The Night Is Alive (10 page)

David looked at Abby. Abby was white and pinched, but she didn’t turn away. “Can you tell?” David asked her.

To Malachi’s surprise, Abby nodded. “It’s not Helen,” she said.

“And you know that because...?”

She pointed to the corpse’s left breast—in relatively good condition. “Helen had a tiny clover tattooed right there. She told a bunch of the girls about it one day, as long as we swore not to say anything to the guys she worked with. She liked to tease them, telling them she had one somewhere, but they’d have to guess where, and when she had all their guesses, maybe she’d tell them. And the hair...I don’t think that’s the shade of Helen’s hair. She was almost platinum. This girl had a manicure and Helen didn’t manicure her nails. She always said wenches didn’t use polish.”

“Okay, then.” David let out a sigh. “We’re still looking for Helen. And we have to find out who this poor girl might be. I’ll get them started on missing-person reports back at the office. Thank you for coming in.”

Malachi didn’t want to leave yet. He walked closer to the table and stared at the dead woman. What he saw now might help him later when they were further along in the investigation. “Death was by drowning?” he asked.

“Her lungs were filled with water from the river,” Dr. Tierney said. “They’ve scraped her nails, searched for trace evidence...but I don’t know. She was in the river about a day and a half to two days, until she washed up near the dock.”

“So, she died around the time Helen Long disappeared,” Malachi said.

Tierney glanced at David.

David shrugged. “That timing sounds about right,” he said.

Malachi didn’t want to act like a ghoul but he wanted to touch the body. He moved closer and leaned over her, trying to study the remains of her face. He touched her arm; she was cold and he felt no sense of her. But he noticed something he hadn’t seen before. Perhaps it was a detail the medical examiner’s office and the police had wanted to keep quiet.

Her hands were darkened and curled at her side but there was something odd about her left hand. Malachi raised his brows at brow at Tierney and touched the icy hand. He looked at Tierney.

Tierney returned his look with a fierce frown.

Malachi straightened. “May I see the other corpses?” he asked.

Tierney swung around to face David.

“He’s one of my old partners, Doc. And now Mr. Gordon is a consultant with the FBI. I would appreciate it if you’d help us.”

Tierney hesitated and pulled back his sleeve. “It’s late,” he muttered.

“Please,” Malachi said.

“Can I... May I get out of here?” Dirk pleaded.

“Abby?” Malachi asked.

She wanted to stay and help—that was clear in her eyes—but it was obvious that she was the one who needed to be with Dirk.

“I’ll take you home, Dirk,” she said.

“I’ll take Mr. Johansen for a coffee across the street. We’ll wait for you,” David offered. “Abby should be here since she just graduated from the academy. She’s an FBI agent now.”

“So I’ve heard,” Tierney murmured. It didn’t sound as if he was impressed. Malachi made a point of grinning at her.
Learn to live with it,
he told her silently.

Whether she understood his message or not, she handled it. “Thank you. I believe it’s important that we see all the victims.”

David left with Dirk.

When they were gone, Malachi spoke to Tierney. “She’s missing her ring finger. It wasn’t gnawed off, it was cut off,” he said.

“We’re not letting that information out,” Tierney said curtly.

“I understand.” Malachi nodded. “Is it the same with the other corpses?”

“Yes.”

Tierney walked over to a wall with numbered sliding doors and placards in little slots. He went straight to drawer nine. A handwritten name tag read
Ruth Seymour.

He pulled the drawer back and gently removed the sheet from her face.

Ruth had fared better than the unknown girl they’d just seen. Most of her face was intact. Malachi saw the mark of some kind of bondage that had been described in the autopsy notes. He also saw that the ring finger on her left hand had been severed at the knuckle.

“Head injury is here,” Tierney told him, pointing.

She’d been struck on the back of the skull—one solid blow.

“It would’ve knocked her out?” Malachi asked.

