A Barricade in Hell

by Jaime Lee Moyer

  “Perhaps I should try. The cards might cooperate for someone else.” I moved away from the window seat and took the chair opposite Isadora’s. “You said yourself that the tarot reacts differently to me.”

  She lit the cigarette and sat at the table again, eyeing the cards. “You’ve done readings with this deck in the past. I suppose letting you handle the cards and lay them out can’t do any harm. Perhaps if we concentrate on Gabe’s reading first, the energy will calm down. But if they don’t settle or become more agitated, we’ll have to cancel and try the reading another day.”

  “Perhaps I should have worn my fortune-teller robes. That might have made the cards happy.” Dora’s raised eyebrow and exasperated expression made it clear she wasn’t in the mood for levity. I laid my hand over the deck, half-expecting more than the feel of smooth paper against my skin. “Shouldn’t Gabe be here for a reading? I thought the point was to find out why this ghost is so fixed on him.”

  “Normally I’d agree, but a reading isn’t going to give us many answers about who this ghost is or why she’s attached herself to Gabe. A little guidance about directions for the future and what this all means is what I’m really hoping to find. If we’re fortunate, the cards will point us in the right direction. I’m trying other methods to discover more about this spirit.”

  Dora rested her cigarette on the sand-filled ash stand next to the table. She left the room briefly and returned to her chair with a rather large glass of whiskey in hand, and a book tucked under one arm. “Normal haunts are fixed on one person, almost always to the point that others in the world of the living don’t exist for them. But this one has gone out of her way to involve other people, including her attack on you and disrupting Mrs. Allen’s house. It’s very clear to me she wants Gabe’s attention and will go to any lengths to make sure he can’t ignore her. Why she’s so desperate is important and interests me a great deal.”

  I shuffled the cards, cut them three times, and paused before laying out the first one. The angry buzz was gone, replaced by a sense of quiet eagerness. I’d never have attributed awareness or purpose to a pile of printed paper before meeting Dora. That time seemed far distant, a past that happened to someone else. “You’ve said from the beginning she doesn’t behave like a normal haunt. Whatever this little girl spirit might be, I want her out of our lives.”

  “I agree. Banishing her is for the best, no matter what her true nature.” She took a long drink of her whiskey, and another, all the while watching raindrops slide down the windowpanes. Dora set the glass aside and opened the book she’d brought back, flipping through pages. “I’ve spent my evenings going through books, looking for other possibilities. Some of what I found confirmed my first guess, that this spirit might be a kind of ghost-eater.”

  My fingers tightened around the tarot deck. “You mean a demon.”

  “In one sense of the word, yes, she might be. We spoke about that after our failed attempt to find Katie Allen’s poltergeist. But even demons have limited degrees of power and a strict hierarchy. A mere ghost-eater wouldn’t manifest the way this spirit does, nor would she be able to invade Gabe’s dreams.” She glanced up from the book. “Ghost-eaters deal strictly with the dead. They have no purchase in the world of the living.”

  Dora viewed most conversations about ghosts, haunts, and denizens of the spirit realm as opportunities to teach me something. As a result, she often took the longest road. Most days I didn’t mind, as eager to learn as she was to pass on knowledge.

  Today I held tight to my patience. The need to be shed of this spirit, to be certain Gabe was safe, was all I cared about. “We’ve established she’s not an everyday ghost nor a poltergeist, and your research tells you that she’s not a ghost-eating demon. So what is she?”

  “I’m afraid I still don’t have an answer. She’s a puzzle and a conundrum.” Dora’s smile was small and tight, but she did smile. “Her behavior doesn’t fit any one type of spirit I can find. Attacking you and destroying Mrs. Allen’s kitchen would be classical imp behavior, but doesn’t fit with her nighttime activities in regard to Gabe. I’ve read about cunning folk and their familiars, about fallen angels and wind demons, and a spirit child sent from a long distance to wreak havoc. In the end, all I’m left with is a guess, Dee. A shaky guess at that, based on a partial passage written over two hundred years ago.”

  I shuffled the cards and cut the deck one last time. “Go ahead and fess up. You’re not going to tell me your theory until after the reading.”

