"Gabriella Banker. She was eight years old," he said. "After weeks of searching, Sheriff Nash eventually found her at the bottom of a dried up well on an abandoned homestead. The fall hadn't killed her. But…" His voice broke. "It appeared to be a combination of injuries sustained from her fall, and thirst.”
"Was a post mortem performed?"
"It was an accident." He looked puzzled. "Do you always suspect foul play, Miss Amsel?"
"Given the long and brutal history of humankind, is there any reason why I shouldn't?"
"A misanthropist."
Isobel did not deny it.
"A dislike of rotted wood would be more appropriate in this circumstance. The cover broke, and Gabby slipped through. Nash took it as a personal failure, but it was miles from where she was supposed to be."
"Where was the homestead?"
"Along the Oat Hill Road."
"What was a little girl doing all the way out there?"
"I could ask what a woman was doing climbing the Palisades."
Isobel arched a brow. "Fair enough," she conceded. "But you didn't answer my question."
"I don't know the answer. Everyone assumed she got lost."
As they approached the jailhouse, a wail broke through the brick, followed by a shout, "Where's the boy?"
"Dear God," Julius said.
Isobel ground her teeth together, and quickened her pace. "Small wonder Nash blamed himself if he used these same methods," she hissed.
Isobel shoved the door open.
Guttural, choking sounds answered.
Deputy Sharpe made to intercept her, but she ducked under his arm and slipped past his reach. He drew his revolver, but she ignored him. Nash stood in a cell with Samuel. He had the man by the collar. Blood ran down Samuel's nose and his teeth were stained red.
"Sheriff Nash!" Isobel barked.
Nash paused, glanced at her, and swore under his breath. He lowered his fist, and released Samuel. The man scrambled to the farthest corner, and curled into a whimpering ball.
Nash stepped out of the cell, and slammed the door. He crossed his arms over his chest.
"I would like to speak with Samuel. Alone," Isobel said.
"Get back to your asylum," Nash warned.
Isobel held up her shackled wrists. "You forgot to remove these."
"I will. When you get back where you belong—the crazy house."
"No great mind has ever existed without a touch of madness," Isobel quoted Aristotle.
"Sharpe. Get her out of here."
Isobel put her back to the bars. "Sheriff Nash, I realize you have a chip on your shoulder the size of the Palisades, but don't let your ego get in the way of finding Titus."
"I don't need your help."
"Clearly your fists aren't garnering results."
Nash curled that fist.
"Are you going to strike me? A woman in handcuffs?"
"You ain't no lady."
"I'm glad we agree on something."
Nash clenched his jaw. “Leave. Now.”
Isobel took a step towards Nash, and looked him in the eye. "I can help," she said softly.
"I don't want your help," Nash said, taking out a key.
"Knowing what happened to little Gabby, would you have accepted my help last year?"
His eye twitched. And he grabbed the chain connecting her wrists, twisted, and wrenched the second cell door open. Sheriff Nash shoved her inside, and slammed the door on her heels.
"Sheriff!" Julius protested.
"Don't try me, Bright. You can pick her up in the morning. I think a night in a real cell will remind her what she is—a convicted criminal."
Julius Bright drew himself up to his full height. Whatever he had been about to do or say, Isobel would never know. He briefly closed his eyes and took a breath. When he opened them, he was the image of civility. Had she imagined that flash of rage?
"I understand," Julius said. "But I'm responsible for Miss Amsel's care and rehabilitation. If she comes to any harm under your roof, I'll hold you responsible."
"Rehabilitation?" Nash glanced at her. "The only place she'll ever be headed is somewhere other than heaven. When you come tomorrow, bring John Sheel. I want him to identify that man." Nash grabbed his hat, tossed the key on a desk, and called over his shoulder, "Sharpe, watch them. I'll be looking for the boy."
When the door slammed, Julius deflated. With a sigh, he started for Samuel's cell.
“Keep away from there," Sharpe called, with gun in hand.
"I'm a doctor. Surely you'll allow me to tend his wounds."