“Probably came close to fracturing the skull, so, yes, likely she would’ve been knocked out. But if you look at the wound closely, you can see there’s healing. So she regained consciousness again—a day, a few days?—before she was killed,” Tierney explained.

That made something cold curl up inside his gut. Dead was dead—but he wondered what torture she’d gone through before death.

“What about Rupert Holloway?” he asked.

“That was different. As far as I can tell, Holloway was knocked out and killed soon after. Maybe a few hours later, somewhere in that time frame, at any rate. Both young women were kept alive longer. I assume you’ve read the reports. Although I can’t state it definitively, I believe both were sexually molested, and killed later. I don’t think they were in any condition to fight off the rapist. They were probably knocked out and held until they annoyed their attacker—or he tired of them. Ms. Shepherd was the last victim found before today. She’s right here.”

She could have been anyone. “How did you ID her?” Malachi asked.

“Fingerprints. They were on file at her school. It’s a safety measure taken there.”

“She’s missing the ring finger?”

“Yes.”

Malachi looked at Abby. She was stoic, watching, listening, betraying sorrow but allowing little else to show on her face.

Tierney went over the young woman’s injuries.

Malachi moved closer to inspect the corpse again, touching the body. And again, he had no sense of anyone remaining.

“Mr. Rupert Holloway is the last of our recent victims. You don’t want to visit the entire morgue, do you?” Tierney obviously wanted to be on his way.

“Just these victims,” Malachi said. “Mr. Holloway, please.”

Rupert Holloway was in nearly the same shape as their Jane Doe, and his head wound was worse; the skull had been fractured. “He might still have been out cold when he was tossed in the river,” Tierney said.

“But he’s missing his ring finger, as well.”

Tierney looked uncomfortable. “Yes. Taken while he was still alive—as with the others.”

“Any other marks on him?” Malachi asked.

“Just one. On his back. Help me roll him and I’ll show you.”

He obliged; Rupert Holloway had been a big man.

Low on his back there was a wound, which was sharp and broad.

“Not serrated,” Abby commented.

“No, it was made by a smooth blade,” Tierney said. “Now, if that’s all...”

“That’s all, Dr. Tierney. Thank you so much for your time.”

He led Abby out. They removed the scrubs they’d donned and left them in the appropriate receptacles.

“Definitely a serial killer,” Abby said. She shuddered and looked at him apologetically. She was ashen, although she’d held up well. “Why...why the fingers? Is there a significance to the ring finger? Are they trophies?”

“Possibly. And I can’t begin to fathom if there’s a symbolic reason of some kind for the ring finger. Does it have anything to do with wedding or engagement rings? Holloway was married, but the others...” He shrugged. “I don’t know.” As he spoke, he watched something come alive in her eyes.

“I’m an idiot,” she said.

“Why?”

She flushed. “I mean, there is a symbolic reason for the ring finger. Pirates used to cut off the ring fingers of their hostages specifically to steal their rings. Blackbeard supposedly cut off his own ring finger as a warning to others to leave him alone.”

“Then it
is
symbolic,” Malachi said.

“Yes, I believe that has to be it. But still, the killing of Rupert Holloway was different from the others. The injury on his back is completely unlike the injuries on the women. What do you think the blade was?” Abby asked. “And why that mark left there?”

“At the small of his back?” Malachi mused thoughtfully. “A pirate sword, Agent Anderson. I’m willing to bet that wound was made by a sword.”

5

“I
t’s not Helen. It’s not Helen,” Dirk repeated. He’d said the words dozens of times during the drive back to the Dragonslayer.

“No, Dirk, it’s not Helen,” Abby assured him.

“Oh, my God! Did you see her face?”

They reached the parking lot and Abby put the car in Park. Malachi was out of the backseat, opening the door for Dirk. When Dirk stood in front of him, he steadied the man with a hand at his elbow. “Not Helen, Dirk. So if you can think of anything at all that might help us find her, it could save her life.”

“What if he’s doing that to her—to Helen—right now?” Dirk asked.

