Against a Brightening Sky

by Jaime Lee Moyer

  Harold’s idea of fun was catching turtles in the pond and flipping them onto their backs in the middle of the hot, dry gravel road. If a turtle did manage to right itself, Harold tipped it over again. Gabe’s angry attempts to stop the larger boy’s cruelty resulted in Harold giving him a split lip.

  As soon as Gabe told his father, Matt Ryan went straight to the campground director. The next morning, Harold’s family packed up and left.

  Gabe had never forgotten the look in the other boy’s eye as he watched the poor turtles struggle. The same cold, blank look sat in Aleksei Nureyev’s eyes as he watched Dominic Mullaney.

  “Dom, you’re wasting the captain’s time.” Aleksei’s dispassionate stare never wavered. “Pull yourself together.”

  Mullaney came back to his chair. His voice sounded rough, choked. “I’m sorry, Captain. My friend Shawn is on that list. I was best man at his wedding not more than a month ago.”

  “No need to apologize.” The only Shawn on the list was a Shawn Fitzhugh, a twenty-four-year-old dockworker. Fitzhugh had been shot. Gabe put a mark next to Shawn’s name. “Do me a favor if you would. Read aloud all the names of union men you recognize so Officer Henderson can write them out. We’ll leave the wives and children for another time.”

  Dominic went through the list a second time, reading off names. He found four men he’d missed the first time. Henderson dutifully added their names to all the rest.

  A quick comparison of Henderson’s list and the coroner’s report showed Gabe that only Fitzhugh had been shot. The rest of the union men died as a result of explosions, either caught too close to a blast or as a result of being struck by flying debris. That Mullaney’s best friend was the only union member to be shot might be a coincidence, but Gabe didn’t believe in coincidence. Not when it came to murder.

  “We’re almost finished, Mullaney.” Gabe tucked the two lists into the drawer and eased back into his chair. “I don’t believe you were responsible for what happened at the parade. You’re too much of an idealist. But what I believe doesn’t matter. The mayor’s office and the press are already looking for someone to blame.”

  “And the most convenient person to blame is Dominic Mullaney.” Nureyev stood and took his coat off the back of the chair. “I told you coming here was a mistake, Dom. Let’s go.”

  Anger glittered in Nureyev’s eyes, and Gabe’s budding hunch became firm conviction. Aleksei had reasons of his own to keep Dominic from talking. He meant to find out what those reasons were.

  “I’ll tell Dominic when he can leave, Mr. Nureyev.” Gabe put the steely tone of command into his voice, a tone reserved for only the most reticent rookies. He had no qualms about using it on Nureyev. “But since you appear to be in a hurry, I’m going to help you along. Officer Henderson, please escort Mr. Nureyev to the lobby. Make sure he stays there.”

  “Yes, sir.” Marshall moved from his spot next to the file cabinet and opened the office door, eyeing Nureyev. “You heard the captain. We’re going to the lobby.”

  “So much for your principles and avoiding misunderstandings, Captain Ryan.” Aleksei’s lip curled. “I understand all too well. All policemen are alike. You intend to hang Dominic with his own words.”

  “I’ve already said I don’t think Dominic was behind what happened. Your low opinion of policemen aside, I meant that.” Gabe leaned forward, his smile cold. He didn’t want Nureyev to mistake his intentions. “Perhaps we should talk about why you’re so determined to keep him from cooperating. That interests me a great deal.”

  Gabe wasn’t sure if Nureyev understood or not, but Dominic did. Mullaney glanced at Gabe and frowned. “Wait outside, Alek. Everything will be all right.”

  “Since you insist, I’ll go.” Aleksei strolled to the door, the picture of wounded dignity. “I’ll wait for you at the car, Dom.”

  Gabe hadn’t realized how stiff and tense he was, or that he’d sat up ramrod straight in the chair, until the door shut behind Henderson. The renewed ache in his side let him know. He sat back gingerly. “Look, Dominic, the truth is your union isn’t very popular with the shipping companies or the hotel owners. People will try to blame you and your men for starting the riot. They’ll try to say you hired the men on that roof too. Things will go easier for you if you help me figure out who tried to set you up.”

