The driver who’d brought him from the station house waited at the bottom of the hill. Sunlight glinted off the windscreen of the black motorcar and the wire-spoke wheels. Gabe still preferred buggies, but the chief was determined to replace all the horse-drawn vehicles the department owned with automobiles. He and Jack ambled downhill, neither of them in any hurry to overtake the procession of stretchers.
“This letter isn’t exactly like the others, Jack.” Gabe’s hand strayed to his pocket, touching the bulk of handkerchief and envelope inside, mindful of the letters addressed to Captain Matthew Ryan in his father’s files. “He addressed this one to me.”
“A mash note then, like the letters you told me about.” Jack tugged off his plaid cap, beating the hat against his leg with each step. “It’s been almost thirty years since your pop got those letters, Gabe. This can’t be the same.”
“It isn’t the same.” Unlike his father, he didn’t have a wife and baby to threaten for one. The fire took Victoria and his unborn child from him. He didn’t have anything left worth losing. Gabe opened the car door and waved Jack inside. “Thirty years is too long. But it tells me this man is still a step ahead and knows more about us than we know about him. Frankly, that gives me the willies.”
The car jerked away from the curb, gears whining as the driver followed the twisting road that led off the base and back into the city. Gabe leaned his head back and tipped his hat over his eyes. Thinking, trying to put the puzzle together.
“Gabe, I still haven’t said anything to Sadie.” Leather seats and springs creaked under Jack’s weight. “If this man knows as much as you think … Should I be worried about Sadie and her family?”
He lifted the brim of the hat and looked his partner in the eye. “I’ll assign some men to watch the house and keep an eye on things. I can’t force an escort on her, but if Sadie consents I can assign officers to take her shopping or anyplace she needs to go. Talk to her. See if you can get her to agree.”
“How much should I tell her?”
Gabe thought of Victoria and pulled the hat back over his eyes. “Tell her all of it and put the fear of this man into her. Do whatever it takes to get Sadie to agree to police protection.”
Knowing his men were watching over Sadie would let him sleep better. He didn’t want to see the empty, wounded look in Jack’s eyes if anything happened to her.
He saw that look in the mirror every morning. That was enough.
Delia
The front room of the dressmaker’s shop was stifling. Fanning myself with one of the brochures on the showroom table moved little air and did less to relieve the heat. I’d suffocate before Sadie emerged from the dressing suite.
I’d left my chair once to open the front door, hoping to let in some air, but the plump clerk behind the counter shut me in again immediately.
“We can’t leave the door open, Miss.” She eased the door closed, a faint touch of disapproval in her smile. Her square hands were smaller than mine, nails trimmed short to keep from snagging the fabrics, and pale against the dark wood frame. “Mademoiselle says the moisture is bad for the silks. And you never know who might come wandering in that don’t belong. Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Yes, that would be nice. Thank you.” I’d settled in my chair again, resigned to waiting on Sadie’s pleasure.
Telling the girl that I didn’t belong here would only confuse her. This was the fourth shop we’d visited in two days and the fourth to prove I still lacked Sadie’s sense of style and fashion. I was adrift in a sea of swatches, pearl buttons and bobbin lace, following where she led.
Shadow stood near me, hands pressed to her stomach and eyes all too aware. The shawl she’d worn since coming to me was tied around her waist, as if the ghost found the room too warm as well. A silly notion, but she continued to change from the silent spirit I’d known for six months. Closeness to home and the life ripped away from her had to be the reason why.
She watched buggies and motorcars pass on the street with great interest, studied the faces of people walking past the windows and the few women who came into the shop. Looking for someone, perhaps searching for a face she knew.
Ghosts mingled with the people on the sidewalk, going about their business as they had in life. Whalers from San Francisco’s earliest days, Russian fur traders and troopers dressed in Civil War garb, they all took turns walking through the two women chatting outside the window. Some areas of the city were thick with restless dead and in others I never saw a spirit. None but my personal ghost. She never left me for long.