“Dirk, the poor girl looks so bad because of what the creatures in the river did to her. Helen could be alive. She’s a bright girl, and if anyone can manage to stay alive,
she
can. I’ll tell you what might help. You let the police do a thorough search of the
Black Swan,
” Malachi said.

“A search?” Dirk asked blankly.

By then, Abby had come around the car. “If they search the
Black Swan,
Dirk, they might find something Helen left on the ship. A note, a scrap of paper, a card—something.”

She watched Dirk carefully—although she couldn’t believe anything evil of him, not in a thousand years.

His expression didn’t change. “If it’ll help, hell, yeah, search the ship.”

Malachi might have been surprised by Dirk’s easy agreement; if he was, he didn’t show it.

“That’s fine, Dirk, thank you. I’m going to call my buddy David back and ask him to get a team in there, okay? You’ll have to give David official permission.”

Dirk nodded. “Anything that’ll help,” he said. He looked back at Abby. “It
will
help, right?”

“It will,” she said.

“Call him. That detective. Tell him I’ll sign anything he needs.”

“Thank you,” Abby said.

Dirk left the two of them, striding for the bar. He stopped and turned back. “You two just saw all that and don’t need a drink?” he demanded.

“We’re coming,” Abby said.

She looked at Malachi. “Honestly, it
can’t
be Dirk. You figure someone’s kidnapping people, taking them on a pirate ship. With the women, he’s making them behave like captives—forcing them to have sex as if they’d been seized by pirates. And because he has a pirate ship, you’re thinking Dirk.”

He shrugged. “Abby, yes, obviously, I’m thinking Dirk. Helen worked for him, Helen is gone. And he runs a pirate ship.”

“If someone is going to search the
Black Swan,
shouldn’t it be us?” Abby asked him.

“Get permission from your friend,” he told her.

Abby whirled around and ran, catching up with Dirk just before he got to the door. He seemed perplexed but told her she was welcome on the ship anytime, any day. He handed her his keys; the gate down at the dock where the
Black Swan
berthed would be locked.

She ran back to Malachi. “Let’s go!” She dashed by him.

“Hey!” he called after her.

“Faster to walk than to find a parking place on the river. Come on!”

It was only a matter of blocks to the marina. Abby used the key Dirk had given her to open the gate. She waited for Malachi, and tried not to remember how she’d seen the body here earlier. There was no crime scene tape; it wouldn’t have served much purpose. She assumed the techs had looked for anything they possibly could, considering that the body had floated in the river for a day or two.

Malachi entered behind her. “Relock it,” he warned.

She did. They hurried on down the dock. Malachi passed by her and jumped onto the deck of the
Black Swan.
The little gangplank that tourists used to board was on the ship, taken up at night to discourage anyone who might make it onto the dock.

Malachi stretched out his hand. She hesitated only briefly and accepted it to join him on board the ship.

Dock lights lit up the main part of the forecastle and performance area. Abby hurried on to the restaurant area and the restrooms. Employee lockers were in an anteroom. She turned on lights as she went in and heard Malachi behind her, searching the snack stand and environs.

She found Helen’s locker, which was open. But on inspection of its contents yielded nothing except for a sweater, a makeup bag, a brush and Helen’s costume.

Frustrated, Abby closed the locker.

The others were open and she decided to search them, as well. She felt awkward—as if she were sticking her nose where she really had no right—but Blake Stewart and Jack Winston worked with Helen. They were friends, and Blake had been in love with Helen. It had to be done.

But their lockers yielded nothing, either. There was a small costume and prop area next to them. She went through the swords and guns used by the players, touching each one. None was real. The blades were plastic, although they’d been artfully created to appear real.

She left the lockers, disappointed, and discovered that Malachi was no longer in the snack shop.

“Malachi?”

“Down in the magazine!” he called to her.

She hurried to the below deck and found him by one of the hammocks against the inner hull, placed there for the use of the cast and crew.

“Anything?” she asked.

