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

by Heather Graham

  She walked into the tavern. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimmer light.

  Grant and Macy were at the host stand, talking. She assumed Grant had come in to make sure that their return to the Saturday-morning theatrical events went smoothly.

  But, as she watched, Grant gave Macy a kiss on the cheek. Macy walked over to the bar where Bootsie and Dirk were now seated together. She sat down next to Dirk and let out a sigh.

  “How was the show?” she asked.

  “It went very well,” Bootsie said. “Very well. You and Grant are keeping everything moving along. Gus would be pleased.”

  “I’m relieved.” Macy shrugged. “Why I thought anything would be different...I don’t know.” She sighed again. “I miss Gus.”

  Abby hurried over to where Macy was sitting. “We all miss him,” she said.

  “Oh, Abby! I didn’t see you there.” Macy turned, touching Abby’s arm. “I’m sorry—I mean we all miss Gus, but he was your grandfather. We don’t have the same right to miss him that you do.”

  Abby smiled at that. “Macy, you were just as much family. Miss him all you like—and I’m grateful that you do!”

  “I wish you were staying around, Abby,” Sullivan said.

  “You don’t need me,” Abby assured him.

  Grant came striding over, watching the host stand as he did, but grinning. “We have to let her move on, you know!” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I think love is in the air.”

  “Love!” Bootsie scoffed. “Love? Who are you in love with, young lady?”

  “Tall, dark, handsome and somewhat mysterious—seems to almost read minds,” Grant said, teasing Abby.

  “Love! Bah. Abby and that fed, they’re both cops,” Bootsie muttered.

  “Cops fall in love,” Macy said.

  Dirk winked. “And everyone falls in lust from time to time.”

  “Come on, Abby,” Grant said. “What’s the deal with the tall, dark and handsome G-man?”

  “You mean Malachi?” she asked innocently.

  “Let’s hope—or else our girl’s become a home wrecker,” Dirk said. “I get the impression that the cute little blonde G-woman is with tall, dark, exotic actor G-man. And the pretty blondish one is with tall, dark, handsome and Native American G-man. That leaves intriguing G-man who’s staying up in the apartment.”

  “Now, why would you be worried about my love life, anyway, huh?” Abby asked Dirk, avoiding the question.

  “We’ll always worry about you, Abs,” Bootsie said.

  “We’re like the great-uncles you’re really glad you never had,” Dirk told her, which made Abby laugh.

  “Hey, I’m just the bartender,” Sullivan said lightly.

  “You guys know I dreamed about working for the federal government, that all my life I wanted to be an agent,” Abby said. “You know I’ll go back to work with a unit, wherever I’m assigned.”

  “Yeah, but I looked this unit up,” Grant said sagely. “They’re the Krewe of Hunters.”

  “What does that mean?” Bootsie asked.

  “They ask the dead questions—and the dead help them find the killers,” Grant explained.

  Macy giggled at that. “Seriously? Come on, Grant. The one woman is a medical examiner. If they could talk to the dead, she’d just ask the corpses who...who turned them into corpses. Oh, I sound terrible—I’m concerned, really. I’m grateful you found Helen, Abby, and praying that Roger’s girlfriend will be found, as well. But it’s not looking good for her, is it?”

  “We don’t have any real answers,” Abby said.

  Bootsie made a sound of derision. “All those feds and cops—and nothing. You people, all that schooling—and a pirate’s walking all over you.” He raised his beer. “Ask the dead questions, my ass!”

  “Bootsie,” Dirk remonstrated quietly.

  “It’s just us here,” he said. He looked around. “Hey, where’s our third? I haven’t seen Aldous all day.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be around,” Sullivan said, pushing away from the bar to get a drink order from one of the waitresses.

  “Yes, I’m sure he will,” Macy agreed.

  “Hey, you make a great wench, Abby,” Grant told her.

