The Night Is Alive koh-10

by Heather Graham

  “She thinks we’re sleeping together,” he said. “Did you set her straight?”

  “I don’t know what she thinks. I just followed you. Is there a reason you walked out?”

  He nodded. “Kat’s coming by.”

  “Oh.” She lifted a questioning brow—and then she remembered. The finger. “Oh.”

  A moment later, a dark SUV swung into the lot. Malachi headed for it, reached into his pocket and produced the finger wrapped in a clean silk handkerchief Abby had given him.

  “I may be able to match it to a body,” Kat said.

  “I hope so. I also hope it doesn’t mean there are more bodies out there.”

  Kat nodded and waved to Abby. He stepped back from the SUV and she drove off.

  “It’s almost nine, so I’m going out to see if I can buy a better lock. Should be back in half an hour or so.”

  Abby spent the time he was gone organizing more of Gus’s papers. By 9:45, she was too anxious to do anything but wait for Malachi downstairs.

  He returned just as she stepped outside. “Got it. I’ll leave it in the car until we’re back. Good timing—that’s your friend’s car, right? As he spoke, Roger waved at them from across the parking lot.

  Abby waved back. “Be prepared,” she warned Malachi, smiling. “You’re in for a tour. I don’t think Roger can help himself. He should be an ambassador.”

  “That’s exactly what I want,” Malachi said. He paused as Roger drew closer. “What I want are the ins and outs tourists don’t usually get. The city secrets,” he told her.

  “And no faith in me, huh?” she asked.

  “Eternal faith in you, Ms. Anderson. But Roger English made the map that Helen Long might’ve had in her possession.”

  “True. And he probably does know more than I do. It’s my home, my heritage, and I love Savannah. But Roger is a fanatic.”

  He smiled, head slightly bent, and she liked the way he looked at her. He might see the world through mocking eyes, but if so, he seemed to mock himself first and there was something charming about that. Then again, he seemed more and more charming to her as time went by.

  And, of course, she was more and more intrigued by him.

  Not to mention attracted...

  “Hey!” Roger said, walking up and shaking Malachi’s extended hand. “I’m Roger English, best guide in the city. I’m totally yours for the day, my minions are handling all else...and where shall we go from here?”

  “Malachi Gordon, Roger. And the answer is everywhere—the public city and the hidden city,” Malachi told him.

  “You’re with the feds.”

  “Yep.”

  “And you’re taking a tour?” he asked politely.

  Malachi grinned at that. “Yeah, with the feds, hoping to catch a killer. I think it’s the killer’s city, so I need to know it, too.”

  “You’re with the right man!” Roger studied Malachi for a minute, hands on his hips. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Okay, well...we can walk first, if you’re up to it. My favorite secret is about four blocks up, but I thought we’d walk along the riverfront and start with Colonial Park Cemetery,” he said, glancing at Abby.

  “Fine with me,” she said.

  “Well, you’ve been in the Dragonslayer, of course,” Roger began.

  “Coming to know it well,” Malachi told him.

  “The city has another famous restaurant along the same lines,” Roger said. “The Pirates’ House. Tourists, children...everyone loves it. People get off the highway and come to Savannah to dine there. Children grow up and bring their children. Oh.” He looked at Abby apologetically.

  “I love Pirates’ House, too,” Abby said, laughing, “almost as much as I love the Dragonslayer.”

  “Okay, I’ll talk while we walk along the riverfront. You’ll notice our shops, the monuments, the hotels—the riverfront is the heart of everything. The city of Savannah was established in 1733 and it’s known as our country’s first planned city. It was the first capital of colonial Georgia and, later, the state of Georgia. General James Oglethorpe named the thirteenth and final colony Georgia after King George. He arrived at the city via the ship Anne with one hundred and twenty settlers. He and his company landed on a high bluff above the Savannah River and he dreamed of a port to rival the best. Oglethorpe’s original plan was for total religious freedom and no slavery, but with the marshes to create rich rice fields, his concept of no slaves didn’t last too long. However, the planning of the city gives us the unique beauty of her riverfront and the squares we still have today. Streets are built on a grid with squares providing public meeting places and lovely little areas to enjoy. Today, the downtown area is one of the largest National Historic Landmark areas in North America.”

