Delia's Shadow

by Moyer, Jaime Lee

  “I brought someone with me to look at them. A fresh perspective.” Gabe caught my eye, nervous and unsure how his father would take things. “Miss Bobet worked with the police force in Atlanta and consulted on murder cases for seven years. Isadora lives in San Francisco now and she’s volunteered to lend a hand. I have something new to show you, too, but that can wait until after dinner. I don’t want to keep Mom waiting.”

  Matt nodded and made a noncommittal sound deep in his throat. It was too much to hope for that he’d let things pass that easily and I waited for him to question Gabe about Dora. He held off long enough to finish stacking the trays on a shelf. “What exactly did Miss Bobet do for the force in Atlanta? For that matter, what do you expect her to find in thirty-year-old files? Those cases are cold.”

  Gabe took a breath and braved the lion’s den. “I’m not sure what she’ll find. Maybe nothing, maybe something that will lead me to this man. Isadora’s a spiritualist, Dad. She won’t be looking for the same things as we did. I know you don’t believe in those things, but give her a chance before you dismiss her. She’s not a con artist or a fake. I give you my word.”

  “A spiritualist?” Matt yanked his hat off and ran fingers through his hair, the gesture a mirror of the one I’d seen Gabe make a hundred times. “God Almighty, Gabriel, have you lost your mind?”

  “No. I haven’t lost my mind.” Gabe’s voice was tight and controlled. I took his hand, letting him know I was there and presenting his father with a united front. “This is my case now and in my judgment, this is the right thing to do. At the very least, letting Dora look at the files can’t do any harm.”

  Matt didn’t attempt to keep the scorn off his face. “And just how much are you paying this miracle worker?”

  I stepped forward, still clinging to Gabe’s hand. Matt might stop and pay attention if I answered. “Nothing, not a dime. She’s not doing this for money and I promise you, she’s not a fraud. People Dora cares about are in danger from this killer.” My voice cracked. “I’m in danger. And Dora refuses to stand idly by and do nothing. Hoping this man doesn’t carry through on the threats he made won’t stop him.”

  “He threatened you directly?” Matt’s eyes widened and he raked fingers through his hair again, breathing faster. “When?”

  “Yesterday, Dad.” Gabe put an arm around my shoulders. “He’s following the same pattern he did when you were working the case. He left a letter addressed to Delia with the same kind of threats he made against Mom.”

  He outlined the story for his father: the false deliveryman, the confrontation with Officer Casey and Casey’s subsequent disappearance, and the letter addressed to me, prominently displayed on my trunk. Matt looked up sharply when Gabe told of finding the book and badge hidden in my things. By the time Gabe finished, his mother could be heard calling, telling us that food was on the table.

  “Your mother worked hard on this dinner. We shouldn’t keep her waiting. After we eat you can show me the badge and book you brought. And I want to hear more about what Colin said about the hieroglyphics.” Matt motioned us out the door and swung it closed behind us. “Your friend can look at the files, too. I don’t have any faith that her hocus pocus will do any good. But you’re right, letting her look can’t do any harm. Just promise me that no one in the city will get word of this. I still have friends on the force and they’d never let me live it down.”

  “I promise, Dad.” Gabe scuffed the dirt with the toe of his shoe and looked up to meet his father’s eyes. “Jack knows why I’m here, but he won’t say anything. Not a word to anyone else.”

  “All right, that’s fair enough.” We started toward the house and Matt shortened his stride to walk next to me. “I’m sorry you got tangled up in this mess, Delia. You can trust Gabe and his partner to do their best to get you clear again. Don’t tell him I said this, but he’s a good cop.”

  I glanced at Gabe and smiled. “I trust him. He is a good cop. And it’s not Gabe’s fault I’m involved. He’s not to blame for any of what’s happened to me.”

  Aileen’s ghost appeared at Matt’s side, pacing us. She was alone, dressed neatly as I’d first seen her and staring straight ahead. I’d think her unaware of us, but that sense that let me experience her emotions told me that wasn’t so.

  She turned to me and her green eyes were anything but placid. I couldn’t look away; Aileen’s rage filled me to bursting. That her anger had something to do with Gabe’s father was clear.