  Dominic wiped a hand over his mouth and glanced at the office door. “Alek’s been saying since the start that someone set me up to take the fall. Much as the business owners hate me, I can’t see them murdering women and children in cold blood. One of my men heard a rumor that anarchists were behind it, like those fellows back in 1916. A few of the hotel waiters were in a bar last night and heard people going on about the Bolsheviks bringing their war here. Could be either of those or something else entirely. I wish I knew who to set you on, but I don’t.”

  Gabe tapped his pencil on the desk, but stopped abruptly. The sound reminded him that Jack wasn’t here. He was on his own. “I agree on one point: The chances of any business owners hatching a plot like this are pretty long odds. And from what I’ve read, anarchists support the labor unions. My guess is that if they were to toss bombs, they’d target the shipyards or the hotels.”

  “You’re dead right about that, Captain. I heard Emma Goldman speak a few years back, before she went to prison.” Dominic folded his arms over his chest and shrugged. “I’m not keen on this propaganda of the deed Goldman and some of the other anarchists talk about, but they do back the unions. I’d have a hard time believing anarchists had a hand in this.”

  “But they’re easy to blame. If you read the papers long enough, anarchists get blamed for just about everything.” Gabe frowned, trying to pin down what bothered him about the other rumor. The back of his neck itched as he chased after the thought, a sure sign to keep pushing. “This is the first I’ve heard of people worrying about Bolsheviks. Why is that?”

  “More White Russian refugees are arriving, and the truth about the Bolsheviks’ revolution is starting to spread. People with even a hint of noble blood in the family left because staying meant being rounded up and shot. A lot of the hotel workers are Russian, and the stories they tell are horrible.” Mullaney scowled and hunched his shoulders. “Entire families were killed, from gray-haired grams to wee babes in arms. Rumors have started making the rounds that people who made it out are turning up dead in New York and Seattle. That has the Russian community afraid the Bolsheviks are hunting for people who escaped them. People who came over earlier don’t know who to trust.”

  “I don’t doubt your word, but why keep chasing someone after they’ve left the country? Once out of Russia, they wouldn’t be a threat.” Gabe rubbed the back of his neck, trying to erase the feel of cold fingers, but that didn’t help. It never did. “Explain that to me, Dominic, and make me understand why the Bolsheviks would follow anyone to San Francisco. From where I’m sitting, that doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I’m not surprised. Alek is convinced Lenin is mad as a hatter.” Dominic braced his hands on his knees and stared at his boots, studying the patterns of dust on creased black leather as if they held all the answers. He straightened up and looked back at Gabe. “The tsar and his family haven’t been seen since the Bolsheviks took them into custody two years ago. Lenin probably had them killed, but the government still starts rumors about the tsar quietly going into exile or retiring to the mountains. Now Lenin’s working to wipe out even the memory of the monarchy. If his followers kill anyone with even a distant blood tie to the throne, the Royalists won’t have anyone to rally around.”

  Gabe sat quietly, letting what Mullaney had said mix with what he already knew. Thinking. Putting scattered pieces of the puzzle in place.

  A part of him wanted to scoff at Mullaney’s story. The idea of Lenin or anyone else sending men to San Francisco to hunt escaped nobility was laughable. Still, no matter how he circled around Dominic’s story and turned the events surrounding the parade inside out, he always came back to ho
w the gunman had singled out Alina. That was a fact he couldn’t disregard or put aside. He’d watched it happen.

  In the end, all he could say was that someone wanted her dead. He could guess or invent reasons based on Mullaney’s story, but he needed to know. Cases were solved with evidence, things he could touch and prove. Right now he couldn’t say who was behind the shootings or even what part of Europe Alina came from.

  That Alina couldn’t remember anything about her life or her family made this case more difficult. Dee was convinced that some arcane, and likely sinister, influence was involved in the young woman’s memory loss. With luck, Dora and Delia would find a way to help her.

  The new ghost haunting Delia suddenly came to mind. A princess, she’d said, pretty and chestnut haired, one who bore a strong resemblance to Alina. Maybe there was something to this idea of Lenin’s men turning Gabe’s city into a hunting ground. That was a disturbing thought, one he couldn’t dismiss out of hand. The touch of cold fingers on his face grew stronger, joined by indistinct whispers he struggled not to hear.

