The Night Is Alive koh-10

by Heather Graham

  “I’ll be speaking with the task force,” Jackson Crow said, “and we’ll compare notes later.”

  Abby got a piece of paper and wrote down the address of her house on the square. “There are a few things there—coffee in the freezer, dry creamer, but not much else. I went over one day last week, checking up on the place, and everything’s in order.” She hesitated, looking at the group. “I was thinking I’d rent it out again when I leave here to get my assignment.”

  “The rest of your family is gone?” Angela asked her.

  Abby nodded. “Yes, it was Gus and me for a while there,” she said.

  “I’m sorry.” Angela didn’t add that her grandfather had been old, and Abby was glad of it.

  “All right, then,” Jackson said, rising. “We’ll go to your house now.”

  “I haven’t stayed at the house in years, and it’s been empty for a while. Oh, it won’t be terrible—no moldy sheets or anything like that. They’re in the hall closet in sealed bags. I can come with you, to get you in, but—”

  “No need,” Malachi said. “You need to see if your tour-guide buddy is here.”

  Abby retrieved her house keys and handed them to Jackson.

  “We’ll see you both tomorrow. In the meantime, we’ll keep in contact on our cell phones,” he instructed. “And, like I said, we’re careful in this unit. That’s why we check out a situation, and then work in numbers when warranted. We’ll say good-night now.” Jackson Crow left a tip on the table. Abby started to dispute, to assure him she’d handle it.

  “Ah, well, the least we can do is reward our excellent server,” Jackson said.

  Abby nodded, and the group walked to the door. Malachi told her he’d pick up his bags at the hotel while the restaurant was still in full swing.

  When they were gone, she realized that Grant Green was standing right at her back. “Okay, give!” he said.

  “Give?”

  “A cool-looking, authoritative...mysterious group of people! So, who are they?”

  She couldn’t see any reason to lie to him. “FBI.”

  “I knew it!” he said. “I knew it.” Then he grew serious. “So they’re here to help? Thank God. I mean, bodies don’t usually pop up like that in this city. We have our criminal element, but who doesn’t? I’m glad they’ve— Oh, man, is it true? Do cops and FBI agents really not get along? Do the cops get resentful when the FBI is called in?”

  She smiled. “Grant, I have no idea. I’ve never been with a group that’s been called in. Actually, I haven’t been with a group at all. I was ready to be given an assignment...but then, well, Gus. And my superior back in Virginia told me to check in when I’d taken care of my family affairs.”

  “Keep me posted!” he told her.

  “I will,” she promised. “Hey, Roger doesn’t happen to be in here, huh? I don’t see him at the bar.”

  “Yeah, he’s here.” Grant lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s with a date.”

  “A date? Impressive.”

  “They’re in the far dining room.”

  “Should I interrupt?” Abby wondered.

  “It’s your place. You can just wander by and ask if everything’s all right. By the way, are you having the actors do the reenactment this Saturday? I’ll need to call them.”

  “Grant, you and Macy manage the place,” she reminded him. “You decide.”

  “Still have to know the new owner’s mind,” Grant told her.

  “I’m an absentee owner, and I think you two do a great job managing the place.”

  He gave her a hug. “Macy and I get along well, and we’ll make sure you’re never disappointed.” She hugged him back, and then disentangled herself. “I’m going to swing over and say hello to Roger.”

  Roger was in a little nook in the far dining room. He was leaning over the table, close to his date, a pretty girl with dark brown hair and a sweet gamine face.

  The girl saw Abby first and indicated to Roger that someone was coming. He pulled back, said, “Hi, Abby,” and started to get up.

  “Sit, Roger, I’m just stopping by to see how everything’s going,” she said.

  “Fabulous.” He widened his eyes at her. “Abby Anderson, this is Bianca Salzburg. Bianca, Abby, who owns this place.”

  “Pleased to meet you. And it’s wonderful,” Bianca said.

  “Thanks. I’m glad to hear that. Do you two need anything?”

