“What? Oh, sorry. I was just thinking.”
“Yes?”
“We should call your friend. The tour-guide-slash-mapmaker, Roger English. It’s his map Helen had.”
“You can pick up that map at any souvenir store in the city.”
“Still, it’s his map. We’ll have him show us around the city.”
“I know the city!”
“You said you didn’t know it like he does.”
“True,” she agreed. “Roger’s always been a fanatic, obsessed with the city.” She smiled. “Gus occasionally let him stay at the Dragonslayer, just because he loved it so much.”
“Can you call him?”
“Of course, but I might not need to. He hangs around the Dragonslayer after his tours sometimes. They end around nine.”
“Good.”
Malachi opened the door to the tavern for her. Once they’d stepped inside, he walked up to Grant Green, on duty at the host stand as night manager. Trying to keep an eye on him, Abby went to the bar where Dirk was, as usual, seated between his two old friends, Bootsie and Aldous.
“Anything?” he asked her anxiously.
“Not that we could find, Dirk, but the police are there now.”
“Yes, I told Detective Caswell that I was happy for him to search,” Dirk said.
“I keep telling him we’re going to find her.” Bootsie yawned. “Hate to leave you, my friend, but I am old.”
“I’m fine,” Dirk told him.
“I can stay a bit longer,” Aldous said. “Hell, twenty years ago, I could’ve sat up all night.”
“Good, you have another drink with him, Aldous. I need to get some sleep. Good night, all.” Bootsie left, his peg leg making a little thump with every other step.
Dirk should have been bleary-eyed, considering the amount of time he’d spent in the bar that day, but he seemed to be all right. Abby cast a glance at Sullivan and raised her brows. Sullivan inclined his head with a secretive smile; that was his way of telling her that he’d promised Dirk the Dragonslayer would be picking up his drinks that day—and then Sullivan had watered them down to keep Dirk from keeling off his bar stool.
She smiled her thanks, then patted Aldous and Dirk on the back. “Take it easy, you two.”
“We’re okay. We’ll stumble home together soon,” Aldous assured her.
She nodded. Aldous sipped his drinks slowly and looked after his friends. He and Dirk both lived nearby, a few blocks from the Dragonslayer.
She turned, but Malachi was no longer there. Grant Green was giving directions to a couple who wanted to see the Colonial Park Cemetery, in the heart of the old town. They wanted to visit it the following day. She smiled and thanked them for coming to the Dragonslayer as they left, then asked Grant, “Where did Malachi go?”
Grant pointed to the dining room, where a group sat at one of the large round tables near the grate to the tunnel and the image of Blue Anderson. Malachi had taken a seat with them. There was an empty chair beside him.
As if he sensed her watching him, Malachi rose and beckoned her over.
She approached the table. All four of the people there—two men and two women—stood, too. The women were blonde, one petite and one tall. The men were both dark-haired, slim, handsome. They looked like a who’s who of beautiful people.
Malachi smiled broadly as she reached the group. “I told you I had a surprise for you. One I thought you’d like. And these lovely people are it. The blonde across from you is Katya Sokolov. To your left is Angela Hawkins. Next to her, we have our illusionist and magician extraordinaire, Will Chan, and here, by me, Jackson Crow.”
She was startled and told herself she should have recognized him from the pictures she’d seen of him, and now, of course, she did. Crow.
A surprise.
And she was surprised. Jackson Crow himself, now a legend in the agency, had arrived.
He was a striking man with his evident mixture of heritage. She shook his hand, and then met Angela, Will and Kat. She sat down in the chair held for her between Malachi and Jackson Crow, and the others sat, as well.
“You came,” she said, staring at Jackson Crow. She’d never met him. She just knew his name, had seen his picture. Everyone at Quantico knew who he was. They whispered about him, sometimes in a teasing fashion, and sometimes with awe. Either way, his record spoke for itself.
“Malachi said this is a situation that warrants some extra help,” Crow told her. “I figured we’d put Will to work with the pirates, since he’s an excellent actor and magician. Kat is a pathologist. She’ll see if anything’s missing as far as the autopsies are concerned. Angela and I will work the computer angles and interview those who were last seen with the victims, leaving you and Malachi free to delve into the city. You’re the expert on Savannah. I’ve got a meeting first thing tomorrow with Detective Caswell and the task force to give them some idea of what we think we’re looking at—and who we might be looking for. And then we’ll all buckle down to try to locate the missing girl.”
Abby nodded. “I’m glad. So glad. Her life has got to be the priority right now.”
“Of course.” Angela spoke quietly.
“I’m grateful that you came in force!” Abby said.
“Agent Anderson, there have been a number of bodies found. Only a fool wouldn’t think that warranted serious attention,” Jackson Crow told her.
“But do you believe what I was trying to explain—that my grandfather was murdered?” Abby asked.
Crow nodded. “With the message he sent you, and his death right before your arrival? Yes, I do. Something is going on here. We’ll do everything in our power to find out what. And I don’t expect our hands to be tied. Two of the victims were from other states, which gives us jurisdiction—although I hate to step in uninvited. But because Malachi has a good relationship with the detective in charge, I believe an invite is in the works.”