  “And run the risk of looking foolish when you prove me wrong? Of course not.” Isadora beamed at me, appearing inordinately pleased. She toasted me with her glass and took another sip of whiskey. “You lay out the cards. I’ll try to wrestle meaning from the spread.”

  The first card was the King of Cups. He held a short scepter in his left hand and a great cup in his right. His throne was set upon the waves of a restless sea, a dolphin leaping on one side and a ship sailing on the other. I glanced at Dora. “This card represents Gabe.”

  “Yes. Most interpretations refer to the King of Cups as a fair, responsible man, often involved with the law. That sums Gabe up neatly.” She tapped the table. “Now the covering card. That will help tell us what hidden influences or events have entered into Gabe’s life.”

  I stared at the next card, uncertain what the Ten of Swords covering the king meant. The image of a man lying facedown, impaled by the ten swords that gave the card its name, was ominous. But I’d learned enough about the tarot to know that the meaning behind any image wasn’t straightforward or obvious. Still, the way Dora studied the cards gave me more reason to worry. As if I didn’t have ample reason already.

  She tapped the side of her glass with one slender finger. “Ten of Swords reversed. Profit, power, and authority are at stake. The person opposing Gabe has the advantage for now.”

  The next card went above the king’s head, crowning him, and Dora’s shoulders relaxed a bit. “The Queen of Cups is said to be a woman with the gift of vision and who isn’t afraid to act. This could represent you, Dee, or even me. The queen’s goal is to help Gabe achieve the best outcome. I interpret that as a hopeful sign. Now lay out the next three cards to finish the cross. Try not to think about what they might mean.”

  Dora watched me lay the two side cards, naming each one as I went and what the card might mean. “Nine of Swords. The weeping woman represents loss and utter desolation, most often from sometime in the past. Gabe may not know about this loss or be able to link it to the present. The card can also mean deception in the present. Seven of Wands, sometimes called the dark child. One reading of this card is of a combatant at the top, his enemies unable to reach him. This could be the ghost, but I think there’s a stronger possibility it refers to the person opposing Gabe.” She put a hand over mine long enough to stop me from laying out the next card. “This spread seems to relate more to the murder cases Gabe is working on than why the ghost chose to haunt him. The cards seem to be pointing in that direction so far.”

  “Or perhaps it’s pointing toward both.” All the faces of child ghosts I’d seen over the last few weeks, big eyed and expectant, came back to me. Legions of dead children waiting for Gabe outside the station were impossible for me to dismiss as meaningless. A glimmer of certainty flared to life, growing larger. “Maybe this little girl ghost is connected to these cases somehow. A victim, or perhaps tied to other victims. It wouldn’t be the first time a spirit sought to right a wrong.”

  Dora folded her arms and stared at the cards. The kitten woke suddenly, leaving the basket and leaping into my lap. I waited patiently for Isadora to come to a conclusion, petting the cat and doing my best to ignore the storm winds beginning to howl around the corners of the house. The deck lay to one side, vibrating with what I perceived as eagerness.

  Isadora reached for her whiskey, gesturing towards the cards with her glass. “No, I don’t think that’s quite right. The tie is to Gabe. He’s the focal point and what ties
the spirit to the cases and the cases to her. Without him, there’d be no connection.” She arched an eyebrow and smiled. “Keep trying. A few guesses closer to the mark, and you’ll demolish my theory entirely. Finish the cross. The sixth card signifies what lies ahead.”

  Even I knew what The Tower meant. I swallowed the sour taste of panic and tried to make light of it. “There’s a cheery card for the future. I thought we’d reached our quota of calamity, ruin, and disaster.”

  “The Tower can also represent new beginnings, even if starting again is by necessity and not by choice.” She drained the last of her whiskey from the tumbler. “But your decision to avoid Sadie and the baby may have been more prescient than I’d guessed.”

  The bell on the telephone jangled, three long rings and one short.

  “That’s my ring.” Isadora pushed her chair back and went down the hall toward the parlor. “We’ll finish the spread after I take this call. I’ll be right back, Dee.”

  Her ring was repeated three more times before I heard Dora say hello. I laid the tarot deck aside and snuggled the kitten under my chin. She purred loudly, the sound filling my ears and coming close to drowning out storm howls and Isadora’s voice both. I closed my eyes, shutting out the sight of cards that might prophesy catastrophe.