  “Nope. You hire the best. Which includes me,” he told his date. “You’ll see when I play Blue Anderson on Saturday.” He looked at Abby. “Am I playing Blue on Saturday?”

  “Of course,” she said. “Grant will confirm with you. Oh, I wanted to ask you something, too. I have a friend in town—well, friends. One of the guys wants a tour of Savannah from someone who really knows it.”

  “Well, that would be you,” Roger said.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know it the way you do. Can I book a private tour tomorrow?”

  “For you?” he asked, perplexed, curious—and, she thought, a little flattered.

  “Yes, for me. And the friend I mentioned. You might’ve met him, since he’s been hanging around here. His name is Malachi Gordon. I’ll tell you more tomorrow. If you can do it.”

  “Sure. Anything for you, kid. It’ll be fun.” He smiled and glanced at his date. “Abby and I used to love exploring places—especially places we weren’t really supposed to go. Gus dragged us out of that tunnel time and time again. We liked to play pirate. Except Abby never wanted to play captive—she always had to be a pirate herself. Like Anne Bonney.”

  “Wow. That was a lot of years ago!” Abby said. “So tomorrow. Nine. Ten?”

  “Ten works better for me.”

  “Thanks, Roger.”

  “I’ll see you here.”

  “Okay.” Abby nodded. “Bianca, it was very nice to meet you. You’re new to the area?”

  “I’m here to find an apartment. I work for a delivery company, and I’m being transferred from Chicago.”

  “Well, then, welcome to Savannah.” Abby made her way back to the bar. Grant was going over the following day’s reservations at the host stand. Aldous and Dirk were gone. “Aldous left with Dirk, didn’t he?” she asked.

  “Yeah, they were kind of cute as they went out, big pirate-kind-of-guy leaning on bald, gold-earringed guy. Don’t worry, Aldous said he’d walk Dirk straight to his house.”

  “Thank you, Grant.” Abby went to the bar and took a seat. There were no more customers and Sullivan was sterilizing the bar glasses, then hanging them on the wooden racks.

  “You okay?” he asked her.

  “Yeah, I’m good, thanks.”

  “So, you’ve brought in a bunch of FBI agents?”

  Surprised, she frowned at him.

  He laughed. “You told Grant. That’s like posting something on Facebook. And the one guy, Malachi Gordon, introduced himself to us the other day.”

  Abby laughed. “I didn’t exactly bring in a bunch of FBI. Malachi Gordon showed up because of Gus’s funeral,” she said. That was true. Let them think he was a representative of the agency, there to show his respects. “But, Sullivan, four bodies have been found—three, and then the one today. At least two of the victims were from other states. One was a college girl. And we don’t know about the last.”

  “That’s really sad, Abby. What do you think is going on? What did they teach you at FBI school?”

  “I’d have the same suspicions now whether I’d gone to the academy or not,” Abby said. She wasn’t giving anything away by stating the obvious. “I suspect there’s a serial killer in Savannah.”

  “Yeah?” He stopped what he was doing and rested his elbows on the bar. “I don’t get it, though. Three women, one man. And...”

  “And?”

  “You went crazy when you found him,” he said gently. “If there’s a serial killer, why would he go after Gus—and how did he get into the tunnel?”

  “I have no idea, Sulliv
an. Maybe I was a little crazy. Gus was everything to me,” Abby said.

  One thing she’d learned: an agent shouldn’t share thoughts or information with anyone other than those also working the case, unless someone was at risk. Information in the wrong hands could be dangerous.

  Not that she considered Sullivan a suspect. It would’ve been impossible for the man to slink through the restaurant, since he was always behind the bar.

  “I’m so sorry, Abby. You know we all loved him,” he was saying.

  “Thanks. I do know that.”

  He touched her cheek, a brotherly gesture. “Be careful, okay?” he said huskily.

  “I am careful. And guess what? I excelled in marksmanship. I’ll be fine. Thanks, Sullivan.”