I watched Shadow, mulling over my nightmare and trying to understand what she wanted from me. What I’d learned in the dream brought me no closer to solving the puzzle she represented. Knowing how she’d died didn’t tell me how she’d lived or who she was in life. The need to discover all I could about her was growing stronger, becoming a compulsion. I didn’t know if that desire came from the ghost or from inside me.
Accepting that the ghost was real and haunting me was hard enough; that she might be influencing my thoughts made me uncomfortable. All that kept me from contemplating the possibility of insanity was that Esther had seen her too.
The door to the dressing suite swung open and Sadie finally appeared. Tears filled my eyes and I forgave all the waiting. She’d never looked more beautiful.
Sadie stepped up onto a round platform centered in front of a wall lined with mirrors. Mademoiselle Fouche shook out the full silk skirts of the wedding dress, settling the lace overlay into place. Long organdy sleeves reached her wrists. Lace appliqués, roses and lilies, and tiny pearls covered the silk bodice. The fabrics were a soft cream, not stark white, and set off Sadie’s coloring perfectly.
“What do you think, Dee?” She grinned and twirled round once, a curly-haired kewpie doll with roses blooming in her cheeks.
“I think Jack will faint dead away when he sees you in that dress.” I went to stand near Sadie and gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Trailing behind from shop to shop was worth seeing her so radiant. “Be sure to warn the best man. He’ll need to be ready.”
Mademoiselle set a matching silk cap and lace veil on Sadie’s head. She stepped back, smiling broadly and obviously pleased. “There. You will be a most beautiful bride, Miss Larkin. A few small alterations and it will be as if the dress was made just for you. I can have it ready for you within the month. Excuse me while I write up the order and prepare the bill.”
The dressmaker disappeared into the back room, leaving Sadie to preen. She fussed with the neckline, head tipped to the side and eyeing the fit of the bodice with a practiced eye. “This is excellent work. The girl who ordered the dress canceled at the last minute. Mademoiselle Fouche is letting me have it for half of the original price.” She twirled again so that the skirt floated around her, gleeful and happy. “It’s perfect, Dee! There couldn’t be a more perfect dress.”
Shadow left her place near the windows. The ghost glided in slow circles around the platform, eyes fixed on Sadie. She extended a hand to brush the full skirt, fingers passing through lace and silk without stirring the fabric.
Sadie never noticed. The ghost looked to me, her eyes begging for me to understand.
“What’s wrong?” Sadie squeezed my hand. Her gleeful look was gone. “Is Shadow here?”
“Shadow is always here.” I managed a smile and steered the conversation to safer ground. “I’ve been home for three days now. When do I get to meet this fiancé of yours? I’m beginning to think you made him up.”
She laughed. Mentioning Jack was all it took to make her happy again. “You’ll meet him tonight. Jack and his partner Gabe are coming to escort us to the fair. We’ll have supper out and then see the sights. The four of us will have a marvelous time.”
“Scheming are you?” I folded my arms over my chest and peered up at her sternly, determined to look cross. “It won’t work you know. It never has.”
“Delia Ann Martin, I’m hurt. Scheming is the
furthest thing from my mind.” She fiddled with the veil and pouted prettily. Pouting always worked on her beaus and admirers, and no doubt Jack was helpless in the face of her trembling lip. I was made of sterner stuff. “Gabe Ryan is Jack’s best man. You’d have to meet him sometime before the wedding. I thought the four of us could have a bit of fun tonight while you got to know each other. What’s the harm in that?”
“No harm at all. Not if a bit of fun’s all you’ve planned.” Sadie would never admit to matchmaking or that her scheming was doomed to failure. “And meeting Mr. Ryan means I can warn him about Jack fainting. He can begin planning his strategy for catching the groom.”
Sadie stepped off the platform and beamed at me, scenting victory. “Let me get changed and settle up with Mademoiselle. We can visit with Mama and tell her all about the dress before the boys call for us. This will be fun, Dee, I promise. You and Gabe will get along swimmingly.”
