The Night Is Alive koh-10

by Heather Graham

  He paused for a moment before opening the first drawer. Although he’d already been prying, he murmured, “Forgive me, Gus, I have to see if there’s anything here that will help us.”

  The first drawer held neatly folded briefs and nothing more. It didn’t seem that Abby had gotten around to going through Gus’s more personal items.

  In the second drawer he found T-shirts and two sets of long underwear. Savannah, on the river, could get damply cold in winter.

  Third drawer contained jeans. He looked under them.

  There was a newspaper neatly folded beneath the several layers of jeans. Malachi glanced at the date—three months earlier. He studied the paper. A brief article on the bottom of the front page had a headline that read Savannah Underground!

  He scanned the article, which was interesting; apparently, years ago, Savannah had teemed with life below the surface.

  He started to put the jeans back, deciding that, with more time, he’d refer back to the article. As he held the jeans, he felt something in one of the pockets.

  He pulled out a small plastic bag. There was a Post-it stuck to the bag with a note. “Police. Found at bottom of tunnel ladder. Must get to right person.”

  Curious, Malachi examined the contents of the bag. He couldn’t figure out what the object was and then a chill seemed to settle in his bones. The...thing was small and oddly dark, as if it were growing charred. He had to open the bag and let it spill out before he saw what it was.

  A finger. Presumably a ring finger. Decaying. He looked at the note again. It had to mean that Gus had found the finger and meant to give it to the police. But he’d wanted to talk to his granddaughter—someone he trusted. Gus had known or suspected something.

  “Hello?” Abby tapped at his door. He opened it.

  “I heard you rummaging around,” she said. “So I knew you were awake. I wanted to tell you that Grant and Sullivan are gone. The Dragonslayer’s empty except for the two of us.”

  He didn’t reply right away.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Gus was onto something.”

  “What?”

  He hesitated. “Gus found a...um, finger. He found a finger at the bottom of the tunnel. He knew that someone who had some involvement with the murders had been in the tunnel. Except the police never released the fact that the ring finger of the left hand had been taken from each of the victims. So he probably didn’t know exactly what he’d found—which was why he wanted to talk to you.”

  Abby lowered her head. “He died,” she said dully, “because I didn’t get here fast enough.”

  “Abby,” he said, lifting her chin, “he died because it was his time. He died doing what was right, and that would’ve been important to Gus.”

  She nodded and he released her. “You’re right, even though you didn’t know him.”

  “I wish I had, but I know that much about him.”

  He realized she was far too close. She smelled sweetly of soap and shampoo, and he was surprised that it was suddenly so difficult for him to separate a coworker from someone...

  Someone he wanted.

  “What should we do with the finger?”

  He stepped awkwardly back as her words broke through his thoughts. “Give it to Kat,” he said. “She’ll tell us whether it’s new and showing some kind of decay or if it’s been in the tunnel for ages.”

  “Unlikely—since this killer is taking fingers.”

  “I agree. But we’ll give it to Kat,” he said.

  “All right.”

  He paused for a minute. “We’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

  “And then we’ll give it to the cops, right?”

  He nodded. “Okay, now show me the Dragonslayer,” he said.

  She led him through the upstairs first, leaving the family apartment behind to show him Gus’s office, the manager’s office, the employee lounge, lockers and restroom. They went to the supply room and she showed him the stairs that went down to the dining room below.

  Only the night-lights were on. When they went down the stairs, they were greeted by the image of Blue Anderson standing guard over the grate that led to the tunnel below. The robotic mannequin—handsomely crafted—was eerie in the half-light.

  But it wasn’t the Blue he’d met the night he arrived.

  “You’ve been in the bar and the dining rooms,” Abby told him. “Oh, and the kitchen is reached through the server entrance over there.” She paused and pointed to a doorway. “It’s always open. Gus thought diners had a right to see where their food was cooked. And there’s a little service window that opens to the bar.”

  He gazed carefully around. “If someone knew the routine here—the hours of business, when people were where—it would be possible for that person to be upstairs, maybe, in the storeroom, and come down those stairs...and all the way to the tunnel.”

  “But we keep the grating locked,” Abby said.

  “It wasn’t locked when I got here.”

  She knew he was right. “The lock on the grate is a combination lock Gus had for years.”

  “And you really don’t know who—or just how many people—might have the combination.”

  “That’s true,” she admitted. “New lock in the morning.”

  “I think we’re okay for tonight,” he said. “But tomorrow I’ll go out and get a combination lock. How many people have keys to the tavern?”

  “Grant, Macy, our morning chef and Sullivan. That’s as far as I know. I don’t think Gus would have given the keys to anyone else. When I was a child, we were almost broken into one night.” She hesitated. “That’s when I saw Blue for the first time. He woke my grandfather. I heard them and came out of bed and looked downstairs—my grandparents were outside with the police by then—and I saw Blue standing by the door. My grandfather suggested I not mention that I’d seen him to anyone else. I never did. Until now...”