  He backed away, looking toward the door. “Hmm. Your FBI man is back—with a suitcase.”

  “Yeah, he’s going to be staying here.”

  “Oh?” Sullivan said. A smile twitched his lips.

  “No oh,” she told him. “Helen Long was last seen here, and we’re near the river, that’s all.”

  “Now that’s a shame,” Sullivan teased. “That it’s just business, I mean.”

  “Sullivan,” she warned.

  “Tall, dark and handsome. Has a nice aura about him, full of confidence. You could do a hell of a lot worse, you know. Hmm. You have done worse.”

  “Hey!”

  “Just sayin’. You always dated pretty boys. Not up to par. And from what I’ve seen in the past few years, you date someone for a few months, then you’re bored.”

  “That’s not true! I’ve been focused on my career, that’s all.”

  Malachi was coming to join her at the bar. She frowned fiercely at Sullivan.

  “Well, then, just jump his bones. Everybody’s life is better with some hot sex in it,” Sullivan told her.

  “Stop it!”

  He made a show of buttoning his lips. Malachi slid his suitcase up beside his bar stool. “I’m...back,” he said a little lamely. “Everything okay here?”

  “Right as rain,” Sullivan said before she could respond.

  “Come on up. I’ll show you Gus’s room.” Abby smiled sweetly at her bartender.

  “Yep, and don’t worry about anything,” Sullivan said. “Grant and I will see that the place is locked up tight.”

  “Thanks,” Abby said.

  Malachi smiled at Sullivan, got his bag and followed her up the stairs. She flicked on the light as she opened the door to the apartment. “I talked to Roger English. We’re all set to meet him in the morning.”

  “Good,” Malachi said absently. He stepped into the apartment and glanced around. “Nice.” He walked in, noted the little coffee nook and moved into the center of the living room area. He went straight to the balcony. “Do you mind if I look out?” he asked her.

  “Of course not.”

  He opened the door and stepped onto the balcony. Leaning, he looked to the left. She followed him.

  “So you grew up here?” he asked.

  “Here, and at our family’s house on Chippewa Square,” she said. “When my parents died—my mom and then my dad—I spent my time here with Gus. And my grandmother, of course, when she was still with us.”

  “It’s hard to lose family,” he said, but he didn’t elaborate.

  A moment later, he gave his attention to the view. “You can see the river from here.”

  “You can,” Abby agreed. “Of course, if they build up anymore, it’ll block the view.”

  “It’s pretty,” he said. “And made sense for old pirates.”

  “And maybe new pirates?”

  He turned and looked at her. “You’re worried that this place is somehow being used. But because a woman was last seen here doesn’t mean the Dragonslayer has anything to do with what’s going on.”

  “What about Gus?” she asked.

  He was thoughtful for a minute and then said, “Kat will go over the M.E.’s records for Gus. I believe he did die of a heart attack—but the heart attack might have been brought on when he accosted someone or vice versa. Whatever happened, it won’t happen again. With your blessing, Will Chan will set up a camera system in the tunnel. No one will get down there by any means without being seen. Does that make you feel better?”

  “Yes, thank you.” She hesitated. “How did you wind up on this case? You said you’re not an agent, that you’re a consultant.”

  He shrugged. “I was recently part of a high-profile case in Virginia. Then Jackson Crow, Logan Raintree and a man named Adam Harrison—you probably know he started the whole Krewe of Hunters branch—came to see me. I told you, this is on a trial basis. And...” He paused, lowering his head, smiling slightly. “I’d been working alone since I left New Orleans because I got tired telling fellow workers that I’m not a psychic. Most people want to lock you away when you tell them you came up with some of your deductive reasoning because of a ghost—and therefore you don’t tell them. Jackson apparently knew what I was doing because he’d studied the work I’d done. After I got to spend time with him, Logan and the other agents, I felt right at home. As if I’d found my people, so to speak. Jackson sent me down here to see what’s going on, and I let him know what I’ve learned. They work in groups, which is why the others have joined us.”