“Yes, great fun. I’m sure of it.” That I muttered to the closed door of the dressing suite didn’t matter. Sadie would heed my tone about as well as the door. “I’m sure Mr. Ryan has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.”
I shivered, suddenly chilled in the overheated room. Other ghosts, women dressed in evening finery, shopgirl frocks, or dancehall costumes that barely satisfied decency, shimmered into view atop the fitting platform. More ghosts appeared in the mirrors lining the wall, all standing and staring at me. Each spirit wore the stoic expression of my ghost, each mirrored Shadow’s waiting pose and the sorrow in her eyes. They all had secrets or obligations from life left undone, wrongs they needed set right before they could rest.
The weight of their need pinned me in place and I couldn’t speak, or turn away. All these lost souls wanted my help, as Shadow did, and left me with just as little idea of what they expected me to do.
The bell on the shop door jingled, announcing another customer, and the chipper voice of the dressmaker’s assistant greeted two older women. One by one the ghosts faded, releasing me and letting me breathe. I sat on one of the small chairs to wait for Sadie, fighting the need to curl over my knees and cry.
Shadow stood in her place by the window again, the shawl draped around her shoulders and one hand clutching the cross at her throat. She waited, patience personified.
CHAPTER 4
Gabe
Gabe leaned back in his creaky swivel chair, rocking and staring at the piece of blue stationery centered on his desk blotter. Imagining the letter taunting him to decipher what the killer’s message really meant wasn’t hard.
The precise handwriting in black ink matched the three letters sent to the newspaper. This letter was longer, two double-sided pages, but Gabe never questioned that it was written by the same man. The symbols on the bottom of the last page convinced him if nothing else.
Not knowing what the symbols meant bothered him. They might be nonsense, the meaningless creation of a deranged mind. That was the conclusion his father came to when he’d worked the letter murders case years ago, but Gabe wasn’t so sure. More than a hunch prodded him toward thinking he’d seen similar pictures before. Trying to remember when and where he’d encountered the symbols kept him awake at night.
The killer had repeated his demands to reprint all his letters on the front page of The Examiner and escalated his threat to hunt people on the Pan Pacific grounds. That was a sure way to start panic if word got out. The murderer had to know the mayor and the chief would never agree to publish any part of the letters. Gabe had a sick bet with himself that the killer was counting on that.
No trace of fingerprints appeared on either page or the inside of the envelope, but he hadn’t really expected to get that lucky. He’d found what he thought he’d find: raving that made little sense, threats and bragging, right down to the methodical detail of how the couple left in the Presidio cemetery were murdered.
All that set this letter apart was his name on the envelope, and that the killer laid the responsibility for the couple’s death, and any future victims, at Gabe’s feet.
That he wasn’t really to blame didn’t stop him from brooding.
Jack rapped on the half-open door to get Gabe’s attention. He held up a brown paper grocer’s sack. “Baxter and Henderson found something after we left. A lady’s handbag and a pair of shoes.”
“Come in and shut the door.” Gabe slipped the letter and envelope under the desk blotter. “Did they touch anything?”
“No, Henderson knows better. He looked inside the bag to see what was there and didn’t go any further. Baxter follows his lead.” Jack set the sack on the corner of the desk. “If we’re not careful the kid will have our jobs soon.”
“Marshall Henderson’s too smart to want our jobs.”
Gabe pulled two pairs of cotton gloves out of his desk and tossed a pair to Jack. The paper sack had been used before, worn and soft at the top from being rolled and creased. Oily stains that smelled faintly of sausage soaked one corner and partway up the side. The bag looked like trash, a discarded sack used to carry lunch once too often.
A black grease pencil had been used to draw the same symbol carved into the victim’s foreheads on one side. The killer’s calling card.
He pulled up the roller-shade on the window behind his desk. The sun would set soon, but the sunlight that remained brightened the desktop more than his lamp. “Where did they find this?”
