A Barricade in Hell

by Jaime Lee Moyer

  Lines, each one a marker of pain, formed around Dora’s eyes. “You were right, Gabe, this was a ritual. A particularly nasty one, given the way Mr. Wells was bound and his throat cut. I can’t say what the purpose was, not with any certainty, but I’ve no doubt this was a blood sacrifice. Bradley Wells was made a victim in more ways than one.”

  Jack whistled through his teeth. “That’s not something a San Francisco cop hears very often. I’m not doubting your word, Dora, but how do you know? You can’t have seen this before, you said as much.”

  She swayed for an instant, but Randy put a hand on her arm, bleeding away whatever force caused her pain, and some of the color returned to her face. Gabe’s view of the world and people shifted again, leaving him unsettled.

  Dora squinted at the photos. “No, Jack, not exactly like this, and not anything that’s occurred in our lifetime. But there are texts and drawings, some that date back hundreds of years that describe these types of rituals. I was very young when I first delved into the spirit realm, but my teacher believed in showing me the dark things as well as the light.” She rested a hand on Randy’s arm and passed the other over the assembled photographs, still careful not to touch them. Dora shut her eyes, trembling. “He didn’t struggle.”

  “No. We couldn’t find any signs that Wells put up a fight.” He and Jack had gone over what to tell her beforehand and what to hold back. Influencing a witness was bad police work, and Isadora was a witness of sorts, even if it was long after the crime. Gabe cleared his throat. Telling Isadora and Delia the rest of what they knew would help clear away the last of his doubts about the connections between his cases.

  Telling them made what he had to say true. “Before Wells died in his father’s shop, there were two murders in Chinatown. Sung Liang and his granddaughter, Sung Lan, were killed in the back room of his herb shop. The girl fought her attackers and according to Liang’s brother, Sung Wing, she didn’t die easily. But her spirit was intact and Sung Wing was able to send her ghost to be with their ancestors.”

  Dora sank into the desk chair, drawn and pale. “Really … Wu Mai died nearly four years ago. She was the last in Chinatown with that much power or skill, or so I thought. I’ve not heard of Sung Wing before now.”

  “I’m not surprised. Lieutenant Benson’s squad works Chinatown full-time. I spoke with him and some of his men as soon as we got back to the station. None of them have heard of Sung Wing either.” Gabe stuffed his hands deep into his trouser pockets and leaned against the file cabinet. “At least one of the beat cops should have heard Mr. Sung’s name before. He’s a tong leader.”

  “I suspect he’s much more than that, Gabe.” Dora frowned and gripped the arms of the chair, fingers white. “Tell me the rest.”

  “Liang’s throat was cut. The bodies were cremated, but from Sung Wing’s description, his brother died the same way as Bradley Wells. He never mentioned his brother fighting his attackers.” Gabe traded looks with his partner. “Mr. Sung was very angry about his brother’s death and what happened to his great-niece. But what upset him the most is that his brother’s ghost vanished. He thinks the killers stole Sung Liang’s spirit.”

  “Oh dear God.” Delia stared, owl-eyed and breathing too fast. “Dora … they took his ghost. That’s what they wanted all along.”

  “Let’s finish this before jumping to conclusions. Sung Wing could be mistaken. And remember what I said about belief making it so.” Dora stood, bracing herself against the edge of the desk. “Randy, open the box, please. We’ll do this the same way, with you handling everything first. Perhaps seeing what’s inside will help me determine what’s going on.”

  That his wife and Dora knew, or at the very least, suspected, something he didn’t was obvious. He wouldn’t press for an explanation yet. The pasteboard evidence box looked mundane, harmless, but he knew that wasn’t true. Not given its effect on Isadora.

  Gabe stood next to Delia and took her hand, trying not to be obvious about hovering over Isadora. Jack moved to stand on the other side, positioned where he could catch Dora if she fainted, something Randy Dodd wouldn’t know to expect.

  “I’ll make a bargain with you, Captain Ryan.” Dora scrubbed her hands up and down her skirt and watched Randy lift out Wells’s white shroud through narrowed, pain-filled eyes. “I promise not to swoon if you and Jack let me breathe. Step back, please.”