  “Very impressive,” Malachi said.

  “We’ll get to the squares and more landmarks later. We’ll start with Colonial Park Cemetery. It was the first graveyard for Christ Church Parish, and we’ll enter by Alercorn and Oglethorpe. More than seven hundred dead from the 1820 yellow fever epidemic rest here, along with a signer of the Declaration of Independence, Button Gwinnett. And, sadly, a number of those killed in duels are buried here, as well. There’s one really great restored stone. Come on, we’ll find it.”

  Roger had walked them down the river and then up and through the streets until they reached the regal arched entry, surmounted by a noble eagle. A number of tourists and tour groups were in the cemetery. Roger didn’t even see them; he walked among stones, aboveground sarcophagi, family vaults, mausoleums and memorials to get to his objective. He read aloud, “‘He fell in a duel on the 16th of January, 1815, by the hand of a man who, a short time ago, would have been friendless but for him.... By his untimely death the prop of a Mother’s age is broken: The hope and consolation of Sisters is destroyed, the pride of Brothers humbled in the dust and a whole family, happy until then, overwhelmed with affliction.’ We are looking at the 1815 headstone of James Wilde. Sad, huh? Facing all the dangers of those early days, men still shot one another down in the streets.” He grinned at them for a minute. “Nowadays you just have to go on Facebook and unfriend people who piss you off!”

  “True, and much less gruesome,” Abby agreed.

  “Save the mother, the sisters and brothers a lot of heartache,” Malachi added.

  “Now,” Roger continued, “most Americans know that during the Civil War, General William Tecumseh Sherman began his March to the Sea. He pursued a scorched-earth policy, believing that the only way to beat the Confederacy was to bring her to her knees. So he razed Atlanta and headed on east. When he got to Savannah, the city surrendered, which meant he didn’t have to burn down Savannah. Colonial Park Cemetery was closed to burials in 1853, so there are no Civil War soldiers buried here. But the Civil War left a lasting mark on the cemetery. As I said, Sherman didn’t burn the city. Instead, he wrote a telegram to President Lincoln, presenting him with Savannah as a Christmas gift in December of 1864. Today, we’re grateful. But here’s something interesting. Union troops filled the city with few places to billet. Many were forced to stay here in the graveyard. So, in some instances, they tossed corpses out of the mausoleums and family vaults. Bored, they scratched out the dates on a number of tombs, so in some instances, you can find a grave for someone who was born in 1820, but died in 1777. Names were changed, stones were moved around. They say the cemetery is, to this day, riddled with ghosts, dismayed by the way their graves were so rudely desecrated and disturbed. Now, it was pretty cold, so I’m guessing sometimes the Union soldiers were bitter and that sometimes, when they threw a corpse out for an enclosed place to sleep, it was just because the poor suckers were freezing.”

  “Sad story,” Malachi said. “But if the dead were asleep...”

  “If they were asleep?” Roger echoed.

  “Well, if they’d really gone on, they wouldn’t much care, would they?”

  Roger frowned suddenly. “Hey!” he said. Abby saw that he was looking at one of the tour groups
.

  “Roger? What’s wrong?” Abby asked.

  “Huh?” His attention still on the group, he glanced back at her.

  “What’s wrong?” Abby repeated.

  “My date from last night is cheating on me!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s out with another tour group!” Roger said indignantly. “You met her last night. Bianca. She’s with that group over there. Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

  He trotted off. “Ah, young love,” Malachi murmured, watching him go.

  Then he gestured in the opposite direction. “See them?” he asked softly.

  “Them?”

  Malachi pointed again. “An elderly couple there, on the bench. He’s holding her hand very tenderly. They still seem to be in love, a feat during any era. And there...far over there past the bench. Seems to be a lumbering fellow...a huge lumbering fellow. Lord, he must be almost seven feet tall. He’s acting furtive, as if he’s scared....”

