A Barricade in Hell (13 page)

I flushed, heat creeping up my neck and burning bright in my cheeks.

Dora laughed. “Gabe notices very little when you're in the room. I'm not above using that to my advantage.”

We'd passed the tail end of the parade and resulting crowd, and made our way over to Broadway only two blocks short of our destination. Dora parked the car a few doors down from the police station. The intersection near the station was always busy. Motorcars passed through in a constant stream, and the policeman operating the rotating traffic signal couldn't let his attention flag for an instant. Newsboys stationed on each corner shouted out headlines for the afternoon papers, each vying to attract the most customers.

I stood beside the car and waited quietly for Dora to gather her things, struggling against the pull to watch ghosts keep pace with the living, or tread paths that ran through walls or parked cars. More new ghosts roamed San Francisco each day, confused and lost young men who'd died in the Great War. Many didn't realize they were dead and continued to fight an enemy that wasn't there. Others had died in horrible pain, drowning as gas ate away their lungs.

All ghosts carried markers of their death. These phantom soldiers were tainted by terror and the horrors they'd endured. I desperately wanted to lay them to rest and ease their passage, but there were far too many.

London and Paris must be thick beyond imagining with wandering spirits. I counted myself lucky to be in San Francisco. Living in Europe would drive me mad.

A flash of light drew my attention to a spot across the street. Ghosts clustered in a doorway, staring at the front entrance of the police station. Another bright flash, and another, and more knots of ghosts appeared along the curb, against the walls, and in other doorways across the street. Mixed among the patient dead were the ghosts of far, far too many children, none older than seven or eight.

Sick certainty settled in my stomach and I couldn't look away. These ghosts had no interest in me or Isadora. They wanted Gabe.

Dora took my arm, breaking the trance. “Don't let them hold you like that, Dee. You know better. That rather dramatic manifestation was staged for the sole purpose of attracting our notice. They have our attention now, but acknowledgment is all I'm willing to give them. I don't want to anchor them here with no hope of sending them on again.”

“They're waiting for Gabe.” I looked again, searching the throng of ghosts for the little girl I'd seen before. A part of me hoped all the haunts would fade if I muttered banishing charms and attempted to send them away. If anything, they grew more solid and tangible. Dora was right; attention gave them a stronger hold on this world. “They think they can use Gabe to get something they want. I won't let them.”

“At a guess? I'd say these ghosts want justice. That's what Gabe does, Delia. Finding justice for victims is his job. Frankly, I'm not surprised the spirits of victims would choose to haunt him. I'm only surprised at the numbers. And if they meant him harm, we likely wouldn't see the spirits at all.” She put an arm around my shoulders. “Come inside. Helping Gabe solve this case is the best thing you can do for him right now.”

Turning my back and walking toward the entrance was the most difficult thing I'd done in a long while. The gaze of each waiting ghost was a physical pull, trying to drag me back so they could tell me something, something I desperately needed to know. Ghosts lied more often than not and used any means to get what they wanted, I knew that, but the desire to listen grew stronger. This plea had the taste of truth. Only Dora's arm around my shoulder kept me from giving in.

“Gabe's case, the ghost in our house, even Mrs. Allen's vanishing poltergeist … they're all woven together. I'm right about this, Dora. I know I am.” We reached the entrance and I glanced across the street again. The smallest ghosts were all I could see: big-eyed little girls, braids unraveling or hair ribbons untied, young boys with dirty faces and holes in the knees of their trousers, a brother and sister holding hands. “So many children … like the little girl in my dreams. That can't be a coincidence.”

“Probably not.” Dora sighed and gave my shoulders a squeeze. “Two things I could accept as coincidence, but matters have progressed considerably past that. But if I seem hesitant to wholeheartedly agree with you, I have good reason. We talked about this not long after you married Gabe.”

“I remember.” We made our way past the stream of people leaving the station and entered the lobby. As soon as I crossed the threshold, pressure from the ghosts to turn and look at them vanished. I could think of other things again. “Both of us saying that something is true could make it so. There's power in belief.”

