Against a Brightening Sky

by Jaime Lee Moyer

  As the weeks passed, he often stayed to talk. We learned from Dmitri that there were men still loyal to my father struggling against the Red Army. He’d give us news from other parts of Russia, quoting speeches Lenin gave or telling about clashes between the Red and White Armies as they battled for control of the country. His news never mentioned my parents or the rest of the family. We were afraid to ask and hear bad news.

  Dmitri spoke to me more often than to any of my sisters. My older sister insisted that he behaved more like a suitor than a jailer. I ignored her.

  May brought melting snow, flowers in the yard, and a new commandant to the mountain house. He arrived in the middle of the night, rousting Dmitri out of his bed and demanding to meet my sisters and me immediately.

  We were herded downstairs in our dressing gowns, barefoot and shivering, and taken to the parlor. The new commandant sat straight and rigid in a high-backed chair, gripping the knobs on the end of the arms. His hair was thinning and he wore it combed straight back, making his face appear rounder and his nose bigger. How cold his eyes were should have frightened me more than they did, but I’d grown used to fear.

  Lieutenant Dmitri stood behind the new commandant, hands clasped behind his back, and studied the toes of his boots. He glanced up once, looking straight at me. Concern for my sisters and me filled his eyes, and barely contained fury. Dmitri’s jaw clenched and he resumed studying his boots.

  The new commandant stared and we shivered, all of us silent. Finally he leaned forward and motioned to the guards. “I’ve seen them now. Take them to their room.”

  At the door, I glanced back. Lieutenant Dmitri watched us go, his expression unreadable.

  That was the last time I saw him.

  CHAPTER 14

  Gabe

  Gabe struggled awake, sweating and tangled in the bedclothes, fleeing another nightmare about the riot at Lotta’s fountain. The dream was the same every night, full of screams and confusion, and dying children that he couldn’t save. He lay there panting, the taste of charred timbers on his tongue, as if he’d really been running toward the pile of brick burying Jack.

  Dawn was at least an hour away, and the moon had already set, but he still saw the cat sitting on the windowsill across the room. Mai’s head was thrust between the chintz curtain panels and she stared into the backyard, tail thrashing and growling deep in her throat. Gabe slipped out of bed and eased his spare pistol out of the nightstand drawer, moving quietly so as not to wake Delia.

  The wooden floor was cold under his bare feet, the air seeping in around the window frame colder still. He came at the window from the side, sidling along the wall and careful not to present a target to anyone watching from outside. That Mai kept growling, never shifting her gaze from the darkened yard, was more than enough to convince him that caution was warranted.

  He lifted the curtain edge enough to view the yard. Predawn shadows filled Dee’s flower beds and stretched long from the base of the trees, pools of darkness that looked deep enough to drown in. Movement caught his eye, and a long, thin inky shape detached itself from one dark pool and slithered along the fence, finally going up and over into the neighbor’s yard.

  A glance told him Dee was still sleeping. The faint murmur in his ear warned him to stay close. He’d learned to pay attention, and he wasn’t about to abandon her to chase after a fence-climbing shadow. Gabe waited until Mai’s ears came up and the thrashing of her tail quieted to occasional, annoyed flips before putting on his dressing gown and creeping into the hall.

  He went from room to room, checking that all the windows were shut tight. The locks on the front and back doors were checked, and checked again to give him peace of mind.

  Everything was as it should be. Gabe still couldn’t relax.

  He called the station and told them to send a car, issuing orders for men to watch his house round the clock. The desk sergeant reassured him no trouble had been reported from the settlement house and that Randy hadn’t called anything in from Dora’s. Gabe thanked him, grateful everything was quiet.

  Everything but his nerves.

  The big window in the parlor was covered with lace curtains that did little or nothing to block his view of the backyard. Gabe settled into the big armchair facing the window, a hand wrapped around the pistol resting in his lap. The chair was upholstered in black horsehair, allowing him to fade into the deeper darkness inside the house. No one would see him from the outside if he stayed still.