“Maybe.” He handed her a folded pamphlet.

“It’s a tour map,” she said. “Actually, this particular map is printed and put out by a friend of mine. You might have met him at the Dragonslayer yesterday. I went to high school with him—he was a major player in our drama department and a huge history buff. He does ghost tours here in the city and they’re supposed to be some of the best.”

“Roger English,” Malachi said.

“Yes. You did meet him, then.”

“No. His name is on the map. It’s advertising for his tours.”

“And you think Helen might have had it? The map, I mean.”

He nodded. “I do. Because this looks like a woman’s handwriting—small, neat, lots of curlicues. I know there’s a young woman working on the crew, but the probability that it’s Helen’s is high. And she’s marked something. Here.” He pointed at a location on the map.

“Let me see it, please.”

Abby took the map from him. It had real streets and real places, but they were sketched out cartoon-style. There was a checkmark on the map and in the border was written, “Meet here.”

“What do you think?”

Abby shook her head. “That isn’t any particular place, but there’s an old church nearby. It was deconsecrated years ago and was a restaurant and nightclub for a while. Right now, it’s just empty. A private restoration group bought it about a year ago, but they haven’t started working on it yet.”

“Interesting,” he murmured.

“But you thought people were being snatched on the river,” Abby said.

“I do believe the victims are being taken out
to
the river. But...we have nothing that tells us where they’re being taken
from.
They’re dying on it, yes—but how are they getting there?”

“Rupert Holloway was supposed to be meeting friends right here at the riverfront,” she reminded him.

“Yes, but no one saw him here. Or, even if he
was
taken down here, it doesn’t mean the women were kidnapped on the river. Can we go there? You know this part of the city.”

“Of course we can go there. But that precise area is just the sidewalk,” Abby said. “Except that...well, I could talk to Roger. He knows Savannah even better than I do. Maybe he can see something that I’m not seeing.”

“Tell me more about Roger.”

“Like I said, he’s a friend from high school. I’m positive he’s not a suspect. If he were going to kill anyone, it would be over a prime role in a pirate movie or in an argument on the history of Savannah. Roger, well, I’ve known him all my life. And I can’t see him taking any...any physical trophies. He passed out at school when we were donating blood during an emergency blood drive.”

Malachi’s phone rang, and he answered it. “David,” he told her.

“Yes,” he went on, “we’re down in the magazine. Coming up. We’ll leave it to your fine crew now, my friend.” He ended the call.

“Investigators are here. They can finish. I think we might have found something useful. He folded the map and put it in his pocket.

“You’re not going to give it to the cops?” she asked him.

“I’ll tell David the location, and he can send a car to check it out. I say we leave the rest of this to the experts and head back. I might have a surprise for you,” he added.

“You know, I’m not really in the mood for surprises. I have had the longest two days in history.”

He smiled slowly. Abby realized she was getting to like that smile; she was even coming to understand his strange ways. He could be unerringly polite, especially when someone else was acting like an idiot, and manage to get what he needed. He gave information out, but held on to what he felt he needed. Close to him, alone down in the magazine, she was aware of how attractive he was. Old-fashioned courtesy, combined with rugged masculinity, would make him appealing to most women.

Maybe she was one of them.

She stepped back. She tried to remind herself that he’d made a fool of her a few times, and yet...he’d seemed so puzzled that she’d felt that way.

“I’ll talk to David as we leave. Let’s get back to the Dragonslayer.” He looked at his watch. “It’s after nine now. I’m ready for that drink Dirk suggested. And I won’t be driving to my hotel. I can easily walk, but I won’t have to. I’m sure I can catch a ride.”

“Malachi!”

They heard his name shouted. He stepped past her and hurried up to the deck. As she followed him, he turned back for her, helping her make the hop-over to the dock. David was at the gate with a five-man crew of investigators, and they walked down to meet him, opening the gate to allow them all entrance before handing him the key.

“Anything?” David asked.

“No blood or guts,” Malachi said, waiting until David’s team went by.