  “I never talked about seeing people, either,” Malachi told her. “I had—have—a few friends who suspect I see things that they don’t. They tend to think I’m a real psychic, regardless of what I say. Or they accept the work I’m able to do, know I don’t want to explain and let it go at that. Like David. As far as others are concerned, I avoid the topic. Too many people want stock tips and that’s something I truly can’t give,” he added dryly. “Look, I’m a really early riser. I’ll run out to buy a new lock, and I’ll make sure that Jackson and the group get in here to set up some cameras. That’s something we almost always do in this kind of investigation. It’s possible that the killer will realize the Dragonslayer has been identified and try something else. But it’s also possible that...”

  He paused, looking at her and wondering if he should go on.

  “Possible that?” she urged. She’d stiffened, and he felt she expected his answer, but dreaded hearing it.

  “A victim might appear,” he said flatly.

  “What?” she whispered.

  He drew in a breath, hoping he wasn’t going to sound ghoulish. “It was important for me to touch the victims today. Sometimes, the dead actually talk on the autopsy table. Kat Sokolov can tell you more about that. I may be repeating what you might already know or suspect, but...we should think about it. From what most of us have discovered, ghosts don’t like to be with their mortal remains if they’re trapped on this plane for whatever reason. But if they do stay behind, they may appear where they feel they can find someone to help them achieve justice. If any of the victims did somehow come through here, they could be caught on camera.”

  She stared at him, her eyes stricken.

  “You okay? You don’t need to fear the dead.”

  “It’s one thing to think about Blue hanging around the tavern—he’s my ancestor and he obviously stayed because he loves the family and loves the tavern. But...”

  “Murder victims only stay because they need help,” he said.

  Abby nodded. “And they just might be caught on camera.”

  “Don’t worr
y. I sleep lightly and I’m just a few steps away.”

  He was surprised when her smile was deep and real.

  “Funny how things go, huh? You pissed me off when I first met you. That wasn’t very long ago, and tonight I’m really glad you’re here!”

  “Let’s go up, shall we?”

  “Yes, let’s go up,” she said.

  She walked ahead of him, directly for the stairs. When they were both back in the apartment, she locked the door to the outer hallway. It was a good measure, even if they were alone in the restaurant. She walked down the hall to her room, beyond the door that led to Gus’s. She hesitated there. “Good night.”

  He found himself hesitating, too. “Good night.”

  She started to speak, but paused again. “I, uh, meant what I said. I truly am grateful that you’re here.”

  “I’m truly grateful that you let me be here. Though I am curious now.”

  “About?”

  “Your home on Chippewa Square.”

  “It’s pretty,” she told him. “You’ll see.”

  “Well, good night.”

  “Good night,” she said. That time, she walked in and closed her door.

  Malachi did the same. He smiled as he did so. There was something about her...

  As he’d said, he was very glad he was there.

  Again he lay awake for hours, trying to concentrate on the case and put all the facts in order. Three female victims now, and one male. The killer, to Malachi’s mind, had killed Rupert Holloway for coming too close, so the victimology didn’t completely fit. That meant the killer was after pretty young women.

  Those who might be seen the way women were once seen, as damsels. Lovely young women as prizes.

  They’d all been found in the river.

  As if forced to walk the plank, at least, symbolically.

  And then there was Gus. Dead in the tunnel.

  He looked around the room in the dim light, once more wishing he could have met the man. He imagined him as temperate, prone to liking people. But he’d lived a long time and been through a lot. He loved the river, history, antiques—and his granddaughter. She’d grown up with confidence and ability and the strength to choose her own path in life.

  “She’s a beauty, Gus,” he said aloud. “And a strong, smart person. I couldn’t know you, but I’m proud to know her.”

  He realized that his thoughts were going in a direction he’d never expected when he’d headed down to Savannah. But there was no denying she had a beauty any man would instantly admire and somewhere in his heart—or libido—instantly desire. He’d lost Marie five years ago. When she’d died, they’d been young and madly, almost insanely, in love. While he’d engaged in a few brief relationships since her death, he’d never really known any of the women and nothing between them had ever done more than touch the surface of his emotions.

  Maybe this was different because of the ghost thing.

  And maybe it was because of the way she looked. Or the fire that seemed to simmer within her, a passion for laughter as well as justice.

  At some point, he dozed. He wasn’t sure if he opened his eyes and saw Blue Anderson there, standing over him, and then walking to the window—or if he dreamed it. He managed to get some sleep.

  His phone rang early around 7:00 a.m. It was Kat Sokolov.

  “Did I wake you?” she asked.

  “Not really. Yes, but I need to get up.” He liked Kat. But he liked Will, too, and the other members of the Krewes he’d been brought in to meet after Adam, Logan and Jackson had brought him to their offices. She was the tiniest, cutest little blonde and didn’t look like any medical examiner he’d ever met. But she certainly knew what she was doing.

  “I just wanted to let you know I’m heading to the morgue. I’ll be attending at the next autopsy,” she said.

  “I hope the local guy, Dr. Tierney, likes you better than he seemed to like me,” he told her.

  He heard the soft sound of her laughter. “Not to worry. Adam Harrison has done his magic. We’re officially invited in. Jackson and Angela will be down at the local station, giving a heads-up on what we believe, based on what we’ve seen and learned from you and Abby.”