  She stared out at the far side of the cemetery; she didn’t see what he saw. She was about to tell him that, but then, looking where he looked, listening to his words, she felt she did begin to see.

  The elderly couple... They were in Revolutionary-era clothing. He wore a wig and she wore a cap over her white hair. They did hold each other tenderly.

  And the bumbling man who seemed frightened, who seemed to stumble around...

  She gasped suddenly. The big man was legend—the pure stuff of ghost stories!

  Malachi turned to her. “You see them. You could have seen them all along. You didn’t know to look for them. Despite what Roger said, not many people haunt a graveyard. Why would they? They didn’t live here. But those two. Perhaps they’re upset by something written on a stone or some desecration committed during the Civil War and never righted.”

  She didn’t reply to that; she pointed at the other man. “Rene Asche Rondolier,” she said. “All the ghost tours talk about him. He was mentally slow. He was accused of killing animals as a child. Whether he did or didn’t, no one’s ever established. His parents tried to keep him on their property behind a huge brick fence, or so the story goes. I often wonder if he was mentally deficient and therefore an automatic whipping boy at a time when a lot of the populace was still superstitious. People made fun of him or they feared him. He was accused of killing two local girls—their bodies were found here in the cemetery. The local people chased him down to the swamps and lynched him. Afterward, the murders continued, and I don’t believe the real killer was ever caught. But Rene had already been hanged for the crimes.”

  “Poor man. Sure looks like he’s weeping and still afraid,” Malachi said.

  “I don’t know if what we hear about his reputation was true, or if it’s been enhanced over the years,” Abby said. “What is true is that his family owned property that’s now part of the cemetery. It expanded in the late 1700s to allow for...well, more time and more dead.”

  “Maybe we should try to speak with him sometime,” Malachi suggested. “And the older couple. There might be a way to find out why they’re still here.”

  Abby looked at him. “Why is Blue still here, do you think?”

  “Maybe he was here for Gus. Or maybe he’s here for you, to help you learn exactly what happened to Gus.”

  Roger came back to join them.

  “You okay?” Malachi asked him.

  “Yeah, sure. Bianca just knew I’d be busy with you two today and she wanted to see some of the sights. We’ll meet up later. Okay. Now we can walk through the city and I can tell you tales as we go. We can visit Christ Church, or the Juliette Gordon Low birthplace or—”

  “How about secret Savannah?” Malachi said. “Secret is the most interesting. What do you know about tunnels?”

  “Ah!” Roger brightened. “You’ve heard that the city is riddled with tunnels?”

  “Secret tunnels,” Malachi said.

  “Yeah, and if you’re game, I know where we’ll find some of the best!”

  7

  “Malachi, there are so many tunnels to choose from,” Roger said happily. “Come on, let’s start walking toward the south again.”

  “The south,” Malachi repeated. He pulled the map he’d found on the Black Swan out of his pocket. “Are we going in this direction?”

  “Yeah, we can head there. We’ll stand on that spot marked X and I can tell you more.” He moved at a brisk pace and they followed a step or two behind. He paused to look back. “There are lots of tunnels. Some more like catacombs. One I’ve discovered recently that Abby probably doesn’t even know about. Seriously, like I said, the city is riddled with them.”

  “I know there are tunnels. I didn’t know the city was riddled with them,” Abby said. “We have the shanghai tunnel at the Dragonslayer that leads to the river. There’s one at the Pirates’ House restaurant, too. And there are houses with tunnels that were part of the Underground Railroad during the Civil War. And, of course, the tunnels near Candler Hospital, but I know they’re off-limits.”

  “Yes, there are the Candler Hospital tunnels—truly fascinating, and with very little written history, especially on how and when they were built. Most believe it was during the Civil War. There was once an underground morgue, and autopsies were done there. Some historians note that it was cooler underground, so perhaps it was an attempt to stop the yellow fever and malaria epidemics that used to strike. Oh, and there are the catacombs under an old abandoned church called Saint Sebastian’s.”

  He suddenly stopped walking. “We’re on X marks the spot,” he told them.