  A few minutes later, Mai hopped onto the arm of the chair to face the window as well, ears up and swiveling to catch every sound. Anyone who saw them would think the small gray cat was only keeping him company, but Gabe knew better.

  He stayed in the chair until the sun was well up and all the shadows under the trees and against the fence disappeared. Gabe scratched Mai under the chin and went to the kitchen to keep his promise to Delia. The weight of the pistol dragged down the pocket of his dressing gown as he stacked and washed dishes, but that was a small thing.

  Breakfast was almost ready when Dee came into the kitchen, bleary eyed and with her hair hanging loose around her shoulders. He turned to watch her and smiled, taken anew with how beautiful she was and how much he loved her. “Go ahead and sit down, Dee. Eggs are almost ready.”

  “You’re up early.” She yawned and sat in her usual chair near the window, eyeing the stack of clean dishes on the drain board and the pistol on top of the icebox. “Very early. Is everything all right?”

  “I’m not sure.” Mai bounded into the room, leaping up onto the windowsill near Delia’s shoulder. He set a heaping bowl of scrambled eggs, plates of toast and sliced ham on the table. “Let me get your tea and I’ll explain.”

  Explaining didn’t take long, and they both managed to eat before the food got too cold. Delia stared into her teacup, swirling soggy tea leaves until they stuck to the sides, then swirling the cup again.

  “Mai’s been watching the yard for days. Occasionally she’d growl, but nothing to the extent you described.” She pushed the cup away. “I never saw anything out there and neither did Dora when she was here, but I wasn’t looking very hard. This man’s stock-in-trade is illusion. There’s no guarantee I’m right, but the shadow you saw slither over the fence was likely what he wanted anyone looking his way to see, not what was really there. Dora thinks I’ll always be able to see through those illusions, but that might not be the case if he’s trying not to be seen.”

  Gabe took her teacup and set it in the sink, thinking hard. “Can he get past your boundaries?”

  Dee studied her folded hands, forehead screwed up in thought. “No, I don’t think so. He’d have crossed them by now if he could. And don’t forget, he appears to be afraid of Mai. I don’t completely understand why, but it works to our advantage.”

  “That’s something, at least.” Gabe raked his fingers through his hair, smiling sheepishly. He knew her answer before he asked the question. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of convincing you to stay inside the house.”

  “Not a one, Gabe.” She cleared the sugar bowl off the table and put the lid back on the jam jar. “Besides, there’s no guarantee I’m the one he’s after. You’re the chief detective on this case. There’s an equally good chance he’s trying to get to you. Don’t forget what happened to Jordan.”

  That stopped him cold. “I never thought of that.”

  She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “I know. You’re far too busy protecting others to ever imagine you might need protection yourself. Promise me you’ll be more careful.”

  “I promise.” He hugged her and reluctantly let go. “Do you have plans with Dora today?”

  “Oh yes, exciting plans.” Delia looked perfectly calm, but he knew her too well to believe that. He saw through her mask just as she saw through his. “We’ll be spending most of the day in her study leafing through musty grimoires and deciphering dusty scrolls. No doubt it will all be scads of fun. Dora calls it research, but I suspect it�
��s her way of keeping me from brooding too much.”

  Gabe retrieved his gun from the top of the icebox, pausing to look out the window. He searched the backyard for the hundredth time since the sun rose, his eyes lingering on the spaces under trees and the back of Delia’s rose garden. “The dreams are worse?”

  “Rushing toward their inevitable conclusion.” She folded her arms, hugging herself against a chill that didn’t exist. “The end is very close, Gabe, and I still haven’t seen anyone I recognize. I’m—I’m afraid the people I’m supposed to look for will appear at the very last moment. I have to live through every moment of the hell Alina and her sisters endured until I know who these people are.”

  “I’m sorry.” He wanted to go to her, but he’d learned years ago that she didn’t want to be coddled. She needed to work through things on her own. “I’d help if I could.”

  “I’ll be fine.” She smiled. “This will all be behind us soon enough. I’ve faith that you’ll catch your killer and Alina will get to live the remainder of her life in peace. There are bright spots in the midst of all this gloom.”