  “We’re looking for a would-be pirate,” Malachi said quietly, “who likes to take the ring finger of the left hand as a souvenir. And...I, uh, have a finger to give you.”

  “What?”

  “Gus was onto something. I think the killer lost one of his trophies in the tunnel, and Gus found it before he had any idea of what was going on. It might be why he asked Abby to come down here.”

  “You found it where?”

  “In one of his drawers. I need to get it to you.”

  “I’ll run by for it,” she said. “Maybe pirates liked to make necklaces out of the bones of people they killed? I’ll research my pirate lore,” Kat promised him. “Oh, and Will’s taking over for Dirk this morning as head pirate on the Black Swan to keep an eye on that ship. And Dirk.”

  “The guy really does seem devastated,” Malachi said.

  “And I gather he can be a very good actor—as a pirate, at least.”

  “Excellent plan. And I’ve heard Jackson gets along well with the local police.”

  “He has his ways. Not that he has a lot to say yet. They’re probably looking for a white male, with or without a companion,” Kat said. “Someone who knows the river.”

  “And has a boat or a ship, or access to one,” Malachi added.

  “Big river,” Kat said.

  “Yes, it is. Keep me posted.”

  “Back at ya.”

  Malachi checked his watch. Time for a cup of coffee before starting the day. In fact, he could smell coffee coming from nearby, not from the restaurant below.

  He showered quickly, thinking all the while about the clues they had—his thoughts disrupted now and then by another that intruded. Abby.

  He was glad he was going to spend the day with her.

  * * *

  Abby selected two coffee cups and two small plates from the overhead kitchen cabinet. They actually had time for breakfast.

  She toasted a couple of bagels, and Malachi spread cream cheese on them while she poured coffee. “You doing okay?” he asked her.

  She glanced at him. He seemed exceptionally appealing as he stood in the tiny kitchen area of the apartment. Fresh from the shower, his hair was dark and slick. His hazel eyes were set somberly upon her and seemed to speak of a depth she couldn’t begin to understand. She wondered about his past—the wife he’d lost—and she suddenly wanted to know everything about him.

  “I’m fine,” she told him.

  “I can’t stop thinking about your grandfather—wishing I’d known him.”

  She smiled. “He was great.”

  “I can tell,” he said softly.

  She put one of the cups of coffee in front of him. “Thanks.” She watched him for a moment. “You’re not going to comfort me by telling me that he was old and lived a full life?”

  “Does someone having been old make you miss them any less?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “It does, however, help if you know that someone did lead a full life. And it should also help if you know just what you meant to him—that you were the most important person in his life. That’s what life is all about. The grief remains, but there’s consolation in those things.”

  “What about you?” she asked. She was pushing it, she thought, but her curiosity was beginning to consume her. “How did you cope? What happened to your wife?”

  “Cancer. One day she was fine and then, within a year, she was dead.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I appreciate that. And time has helped, as they say.”

  “So...you coped.”

  “I didn’t, not really. New Orleans was her home. I loved living there, loved the music, the food, the architecture. You name it, I loved it. But when she died...I quit the police force and the city. I left. I can’t bear to go back, ev
en though I loved her family, too. I returned to Virginia, moved into my old family home, and...” His voice trailed off as he looked toward the windows and the river.

  “And?”

  He shrugged. “I realized that in my state of mind, I wouldn’t be able to play well with others. So I got licensed and became a private investigator.”

  “But that is coping,” she said.

  He smiled. It was a crooked, rueful smile, and she yearned to walk over to him and stroke his cheek.

  “You’re coping,” he told her. “You’re on fire. Going after the killer.”

  “But you can’t go after cancer. No one can.”

  He shrugged again. “I guess I know that—knew that. I went after God for a while. Didn’t work. But...ah, well. I have an ancestor who hangs around, too. Doesn’t hesitate to speak his mind. He fought a revolution and saw friends die right and left, and wasn’t interested in my self-pity. So...I started really using whatever this ability is that we have. I pursued bad guys. I tried to save lives and sometimes succeeded. That does help.”

  Abby made a point of keeping her distance from him. She didn’t think she’d ever wanted to touch another person so badly.

  “With any luck, we’ll save Helen Long,” she said.

  “Luck—and work,” he agreed. He flicked a glance at his watch. “We meet your friend soon? Where?”

  “In front of the tavern. But not until ten.”

  Macy was at the host stand when they went down. She greeted them both, acting a little perplexed. “Good morning,” she said. “You came in earlier?” she asked Malachi.

  He leaned on the stand and gave her a charming smile. “I’m staying here.”

  “Oh. Oh, uh...” Macy looked at Abby. Abby just smiled, too.

  “Macy, you’ll see some of my colleagues here in a few hours,” Malachi told her. “They’ll be setting up some security cameras. If they need it, you’ll lend them a hand?”

  “Of course,” she said, sounding flustered.

  He thanked her and turned to head out of the building.

  “What’s going on?” Macy whispered to Abby.

  Abby merely shrugged and smiled. She quickly joined Malachi outside.