  Jack stood his ground, arms folded over his chest. “Not a chance. Daniel made me promise to take care of you.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, despite what Daniel thinks. You men are all so stubborn. If you insist on crowding me, don’t complain if I tread on your toes.” Dora went back to studying the cloth covering the desktop. She skimmed a hand over the top, barely avoiding touching the fabric itself. “Has Mr. Wells been buried yet?”

  “This morning.” Gabe put an arm around Delia’s shoulders. “Why?”

  “Pity. Confirmation would have been nice. I’ll have to make do without viewing the body directly.” Her frown deepened. “I thought maybe it was the lighting, or the angle of the photographs. But there really isn’t a trace of Mr. Wells here. Nothing at all.”

  “Nothing?” Jack looked from Gabe to Dora. “You’ve been in pain since you came in. How can there be nothing here?”

  “I didn’t say that nothing lingered, just nothing of Mr. Wells.” Dora sat in the desk chair, tipped her head back, and shut her eyes. “Be a lamb and put everything in the box, Randy, and close the lid. Then take it down the hall to another room.”

  Dodd did what he was told, casting sidelong, concerned glances at Isadora the entire time. He closed up the box, but paused before leaving. “Will you be all right?”

  “I’ll be fine. Thank you.” She opened her eyes and smiled. “I may need your help again later. Captain Ryan will send for you when the time comes.”

  Gabe waited for the door to close behind the rookie before asking the obvious question: “If you’re not sensing Wells, what is it?”

  “Remnants of the ritual and the power generated. It’s rather foul, somewhat like being closed in a closet with a sun-ripened corpse.” Dora pushed herself up straight in the chair and dropped her head into her hands long enough to take a shaky breath. “But none of that foulness is connected to Bradley Wells. His pain and suffering, the essence of who he was is all gone. They drained that from him along with his blood.”

  Delia shuddered and he pulled her closer. “They took his ghost. Just like Sung Liang.”

  Isadora rubbed her temples. “Much as I hate to admit it, Dee’s right. Whoever performed the ritual took his spirit. That was their aim all along.”

  There were a hundred questions in Gabe’s mind, all clamoring to be asked. But the haggard lines newly etched in Dora’s face stopped him from interrogating her. He asked only one. “Can you find who did this from the traces they left behind?”

  She winced and shut her eyes for an instant before answering. “No, I can’t, not directly. But those who practice blood rituals and embrace the darker aspects of the occult are marked. I can see those marks. I suspect Dee can as well. And unless they leave San Francisco entirely, their identity won’t stay hidden for long. Raising power that way makes you hungry for more. A trail of corpses will lead you to Sung Liang and Bradley Wells’s killer.”

  “Damnation, Dora.” Jack tugged his notebook and pencil out of a back pocket and began scribbling notes, scowling. “If anyone else told me a story like that, I’d call the asylum and have them committed. But this is you. It makes my skin crawl, but I believe every word. And that scares the hell out of me.”

  “Good.” She kept rubbing her temples, peering bleary eyed at Jack. “Being scared will make you more careful. That goes for you too, Gabriel Ryan. Dee and I will do what we can to protect you, but being cautious will keep you alive.”

  A rap on the door was followed by Dodd calling his name. “Captain Ryan?”

  He hugged Delia’s shoulders and stepped away. �
��Come in.”

  Dodd pushed the door open, looking and sounding as if he’d run back to the office. “Captain, the desk sergeant sent me to get you. A woman’s body washed up at the construction site north of the Ferry Building an hour ago. Officer Henderson told the sergeant that you and the lieutenant need to come to Pier 3 right now. A car and driver will be waiting out front by the time you get there.”

  Dora looked up, her attention focused on Randy. “Do they know who this woman was or her name?”

  He gave Dodd credit for looking to Jack for permission and waiting for a nod before answering. “No, the officers on the scene haven’t been able to identify her. Marshall said the body’s been in the water for days. Unless someone can identify her clothing or belongings … he said we may never know her name.”

  “Oh dear God.” Delia hugged arms over her chest. “Could it be Mandy?”