  He weighed the pistol in his hand, unsure. “Delia … you know where I keep this and how to use it. If I’m not here—”

  “I won’t hesitate.” She grabbed a dishtowel and began drying the dishes he’d washed. “You’ll be late if you don’t get ready for work. I’ll finish up in here.”

  She was right. Gabe started for the bedroom, but turned back. “How are you getting to Dora’s? Should I send a patrol car to take you?”

  Delia finished drying one plate and picked up another. “Dora’s calling round to pick me up at ten. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

  Mai stared at him as he left, as if scolding him for doubting Delia could take care of herself. The truth was that he didn’t doubt her or her abilities. She handled the strangeness and the risks in their life with a calmness and skill he often envied. But he could never completely forget she was in danger, or shove away the feeling he was partly to blame.

  She worried about him just as much. That was the price that hung over their heads for being together.

  Gabe paid it willingly.

  * * *

  He pushed open the door to his office to find Jack sitting behind his desk. His partner’s injured foot was propped up on a wooden box shoved into the space underneath. Someone, most likely Sam, had dragged the umbrella stand from behind the door to sit just behind the desk chair. Jack’s cane held pride of place in the wrought iron stand. Papers and photographs of the murder scene were scattered across the desktop.

  “It’s about time you got here, Captain Ryan. I’ve been at work for more than an hour.” Jack glanced up from the magnifying glass in his hand. He gestured toward the open locket he’d been studying. “Interesting that the killer left pictures of Alina at the scene.”

  “‘Interesting’ is one word for it.” Gabe swallowed away the sudden tightness in his throat. They hadn’t talked about Jack’s close call, not yet, but maybe letting things go back to normal was for the best. He hung up his coat and hat before dragging a visitor’s chair over to the desk. “I see Baker dropped off the photographs.”

  “Baker must have stayed up half the night to print these. If he ever decides to take the promotion exams and do something else, we’re in trouble.” Jack dug out a folder from the bottom of the pile and passed it over. “A messenger brought over the coroner’s report about half an hour ago. Jordon was right about the awl being the murder weapon. The biggest surprise is that the killer stuffed her mouth full of silver coins. They were all Russian coins and minted before the war. It’s possible the murderer took the money from the victim.”

  “So the coins would all be stamped with pictures of the tsar or his father.” He flipped through the report, hoping to learn something he didn’t already know. “The skin on her wrists and ankles is scraped raw, but no other wounds or major bruising. Dr. West found small pieces of rope embedded in the skin around her ankles. The killer tied her up after he took her off the train, but he didn’t beat or torture her. Cause of death was a severed spinal cord near the base of the skull and blood loss. I hope that means it was over quickly.”

  Jack gestured toward the photos. “The way she’s laid out reminds me of a sideshow magic act I saw once. First the assistant was levitated above a table, and then the magician sawed her in half. That girl was younger, but it’s the same pose.”

  Comparing the case to a sideshow wasn’t far wrong. Gabe set the coroner’s report in the paper tray at the top corner of his desk. “What else came in?”

  “Answers to some of your telegrams.” Jack eased back in the chair and shifted his foot to a more comfortable position. He hunted around until he found the paper he wanted. “This one is from a Commander Bragg. He says there aren’t any records of Mr. and Mrs. Rigaux, Aleksei Nureyev, or the couple posing as Alina’s aunt and uncle coming through Ellis Island. Commander Bragg said a lot of European immigrants came in under different names or entered Canada before crossing the border. I sent Marshall over to Angel Island to see what he could dig up there.”

  “Good work, Lieutenant. It’s a long shot, but knowing when they entered the country might help us trace the killer’s movements.” Gabe picked up the locket, staring at the faces of Alina and her sisters. Seeing ghosts in his own way. “Did Colin send an answer yet?”

  Colin Adams was a professor of antiquities, collector of rare books, and world traveler, and Gabe’s former brother-in-law. He’d known Colin before meeting his first wife, Victoria, and the two of them had remained friends after she was killed in the 1906 fire. Colin was spending two years in New York and Washington, D.C. He was helping to catalog historical artifacts and books salvaged from European museums and libraries destroyed in the Great War.