  Matt hadn’t saved her. She couldn’t forgive him for that or for his failure to find the man who murdered her. But there was more to Aileen’s anger, another layer beyond bitterness over being the killer’s last victim.

  The last until this man returned to San Francisco and began to kill again. Matt hadn’t saved Aileen or any of the victims in the newest series of murders. He hadn’t saved Aaron Casey.

  Aileen’s ghost blamed Matt Ryan for many things, that much was clear. What I still didn’t understand was why.

  CHAPTER 15

  Delia

  Dinner went well, a huge relief. I’d worried that Matt’s doubts would make it difficult for him to speak with Isadora and put a strain on conversation, but I needn’t have worried. He was pleasant if a trifle distant. I saw where Gabe learned his professional demeanor.

  Dora was charming and restrained, but I’d worried less about her than Matt. She chatted about Sadie’s wedding and minor society gossip, and helped me describe the fair to Gabe’s mother. We both chimed in to help Moira convince Matt it was worth taking a trip to San Francisco for the exposition. Moira was obviously taken with Dora and I was glad. Friendship smoothed the way for many things.

  Gabe hadn’t been able to visit his parents for months. Neither he nor I wanted anything to spoil our visit for his mother, especially conflict over how to handle investigating a murder case. The hunt for this killer had shadowed most of Moira’s life. One bright and happy meal with her son wasn’t too much to give her.

  Matt and Gabe talked baseball, pulling Henderson into the conversation without any trouble at all. Plans for expanding Matt’s barns to raise ducks were also a topic of discussion. Mr. Ryan had conceived a clever scheme to supply young ducks to the markets and restaurants in Chinatown. Watching Gabe and his father trade ideas gave me a great deal of pleasure.

  Henderson volunteered to help Moira clean up and do the dishes. I doubted that Marshall knew how much time he’d spend in kitchens when he joined Gabe’s squad, but I didn’t think he minded, either. He seemed right at home and I imagined him helping his mother the same way. We left him heaping scraps into a tin bowl for the dog, happily keeping Moira company.

  The afternoon was warm, the sky clear and free of clouds. Bright sunlight washed out colors in the farmyard and on buildings, sharpened shadow-corners to a knife edge. Dust hung above the horizon in hazy brown clouds. Farmers plowed their fields out of sight, evidence of their labor painted on the sky for us to see.

  Matt unlocked the door to the carriage house office, going ahead to turn on his desk lamp and the bigger lights hanging from the ceiling. We’d need all that light. He’d sectioned off the space, but the room was still large, with high shadowed ceilings. The double, swinging doors made to accommodate four horse carriages had been boarded over to become a windowless wall.

  Shelves and deep cabinets filled the space on either side of the door and the entire back of the office. Matt’s desk sat against the wall opposite the door. The only window, and the only source of natural light, was right above the desk.

  A cage of iron bars was bolted to the frame and encased the window glass. Breaking the glass wouldn’t give access to the office or the files stored inside. It gave me pause to realize that even this far out in the country, Matt felt the need to put up barricades to safeguard the evidence he’d collected. His decision not to store his records in the house took on new meaning.

  In the center of the room a long, low pine table held a double line of pasteboard evidence boxes
. Dates were marked on each one in thick, black grease pencil. The oldest boxes were scuffed and faded, and showed hard use. Gabe’s stories of going over letters and reports with his father hundreds of times were illustrated by each bent corner and smeared grease pencil date.

  Matt rummaged inside his desk. He took a folded sheet of clean butcher’s paper out of a drawer and covered the desk blotter. “Let’s see what you found, son. Put them here where the light’s best.”

  “The book has an inscription in the front, but I’m not sure if that means anything or not. Maybe you’ll recognize a name that I don’t.” Gabe unbuttoned his jacket pocket and glanced at Isadora. “Are you all right with this?”

  “I’ll be fine, Gabe.” She gave him a fond smile and moved to stand near the table in the middle of the room. “Distance will help, but I don’t want to go too far. I’m curious to hear what Captain Ryan thinks about what the killer left for you.”