“Exactly. There are unscrupulous practitioners who use belief to achieve their ends. I'd rather not call new problems into existence. As things stand, we have more than enough to deal with and far too many questions.” Dora patted my arm. “What we need are answers, preferably ones Jack and Gabe can work with.”

“We'll find them.” I tried to feel sure. Tried to believe. “I know we will.”

“Your faith is inspiring, Delia, but you're also right. If viewing the evidence doesn't work, I have other means at my disposal.” Strain already pulled at the corners of Dora's mouth and bled the color from her cheeks. Being closed in with groups of people always took its toll, but the anger and emotions trapped inside a police station made the experience far worse.

That didn't stop her from smiling at the sight of a handsome young officer near the front desk and sidling over to him. A flash of something else crossed her face, something that appeared more serious than flirting, but vanished too quickly for me to be sure. “Perhaps this nice young man will escort us to Gabe's office.”

He tipped his hat and blushed, confirming my guess that he hadn't met Dora before. Meeting Isadora for the first time had become a rite of passage for the rookies in Gabe's squad. Some survived the shock better than others. “Officer Dodd, miss. Are you looking for Captain Ryan?”

“We don't need an escort, thank you.” Dodd's dazed expression proclaimed I'd already lost the argument, but I plowed ahead. “Captain Ryan is my husband. Both of us know perfectly well where Gabe's office is located.”

Isadora smiled prettily before taking Dodd's arm and leading him away. “Now, where's the fun in that? Come along, Dee. Perhaps I can think of something else for Officer Dodd to do other than walk us down the hall.”

I rolled my eyes and followed. Experience had taught I couldn't stop her. Dora was being herself as always, fiercely determined to act outrageous and bohemian in public, no matter what her true aim might be. And it was an act, a role she played to cover nerves or uncertainty. Strangers never looked any further, but her friends knew Madam Isadora Bobet was more than a dilettante.

Dora's fun would end at Gabe's office door. But I'd no doubt she knew that as well as I.

 

CHAPTER 9

Gabe

Gabe roamed his office, too restless to sit or do paperwork while waiting for Isadora. He made the same circuit each time, pausing to straighten the calendar over the file cabinet and study the map on the wall, fussing with the shade on the window or pulling out a book from the shelf and putting it back again.

Jack sat in the desk chair, rocking while tossing a baseball up and catching it again. His partner was just as restless, but the room was too small for both of them to pace.

They both avoided the pasteboard box in the middle of Gabe's desk and the file folder of photographs sitting on top. The box held the cloth that had covered Bradley Wells's body, a broken crock from the back room where Wells died, and the doorknob they'd removed from the shop's front door. Removing the doorknob had been Henderson's idea, a damn good one. Long odds to be sure, but Isadora might be able to detect some trace of the killer clinging to the crystal and brass knob. He and Jack would take that chance.

Nerves over what Dora would find in his paltry stack of evidence was part of why he couldn't stay still. This was all he had to go on in the Wells case, other than the absolute conviction Mr. Sung and his granddaughter were killed by the same people. He and Jack both put word out on the street asking about similar killings, but no one had come forward yet. If Dora came up empty, Gabe didn't know where to start looking.

And if he was honest, the necessity of bringing Isadora into the investigation nagged at his conscience. Official policy had no tolerance or place for the kind of expertise Dora brought to his cases. The chief was thoroughly charmed by Isadora Bobet and turned a blind eye, but Gabe still walked a fine line. He often imagined he heard his father's voice saying a good cop would find another way, one that didn't bend regulations.

What helping him cost Dora made his guilt all the stronger. No matter how many precautions they took, just being in the room was bound to cause Dora pain. Gabe couldn't escape the conflict between friendship and duty. That he'd no better choice didn't help, nor did knowing she'd readily agreed.

A knock rattled the glass set into his office door, and a muffled voice called out. “Captain Ryan? It's Randolph Dodd. You have visitors, sir.”

The door opened and Isadora breezed past the flustered young rookie holding it open for her. Delia followed close behind.