  “Gee, thanks. Which reminds me, I want to go and get out of this now.” Abby turned but then paused, looking back. “Do me a favor, will you, Macy? Why don’t you and Dirk go out on a date instead of staring at each other all the time? It’s not like you just met or anything.”

  Macy’s face went bright red. “Abby!”

  Dirk was silent.

  “Now there’s a sensible question,” Bootsie said. He gave Dirk a nudge. “Here’s your chance, boy. Ask her out.”

  “Um...” Dirk said.

  Macy found her voice. “Dirk, I don’t know what these people are doing, but don’t you dare feel obliged to ask me anything.”

  “I don’t feel obliged, Macy.”

  “Good.”

  “But...we should go out sometime. To a restaurant. We’re in a restaurant. I mean, a different restaurant. One where you’re not working. Or we could go dancing. Or...”

  “Dirk Johansen, are you asking me out?” Macy demanded.

  “I guess I am. Except you don’t have to feel obligated or anything. I’m not trying to put you in a bad position—”

  “I would love to go out with you, Dirk!” Macy said.

  “Thank God! That’s settled,” Bootsie said. “Now, can we get back to sitting around the bar and bitching about everyone we see? Macy, shoo! Go back to work.”

  Macy smiled and walked back to the host stand. Grant took a seat at the bar.

  “That,” he announced, “was really cool. Good work, Abby!”

  “Thank you, thank you. Now, I’m finally going to get out of this ridiculous outfit!”

  Leaving them at last, she ran up the stairs as quickly as she could, encumbered by the skirts that had defined her as Missy Tweed for a few hours.

  * * *

  Helen was doing much better.

  When Malachi arrived, her police guard was seated in the hallway, reading the newspaper.

  Angela Hawkins was in the room with Helen, as were her coworkers, Jack and Blake. They were still in their pirate attire from the morning sail of the Black Swan; Malachi assumed that, like Dirk, they usually took the two hours between sailings of the “pirate” vessel to either have lunch or get their errands done.

  Helen seemed to be beaming; she was, he thought, maybe a year or two older than Blake—the one who was so obviously—and awkwardly—in love with her.

  But that afternoon, she was thrilled by his attention.

  “Malachi!” she said, greeting him with a warm smile.

  He bent down to kiss her cheek. “Helen, you look wonderful.”

  “I’m feeling good,” she said. “And the doctor said I’m doing well, right, Angela?”

  “He said you’re almost ready to go home.”

  Helen frowned. “You need to talk to me again, don’t you, Malachi?”

  “If you don’t mind,” Malachi said. “When you’re ready.”

  “I think that’s a hint to the two of us, Jack, but that’s okay,” Blake said. He’d been sitting by her on the other side of the bed. “Jack and I have to get back for the afternoon sail of the old Black Swan. We’ll be back, Helen.”

  “I may not be. Hot date tonight.” Jack grinned. “With a pretty, pretty—and I do mean pretty!—redhead who sailed this morning. She agreed to do me the honor of joining me for dinner this evening. So, my beloved colleagues, it might be tomorrow before I stop by. But I’ll bring you delicious details!”

  “Get out of here! If she’s smart, there won’t be that many details!” Helen joked.

  “I
’ll be here tonight,” Blake promised.

  “Thanks. You really help the time pass,” Helen said softly.

  Blake beamed. He and Jack left, waving as they walked out the door.

  Malachi sat next to Helen. Angela sat on her other side, taking her hand. “You’re very strong, Helen.” Angela smiled, encouraging her. She looked over at Malachi. “A therapist was in to see her. She’s doing brilliantly, he says.”

  “He also said I’ll never forget,” Helen told him. “And he said...he said I’ll be able to go forward again, have a good time, even have a relationship again.”

  “Of course you will. We’ll get him, and you’ll know we did it because of you. You’ll know you saved others. He had you, but you beat him, Helen,” Malachi said.