  Opening them again to find Dora sitting across from me was a surprise. Even more startling were the changes made by her phone call. Tears glistened in her eyes, and her normally rosy skin had paled to a sickly ivory.

  “Gabe wanted us to know that he and Jack are delayed at the station. He said not to wait supper on them.” Dora picked up her glass, staring at the melting ice in confusion. She put it down again and cleared her throat. “Gabe is sending Randy Dodd and Thom Russell over to sit with us. I told him that would be fine.”

  “Dora, what’s wrong?” Now I was truly alarmed. I set the small gray cat on the tabletop and went to kneel next to her chair. Dora’s hand was ice cold and shaking. “Are Gabe and Jack all right? Tell me what happened.”

  She looked toward the window and angrily swiped at the single tear sliding down her cheek. “Gabe and Jack are fine. It’s … Archie’s dead. I didn’t make it back in time to help him. He hanged himself.” Dora stood abruptly, pulling her hand free from mine. “I need more whiskey. Would you like something?”

  I stared, unable to speak around shock and the taste of fear. Not knowing why Gabe felt we needed guards in light of Archie’s death was frightening. But if he’d hanged himself as Dora said, the two of us needing protection made no sense. More was going on here than I knew, dangers I couldn’t see.

  When words finally came, they sounded far off, as if spoken by someone else in a voice I didn’t recognize. “Yes. A glass of sherry, please.”

  Isadora nodded and left. I stayed sitting on the floor, pulling my knees up and wrapping my arms around my legs. Rain pelted the windows, and the light faded in increments, much as I imagined Archie’s sanity had trickled away under the onslaught of dead soldiers’ ghosts.

  Mai scampered across the tabletop, scattering the tarot cards. I let her play. Twice she peered at me over the edge before turning to run the other way. Cards slid off the table, drifting to the ground.

  One landed in my lap: the Devil. I tossed the card away, unable to bear looking at the image.

  Dora returned and sat on the floor next to me, passing over a half-full sherry glass. The room grew darker and we sat in silence, waiting for Randy Dodd and Thom Russell to arrive.

  Isadora had agreed to teach me about the occult only once I understood that knowledge and power brought great responsibility. Part of that burden was to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves, to keep hostile spirits and haunts from harming the living.

  Neither of us said the words aloud, but we both knew. We’d failed Archie Baldwin.

  CHAPTER 16

  Gabe

  The end of the hall near Archie’s cell was sweltering, the air close and beginning to smell of sweat and death. Gabe paced the cell block in his shirtsleeves, impatiently waiting for Deputy Coroner Sal Rosen to finish his examination of Baldwin’s body. They couldn’t move the body until Sal finished and gave the word.

  Sal was taking too damn long.

  The torn sheet was looped around Archie’s neck twice and tied to the crossbar at the top of the cell wall. Archie’s face was blue gray, swollen hands hanging stiff at his sides and feet dangling a foot off the ground. Gabe’s best guess was that Baldwin had tipped the iron bed frame on its side and wedged it against the bars, climbed up, and then kicked the bed away.

  More than anything, he wanted Archie cut down. No matter where Gabe stood, he couldn’t escape Baldwin’s glassy, staring eyes, or avoid seeing his startled expression. Members of his squad had gathered near the cell block entrance, speculating in hushed voices on why Baldwin killed himself. Opinions were split between outright madness or guilt over having killed Amanda Poe.

  Every scrap of experience gained over the years told Gabe his men were wrong. Death took Archie Baldwin by surprise. Proving that was something else entirely.

  Marshall Henderson came back into the cell block, snaking through the knot of officers near the entrance to reach Gabe. The young red-haired officer glanced at the body and looked away quickly, face blanched and sweating. Gabe didn’t blame him for looking ill. He wanted to be sick himself.

  “I spoke to the men on duty, Captain.” Marshall pulled a battered dime-store notebook out of his back pocket, flipping pages until he found what he wanted. He’d picked up the habit of writing everything down from Jack. Between the two of them, very little was forgotten or overlooked. “Burke brought meal trays to all the prisoners. He said Mr. Baldwin was quiet when he came in, but that he was awake and sitting up. Alan said Mr. Baldwin thanked him when he left the meal tray. I guess he hadn’t done that before, so Alan remembered.”