  “Not yet. Knowing Colin, he’s holed up in some dusty storeroom and hasn’t seen your telegram yet.” Jack rocked back in his chair and studied Gabe’s face, openly curious. “What are you hoping Colin can tell you? He’s a long way from San Francisco.”

  “He is, but he’s also an expert on the changes in jewelry styles in European courts. I had to make him promise not to bring the subject up when Dora’s around. The last time we had both of them over to play bridge, they talked about tiaras and necklaces for two hours.” Gabe closed up the locket and carefully set it on the desk. “We never did finish the game. I’m hoping Colin can tell me if this locket came from the tsar’s court or if it’s a hoax. Colin’s the best judge of whether it’s authentic or not.”

  “What does Dora think?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck, tired after his early morning wake up and vigil in the chair. “Dora has an emotional stake in this. She’s convinced the jewelry belonged to either the tsarina or one of the grand duchesses.”

  “So say Dora’s right.” Jack tugged the end of his mustache and frowned. “What’s the point of leaving a fortune in diamonds in a dead woman’s fist?”

  “I wish I knew, Jack.” He glanced at the clock hanging over his office door. How late it was surprised him. “Have you heard from Jordan this morning? I thought he’d be here by now.”

  Jack began separating the papers and photographs on the desk into piles. “He was waiting in the hall when Sam and I got here. Sam stayed long enough to get me settled and left to visit Alina. Jordan went with him. Both of them will be back after lunch.” He glanced up, his smile fading as he saw Gabe’s expression. “Any particular reason you’re keeping track of Jordan Lynch?”

  “Something Delia said after breakfast. We had an unwanted visitor before sunrise.” Gabe folded his arms over his chest and told Jack everything that had happened, from the moment he woke to find Mai growling at something in the darkened yard to Delia’s promise to use his gun if need be. Jack’s scowl continued to grow darker. “Until Dee reminded me of what happened to Lynch, I never even considered this killer might come looking for me. And he has the perfect opportunity to finish what he started with Jordan.”

&
nbsp; “Christ Almighty, Gabe. How are we supposed to catch someone who can change what they look like?” Jack gestured toward the corridor full of cops arriving for day shift and the night shift cops going home. “He could come into the station looking like any man on the squad, and we’d never know.”

  “Delia and Isadora are working on that. We’ll find a way.” The old clock chimed nine o’clock. “I called Randy before I left the house. He should be here with Father Sakovich in less than an hour. I’d like to get through the rest of these reports before then.”

  “Are you finished with the photographs?” Jack held up a small stack taken in Trula May’s room. Jaret Rigaux’s lifeless body filled the frame. “I’ll get them ready to file if you don’t need them.”

  He thought for a few seconds. “No, leave them out. I want to see how Sakovich reacts.”

  The photos went to one side, still in plain view of anyone who approached the desk. “What are you up to, Gabe?” Speculation sat in Jack’s eyes. “Do you think Father Sakovich is involved with Mrs. Rigaux’s murder?”

  “I don’t think he killed her. But he knows something.” Gabe dragged a stack of folders toward him, choosing one at random. “We need to think of good questions, Jack. I don’t want to be too hard on the kid, not unless I’m forced. Sakovich probably doesn’t realize what he heard or saw is important.”

  By the time Randy ushered in the young priest, Gabe had read Eve Rigaux’s autopsy report in detail and compared it to her husband’s, and read half the stack of reports in front of him. He set them all to the side, careful not to obscure the photos lying faceup on the desk.

  He stood and held out his hand, but didn’t offer Sakovich a seat. Not yet. “Thank you for coming, Father Sakovich. This is my partner, Lieutenant Fitzgerald. We have some questions we need answered. I’ll try not to take up too much of your time.”

  Sakovich didn’t look to be more than twenty-three or twenty-four, short and slightly built with brown hair and clear green eyes. His beard was sparse, adding to the impression of youth. Fair skinned, a sprinkling of freckles splashed across his nose and cheeks. The young priest looked more Irish than Russian, but his accent erased all doubt about where he’d been born.