The Night Is Alive (21 page)

“You don’t even have a name on this,” Roger told him.

“Doesn’t need it. You have my name. Call if you need me.”

Roger nodded and glanced wistfully toward Helen’s hospital room. The uniformed officer on duty by the door stood there with his arms crossed looking at Roger.

“I’m going,” Roger muttered, heading toward the elevator. “I guess I’ll check out the Dragonslayer.”

Malachi watched him leave. As he did, an elevator door down the hall opened and Kat stepped off. She tried to keep the doors from closing but she didn’t move quickly enough. She apologized to Roger, who mumbled something, pushed the call button and stood there, waiting.

Kat came down the hall. “Everything all right?” she asked Malachi.

Malachi nodded, still watching Roger. “I think Helen’s had all the visitors she can handle for the day,” he said.

“She has visitors in there now?”

“Jack and Blake—the pirate actors she works with on the
Black Swan.
”

“Ah. You let them in on purpose, I take it.”

“I did.”

“Suspects?”

“I don’t think so. I think they’re just friends. No ulterior motives. But we can’t be sure yet.”

“I’ll get the nurse to shoo them out. He’s a great guy and a major help. His name is Byron. He’ll do twelve-hour days—switching with Bruno, another nurse Jackson found here—and one who fits his name well,” Kat said.

Malachi nodded, keeping an eye on Roger, who continued to wait by the elevator. “Leave it to Jackson Crow,” he said, and smiled. “Did Will see or hear anything on board the
Black Swan?
” he asked.

“No, but he got along famously with Dirk,” Kat said. “And with his buddies, Bootsie and Aldous.”

“Is he back at the house on Chippewa now?”

“Spelling Angela on the cameras, yes.”

“I’d like him to follow Roger English,” Malachi said.

“You think
Roger
is responsible for all this?” Kat asked. “Isn’t he the one who’s going crazy looking for Bianca?”

“Yes and no. I don’t believe he’s a killer. But he’d be interesting to watch. He’s in love. And he knows the city. He may lead us someplace he suspects might be a haven for the killer. He may even have an idea he isn’t willing to share. He doesn’t feel any of us wants to find Bianca Salzburg with the same desperation he does.”

Kat pulled out her phone. Malachi waited while she put through the call to Will, who promised to get to the tavern quickly and start following Roger. Kat spoke for another minute or so and hung up.

“Jackson was about to call you. He’s at a place near the river called the Wulf and Whistle. It’s by that alley you told him about. He wants you to go there as soon as you can,” she said.

“We’re on it.” Malachi paused. “Kat, what do you think the killer is using to hack off fingers?”

“A very sharp object, one with some heft. He’s taking them cleanly.”

“So, maybe something like an old pirate’s boarding ax?”

“Could be,” Kat said.

“Thanks.”

Kat reached for the door to Helen Long’s room. “I’ll send Abby out—and sic Byron on our visitors.”

Soon after, Abby joined him in the hall.

“Helen is doing fine,” she said. “I told Roger we’d talked to her and that she’d given us everything that she could. I warned him not to push her.”

“I know. Come on. Jackson asked us to meet him at the Wulf and Whistle.”

“It’s in front of the alley our ghosts pointed out to us this morning.” Abby hesitated. “Malachi, what do you think she heard—aside from the music. If she was on the river, she might’ve heard the entertainment from any of the tourist boats. But the sound she heard, like a beat. She didn’t say it was drums, exactly, but something like that.”

Tap, tap, tap.

He didn’t know, but he felt he should. It was there, hidden somewhere in the back of his mind.

* * *

The Wulf and Whistle was in one of Savannah’s historic buildings; it had gone up about ten years before the yellow fever epidemic. Abby had been inside many times. Businesses owners in the city could be a tight group; what was good for the city was good for everyone, and Gus had been close with the people he saw as his colleagues rather than competitors. Right now, the restaurant and bar was owned by Samuel Mason, who lived in Florida. His manager, however, was Steve Rugby, a man in his mid-forties who ran the place with friendly ease. Abby had always liked Steve and the Wulf and Whistle.

When the building had first gone up, it had been a tavern with apartments above it.