  Gabe removed the book and the badge from a creased brown envelope. The badge was brighter than last I’d seen, much of the corrosion polished away. He laid them on the butcher paper and stood back, giving his father room. I stood with Gabe, hopeful that Matt could shed some light on this part of the puzzle.

  “Son of a bitch.” Matt grabbed the badge and held it under the desk lamp, turning it to catch the light and inspecting the back as well. He glanced at me and gave a shame-faced apology. “Beg your pardon, Delia, Miss Bobet. I forgot there were ladies present. This was my partner Thom’s badge number.”

  “Thomas Brennan, your partner?” Gabe’s expression changed, curiosity replaced by his cautious policeman’s face. He reached for my hand and held tight. “I remember you telling me he quit the force during the investigation. I don’t remember why.”

  “I never told you. I didn’t think his reasons for leaving had anything to do with your case.” Matt clamped his hand around the badge, squeezing until his knuckles turned white and bloodless. “Parker was a sergeant back then, same as Thom. The two of them were at odds from the day Parker transferred into our squad. Twice he tried to bring Thom up on charges for taking bribes. They didn’t stick because they weren’t true. Parker went after Thom’s son Ethan next.”

  I’d heard of Parker from both Jack and Gabe. Captain Parker seemed to relish making life difficult for both of them, but Gabe was never able to explain why, other than Parker’s hints of conflict with Matt in the past. I’d thought it especially petty to continue a feud with the father by visiting trouble on the son. Listening to Matt’s story, Parker’s sins multiplied.

  “And that caused your partner to leave the force.” Gabe’s voice remained calm, nonchalant, but his arm was stiff with tension. “What reason did Parker give for going after Sergeant Brennan’s son?”

  Matt looked up sharply. “I taught you how to question a witness, Gabriel. Don’t think for one minute I don’t know when I’m being interrogated. Thom’s wife died when the boy was five. His son was all he had left and Parker was trying to ruin the boy’s life. I didn’t blame Thom for packing up or moving out of state.”

  The two men stared at each other, expressions grim and bordering on angry. Gabe broke the silence first. “Dad, this is my case now. My responsibility. There’s a connection between the killer and Thom Brennan’s badge. I can’t afford to brush it off as coincidence or not question why he left it in Delia’s trunk. I wouldn’t be doing my job otherwise. Did the killings stop before or after Thom Brennan left town?”

  “He’s not your killer, Gabe.” Matt sighed and dropped the badge on the desktop. It spun in a circle, brass glinting in the lamplight. “Thom died more than five years ago. His sister wrote to me and sent a copy of the obituary from the paper in Glenrock. He bought a cattle ranch out in Wyoming after he left San Francisco. Thom was still living there when he died.”

  “I had to ask.” Some of the stiffness bled out of Gabe’s stance, but not all. He was still troubled by something. “Thom’s son, Ethan, he couldn’t have been that old. What made Parker go after a boy?”

  “I never figured that out.” Matt picked up the book and flipped through, glancing at a few pages before tossing it back on the desk. “Ethan was sixteen, maybe seventeen at the time. He worked on the docks and I guess he got in fights with the older men once in a while. You know how it works there, Gabe. Nothing I heard from Thom or anyone else made it sound serious enough for Parker to go to the chief the way he did. Thom resigned the next day.”

  Gabe let out a long, hissing breath. “We’ll talk about this more after Dora’s had a chance to look at the files. I’m missing a connection between Sergeant Brennan and the killer, other than Thom being your partner. I’d really like to know how this man got his hands on the badge to start with. This killer never does anything without a reason. Maybe between all of us we can figure out why he wants me to have it.”

  “Maybe. You have more faith in there being reasons for things than I do.” Matt gestured toward Dora, mouth twisted as if he couldn’t rid himself of a sour taste. “I think your friend started without you. You’ve got faith in her, too.”

  Dora circled the long pine table at a distance, wary as a cat with a snake in the garden. Her heels clicked on the flagstone floor, each steady and determined step echoing off the ceiling. Whiffs of her lilac perfume mixed with the dry scent of dust. The smell made my nose itch and I fought hard not to sneeze.