  “I’m glad,” she said. “Did you leave New Orleans because you lost your partner—David Caswell?”

  He looked back out at the night.

  “No. I left New Orleans when my wife died. It was her home and I always saw it through her eyes. When she was gone, I couldn’t stay anymore.”

  “I’m sorry,” she told him.

  He turned to her. “It was a long time ago now. We all lose people, and we learn to go on. That’s life—and death. So, show me Gus’s room. I’ll get that bag put away. And maybe we should try to grab a couple of hours’ sleep, because during those few hours in between shifts when this place is empty, I’m going to want a private tour. If you’re up to it...? Maybe old Blue will let himself be known when it’s just you and me.”

  “Definitely. Gus’s room is over here.”

  She led him down the little hall within the apartment to the first door. Stepping inside, she switched on the light. The old captain’s bed was just as it had been. She’d spent some time in the week since he’d died cleaning up, gathering up his clothes and donating them to the Salvation Army. Gus had been almost fanatically clean, but she’d given the room a once-over, too. It was decorated with ships’ lamps, a whaling harpoon and other memorabilia from the sea. The walls were paneled, very much like a ship’s cabin.

  Malachi nodded approvingly. He set his suitcase on the floor and said, “I guess you accept that I’m more or less legitimate now?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  He studied her for a minute, and offered her a smile. “I think you’re legitimate, too, you know.”

  “Thanks.” She felt strange, looking at him there, feeling that subtle smile of his as if it were a caress.

  And liking it.

  She stepped back into the hallway. Tall, dark and very handsome.

  He was suddenly far too appealing.

  “Okay, then...see you in a few hours,” she told him.

  She turned and walked the few steps down the hall that led to her own bedroom. She quickly walked in, leaned against the door and realized she was shaking. And she knew then that she was impossibly attracted to him.

  Sleep. Oh, hell, yeah. Sure thing.

  “Blue, you’re supposed to come when we need help!” she whispered aloud. “And, Blue, I definitely need some help now!”

  6

  It was a good thing he’d never really needed much sleep, Malachi thought.

  He’d lain in bed, staring at the ceiling, going over everything he’d seen and everyone he’d met since he arrived. He hadn’t wanted to alarm Abby, but he couldn’t help assuming that the Dragonslayer had been used in some way. Either that or the killer was a patron of the tavern.

  Dirk. Most obv
ious suspect. He ran a pirate ship. He played a pirate daily.

  Sullivan? The bartender knew the place like few others.

  Aldous, Bootsie, Grant, Macy. Bootsie was an old man. Macy was a woman, which didn’t clear her, but the sexual activity the women had engaged in—rape?—before death had been with a man. Still, she could be in on it. A facilitator.

  He wasn’t going to be able to sleep, so he got up and studied Gus’s room. It made him wish he’d had the opportunity to know the man. He’d evidently loved the river and history and ships. His room wasn’t furnished with reproduction pieces; the lamps and harpoons and other paraphernalia were original, probably worth a small fortune.

  When he opened the old sea chest at the foot of the bed, he saw that it contained neatly folded blankets. Wandering around the small space, he discovered that the room didn’t have a closet, just an old oak armoire, but it had been emptied except for a few shirts and a woolen captain’s coat.

  There was one dresser in the room. On top of it sat a few pictures. One he guessed was Abby as a child with her parents. Another was of Abby and, surely, Gus. Another was Abby’s college graduation photo. She was young and beautiful, and her eyes were filled with the bright light of one anticipating the future.

  She still had that look about her, but now it was tempered by loss. The important people in her family had died. She’d made it through the academy and certainly seen enough of the brutality that could exist. It hadn’t silenced the resilient, vibrant chord of life within her; she’d seen something wrong in her grandfather’s death and was determined to get to the root of it.

  And, she knew there was more in the world than what was seen by most people. Maybe she hadn’t had a lot of experience—but then, you didn’t really need a lot. Once you’d experienced the dead appearing before you or speaking to you, you recognized that it was possible.