  “No, it’s not Mandy.” Jack helped Dora to her feet, the twitching muscle along his jaw the only hint he wasn’t as confident as he sounded. “Chances are it’s a girl from the streets or one of the taverns near the docks.”

  “He’s right. It could be anyone.” Gabe wanted to hold tight to Jack’s certainty that only a stranger spent days floating on the shifting currents of the bay. But believing only strangers came to violent ends—or would fetch up against mussel-encrusted pilings—was a lie, and he tried very hard not to lie to himself.

  Gabe fetched Delia’s coat first, helping her slip it on before getting his own. Jack did the same for Isadora, dragging her coat and scarf out from under the desk. Dora braced herself against the back of the chair once her coat was on, shaky and unsteady on her feet.

  The clammy caress of fear along his spine was a warning, one he’d do well to heed. Sending the two women home alone suddenly struck Gabe as a bad idea. “Do you drive, Patrolman Dodd?”

  “Yes, sir.” Randy’s eyes flickered to Isadora and back to Gabe. “I drove my mother to town every week when I lived in Indiana. I can drive.”

  “Good. I want you to take Mrs. Ryan and Miss Bobet to my house. Use Miss Bobet’s car. That will be easier all around.” He kissed Delia on the cheek, running a finger along her chin before stuffing his fedora on. “And I want you to stay with them until Lieutenant Fitzgerald and I arrive. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir. You can trust me to get them home safely.” Dodd was new to the force, untested and unscarred, brimming with the confidence of youth. The last time Gabe remembered being that young and sure was long ago, before the quake and fire; before Victoria died.

  Victoria’s death had changed him. Gabe didn’t know if he’d survive losing Delia. He’d do everything in his power to keep from finding out.

  “Make no mistake, Patrolman, I am trusting you. Don’t let me down.” He exchanged smiles with Delia and left the office, not quite at a run, but close. Gabe’s heart sped up, traitorous and threatening to make him as breathless as the rookie he’d entrusted with his wife’s safety. Henderson wouldn’t send for them unless he had good reason.

  And the only reason that came to mind was that Amanda Poe’s luck had run out.

  Delia

  I couldn’t fault Dora for leaning heavily on Randy Dodd’s arm, nor accuse her of making a pretense of fatigue as an excuse to flirt. Even with Randy’s help, the lingering residue of the ritual surrounding Bradley Wells’s death brought her near to collapse. Leaning on him would likely help draw away the strong emotion threatening to lay her low, or so I hoped. I’d not seen her tremble quite this hard in the past, her face pale and drawn to the point she resembled one of the ghosts wandering the police station’s halls.

  We’d gone more than halfway across the lobby when Isadora suddenly stopped and looked back at the desk sergeant’s station. She frowned and shut her eyes for an instant, appearing even more wilted once she opened them again. “Dee, I need to see Archie. You can wait in Gabe’s office if you like, but I can’t in good conscience be here and not take a moment to speak with him. This won’t take long, I promise. I’m sure I can count on Randy to escort me through the cell block.”

  “Captain Ryan didn’t say anything about visiting prisoners.” Randy licked his lips and pushed his hat back, peering down at Dora. He was a good eight inches taller, long limbed and lanky, with the kind of frame that would no doubt gain muscle with age. “He told me to take both of you right home and stay with you. Even if he didn’t explain why, there’s a reason he didn’t want you left alone. I’m not sure he’d approve of us traipsing through the jail with you on my arm, Dora. Matter of fact, I’m positive Captain Ryan would be pretty angry about me ignoring his instructions.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of doing anything that might get you in trouble with Gabe. All I’m asking is that we delay leaving a bit until I talk to Archie. This is important. I have to see him.” Dora’s eyes had that faraway, searching quality that said she wasn’t looking at the physical world, but beyond the top layer and into the realm beneath. We both saw manifestations of ghosts everywhere, echoes of who they’d been wandering amongst the living, unwilling to move on and let go. But that was all I saw, echoes of how they’d looked in life or at the moment of death. I’d no doubt what she saw was far deeper, more disturbing.