Across the table, Angela Hawkins leaned in. “The Dragonslayer is incredible. What a wonderful place—and what a fascinating history.”
“The food is excellent, too,” Kat Sokolov added.
“Thank you. I’m glad you’ve enjoyed it,” Abby said.
“We have,” Jackson said. “For now, however, we’re going to get the check. There’s a girl out there—and she might still be alive. Everyone will be starting early.” He glanced around, as if looking for the waitress.
Abby shook her head. “Dinner is on the house,” she insisted.
“This is your business, Agent Anderson. We don’t take advantage,” Jackson Crow told her.
“Please! You’ve come here. Let me offer what I can. Which, by the way, is a house,” she said.
“We do have rooms booked,” Jackson responded. “But thank you.”
“Jackson,” Will said. “It might be wise to accept. We’ll have space and privacy.”
“Yes, you can cancel your hotel rooms,” Abby urged.
“We don’t want to put you out. We only need two rooms—except that I thought we should assign someone here, too,” he said.
“I’ve been staying at the Dragonslayer since I came back,” Abby said. “And not to worry. I’m fine. I’ve spent time here all my life. But I also have a home—a family home—on Chippewa Square.” She shrugged. “It happens to be available. And there’s no reason to incur taxpayer expenses that don’t need to be incurred.” Abby realized that Malachi had remained quiet; he’d been watching her all the while. He didn’t appear angry, just bemused.
“We don’t take chances,” Jackson said. “Malachi, do you want to stay here? I’m sure Agent Anderson has a couch somewhere. And, if you really don’t mind, Agent Anderson, we will take you up on your offer. We do, as a group and as individuals, tend to prefer the historic and the private—places with plenty of room to
meet, without probing eyes. Detective Caswell will set us up with a room at the police station, but we still like having some private space—when we can get it.”
“I’m fine on a couch. Or a floor,” Malachi said.
“And you are sure you want to offer this invitation?” Crow asked Abby.
They were leaving Malachi here?
Maybe that made sense. Malachi had already seen Blue. And she hadn’t seen him since he’d led her to her grandfather’s corpse.
“Um, yes, of course.” Abby turned to look at Malachi. “You don’t have to sleep on a floor or a couch,” she told him. “I can give you my grandfather’s room.”
“That certainly sounds more comfortable,” Malachi said. He still appeared a bit bemused. Of course he did. Now that Jackson Crow had arrived, she was all hospitality. “I’ve been staying a few blocks away at a hotel on the riverfront, so moving over will take ten minutes.” He spoke softly to Jackson. “We have a lead. At least, I think it’s a lead. We found a map with an X. Abby has a friend who’s a city expert, and we’re meeting up with him in the morning to see what we can find.”
“I’ll be speaking with the task force,” Jackson Crow said, “and we’ll compare notes later.”
Abby got a piece of paper and wrote down the address of her house on the square. “There are a few things there—coffee in the freezer, dry creamer, but not much else. I went over one day last week, checking up on the place, and everything’s in order.” She hesitated, looking at the group. “I was thinking I’d rent it out again when I leave here to get my assignment.”
“The rest of your family is gone?” Angela asked her.
Abby nodded. “Yes, it was Gus and me for a while there,” she said.
“I’m sorry.” Angela didn’t add that her grandfather had been old, and Abby was glad of it.
“All right, then,” Jackson said, rising. “We’ll go to your house now.”
“I haven’t stayed at the house in years, and it’s been empty for a while. Oh, it won’t be terrible—no moldy sheets or anything like that. They’re in the hall closet in sealed bags. I can come with you, to get you in, but—”
“No need,” Malachi said. “You need to see if your tour-guide buddy is here.”
Abby retrieved her house keys and handed them to Jackson.
“We’ll see you both tomorrow. In the meantime, we’ll keep in contact on our cell phones,” he instructed. “And, like I said, we’re careful in this unit. That’s why we check out a situation, and then work in numbers when warranted. We’ll say good-night now.” Jackson Crow left a tip on the table. Abby started to dispute, to assure him she’d handle it.
“Ah, well, the least we can do is reward our excellent server,” Jackson said.
Abby nodded, and the group walked to the door. Malachi told her he’d pick up his bags at the hotel while the restaurant was still in full swing.
When they were gone, she realized that Grant Green was standing right at her back. “Okay, give!” he said.
“Give?”
“A cool-looking, authoritative...mysterious group of people! So, who are they?”
She couldn’t see any reason to lie to him. “FBI.”
“I knew it!” he said. “I knew it.” Then he grew serious. “So they’re here to help? Thank God. I mean, bodies don’t usually pop up like that in this city. We have our criminal element, but who doesn’t? I’m glad they’ve— Oh, man, is it true? Do cops and FBI agents really not get along? Do the cops get resentful when the FBI is called in?”