Jack had laid sheets of clean typing paper over the dark green blotter, a trick they’d figured out years ago. Anything that dropped off the bag or the contents would show on the white surface. “Henderson dragged Baxter with him all the way to the edge of the Pan Pacific grounds. He made Baxter search around every headstone, bush, and park bench with him. They spotted the bag on top of a headstone near the boundary fence. Soon as Henderson saw the drawing, he knew the killer left it sitting in plain sight for them to find.”
Another message: catch me if you can.
Gabe gingerly lifted a small pair of brown leather shoes out of the sack. The straps on one shoe were broken, torn loose from the side and not unbuckled. A heel was missing from the other shoe, tossed into the bottom of the bag and rattling around. The shoes were clean, no mud or grass sticking to the soles or lodged in the straps. He set them on the paper and pulled out the handbag.
The square handbag was made of soft brown leather to match the shoes, framed at the top in etched brass. A round ball clasp in the center held the top closed, while a small hinge on each side let the metal frame pivot to open the bag. Two dime-sized rings mounted on the top corners of the metal frame anchored a short chain handle.
Gabe felt like a voyeur peering inside the dead woman’s purse. He tipped the bag up and emptied it onto the paper-covered desk. The scent of gardenias filled the office: her perfume. He inventoried the contents, ticking off what was left of a woman’s life. “A change purse, a comb, gloves with pearl buttons, a small bottle of cologne, and a lipstick. Nothing to tell us who she was.” He ran his hands along the inside and turned the handbag inside out. “There’s a pocket here.”
The flap was held closed with a small jet button. Gabe laid a mother-of-pearl calling card case and a tarnished silver compact on the desk with the rest of the woman’s things. He opened the compact to find face powder more than half-gone and a cracked mirror.
Inside the card case was a stack of embossed visiting cards, each with a small yellow rose printed on the bottom right corner. Flowery script spelled out Miss Elaine Meadows.
He held a card up for Jack to see. “Elaine Meadows. We’ll send some of the boys around to other station houses and see if anyone’s reported her missing. If we find her family maybe we’ll get a lead on the man with her.”
“You’re assuming the handbag and shoes belong to the woman we found this morning. I can’t believe identifying her is that easy. The murderer is just as likely to leave the belongings of a victim we haven’t found yet.” Jack emptied the coin purse onto the desk. “Streetcar tokens, about two dollars in
coin, and a house key. The number eighty-four is engraved on the key.”
“That’s a start. If no one filed a missing person’s report I’ll send men out to start checking buildings numbered eighty-four.” Gabe scooped everything back into the handbag. Paper sack, handbag, and shoes went into the deep bottom drawer of his desk and were locked away. He remembered the letter and envelope under the blotter, and secured them with the rest. “How many can there be?”
“No more than one on every block. Shouldn’t take the squad more than a month to check them all. By then we’ll be hip-deep in bodies and no closer to catching him.” Jack stripped off the cotton gloves and dropped them in the drawer Gabe held open. “We should get moving if we want to get to Sadie’s on time.”
Gabe checked the office one last time, making sure all the file drawers and his desk were locked, and pulled the shade down over the window. He slipped on his coat and waved Jack toward the hall. “I can’t believe I agreed to this. Escorting Sadie’s friend to supper and the fair is above and beyond best man duties.”
Jack lounged against a wall, twirling his cap on two fingers while Gabe locked the office door. “You’d have to meet Delia sometime before the wedding. Might as well be tonight, Gabe. And it won’t kill you to leave that garret of yours for one evening. You spend too much time alone.”
“It’s not a garret. Mrs. Allen runs a perfectly respectable rooming house.”
“That she does. And you live in the smallest room on the top floor. I think that qualifies as a garret.” Jack gave him a sideways look. “It’s been nine years, Gabe. Time to rejoin the world.”
“So you’ve said before.” Buttoning his coat gave his hands something to do other than shake with memories of smoke and fire. Gabe took a breath. “One night at the fair won’t kill me. Just don’t expect this to become a habit. Whatever Sadie’s plotting won’t work.”
Jack’s eyes widened in mock horror and he put a hand to his chest, fingers splayed wide. “My girl? Plotting? Heaven forefend.”
Delia's Shadow Page 4