Sharpe sucked on a tooth as he fingered the trigger. "I'm locking you in there with him. It's on your shoulders."
"Fine."
Sharpe unlocked the cell, and closed the door when Julius stepped inside. Isobel watched as the doctor crouched beside the whimpering man. With soft words and patience, Samuel uncurled, long enough to let Julius wipe away the blood. "I don't suppose you have ice?" Julius called to the deputy.
"Sure. Soon as he tells us what he's done with that boy."
Julius looked to Samuel, but as soon as Sharpe had raised his voice, Samuel had curled back into his ball.
"Sammy," Julius said softly. "What happened?"
Only a whimper.
"Whatever happened, I know it was an accident. You can tell me," Julius urged. He smoothed back the man's hair. Like a parent would with a child, but the only word Samuel slurred was the name of his dead dog.
Eventually, Julius asked to be let out of the cell. "Your sheriff has sent his only witness into shock."
"He's doing his job."
"May I speak with Miss Amsel?"
Sharpe shrugged, and went back to his desk. He positioned the chair so he could watch both cells.
Isobel moved to the bars, and curled her fingers around the rough iron.
"I didn't tell you about Gabriella's death so you could wield it like a weapon," Julius whispered.
"A good slap can do wonders under the right circumstances."
"Your verbal blow landed you in jail. You dig and you dig, Miss Amsel. One day someone will strike back."
Isobel cocked her head. "One day?" She laughed. "More like daily. Isn't reaction what you strive for, Doctor? Do you recall our last talking session?"
"You have a way of needling under a person's skin."
"Your skin?"
"You do it intentionally," Julius said.
"And you don't?" she asked.
"Only when necessary."
"Precisely, Doctor. I'll not tiptoe around Nash's fragile ego when there's a child's life at stake."
"Well, congratulations. You stampeded yourself right into jail."
"It seemed the only way I'd get to speak with Samuel. I'm hoping Nash will be less inclined to beat him to a pulp when I'm present."
Julius blinked. "You did this on purpose?"
"Of course I did." She glanced at Samuel. "I figure he'll calm down eventually. What's the best way to communicate with him?"
It took a moment for Julius to recover from his surprise. "Be patient and gentle. The more you press him the more agitated and incoherent he'll get. But even at best, he can only manage a few words."
Isobel nodded. Small wonder the man had responded so well to Riot.
"Perhaps you can make peace with Sheriff Nash while you're in here," Julius said.
"I've never heard such cheerful sarcasm."
"More like delusional optimism. Are you sure you haven't wronged him in some way?"
"If I did it was in another life. There doesn't need to be a reason. I'm well used to men like him. Most men despise me because I'm not demure."
"That's just the thing. James Nash doesn't usually behave like this. But then, you do have a way with men." Julius gripped the bars. "Will you be all right in there? Shall I get your parents? They can summon an attorney."
"It's only for a night," she replied, brushing off his concern.
"Unless you keep needling the sh
eriff."
"Then you have my permission to call the cavalry."
"Have you done this before, Miss Amsel?"
"Been arrested? Plenty of times."
Julius shook his head. "Searched for a missing child."
"I have. And I assure you it's not a game to me."
"I wasn't implying—"
"You were thinking it."
Julius caught himself. "What can I do?"
"Bring John Sheel in the morning."
"You didn't tell the sheriff about the bullet in Bebé."
Isobel looked to Sharpe, who was sitting at his desk, spinning the chamber of his revolver. "Nash is too thick-headed to put a puzzle together."
"Anger isn't stupidity."
"But it blinds. And that's something Titus Sheel can't afford."
16
Sisters
RIOT
Hat in hand, Atticus Riot climbed the steps to his room. The house was quiet, and it was late. He turned up the gas, but the light did little to chase away the emptiness. Riot hung his hat on its hook, removed coat, collar and tie, and unbuckled his holster. He wrapped the leather around his revolver and set it on the nightstand. It was an instant signal to his body to relax, but it didn't work tonight.