  She gave him a weak smile. “It’s strange. I always thought I was so liberal. But if I had a gun and he was in front of me, I’d want to shoot him. I want him strung up, I want his skin flayed from his body...” Her voice broke.

  “That’s human nature, Helen.” Malachi spoke as reassuringly as he could.

  “Is it? I hope so.”

  “Helen, I’m not a hypnotist or any kind of therapist. But I want you to try to relax when we talk,” Malachi said. “Angela is here. We’re both here. You’re protected. I know it hurts, that it’s painful, but I really need you to try to remember every detail.”

  “I wish I could remember more,” she said. “I went into the church...and I remember the searing pain in my head—and then nothing.”

  “And then, the lapping of water against a cabin. You were in a ship’s cabin.”

  “I think so,” Helen said.

  “What made you think it was a ship’s cabin?” Malachi asked.

  “There was a lot of wood. Paneling. I was in a bunk.”

  “Big cabin or little cabin?”

  “Tight...it was a tight cabin. When he was in it, I could feel him as soon as he came in.” She kept her eyes closed.

  “And you remember a sound?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tap, tap, tap?”

  She frowned. “Yes, it was an odd sound.”

  “Was he with you all the time when you heard it?”

  “No...sometimes, he wasn’t.” She thought for a moment. “But...when I heard it, I was so afraid.”

  “Why?”

  “It meant he was coming for me.”

  * * *

  Up in the apartment, Abby turned on the television in the living area for company while she ran down the little hall to her room and changed out of her pirate clothing. She chose jeans, a T-shirt and finally a denim jacket—a perfect way to hide the Glock she didn’t intend to leave behind.

  She was anxious to call Malachi and see what was going on. Had they found something that proved Aldous could be the killer?

  Had Aldous confessed?

  She felt shaky and weak considering the possibility. Aldous seemed like a good man, as well as a powerful one. He was rich, but he’d always spent a lot of time working for various causes. How could a good man, who was willing to donate his money and his labor when needed, prove to be such a heinous criminal?

  But it made her shake, too—thinking that it could be someone she’d known most of her life. That she might have gone to school with someone who’d grown up to be a killer.

  As she came down the hallway and went back into the living room area, she heard the television. She suddenly stopped; a newscaster, a sleek, attractive blonde, was speaking from an anchor desk while an insert on the screen showed a scene at the police station.

  “While the Savannah police are not making any statements at this time, inside sources, choosing to remain anonymous, have stated that a suspect in the infamous River Rat murders is in custody and being questioned. The River Rat Killer—so dubbed because of his ability to disappear on the water or under the ground—is suspected to have taken the lives of one man and three young women, to have kidnapped and tortured a fourth young woman and may possibly be holding another captive, even as he’s being questioned by the police. While our information has not been verified, it seems that the city of Savannah may soon breathe a huge sigh of relief. Our source has told us that the evidence in this case is based on hard science from the forensic lab. We’ll be back with more information the minute it’s available. Stay tuned.”

  Abby had to sit down. Aldous. It seemed impossible.

  Her hands were trembling when she pulled out her cell phone to call Malachi. He answered immediately.

  “Hey, wench,” he said. “Is the show over?”

  “It is. Where are you? What’s going on? The media are announcing that the man suspected to be the killer is in custody.”

  “The media have it already?”

  “They do,” she said. “And I assume they’re referring to Aldous.”

  “I imagine. He’s the only suspect. He’s not really being held. So far, he’s actually there voluntarily. I suggested to him that he didn’t want to leave yet.”

  “You don’t really think it’s Aldous, do you?”

  “I think it’s important that people—especially the real killer—believe the police are convinced the killer’s in custody.”

  “But if the killer isn’t in custody...or if he is, for that matter, Bianca is still out there somewhere.”

  “I’m at the hospital. I’m on my way back, though. I may walk around for a while. I’m trying to clear my head. Are you all right?”

  “Of course. I’m fine. I’m in the apartment. I just got out of pirate-wench mode.”

