The Night Is Alive koh-10

by Heather Graham

  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 map,” 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.

  “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.”