  “I understand why you want to speak with Archie, but be reasonable. You’re very tired.” I tightened my grip on Dora’s arm, doing my part to ensure she wouldn’t slide to the floor. Randy stood on her other side, completely in the dark about why she’d taken a fancy to visiting cell blocks. I doubted he knew why Archie Baldwin was being held or what it meant. “We can visit tomorrow after you’ve rested. Besides, Gabe never gave his permission. Showing up unexpectedly might make things much worse for Archie.”

  “Oh posh, Dee. I don’t plan on holding a séance in his cell or anything outrageous. I just want to speak with him. Perhaps today he’ll remember more of what happened or where Mandy might have gotten off to. And if I’d had the presence of mind to mention this before Gabe and Jack left, we wouldn’t be having this discussion.” She gently pried my fingers off her arm and stood straight. “I’ve been down that hallway before while working on a case. I’ll go alone if need be and ask Gabe’s forgiveness later.”

  She’d do just that too, drawing on some hidden well of strength kept against time of need. Dora was the strongest person I’d known, but even the strongest have limits. I’d rather she didn’t find hers.

  “If I can’t make you see reason, then it’s probably best if I give in gracefully and go with you. That way I can at least try to keep you from pitching onto your face.” I threaded my arm through hers and gestured toward the hall leading to the back of the station. “Are you coming, Randy? We really won’t change her mind.”

  “Mrs. Ryan … Delia, I’m not sure this is a good idea.” He looked between us, searching for the smallest sign we’d relent. “But the captain ordered me to stay with you, so I really don’t have much choice. What’s the prisoner’s name?”

  Isadora leaned on me now, small tremors rippling through her at odd intervals. Recovering from viewing the evidence was taking her longer than in the past, making me uneasy, but I’d no way to know how much to worry. Neither of us was used to dealing with rituals of any sort. “Archie Baldwin. We’ll be on our way in two ticks if you ask Sergeant Morgan what cell Archie slept in last night.”

  He obtained the number and led us past interrogations rooms and into the area occupied by prisoners. The cell block was oddly quiet when we entered, most of the cells either empty or the occupants sleeping. Those who were awake stared or made rude comments. A few men watched Dora and me pass with a flat, emotionless expression that made my skin crawl. The feel of eyes on my back lasted until Randy led us around a corner and through a door that opened into a long, bright corridor.

  “Sarge said Mr. Baldwin is the only prisoner in this section.” We were out of sight of watching eyes, and Randy took Dora’s other arm, holding her up. A faint flush of color returned to her cheeks. “Baldwin’s in
the big cell at the very end. I can’t let you inside, but you won’t have any trouble talking through the bars. Just promise me neither of you will get close enough he could grab you.”

  Dora patted his arm. “You have my word. Based on Jack’s description, it’s possible Archie might not be in his right mind. I don’t think he’d harm either of us, but best not to tempt fate.”

  We turned a corner onto the row of cells where we’d find Archie. The sound of heartbroken sobbing and incoherent muttering filled the corridor.

  Randy frowned. “I need to make sure everything’s all right before I take you any closer. The two of you wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  We did as he asked, watching as his long, rapid strides took him down the empty hall. The light was murky at the end holding Archie’s cell, and filled with what I first took for shadows. Randy moved right through them, but the shadows deepened around him and took shapes that grew more distinct.

  Soldiers’ ghosts packed the corridor in front of Archie’s cell—so many, I couldn’t begin to count the dead men crowded up against the bars and spilling inside. Helmets and gas masks dangled from phantom fingers, their rifles slung over a shoulder and rucksacks strapped to their backs. Most of the blood-splattered uniforms and insignia were Belgian, a few were French or British, fewer still were German.

  All of them watched Archie tossing restlessly on the cell’s hard cot, whimpering and crying out in his sleep.

  “They’re haunting him. There must be hundreds of soldiers, Dora … hundreds…” The truth of what was happening struck me, awaking horror. “His unit must have been under attack when he deserted. They blame Archie because they died.”

  “And they hate him for still being alive.” Dora’s mouth pulled into an angry line. “No wonder Archie’s raving. None of us will get any sense out of him until we clear this lot out. We won’t be leaving as quickly as I’d planned.”