It was still a tavern with apartments above it. Peanuts were served in shells, the walls were decorated with old advertisements and the feel of the establishment was warm and congenial.

As soon as they entered, the hostess directed Abby and Malachi down to the rum cellar. Once, it had probably housed little more than rum. Now, it still held the old casks, but there were also endless rows of wine, and cases and stacks of fine bourbons, whiskeys, rums, gins and other alcohol, too.

Steve, a barrel-chested balding man, was there with Jackson Crow, David Caswell and a number of other officers. The shelves had been removed from one wall and Steve had been showing the police and Jackson a section of that wall.

Jackson and David hailed Abby and Malachi when they arrived.

“We sent some officers out on a door-to-door,” Jackson explained. “And Steve called to tell us about the tunnel.”

“So there
is
a tunnel here?” Abby asked. “I never knew about this one, either!”

Steve joined the conversation. “None of us knew about it. We did some renovations down here about three months ago,” he said. “When we did, we had engineers in—you know, you have to make sure these old places are safe. Anyway, they were looking at the pilings and found that we had a false wall here. They knocked it down. My assistant did some research for me, and we’re putting the info on our new menus,” he added proudly. “The owner during the War Between the States was a heartfelt abolitionist, and this place was a stop on the Underground Railroad. Anyway, they must have kept the entrance hidden behind rum casks back then. And by the time we got to it, the false walls had been painted over again and again. But, like I was showing the police, we had our entrance here sealed as part of the renovation.”

It might have been sealed before, Abby thought, but not anymore. The police had taken sledgehammers to it.

Now, a dark hole gaped before them, running beneath the earth. The artificial light from the cellar faded into the far reaches. David Caswell held a large searchlight and started moving slowly into the dank tunnel.

“Shall we?” Jackson asked, pulling out a flashlight, as well.

Abby felt Malachi’s hand on the small of her back as he guided her forward.

Light played over the walls of the tunnel. There were places where the earth had fallen in and other places where plaster or wooden walls remained to shore it up.

They walked for about fifty feet and came to a dead end.

Jackson, David and Malachi tapped on the solid wall of earth they’d reached, listening for a hollow sound that would indicate the tunnel had been blocked but continued. Malachi used the end of his light to dig at the earth. He hit more earth.

They tried, moving along, casting the light in different directions, tapping and searching, but an hour later, they remained frustrated.

“Nothing,” Jackson said. “I could’ve sworn there’d be something,”

“Me, too,” David Caswell agreed.

“We can get some engineers down here tomorrow,” Jackson said, “and see if we’re missing anything. For now...”

“For now we have to give it up?” Abby asked.

“An engineer will uncover what we can’t,” Malachi told her.

“Right.” Abby felt deflated; she’d been so certain they’d find
something.

They trudged back out of the tunnel. Steve and the other officers remained in the cellar.

“We’ll call it a night and get someone in here tomorrow,” David announced.

Jackson stepped forward to thank Steve for all his help. “Hey, it’s my city,” Steve said. “And it tears at my heart to hear about the bad things that are happening. Whatever I can do...”

“Sorry about wrecking the wall,” Jackson reminded him.

“Easy to fix,” Steve assured them. “Don’t worry about it.”

They left, going up to the tavern and out to the street, where David, Jackson, Malachi and Abby stood together, looking at one another.

They resembled kids who’d been playing in the mud, Abby thought. “Well,” David said with a wry grin. “Time to hit the showers.”

“Bianca Salzburg hasn’t surfaced, has she?” Abby said. It wasn’t really a question.

Bianca, her disappearance, had to be the reason for tonight’s exertions.

“No,” David admitted. “She’s still missing.”

“He has her,” Abby said.

David turned to Jackson. “We traced her cell phone. The signal disappeared somewhere around here. That’s why we needed to tear everything up at the restaurant. But I have men on the riverfront. We might go broke on overtime, but we’re leaving nothing unturned. We have police vessels out on the river and the coast guard, too. We’re doing everything we possibly can.”

Abby nodded. “But—”

“We have to quit for tonight,” Jackson said decisively. “Everyone needs to sleep.”

They wished one another a good night. Then Abby and Malachi returned to the Dragonslayer.