As he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled them up, he gazed at the empty bed. Perfectly made. Untouched. A flash of tangled sheets, limbs, and the rake of nails down his back made him take a sharp breath. He ran his fingers over the bedspread, and bent, putting his nose to her pillow. Fresh linens, washed and sun-dried. Not a hint of Isobel remained.
For a man who had spent his life sleeping alone, it was hard to sleep without her now. He'd travel to Napa Valley tomorrow. Responsibilities be damned. There were other detectives. Other agencies.
Sudden shouting shattered his conviction. High-pitched insults in English and Cantonese flew through the walls. Riot cocked an ear, wincing at the words. Should he intervene? The shouting cut off, and a crash pounded the floorboards. The decision was made for him.
Riot shot towards the spare bedroom. Without knocking, he shoved the door open in time to see Jin bring her fist down on Sarah's face. He rushed forward, glass crunching under his feet, and pulled the girls apart. A flurry of kicks, fists, and growls convinced him he had taken hold of a wildcat.
"Jin!" The sharp order was intended to slap sense into her, but it only sparked terror. A foot connected with his shin, and he narrowly deflected an elbow aimed at his crotch. Riot wrenched the girl's arms behind her back, bodily picked her up, and sat her on the bed.
A string of Cantonese curses left her lips, followed by a growl, "I hate Sarah!"
"I hate you more!" Sarah yelled back.
Jin tensed, ready to spring.
"Stay," he ordered. Both girls froze. With a sweep of his eyes he took in Jin's swollen eye, Sarah's bloody nose, and the shredded bits of paper that littered the floor around an overturned dressing table. Its mirror was broken. The girls weren't wearing shoes. He picked Sarah off the floor, and deposited her on the bed opposite.
Riot gently palpated her nose. She winced, but no bones crackled. He grabbed a hand towel from the floor. "Hold your head back, and pinch your nose with this." He turned to the glaring girl. "How's your eye?"
"I'm not a weakling," Jin spat.
"You still bruise." With one hand, he held Jin's head still as he examined that glare. Sarah had a strong right hook. "Do either of you have glass in your feet?"
The girls checked their feet, and shook their heads. He tossed slippers at them. "I want both of you to go down to the kitchen and put some ice on your injuries."
The girls did not argue. Jin stomped out the door, but Sarah hesitated, tears shimmering in her eyes. "I'm sorry…"
Riot held up a hand. "Downstairs. Now."
When they had both exited, Riot turned to the mess and took a slow, calming breath. The floor was littered with Sarah's art supplies, shredded paper, and glass. He picked up her sketch book and laid it on one of the beds. A page had been torn out. That page was currently scattered on the floor. He gathered the torn strips and laid them out one by one, piecing together a puzzle. A face took shape, and Riot sighed. He knew what had sparked the fight.
Sarah sat at the kitchen counter. Alone. But not entirely. The commotion had roused Miss Lily. She wore a dressing robe over her nightgown, and a cap on her head. "Jin bolted out the back door."
Riot nodded, unsurprised.
Lily glanced at Sarah, and clucked her tongue. "If I'd known there'd be a prizefight tonight, I would have ordered a slab of meat."
"It was the spontaneous sort," Riot said easily.
"Fights usually are. I have plenty of chores that need doing tomorrow if you're looking for a cure for their idleness."
"I'll send them your way."
After Lily sauntered out of her kitchen, Riot pulled out a chair. He studied the girl across the table. She had a cheesecloth full of ice pressed to her nose. Wisps of hair stuck out in all directions, and her lips were pressed together. The longer he regarded Sarah in silence, the more tears threatened.
"Would you like to tell me what happened?" he finally asked.
Sarah mumbled something. With ice pressed to her nose, it took him a moment to decipher. "Jin ran away."
"I can see that, but her absence doesn't change my question."
"I don't especially want to answer."
Riot gathered the strips of torn paper from his pocket and laid them out, smoothing the creases. Sarah's lips trembled.
"You threw the first punch," he said quietly.
"Jin tore that page from my sketchbook!" Sarah said. Her words were so forceful that a fresh well of blood gushed from her nose. She hastily pinched her nose closed again.
