had real streets and real places, but they were sketched out cartoon-style. There was a checkmark on the map and in the border was written, “Meet here.”

  “What do you think?”

  Abby shook her head. “That isn’t any particular place, but there’s an old church nearby. It was deconsecrated years ago and was a restaurant and nightclub for a while. Right now, it’s just empty. A private restoration group bought it about a year ago, but they haven’t started working on it yet.”

  “Interesting,” he murmured.

  “But you thought people were being snatched on the river,” Abby said.

  “I do believe the victims are being taken out to the river. But...we have nothing that tells us where they’re being taken from. They’re dying on it, yes—but how are they getting there?”

  “Rupert Holloway was supposed to be meeting friends right here at the riverfront,” she reminded him.

  “Yes, but no one saw him here. Or, even if he was taken down here, it doesn’t mean the women were kidnapped on the river. Can we go there? You know this part of the city.”

  “Of course we can go there. But that precise area is just the sidewalk,” Abby said. “Except that...well, I could talk to Roger. He knows Savannah even better than I do. Maybe he can see something that I’m not seeing.”

  “Tell me more about Roger.”

  “Like I said, he’s a friend from high school. I’m positive he’s not a suspect. If he were going to kill anyone, it would be over a prime role in a pirate movie or in an argument on the history of Savannah. Roger, well, I’ve known him all my life. And I can’t see him taking any...any physical trophies. He passed out at school when we were donating blood during an emergency blood drive.”

  Malachi’s phone rang, and he answered it. “David,” he told her.

  “Yes,” he went on, “we’re down in the magazine. Coming up. We’ll leave it to your fine crew now, my friend.” He ended the call.

  “Investigators are here. They can finish. I think we might have found something useful. He folded the map and put it in his pocket.

  “You’re not going to give it to the cops?” she asked him.

  “I’ll tell David the location, and he can send a car to check it out. I say we leave the rest of this to the experts and head back. I might have a surprise for you,” he added.

  “You know, I’m not really in the mood for surprises. I have had the longest two days in history.”

  He smiled slowly. Abby realized she was getting to like that smile; she was even coming to understand his strange ways. He could be unerringly polite, especially when someone else was acting like an idiot, and manage to get what he needed. He gave information out, but held on to what he felt he needed. Close to him, alone down in the magazine, she was aware of how attractive he was. Old-fashioned courtesy, combined with rugged masculinity, would make him appealing to most women.

  Maybe she was one of them.

  She stepped back. She tried to remind herself that he’d made a fool of her a few times, and yet...he’d seemed so puzzled that she’d felt that way.

  “I’ll talk to David as we leave. Let’s get back to the Dragonslayer.” He looked at his watch. “It’s after nine now. I’m ready for that drink Dirk suggested. And I won’t be driving to my hotel. I can easily walk, but I won’t have to. I’m sure I can catch a ride.”

  “Malachi!”

  They heard his name shouted. He stepped past her and hurried up to the deck. As she followed him, he turned back for her, helping her make the hop-over to the dock. David was at the gate with a five-man crew of investigators, and they walked down to meet him, opening the gate to allow them all entrance before handing him the key.

  “Anything?” David asked.

  “No blood or guts,” Malachi said, waiting until David’s team went by.

  When they had, he said, “We found a map. May or may not have been Helen’s.” He produced it and showed David. “You might want a man or two to check out the area.”

  “That’s the middle of a sidewalk.”

  “So Abby told me. But it is marked on the m
ap,” Malachi said. “Okay if I hang on to this?” When David nodded, he folded it, returning it to his pocket.

  “There may be something in the area—a restaurant, someplace Helen might’ve gone to meet someone,” Abby explained. “And, actually, it could have been anyone’s map, but since we’re grasping at straws here...”

  She let her voice fade. David shook his head, lowering it. “Yeah. We are grasping at straws, but we need to grasp quickly.”

  “That’s why I suggested searching the Black Swan—tonight,” Malachi said.

  “But then you beat me to it.”

  “We haven’t got the forensic talents to find what your crew might,” Malachi told him. “We just did a run-through. After all, we already spent hours on the ship.”

  “Hmm. I’m reconsidering the map. How about handing it over?” David asked.

  Malachi smiled serenely. “What map? Do you have a map, Abby? Did I mention a map? Lousy memory,” he said.

  David looked at Abby. She looked at Malachi, who guilelessly returned her stare.

  “I don’t have a map,” she said.

  David groaned. “Yeah, okay. You hold on to it, Malachi. See what vibes or whatever it gives you.” He wagged a finger. “You should be grateful, my freelancing friend, that I’ve seen you in action before and that I’m willing to turn a blind eye to the way you ignore procedure. So, X marks the spot. I’ll send a car tonight. And they’ll call me and say that I sent them to stare at the middle of a sidewalk.”

  “Probably. But it’s worth a shot, right? Call me if there’s anything.”

  “Yes, I will,” David said. “And you do the same.”

  “Let’s go back to the Dragonslayer, Abby,” Malachi suggested. “Let the detective get on with his work.”

  As they headed to the tavern, David called after him. “Don’t forget. Call if you discover anything!”

  “You know it,” Malachi called back.

  He kept walking; he had long strides, but Abby kept up with him. “Are you running for that drink you said you need?” she asked.