Grant Green was at the desk when they walked in. “My God!” he said, staring at the two of them, mouth agape. Guests were still having dinner in the dining rooms; a few people—along with the trio of Bootsie, Aldous and Dirk—were at the bar. Grant hurried around the host stand to meet them. “What have you been
doing?
”

“Playing in the dirt,” Abby said facetiously.

“Okay, never mind.” Grant sighed. “How’s Helen?”

“Doing well.”

“What about the other girl? The one Roger was seeing?” Grant asked.

“No one knows yet,” Malachi told him.

“That—that bastard!” Grant sputtered. “He takes a new one the minute he...loses one. Can’t you stop him?”

“We
will
stop him,” Malachi said.

“Are you getting any closer?”

No!
Abby wanted to scream.
How is he doing this? How is he eluding this kind of manhunt?

“I believe we are,” Malachi responded. “Thanks to Abby, one girl is alive. And with the police prowling the river now and all the searches taking place out there...he’ll be caught.”

“Soon, I hope!” Grant said.

“Every criminal makes a mistake at some point,” Malachi insisted. “That’s when we’ll get him.”

“Uh, you might want to clean up first,” Grant said, looking pointedly at Abby.

“I’m going upstairs now. Oh, Grant, can you ask the chef to make us something to eat?” she asked. “You can send it up—”

“Or,” Malachi interrupted, “we can eat at the bar. Join Dirk, Bootsie and Aldous.”

“Okay,” Abby said. “But first, a shower.”

Malachi came with her, but didn’t seem to notice that she was shrugging out of her muddy clothing as they entered the apartment. He repeated his inspection, making sure no one was inside, under the beds, in the closets. He headed back to the bank of computer screens to watch what was going on in the restaurant.

Abby cleared her throat. “I’m hopping in the shower,” she told him.

He nodded; he didn’t even glance up. So much for her appeal.

Hot water had seldom felt so good. Well, other than the night before, after she’d plunged into the river...

It felt sensuously good. Despite everything they were frantically doing in their desperate new search to find another young woman, she wished Malachi would join her.

She almost
needed
him.

She pictured him walking into the bathroom, stripping off his clothing, imagined the sleek feel of his naked flesh and his hands on her breasts.

But he didn’t come in.

She emerged, feeling a little embarrassed. When she returned to the living room area, having donned jeans and a T-shirt to head back down for dinner, Malachi was still studying the screens, fixated on them. But he immediately sensed her standing behind him.

“The soap... You smell wonderful,” he told her. There was a husky note in his voice and a darkening in the hazel of his eyes as he watched her; it made her knees tremble.

“You would’ve been welcome to join me,” she said.

He smiled, an ironic twist to his lips. “I had to know that this apartment was safe.”

She smiled. He stood and started to touch her but drew back. “Go down and join our friends at the bar. Try to casually find out what they’ve been doing all day.”

She wanted to argue with him. Bootsie, Dirk and Aldous—these men were bulwarks in her life. They couldn’t be guilty of anything. Will Chan had been watching Dirk and the
Black Swan.
Bootsie was old. Aldous...

Aldous was healthy and fit—and not all that old. He’d always looked like a pirate with his gleaming bald head and single gold earring.

He had money. Enough money to do whatever he wanted. His business was a shipping company; he had ships and boats at his disposal.

She didn’t say anything, but Malachi gave her another rueful smile. “I see your mind working,” he said.

“Aldous?” she asked.

He nodded.

“I’m sure your FBI friends have checked out everything they possibly can on him. As far as I know, he’s never even had a parking ticket.”

His grin deepened at that. “Hey,
you’re
the one who’s actually a fed at the moment,” he reminded her.

Abby rolled her eyes. “I’ll be downstairs,” she said, and left him in the apartment. She was grateful to see that Grant had ordered dinner for her and Malachi. Two covered plates were set on the bar, next to Bootsie. Aldous was sitting between him and Dirk.

Abby kissed the three of them on the cheek, hitched herself onto the bar stool beside Bootsie’s and took the cover off her food. Chicken potpie. It smelled wonderful.

“You doing okay?” Bootsie asked her, his eyes grave.

“I’m just feeling sick that this killer may have taken another young woman,” she said.