She smiled. “Grant, I have no idea. I’ve never been with a group that’s been called in. Actually, I haven’t been with a group at all. I was ready to be given an assignment...but then, well, Gus. And my superior back in Virginia told me to check in when I’d taken care of my family affairs.”
“Keep me posted!” he told her.
“I will,” she promised. “Hey, Roger doesn’t happen to be in here, huh? I don’t see him at the bar.”
“Yeah, he’s here.” Grant lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s with a date.”
“A date? Impressive.”
“They’re in the far dining room.”
“Should I interrupt?” Abby wondered.
“It’s your place. You can just wander by and ask if everything’s all right. By the way, are you having the actors do the reenactment this Saturday? I’ll need to call them.”
“Grant, you and Macy manage the place,” she reminded him. “You decide.”
“Still have to know the new owner’s mind,” Grant told her.
“I’m an absentee owner, and I think you two do a great job managing the place.”
He gave her a hug. “Macy and I get along well, and we’ll make sure you’re never disappointed.” She hugged him back, and then disentangled herself. “I’m going to swing over and say hello to Roger.”
Roger was in a little nook in the far dining room. He was leaning over the table, close to his date, a pretty girl with dark brown hair and a sweet gamine face.
The girl saw Abby first and indicated to Roger that someone was coming. He pulled back, said, “Hi, Abby,” and started to get up.
“Sit, Roger, I’m just stopping by to see how everything’s going,” she said.
“Fabulous.” He widened his eyes at her. “Abby Anderson, this is Bianca Salzburg. Bianca, Abby, who owns this place.”
“Pleased to meet you. And it’s wonderful,” Bianca said.
“Thanks. I’m glad to hear that. Do you two need anything?”
“Nope. You hire the best. Which includes me,” he told his date. “You’ll see when I play Blue Anderson on Saturday.” He looked at Abby. “Am I playing Blue on Saturday?”
“Of course,” she said. “Grant will confirm with you. Oh, I wanted to ask you something, too. I have a friend in town—well, friends. One of the guys wants a tour of Savannah from someone who really knows it.”
“Well, that would be you,” Roger said.
She shook her head. “I don’t know it the way you do. Can I book a private tour tomorrow?”
“For you?” he asked, perplexed, curious—and, she thought, a little flattered.
“Yes, for me. And the friend I mentioned. You might’ve met him, since he’s been hanging around here. His name is Malachi Gordon. I’ll tell you more tomorrow. If you can do it.”
“Sure. Anything for you, kid. It’ll be fun.” He smiled and glanced at his date. “Abby and I used to love exploring places—especially places we weren’t really supposed to go. Gus dragged us out of that tunnel time and time again. We liked to play pirate. Except Abby never wanted to play captive—she always had to be a pirate herself. Like Anne Bonney.”
“Wow. That was a lot of years ago!” Abby said. “So tomorrow. Nine. Ten?”
“Ten works better for me.”
“Thanks, Roger.”
“I’ll see you here.”
“Okay.” Abby nodded. “Bianca, it was very nice to meet you. You’re new to the area?”
“I’m here to find an apartment. I work for a delivery company, and I’m being transferred from Chicago.”
“Well, then, welcome to Savannah.” Abby made her way back to the bar. Grant was going over the following day’s reservations at the host stand. Aldous and Dirk were gone. “Aldous left with Dirk, didn’t he?” she asked.
“Yeah, they were kind of cute as they went out, big pirate-kind-of-guy leaning on bald, gold-earringed guy. Don’t worry, Aldous said he’d walk Dirk straight to his house.”
“Thank you, Grant.” Abby went to the bar and took a seat. There were no more customers and Sullivan was sterilizing the bar glasses, then hanging them on the wooden racks.
“You okay?” he asked her.
“Yeah, I’m good, thanks.
”
“So, you’ve brought in a bunch of FBI agents?”
Surprised, she frowned at him.
He laughed. “You told Grant. That’s like posting something on Facebook. And the one guy, Malachi Gordon, introduced himself to us the other day.”
Abby laughed. “I didn’t exactly bring in a bunch of FBI. Malachi Gordon showed up because of Gus’s funeral,” she said. That was true. Let them think he was a representative of the agency, there to show his respects. “But, Sullivan, four bodies have been found—three, and then the one today. At least two of the victims were from other states. One was a college girl. And we don’t know about the last.”
“That’s really sad, Abby. What do you think is going on? What did they teach you at FBI school?”
“I’d have the same suspicions now whether I’d gone to the academy or not,” Abby said. She wasn’t giving anything away by stating the obvious. “I suspect there’s a serial killer in Savannah.”
“Yeah?” He stopped what he was doing and rested his elbows on the bar. “I don’t get it, though. Three women, one man. And...”
“And?”
“You went crazy when you found him,” he said gently. “If there’s a serial killer, why would he go after Gus—and how did he get into the tunnel?”
“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.”
Krewe of Hunters, Volume 3: The Night Is WatchingThe Night Is AliveThe Night Is Forever Page 41