A Barricade in Hell (4 page)

“Don't give me that bull crap, Captain Ryan. I'm your boss. I can go anywhere I damn well please.” Lindsey's face was flushed an angry red, his voice a low growl. He tried to use his bulk to push past. “Now, get out of my way.”

Gabe planted his feet and didn't budge. “You're not a cop, Lindsey, but you know the regulations as well as I do. This is my investigation and I'm not letting you inside. Don't force me to arrest you.”

“Think of the headlines, Commissioner.” Jack stood so that he blocked the rest of the passageway, arms folded over his chest. “‘Lindsey arrested for interfering with murder investigation.' The papers will ask why you tried to force your way in. It won't take long before they start wondering if you had something to hide. Think of your daughter. You don't want to put her through that.”

Lindsey glared at the two detectives in turn, shoulders heaving and fists clenching open and shut. Gabe stared back impassively, praying all the while Lindsey wouldn't force the issue.

Finally, the commissioner took a step back, signaling surrender. He cleared his throat and straightened the lapels of his overcoat, looking anywhere but at Gabe and Jack. “I am thinking of my daughter. You need to understand something, Detectives. Adele is in a delicate condition and the baby could arrive at any moment. The doctor is with her now, but my daughter has always been in fragile health. Doctor Young is worried that the strain—that her upcoming confinement so soon after losing Bradley might be too much for her heart.”

“We do understand, Commissioner. Your daughter has our deepest condolences.” Gabe couldn't help but feel sympathy for Adele Wells, but the simple truth was that he didn't trust her father. He stood his ground. “That doesn't change anything. You have to wait outside.”

“Captain—please.” Lindsey tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling and throat working. His eyes were moist when he looked back at Gabe. “My daughter needs to be certain there hasn't been a mistake. I promised that I'd identify the body.”

Jack glanced at Gabe, asking permission. His partner possessed more patience and was better at dealing with difficult people, a category the commissioner of police filled to bursting. He nodded and Jack stepped forward.

“Commissioner … have you ever seen a murder victim before? Even if you think you're prepared, I can promise that you're not.”

A muscle in the commissioner's jaw pulsed. “I remember you. You're Katherine Fitzgerald's son.”

“Yes, sir, I am. We met when I escorted my stepmother to Adele and Bradley's wedding. My wife and I have friends in common with Brad and your daughter. We see them fairly often at parties or small dinners. I promise you, there's no mistake.” If anyone could convince the commissioner to back down, Jack could. He kept his tone calm, soothing and sympathetic. “You don't want to remember him this way. They cut Brad's throat.”

Lindsey blanched, rivulets of sweat running down his forehead. He tugged a monogrammed handkerchief from his breast pocket, mopping his face and breathing hard. “I still need to see him. I made a promise.”

Gabe wasn't entirely sure what made him relent, but he did. That Adele Wells deserved to have her doubts laid to rest was partly a factor; the realization that underneath his bluster and brash manner Lindsey was human another part. He hoped he didn't live to regret a moment's compassion. “All right, Commissioner. You can identify the body and then I need you to leave. No statements without my clearing them first or revealing details of what you've seen to the press. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” Lindsey stood straighter and removed his black bowler hat, visibly steeling himself. “Thank you, Captain.”

Lindsey handled viewing his son-in-law's body better than Gabe had anticipated. He stood looking down at Wells's face for a few seconds, silent, shaking hands crushing the brim of his hat. Without a word, he strode back around the corner and sagged against the corridor wall. “Dear God … I can't tell Adele what they did to Brad. I can't.”

“I'm sorry, Commissioner.” Jack closed his moleskine and stuffed the notebook into a coat pocket. “But there's no real need to tell her how he died. Not yet.”

“No … you're right. Bad enough that I know.” Lindsey mopped his face again, squaring his shoulders and standing up straight. Blotchy pink color returned to his skin and the imperious tone to his voice. “Captain, I'm putting you personally in charge of Bradley's case. If there's anything you need in terms of manpower, anything at all, let my office know.”

Gabe nodded. Lindsey sounded sincere. “Thank you, sir. The offer is much appreciated.”