  Gabe cleared his throat. “I’d guess about half or more of the union is made up of hotel workers. How many of those men are Russian?”

  “Damn near all of them, Captain. That was the first reason for making Alek a union officer. Most of the waiters speak English, but not the kitchen workers. I probably wouldn’t know about any of this if the men didn’t trust me.” Mullaney glanced at the door again, his expression troubled. “Alek trusts me too, and he’d be angry if he knew I was talking this much. But I owe it to Shawn to do what’s right. If you’re going to catch the people responsible for Shawn and all the rest dying, you need to know, Captain.”

  “You did the right thing.” Gabe braced himself on the edge of the desk and stood. Stiff and sore, he knew that sitting much longer meant getting up under his own power would be impossible. “One last question and then you can go. Did Nureyev have a reason to run from the Bolsheviks?”

  Dominic smiled, but the smile didn’t mask the grim, sober look in his eyes. “If you mean was Alek part of the Russian nobility, the answer’s yes, Captain. He lost most of his family. Red army soldiers herded his parents, sisters, his wife, and two wee daughters out of their house in the middle of the night. Lined them up against a wall and shot the lot of them.”

  “Mary Mother of God. No wonder he thinks Lenin is mad.” Gabe ran fingers through his hair. He couldn’t imagine what coming home and finding your family slaughtered was like. “You said he lost most of his family. Who escaped with him?”

  “His son. The boy was only six weeks old when Alek ran. I don’t know how he managed to keep a baby alive on that trip.” Mullaney frowned, his fists opening and closing as he told the story. “Alek came home the next morning to find his family lying where they fell and strangers looting the house. All the servants had gone except the baby’s nursemaid. She’d taken the baby to bed with her that night, and the Reds believed her saying the boy belonged to her. Alek managed to get the three of them to San Francisco.”

  Gabe’s opinion of Nureyev shifted a little, but didn’t entirely change. The man was aloof and arrogant, and extremely distrustful, but it appeared that Aleksei had good reasons not to trust everyone. Still, Gabe couldn’t shake the feeling that Aleksei deliberately put people off to keep them at a distance. Nureyev had something to hide. The question was what.

  “Thank you for coming in, Dominic. I’ll let you know if I have more questions.” Gabe offered his hand, a gesture he hoped would reassure Mullaney. He’d never shake hands with a man he considered a suspect. “Keep your head down. Whoever set you up is still out there.”

  Dominic rubbed his palm on his jacket before taking Gabe’s hand, a habit he’d seen in other men who worked with their hands. Mullaney’s fingers were callused, his grip strong. “I’ll be careful. You do the same, Ryan.”

  He spoke up before Mullaney had the door all the way open. “Dominic, one last thing. Where was Alek the night his family was shot?”

  “Making contacts to smuggle them and a few friends out of the country. His father refused to leave Russia, but his sisters were going to go with him.” Mullaney’s tone was brusque, annoyed. He looked Gabe straight in the face. “He’ll never forgive himself for not sending his family into hiding until after the arrangements were made. Alek is a good man. I wouldn’t have him as a friend if he wasn’t.”

  Gabe stared at the door after it closed, thinking. Nureyev might be a good man who mourned his family and regretted his choices, but he’d wager Jack lunch for a month there was more to the man. More Aleksei was determined to keep hidden.

  All his instincts told Gabe he needed to find out what Nureyev was keeping secret and why. More people, including Dominic Mullaney, would die otherwise.

  He wasn’t sure of much in this case, but Gabe was sure of that down to his bones.

  CHAPTER 8

  Delia

  The streets were oddly empty of spirits. A drive from the French Quarter to Libby’s settlement house downtown passed through older sections of the city, including areas leveled by the 1906 quake and fire. On a normal day, the sidewalks were thick with ghosts and I might see anything from the haunts of shopkeepers who’d died in the quake to Spanish padres leading heavily laden mules, and everything between. Today only the palest, oldest ghosts walked unseen pathways, and there were few enough of those.