Riot slid the last torn piece of the puzzle in place, and the sketch came to life. A pencil drawing of Sao Jin. Only she was transformed. The creases of rage and distrust were smoothed, and in their place was a small, sleeping child. Sarah had teased the truth out of a muse. Stark, detailed, and painfully honest. In sleep, that ever so vulnerable state, Jin's features were relaxed, her lashes brushed skin, and she looked little more than a babe. Save for the scars. Vivid and harsh, they slashed across the cherub-like face. The picture's honesty twisted Riot's heart.
"All I did was sketch her, and she turned into a wildcat."
"You mean she ripped this sketch out of your book and tore it up?"
Sarah set her teeth. "Seemed crazy to me."
"So you punched her."
Sarah slumped, defeated. "I don't know what came over me," she muttered.
Riot leaned forward and reached for her hand. "Do you know why she ripped this up?"
Sarah lifted a shoulder. "'Cause it was no good?"
"Because you have a gift. You have a way of seeing through the masks people wear."
Her brows drew together. "I just draw things as I see them. I don't mean anything by it."
"I know you don't, Sarah. But for some it's hard to take a good, long look in a mirror. And your drawings reveal far more than any reflection. That's a difficult thing to swallow."
Sarah studied the torn paper. "I thought she looked…" She hesitated. "Delicate while she was sleeping. Nothing like her usual, ill-tempered self."
"She's vulnerable here." He tapped the paper. "And for someone like Jin that's dangerous." As well as for himself. Riot had never rested easy. To sleep in the same room with another was to trust that person. He could count on one hand the number of people he had shared a room with, and only one of those had shared his bed while he slept. He could well imagine his own discomfort at finding a drawing of himself like this.
Sarah looked thoughtful. "I won't draw her again."
"Ask first next time." Riot squeezed her hand. "In the meantime, make sure you help Miss Lily with chores tomorrow."
"But we were set to visit Isobel at Bright Waters."
Riot climbed to his feet. "We were. But you have some penance to do tomorrow, and a room to clean to
night."
"But Jin started—" One look at Riot, and she fell silent. "Yes, sir." Without a backward glance, Sarah pushed away from the table, snatched up a broom, and stomped upstairs.
Riot frowned at the empty doorway. He felt a villain. As he walked out the back door to check for Jin, he marveled at how quickly his bachelor life had been turned upside down. And when he poked his head into Tobias's fort, any chance of a quiet night was shattered. Jin wasn't there, and the stash of clothes she kept was gone.
It appeared he wouldn't be on the train to Napa Valley either.
17
The Blind Sheriff
ISOBEL
Crickets sang to the silence, and an occasional burst of drunken revelry punctuated the night like a cymbal. Isobel had not moved. She sat on a hard cot and was strangely still, save for an occasional drag on her cigarette. Her mind hummed with thought.
Deputy Sharpe slumped in his chair. Asleep. And Samuel Lopez had quieted some time ago. Isobel snuffed her cigarette on the stone floor, and stood, working out kinks in her muscles. Night had fallen without word from Sheriff Nash. She hoped the searchers had found the boy. It would make her life easier. But she held out little hope. The details were troubling.
Isobel slid to the floor, and rested against the bars of Samuel's cage. He was curled in the corner, hands held protectively over his head. She called his name softly.
Samuel peeked at her through his fingers.
"I'm not hungry." She covered a tin plate with a handkerchief, and slid it sideways through the bars. Sharpe hadn't offered Samuel any food or water.
Samuel didn't move. But after a while the temptation was too much. He edged towards her bars, and reached for the bowl. Samuel ate quickly. He was a grown man with meat on his bones, who never forgot the pangs of starvation.
"Bebé?" he asked, as he licked his fingers clean.
"She's under her favorite tree."
His face lit up. Isobel didn't have the heart to tell him Bebé was under the ground. "Who shot her?" Isobel mimed pulling a trigger, and he flinched. "Do you understand?"
Samuel nodded.
The Devil's Teeth (Ravenwood Mysteries #5) Page 10