  “Do you know why anyone would have marked this spot on your map?” Malachi asked.

  “Well, we’re standing over a tunnel. Other than that? No. There’s nothing here but sidewalk. And some pretty moss-draped oaks next to us.”

  “The church is right there,” Abby murmured.

  “The church? Saint Sebastian’s? The church you were just talking about?” Malachi asked.

  “None other,” Roger told him, obviously gleeful that his knowledge of the city and its history was being fully appreciated. “The church and the tunnels will not be found on official tours. The city’s had a problem at various times with vagrants crawling in. In fact, you can find historic beer cans and cigarette butts at the entries to many of the tunnels,” he said, not hiding his sarcasm.

  Abby glanced at Malachi. “X equals underground,” she said. “It doesn’t sound like Helen. I mean, crawling around underneath the ground does not sound like Helen.”

  “Helen Long?” Roger looked a little ashen.

  “We think this was her map,” Malachi told him.

  Roger nodded, clearly perplexed. “Yeah, I gave it to her, but I never saw her mark the map,” he said. “She was just asking me about taking a good tour of the city. She was hoping to leave soon. She’s driven—really wants to act. But she was asking me about the old church. She said she’d talked to someone who was thinking of buying it, as it hasn’t been renovated since the nightclub or worked on by the private company that bought it for historical preservation. This guy she knows wanted to make something out of it like a year-round haunted house. Pirate-themed.”

  “How did she hear about it? As far as I knew, it was off the beaten tourist and business track,” Abby said.

  “This guy she met, I guess.” Roger shrugged. “Maybe someone who’d taken the tour out on the Black Swan. Helen’s a sweetheart. Kids love her on that ship. Adults, too. Especially guys.”

  Malachi nodded. “How about showing us the church?” he suggested.

  “I can show it to you—and the catacombs and tunnels, which are kind of one and the same. But it’s against the law since it’s private property. Oh, wait—you are the law, aren’t you?”

  “Sure,” Malachi said, looking at Abby. “Well, we really are the law, although I’m still a consultant. But you’re the real deal.”

  “So are you,” she said softly. Her voice, her sincerity, stirred something within
him.

  “Okay,” Roger said, turning back to them. “Let’s go around to the side. Casually, of course. There’s an old, small iron door that was used for ice delivery. We can crawl through that and then through the hallway. Just be careful, okay. I’d rather not draw attention to us as we creep around private property.”

  “We shall creep with incredible agility, and quietly,” Malachi said.

  They crossed the street. It was actually easy to disappear into the many trees that surrounded the old church. Slipping around the side, Malachi realized that at one time there’d been a delivery path there; he could imagine the horse-drawn wagon that would have carried the ice blocks, could see where it must have parked for the few minutes it took the driver to make his delivery. The ice delivery “door” was about four feet off the ground and had a massive dark metal hatch that opened to allow for a space of about three feet by two.

  “You can get in?” Roger asked. He gripped the handle. It was old, hadn’t been oiled in forever and didn’t budge. Malachi stepped past him. “Let me give it a try,” he said.

  “I have opened it before,” Roger told him. “Seemed to be easier then.”

  Malachi gripped the handle, got it into the open position, then braced a foot against the building and pulled hard. When the door gave, he had to jump back quickly to keep from falling.

  “I’ll pop through first. Make sure there are no spiders or snakes!” Roger told Abby.

  “You’re afraid of spiders and snakes?” Malachi asked her.

  “I’m not particularly fond of either, but I don’t freak out.”

  “You used to scream like a girl when you saw a spider,” Roger said.

  “I am a girl, but I haven’t screamed at a spider in years,” Abby insisted. Roger merely smiled, then hiked himself up and eased his body through the opening. Abby glanced at Malachi and followed Roger, and then Malachi followed her.

  He had to crawl through the old, lined wooden icebox, and when he did, he stood in a room that was shadowed and empty. After a moment his eyes adjusted and he saw something that looked like a contemporary counter against the wall. There were cups covered in spiderwebs; the floor was gritty with dust.