  Sal was packing up his bag. Two big, burly officers, Reid and Tyler, crowded into the cell to cut Baldwin down.

  Gabe looked away. If they dropped the body before loading Baldwin on the stretcher, he didn’t want to see. “Who collected the trays?”

  Henderson consulted his notes. “A new man, Eli Marsh. He just transferred in from Captain Pearson’s squad.”

  “Marsh?” Gabe raked fingers through his sweaty hair, thinking hard, trying to match the name with a face. Men from Fade Pearson’s squad had been dispatched to investigate Adele Wells’s call the night her husband was murdered, but reportedly never entered the shop to look for Bradley. The knot forming in his guts tightened. “I don’t think I’ve met him. Any relation to Sergeant Marsh?”

  “Not that I know of, Captain. Officer Marsh came to the station three days ago.” Henderson shrugged. “This is the first time I’ve spoken to him. He’s a little brusque and not overly friendly, but he seemed a nice-enough fellow. Marsh said Mr. Baldwin was sleeping when he collected the trays and never woke up. No one else came back here until shift change.”

  “I need you to do me a favor, Marshall. I’d like you to see what you can find out about Eli Marsh. Get to know him if you can.” They stepped back out of the way so that Reid and Tyler could carry Baldwin’s body out. Sal Rosen stood framed in the open cell door, waiting. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d keep this between us.”

  A muscle in Henderson’s jaw twitched and his eyes widened for an instant, the only outward signs he gave that Gabe’s request was out of the ordinary. Gabe let him think it through and sort out the implications, prepared to accept whatever Marshall decided.

  Marshall swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll talk to him and see what I can find out. And just so you know, Lieutenant Fitzgerald did go home. Rockwell and Polk went with him. Jefferies and Perry will take the next shift watching the lieutenant’s house.”

  Gabe had formally ordered Jack to go home within minutes of getting back to the station. That Jack wasn’t in any condition to be involved with the investigation, even from the sidelines, wasn’t a surprise.
Their argument over bringing Effie Fontaine in for questioning immediately was short, but loud and very public.

  Their suspicions about Miss Fontaine weren’t common knowledge, and the longer they kept that quiet, the better their chances of getting proof. But nothing would stay secret with Jack yelling at full volume. He hadn’t left Jack a choice about going home to cool off, nor about accepting a guard on the house. His partner’s heated reaction only confirmed that Gabe had made the right decision.

  Knowing he’d made the right choice didn’t make him feel any better.

  “Thank you.” Gabe clapped Marshall on the shoulder. “We’ll talk tomorrow. I need to speak with Doctor Rosen before he leaves.”

  Rosen wasn’t even sweating when Gabe shook his hand. If the heat bothered the deputy coroner, he hid it well. “Thank you for waiting, Sal. Let’s go to my office. It’s cooler there.”

  “Good idea.” Sal shifted his bag to the other hand and eyed the assembled cops. “I was on my way to see you when the call came in. We need to talk privately.”

  Gabe’s office was on the other side of the station. The two men crossed the crowded lobby in silence, Sal managing to keep up with Gabe’s longer stride without too much of a struggle. Conversations between patrolmen ground to a halt, the buzz of voices fading away. Every officer on duty watched them cross the dirty and chipped linoleum floor.

  But every man in the station knew Archie Baldwin was Jack’s friend, and by this time they’d have passed around the story of Gabe and Jack yelling at each other. He pretended not to see them staring, acting as if this were any other case and that his heart wasn’t pounding.

  Closing his office door was a relief. He sat behind his desk, gesturing toward the guest chair. “Have a seat, Sal. I can send for coffee if you like.”

  “No thanks. I have a social engagement in about an hour. One of my wife’s charity fund-raiser dinners.” Rosen set his black doctor’s bag on the floor and tossed his overcoat over the back of his chair. He unbuttoned his expensive-looking gray dinner jacket before taking a seat. “Drinking station house coffee might keep me awake all the way through the mayor’s speech. This won’t take long.”