  “Who’s there, at the Dragonslayer?”

  “When I came up? Roger and Paul. They were still pirates, talking to diners. Bootsie and Dirk were at the bar, although Dirk will have to leave soon. Macy and Grant Green are both here.”

  “Just go down and be friendly, okay? They should start questioning the fact that Aldous isn’t there. Isn’t there a TV behind the bar?”

  “Yes, for games and events. It wasn’t on.”

  “Make sure it’s on. See what happens when your patrons watch the news about the suspect who’s being held. I’ll be there soon.”

  Abby ended the call. She stepped out of the apartment and carefully locked the door. Straightening her shoulders, she hurried down to the bar.

  Macy was at the host station, Sullivan behind the bar.

  Roger was seated at a table with a family, entertaining their three children. Paul was in the dining room as well, speaking with a young couple.

  Neither Bootsie nor Dirk was at the bar.

  “Where are our favorite barflies?” she asked Sullivan.

  “Who knows?” Sullivan shrugged. “I guess Dirk went back for the afternoon sailing of the Black Swan. Bootsie went with him. Maybe he’s sailing with Dirk today. Aldous hasn’t shown up, so he might have wanted to hang with a friend.”

  “Possibly.” Abby nodded. “Can you turn on the TV, Sullivan?”

  “Sure. Anything special?” he asked.

  “Whatever. How about news?”

  Sullivan picked up the remote and switched on the flat-screen television that hung over the low etched mirror behind the call-brand whiskeys.

  Abby had no idea how much good it was going to do, the two barflies who were supposed to see the news weren’t there.

  But the same newscaster came on, reporting that a suspect was being held in what was now called the River Rat case. She didn’t have anything new to add, but she rephrased things so that it almost sounded as if she were telling her audience more.

  Looking up at the screen, she could sense people walking up and crowding behind her. Roger and Paul were suddenly beside her; so was Macy. Abby hadn’t even known Grant was still there, but he was with the group staring up at the screen.

  “They caught him?”
Macy breathed.

  “But they’re not revealing a name,” Sullivan said.

  “What about Bianca?” Roger asked. “They’re not saying anything about Bianca!”

  “They don’t seem to really know anything,” Grant commented. “They know the cops are holding someone and that’s it.”

  “No news about Bianca is good news, Roger,” Macy said gently.

  But Roger shook his head as he stared glumly up at the screen.

  “No news... But they have to find her!”

  “If they have a suspect, they can make him tell where he’s keeping her,” Sullivan said. He looked at Abby. “Right? Hey, wait—Abby, you must know who it is.”

  She wasn’t comfortable lying but she had no intention of telling the truth.

  “I’ve been here playing wench. All I can do is connect with the feds and see what they know.”

  “Well, call Malachi!” Macy insisted.

  “I just talked to him. He wasn’t at the station,” Abby said. “He isn’t involved with what’s going on there.”

  “But he’s an FBI agent.”

  “Consultant,” Abby corrected.

  “Okay, then you’re an FBI agent!” Grant said.

  “I just passed the academy. I don’t have an official assignment,” Abby said.

  Grant shook his head. “Then you’re running around helping those guys for free?” Grant asked. “Gus should’ve taught you to be a better businesswoman.”

  Abby frowned at him. “Grant, business has nothing to do with it. I tried to get them down here because they’re part of an elite unit who seem to solve situations no matter what.”

  “They need to hurry,” Roger said, walking over to Abby. “Bianca’s out there! She’s not going to last much longer,” he said dully. “If she’s still alive, if she isn’t floating somewhere we haven’t found her yet. Or like that poor Jane Doe they’ve got at the morgue. Shoved into an old crypt somewhere.”

  Abby very much wanted to say something reassuring to him. But the killer almost certainly had her. He’d taken Helen, and attempted to kill her within a few days. She’d failed to fall in love with him, failed to welcome him as her heroic lover.