  Matt perched on the front edge of his desk to observe, arms folded over his chest and frowning. Gabe and I kept well back and out of her way, too, but not for the same reasons. Ghosts tended to cluster near me and I feared having them too near might interfere with what Dora sensed. I didn’t want to be the cause of this attempt failing.

  She came to a halt on the farside of the table. Dora concentrated on the pasteboard boxes as if they could speak. Perhaps for her they did.

  Her shoulders relaxed the smallest fraction. Dora glanced at Matt and smiled. “Try not to be quite so loud while thinking about me, Captain Ryan. The money-grubbing charlatan can hear you and it’s very distracting.”

  I told myself sternly I wasn’t allowed to laugh and bit my lip to keep from doing so. Matt Ryan’s face turned the most spectacular shade of red. He stared, first at Dora and then at Gabe.

  Gabe lounged against the wall, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He shrugged. “Don’t look at me, Dad. I told you she wasn’t a fraud. You should work at trying to believe that.”

  Dora winked at me and went back to circling the table, arm outstretched to hover over the boxes. She paused in front of different pasteboard cartons, but never touched them before moving on again. The third time around the table, her pauses were longer and the expression on her face strained. “Gabe, be a dear and help me for a moment. I’m going to show you which boxes are safest for me to work with. Stack the rest against that back wall, please.”

  Gabe moved all but four of the boxes to the far end of the room. He and Dora circled warily around each other, each careful not to accidentally brush against the other and send sparks shooting between them. I knew full well what they were doing and why, but Matt was clearly puzzled by the odd dance to keep out of each other’s way. Unless he asked, I thought it best not to attempt an explanation. Disapproval radiated from Gabe’s father as it was.

  “Delia, I need you as well.” Dora motioned me to the table. She kept her back to Gabe’s father and spoke quietly. “It seems I was too optimistic about how much the killer’s presence and the victim’s pain would fade. I did what I could to prepare, but I never expected this much anger. Not after thirty years. I’d planned to keep you out of this. Now I don’t see another choice.”

  “Tell me what to do.” I wasn’t eager to touch the belongings of long-dead victims, the killer’s letters, or riffle through reports detailing the conditions under which a body was found. Subjecting Isadora to the pain appealed to me even less.

  “The less I handle some of the items in these boxes the better, otherwise fainting is a very real possibility. I doubt th
at would overly impress Captain Ryan.” She shut her eyes and concentrated. “The box on the far right, open that one first. Her name isn’t on them, but the files about Aileen Fitzgerald’s murder are inside. Some of her belongings are inside as well, her ring and some buttons. You’ll know when you find them. Lay everything out on the table. We’ll go from there.”

  Jack’s father had never reported Aileen missing for reasons of his own and the police had never found her body. There was nothing to connect Aileen Fitzgerald to the letters taunting Matt or the items sent as proof the killer held another victim. Of course her name wasn’t on the file.

  I scolded myself soundly for trembling. After all these months of wondering about Aileen, of having her ghost following me night and day, the thought of touching things that belonged to her in life shouldn’t come near to undoing me. That was silly and I knew it. Isadora’s wan face and the strain around her eyes gave stark testimony that this was much worse for her.

  Lifting the lid sent the odor of musty old paper and smells I couldn’t name into the air. Dora was right. I knew which envelopes and files contained Aileen’s things as soon as I touched them: a small wooden box, a thick folder stuffed with papers, the now familiar pale blue stationery, and a small brown envelope, full of lumps I took to be a ring and buttons.

  Three more times I did as Isadora instructed, lifting out files or envelopes, and spreading them out on the scratched and gouged pine table. Dora knew the name of a victim in each box and what scraps of their lives remained to tell their tale. My hand went to the right files each time. I didn’t know whether I acted under silent guidance from my ghost or Isadora’s influence. I wasn’t certain I wanted to know.

  Gabe cleared the boxes off the table once I’d finished. The four piles left behind struck me as very sad, a poor, cold memorial to symbolize a person’s life. I desperately wanted justice for all of them, for Aaron Casey and all the other victims I didn’t know. This man left too much grief and terror in his wake. That needed to end.