Commissioner Lindsey stuffed the sweat-damp handkerchief in a breast pocket. “My daughter's waiting for me. Find the men who did this, Detectives. I want to look them in the eye before I watch them hang.”

The coroner's men appeared at the end of the passageway, canvas stretcher in hand. Robert Lindsey bulled past them and out into the main room of the shop. He slammed the front door on his way out, setting the bell over the door to ringing wildly and rattling shelves in the storeroom.

Jack frowned and glanced at Gabe. “I don't think we need worry about him making statements to the press. He's more likely to assault any reporter who gets in his way.”

“You're probably right.” Gabe took one last look at the storeroom and Wells's body, setting the scene in his mind. He flattened himself against the wall, making room for the coroner's men to pass before leading the way into the front. “I never thought I'd see the day I felt sorry for Robert Lindsey.”

“Neither did I.” Jack pointed at the front door. The window shade hung by one bracket, and the glass was crazed with spiderweb cracks. “But don't worry. That won't last.”

“As soon as we get back to the office, I want to start calling in favors. Someone on the street will know if there have been other victims in the city who died the same way as Wells.”

Jack's mouth pulled into a grim line. “You mean unreported murders. Dead vagrants and any John Doe the department didn't waste time on.”

“Exactly. We'd never hear about those victims unless we went looking for them.” Gabe flipped up the collar of his coat and pulled his hat down low, preparing for the shouts of newspaper photographers and the gawking eyes of the crowd. He couldn't give anything away if no one saw his face. “We're looking for them as of now. How much do you want to wager we find more than one?”

“I never bet against you, Gabe.” Jack pulled the door open. He gestured at the crowd of reporters yelling their names. “I leave that to those who don't know you.”

 

CHAPTER 3

Delia

The front bell rang just before six. I opened the door to find Gabe home early, a bouquet of hothouse carnations, sprigs of fern, and baby's breath in his hand. He presented the flowers with a flourish. “For you, Mrs. Ryan.”

“Oh, Gabe. These flowers are just lovely.” I inhaled the sweet scent of carnations and the peppery tang of fern, delighted. “Thank you. What a nice surprise.”

“I like seeing you smile. Besides, I missed you.” He hugged me to his chest, held tight, and gave no sign of letting go. I listened to his heart race, the rhythm much too fast and uneven. A glance over his shoulder gave me a reason why.

A cloud of ghosts lingered in the entryway behind Gabe, ragged souls only partly in this world. Spirits churned and boiled and crowded one atop another, never holding still, never allowing me to glimpse more than a face, a hand clutching the head of a cane, or dark eyes.

Stronger ghosts thronged beyond our front step and vanished into the evening fog: soldiers and tradesmen, shopkeepers, society matrons and men in top hats, young girls and small boys. Each spirit watched Gabe attentively, eyes bright and knowing.

Ghosts often followed Gabe home. Dora maintained he had the soul of a paladin and attracted the spirits of victims seeking a champion. The majority of the ghosts attached to him came from forgotten crime scenes or pieces of evidence stored in tattered pasteboard boxes. Most were no more than whispers of memory, names scribbled in a file and otherwise forgotten.

These faded spirits crowded around Gabe in greater numbers each time he started a difficult case. But in the nearly two years we'd been married, I'd never seen so many ghosts seek him out. The sheer number startled me; that so many of them were children was frightening. Others might encounter the ghosts of children often, but for me catching a glimpse of young spirits was rare. Children didn't cling to this world as fiercely.

Now I couldn't help but think of my nighttime visitor. Suspicion took root and spread, and the memory of bright blue eyes shining with moonlight made me shiver.

I whispered the charm Dora had taught me, forbidding ghosts and haunts or wandering spirits to cross our threshold or enter our house. The oldest ghosts wailed in despair and turned to vapor, spiraling into the clouds and becoming part of the evening fog. Newer spirits resisted, reluctant to loosen their hold on Gabe, but in the end I forced them to follow the others.

The last spirit vanished and Gabe's heartbeat slowed, became smooth and even. I relaxed as well. He was sensitive enough to feel the weight of so many spirits and the relief when they left, but not to see them as I did.