  Once I’d desired nothing more than to be free of ghosts, to never see one watching from the edges of a room or moving through the walls of a pleasant café. Now a lack of spirits unnerved me, as if the natural order of things had been unbalanced. Fair or unfair, I placed the blame on the watcher. I couldn’t sense its presence, but that didn’t mean the guardian hadn’t followed along with us.

  Isadora had slowed the car considerably, frowning and glancing left and right as we crept along the street. “How very odd. This guardian, or watcher as you call it, displaces all the local spiritual activity. I don’t think I’ve ever encountered anything quite like this, Dee. Not to this extent.”

  “I know that I haven’t.” The princess ghost still hadn’t returned to her place in the corner of the windscreen, giving more credence to my feelings. “It’s not that the other ghosts are gone, they’ve … they’ve been pushed aside. The watcher doesn’t leave enough space for them.”

  She gave me one of her small, approving smiles. “Very good, Dee. You’ve summed the effect up perfectly, but I’d feel easier about all of this if I understood the forces at work. Not knowing makes me nervous; especially since the guardian’s influence increases the closer we get to Libby’s house.”

  “Then coming here was the right decision. This must have something to do with Alina.” I sat back in the brown leather seat, trying to relax. The car continued to creep along slowly, almost as if the engine labored to move the automobile through the same space occupied by the watcher. That was silly and I knew it, but I couldn’t think of a better explanation. I couldn’t blame a newfound sense of caution on Dora’s part.

  We rounded the corner onto Battery. Libby’s settlement house was the fifth building on the left, and Dora was able to park reasonably close. A plain three-story brick-front building, the house looked more like a crumbling warehouse than a home for displaced women and children.

  Stunted red and white geraniums grew in planters on either side of the front door, an attempt by one of the residents to bring a bit of cheer to her new home. Curtains fluttered on open top-floor windows, and the sound of children playing carried down to the street. The wide ground-floor windows were painted over on the inside, blind eyes staring out at the world.

  Dora came around to where I stood on the sidewalk. She slipped her arm through mine and eyed the building with a degree of distaste. “Cheery place, isn’t it? Come along, Dee. Perhaps things will improve once we’re inside.”

  Five stone steps led up from the sidewalk to the front door. Dora knocked and I took the opportunity to look around. A man stepped out of a s
hadowed doorway across the street, giving me a start. Officer Perry tipped his hat back so that I could see his face and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of an overcoat pocket. He took his time lighting his cigarette, making sure I’d seen him. I relaxed a little, knowing he was watching us.

  The door opened a crack after Dora knocked a third time. “Delia? Isadora?” Libby pulled the door wide and stepped out, her expression a mix of nervousness and surprise. She was dressed plainly, wearing a pleated dark skirt and pale gray blouse, an outfit that wouldn’t look out of place on Katherine Fitzgerald’s chambermaid. “Come in, both of you. I didn’t expect to see you here. Is something wrong?”

  The entryway was less dreary than outside, but not by much. All the furniture was mismatched, used hand-me-downs that had seen better days, most likely donations from some well-meaning soul. I shied away from imagining Libby hauling home furniture she’d found on the curb. The air inside wasn’t stale or unpleasant, but the prevailing scent reminded me of delving into my grandmother’s linen cupboard. A few outdated paintings and lithographs in gold-leafed frames hung on the walls, adding to the overall sense of tattered grandeur.

  Dora wandered the large entry hall, a smile pasted on her face. She didn’t speak or comment on Libby’s greeting. The tightness around her eyes and the stiff way she carried herself were a warning and a sign. She was in pain, I saw that, I just didn’t know why. Why was likely important.

  Libby watched Isadora, her frown growing darker. She didn’t believe in the occult or the spirit realm, and wouldn’t understand if I tried to explain.

  “We felt honor bound to check on you.” I stuffed my gloves into my pockets and unbuttoned my coat. “Yesterday was trying for all of us. I wanted to make sure everything is going smoothly.”

  “Trying days are meant to be survived and overcome.” Libby took my coat and hung it on a rack near the door. She turned to face us, hands held primly at her waist and expression perfectly composed. “I’m not one to indulge in hysterics, no matter what the circumstances. I couldn’t be better.”