Gabe's entire day brightened at the sight of his wife. He crossed the room to take her coat. “This is a welcome surprise. I didn't know you were coming with Dora.”

“Neither did I.” Delia stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. She smiled and handed him the coat, but he knew her too well to miss the worry in her eyes. “Dora convinced me coming along to help was the wiser choice. She didn't quite threaten to abandon me on a street corner if I refused, but it was a near thing.”

Dora kept her distance from the desk, eyeing it from just inside the door, but slowly moved closer. Her mouth pulled into a harsh, narrow line. She was already in pain.

The driving goggles she insisted on wearing dangled from one hand and she'd unwound her scarf so that it hung off her shoulder and trailed along the floor behind, regal and strangely dignified. “Don't be silly, Dee. Gabe and Jack know I'd never leave you to walk home from Mrs. Allen's. I'd drop you at the nearest trolley station or call a cab.”

Randolph Dodd cleared his throat, still red-faced from his first encounter with Isadora and poised to flee as soon as permitted. “Do you need anything, sir?”

Jack had moved out of Dora's way to lean against the file cabinet. He answered, but never took his attention off Isadora. “Not right now. You can go, Patrolman.”

Dora glanced up, looking Dodd straight in the eye. “No, stay. I need your help. Come all the way inside and shut the door, please.”

“Do what she asks, Officer.” Gabe finished hanging Delia's coat, taking an extra second before he turned around. The request had taken him by surprise, but he wouldn't let his newest rookie see. He cleared his throat and went to stand with Jack. “I'm sure Miss Bobet will explain in a moment.”

She smiled, arch and knowing. Dora held her hand over the file folder containing the photographs, but stopped short of picking it up. “Since we're going to be working together on this case, you should call me Dora. Do you mind if I call you Randy?”

“No, I don't mind, Miss Bob—” Dodd was backed up against the closed door, more flustered than ever at the attention paid him by Dora. He swallowed and wiped his hands down the front of his coat. “I meant Dora. And I still don't mind.”

Gabe had seen Dodd only in passing before now, but he understood why the older men teased the squad's newest rookie about being a pretty boy. Still, he knew Isadora well enough to believe her reasons for wanting Randolph Dodd to stay were more noble than his broad shoulders, wavy dark hair, blue eyes, and cinema-star good looks. She was too much of a professional to drag the boy into a murder case just to flirt. Something else drew her to him.

“Marvelous. Come over here, Randy. You too, Delia.” They stood on either side of Dora, both of them appearing apprehensive but for different reasons. She pulled her hand back, unthinkingly wiping it on the tail of her scarf. “We're going to alter the plan a bit, Dee. I want to try using Randy as a conduit to bleed off some of the energy generated by Mr. Wells's death. That could prove vital, especially given the ritual involved and the violence. If he can channel some of the worst away, this encounter won't be as devastating for either of us.”

“Use me as a conduit? What does that mean?” Dodd looked between Gabe and Dora. His fair skin blanched and the spattering of freckles across his nose looked dark in comparison. “You talk about channeling energy as if I should understand or it's something that happens every day. And I'm sorry, but I don't understand any of this.”

“Your part is actually very simple. Nothing at all difficult nor dangerous.” She traded looks with Delia. Gabe knew this was anything but simple when his wife developed a sudden interest in studying the toes of her shoes. Dora peeled off her gloves, shoving them into her pockets before shrugging off her coat. Scarf, coat, and driving goggles ended up in a pile under the desk. “The energy will find its own path without you even needing to think about it or realizing what's happening, I promise. Follow my instructions and you'll be fine.”

“No, not until you explain what this … this energy is and where it comes from. I don't mean any disrespect, but I've heard talk about you.” Randy pulled himself up straighter, his jaw setting in stubborn lines, and pushed back against Dora's assumptions of obedience. Gabe's estimation of the boy went up a notch. He wouldn't interfere; Dodd could hold his own. “They say you see ghosts, that you're some kind of spiritualist … or medium. Is that what you're talking about, helping you communicate with the dead? I'm not sure I want any part in anything that disreputable.”