“Half the ghosts in San Francisco followed you home tonight.” I stepped back, holding tight to his hand and watching his eyes. Making doubly sure no lingering traces of another soul clung to him. “Are you all right?”

“I wasn't feeling very well, but now I'm fine.” Gabe raked his fingers through his hair. Tousled curls woke, making him look younger. “I've always known when you send ghosts away, but this was different. I felt them leave. What just happened, Dee?”

That he'd recovered so quickly was an enormous relief. Despite Isadora's assurances, I still worried that my connection to the spirit realm might someday cause Gabe harm. Discovering a host of spirits hanging on to his coattails awoke all my fears. The challenge now was to find the reason why so many spirits had developed a sudden fascination with Gabe.

“I'm not quite sure. Haunts have followed you home in the past, but I'd send them away and you never noticed. What concerns me is why so many strong spirits chose to attach themselves to you today. It doesn't make any sense.”

“Jack and I started a new case. There might be a connection.” Gabe glanced at me, regret and what I took to be reluctance to say more in his eyes. He shut the door, hung his overcoat and jacket on the hall tree as normal, and began rolling up his shirtsleeves. “I'll tell you what I can, but maybe we should fix supper first. What still needs to be done?”

“Supper's almost ready.” I took his hand and led him down the hall. “Come sit in the kitchen and talk to me while the biscuits finish baking.”

The house was large for just the two of us, with three good-sized bedrooms, a bathroom, a formal parlor and a larger sitting room, and a solar off the dining room. A utility porch opened off the kitchen and led to a side yard. Windows in all the rooms let in plenty of sunlight and fresh air.

I loved our house, but often I caught myself wandering aimlessly, adrift in all that space. Once I'd thought children would fill my days and the house to bursting, but no longer.

Having lost one child, I seldom thought of more. I couldn't bear to.

We almost never ate in the dining room, saving that space for company and special occasions. Most days we ate in the kitchen, a habit that lingered from our courting days. Gabe finished setting the table while I piled chicken, biscuits, and roasted potatoes on plates. A dish of applesauce and a jar of honey already sat in the middle of the faded checkered tablecloth.

Gabe filled his plate as always, but ate next to nothing. I watched in silence as he pushed his food around the plate, reminding me of a little boy pretending to eat some much-hated dish. Two biscuits were picked apart and reduced to a pile of crumbs in the center of his plate.

This wasn't the first evening Gabe had arrived home quiet and withdrawn. I'd learned not to rush conversation too soon. But I'd also learned to tell when he was brooding and needed to talk. I had Isadora partly to thank for that. She'd taught me how to read auras. Every person had an aura, a living rainbow that changed colors in response to fear or stress.

Red and black streaks rippled through Gabe's normally placid green nimbus. Something bothered him a great deal; something that went deeper than discovering an army of ghosts had followed him home. Gabe never kept things from me for long, not unless he was unsure about where to start.

So I gave him a place to begin. I asked.

“Gabe.” I put my hand over his, preventing him from taking a third biscuit. He looked up with a guilty start. “Tell me about your case. Talking may help.”

He toyed with his fork for a moment, carving pathways in the pile of crumbs on his plate. I waited patiently until Gabe cleared his throat, his usual prelude to difficult conversations.

“Commissioner Lindsey's son-in-law, Bradley Wells, was murdered in his father's drugstore. We think he died sometime last night or very early this morning. I've been trying to make sense of what we found.” He shoved his plate away and slumped in the chair. “Whoever killed Wells vandalized the store and stole all the medications from the back. But the cash register was sitting open, with at least a hundred dollars inside, and they didn't touch a penny. None of this feels right. I'm missing something.”

“You and Jack are very good at your jobs. And following your instincts has always stood you in good stead. Don't doubt yourself.” I took his hand. “But that's not what's bothering you most.”

Gabe took my hand, his aura seething with dark colors. “Wells was killed in the storeroom. The way his body was laid out … I've never seen anything like this, Dee. I can't shake the idea there was some kind of ritual involved. Cops aren't supposed to look at the occult for a motive or a means for murder, but Jack and I agree that we need to bring Dora into this case. Quietly if possible. Wells's death is already making headlines.”