When they had, he said, “We found a map. May or may not have been Helen’s.” He produced it and showed David. “You might want a man or two to check out the area.”

“That’s the middle of a sidewalk.”

“So Abby told me. But it is marked on the map,” Malachi said. “Okay if I hang on to this?” When David nodded, he folded it, returning it to his pocket.

“There may be something in the area—a restaurant, someplace Helen might’ve gone to meet someone,” Abby explained. “And, actually, it could have been anyone’s map, but since we’re grasping at straws here...”

She let her voice fade. David shook his head, lowering it. “Yeah. We are grasping at straws, but we need to grasp quickly.”

“That’s why I suggested searching the
Black Swan
—tonight,” Malachi said.

“But then you beat me to it.”

“We haven’t got the forensic talents to find what your crew might,” Malachi told him. “We just did a run-through. After all, we already spent hours on the ship.”

“Hmm. I’m reconsidering the map. How about handing it over?” David asked.

Malachi smiled serenely. “What map? Do you have a map, Abby? Did I mention a map? Lousy memory,” he said.

David looked at Abby. She looked at Malachi, who guilelessly returned her stare.

“I don’t have a map,” she said.

David groaned. “Yeah, okay. You hold on to it, Malachi. See what vibes or whatever it gives you.” He wagged a finger. “You should be grateful, my freelancing friend, that I’ve seen you in action before and that I’m willing to turn a blind eye to the way you ignore procedure. So,
X
marks the spot. I’ll send a car tonight. And they’ll call me and say that I sent them to stare at the middle of a sidewalk.”

“Probably. But it’s worth a shot, right? Call me if there’s anything.”

“Yes, I will,” David said. “And you do the same.”

“Let’s go back to the Dragonslayer, Abby,” Malachi suggested. “Let the detective get on with his work.”

As they headed to the tavern, David called after him. “Don’t forget. Call if you discover anything!”

“You know it,” Malachi called back.

He kept walking; he had long strides, but Abby kept up with him. “Are you running for that drink you said you need?” she asked.

“What? Oh, sorry. I was just thinking.”

“Yes?”

“We should call your friend. The tour-guide-slash-mapmaker, Roger English. It’s his map Helen had.”

“You can pick up that map at any souvenir store in the city.”

“Still, it’s his map. We’ll have him show us around the city.”

“I know the city!”

“You said you didn’t know it like he does.”

“True,” she agreed. “Roger’s always been a fanatic, obsessed with the city.” She smiled. “Gus occasionally let him stay at the Dragonslayer, just because he loved it so much.”

“Can you call him?”

“Of course, but I might not need to. He hangs around the Dragonslayer after his tours sometimes. They end around nine.”

“Good.”

Malachi opened the door to the tavern for her. Once they’d stepped inside, he walked up to Grant Green, on duty at the host stand as night manager. Trying to keep an eye on him, Abby went to the bar where Dirk was, as usual, seated between his two old friends, Bootsie and Aldous.

“Anything?” he asked her anxiously.

“Not that we could find, Dirk, but the police are there now.”

“Yes, I told Detective Caswell that I was happy for him to search,” Dirk said.

“I keep telling him we’re going to find her.” Bootsie yawned. “Hate to leave you, my friend, but I am
old.
”

“I’m fine,” Dirk told him.

“I can stay a bit longer,” Aldous said. “Hell, twenty years ago, I could’ve sat up all night.”

“Good, you have another drink with him, Aldous. I need to get some sleep. Good night, all.” Bootsie left, his peg leg making a little thump with every other step.

Dirk should have been bleary-eyed, considering the amount of time he’d spent in the bar that day, but he seemed to be all right. Abby cast a glance at Sullivan and raised her brows. Sullivan inclined his head with a secretive smile; that was his way of telling her that he’d promised Dirk the Dragonslayer would be picking up his drinks that day—and then Sullivan had watered them down to keep Dirk from keeling off his bar stool.