The Night Is Alive koh-10

by Heather Graham

  “Did he try the door? Or did he not even reach it?”

  “Never tried it,” Malachi said, leaning back. “They saw it on the screens at your house on Chippewa, too, of course. They called the police right away, but by the time a couple of officers arrived...”

  “He was already gone,” Abby concluded with a sigh.

  “Yup. And I don’t think he was afraid of the cameras. I think he knew about them and that’s why he was smart enough to keep his head down. I think he was afraid of Blue.”

  Abby stepped back. “You saw Blue? Was he on one of these screens?”

  “No,” Malachi told her. “But...here’s an image the camera did pick up.”

  Abby looked over his shoulder as he replayed the footage of the host stand and bar area, along with the front of the restaurant.

  A dark shadow appeared just behind the entry door.

  “Is that a trick of the video, of the light? Or is it...something?” Abby asked.

  “Well,” Malachi mused. “It’s definitely something.”

  “Do ghosts record this way?”

  He smiled at her. “Maybe. I don’t really know. But...I do believe that Blue is watching over this place.”

  “And you believe this...killer is someone who spends a lot of time in the Dragonslayer. And it’s the guy in the plumed hat.”

  He nodded. “Let’s head over to the cemetery. We’ll see what our old folks have to say.”

  Macy was at the host stand, and Abby went over to her. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, of course, Abby. What about you? How are you doing with all this?”

  “I’m okay.”

  Macy glanced past Abby at Malachi and smiled. “I’m so glad you’re here—all of you. For Abby.”

  “Thank you, Macy,” Malachi said. “By the way, do you remember much about the day before Gus’s funeral?”

  “Um, it was pretty much a day like any other. We had the signs up, that the restaurant would be closed the next day. There was an announcement made at the service that the mourners were welcome to join us here after, and we wanted to limit it to the people who’d known Gus well, not have casual tourists wandering in.”

  She seemed perplexed, uncertain about his reasons for asking.

  “I’m talking about the time just after Helen Long left the restaurant,” he said. “Do you remember anyone who might’ve left soon after she did? How about our barflies?”

  Macy looked at him blankly for a moment. Her lower lip trembled slightly. “Helen’s been found. Abby saved her.”

  “Yes, but another young woman is missing and Helen hasn’t been able to give us much information. I’m hoping you can help us.” He leaned on the host stand, meeting her eyes. He really had a curiously charming way about him, Abby thought. More so, perhaps, because he had no idea.

  “I’d love to help you!” Macy said. “I wasn’t down here the whole time. I was going back and forth, between the restaurant and supply room. And we were so distracted that day, too. But...oh, I think both Aldous and Bootsie left in the early afternoon. And wait! Yes, I know Dirk left even before they did because he took his ship out. He worked the Black Swan’s morning and afternoon shifts because he knew he wouldn’t do either one the next day. But...I could be off on my times.”

  “Terrific, Macy. Anything else?”

  Macy shook her head. “No, I was here. Later Sullivan went up to do an inventory to get our orders in, since we knew everyone would be preoccupied the next day. More than that, I can’t say.”

  “You’ve been very helpful, Macy,” Malachi told her. “Thank you.”

  “If there’s ever anything I can do...” Macy’s voice trailed off.

  Malachi thanked her again and turned to leave; Abby followed. They walked the few blocks to Colonial Park Cemetery.

  That day, Abby let herself really look around the cemetery and see. She saw the old couple, vigilant as ever on their bench. A young woman in a long white gown seemed to float behind a live oak that dripped with moss. A grinning soldier stood behind a group of tourists; he blew on a girl’s neck and his grin broadened when she spun around, looking for the prankster. Across the way, hovering by one of the monuments, two young women in early-nineteenth century clothing seemed to be taking a casual walk through the stones.

  Malachi, she thought, noticed them all. He was, however, fixated on the older couple.

  “Good morning,” he said, pausing by the bench.

  “Good morning, young sir,” the man said, standing politely.

  “We wanted to let you know that Abby has written the necessary people about your son’s gravestone. We are in the process of getting the situation rectified,” Malachi told him.

  “We thank you sincerely.” The man bowed. “My love,” he said to his wife, “a great dishonor will be set right.”

  The woman rose, as well. She looked at them, and Abby could almost believe there were real tears in her eyes.

  But she wasn’t there. Except as...

  Heart, soul, spirit?

  “I wish I could set every situation right.” Abby decided not to add that, through the years, gravestones hadn’t just been defaced, some had disappeared altogether. She wanted to tell them that cemeteries were really for the living. The dead remained alive in their loved one’s memories.

  “We found a tunnel in an old building,” Malachi said. “Right down the street, in the area you kindly pointed out to me. But it brought us to a dead end. Have you noticed anything else?”

  “You looked inside, not in the alley?” the man asked.

  “We’ll go back,” Malachi said. “We’ll keep looking. Inside and out.”

  “There was a time, not long after the war—the war that took our son—when the dead were often taken beneath the ground. The dead and dying. The yellow fever...they did everything they could to fight it. And when it was over, I believe they tried to hide the epidemic and how many it claimed.” He spoke thoughtfully. “We were the South. Our economy was cotton—and the river. The cotton plantations, of course, depended on slaves. But there were those who hated slavery. Early on before the other war, I heard they began to use some of those tunnels to hide people who were escaping. We, my wife and I, we closed our eyes. I was a merchant here, and I knew how the plantations worked, but...in my heart, I also knew it was wrong. If I remember...” He looked at his wife. “If I remember, we saw people in the night back then. Hurrying down the streets. Disappearing into the alley, into the darkness.”

  “Thank you,” Malachi went to shake the man’s hand; Abby watched a ghostly hand touch Malachi’s in return.

  She lowered her head, smiling. He thought he was awkward with people. He wasn’t. He was very good.

  With the living and the dead.

  “Thank you,” Abby echoed. She and Malachi hurried across the cemetery to leave by the main entrance. They passed tour groups and couples, parents and children.

  They walked back toward the Wulf and Whistle. The buildings on the street were flush with one another; space here was at a premium. But a narrow alley stretched between streets, an alley that was no longer passable by any kind of conveyance. A tree that had taken root blocked it at the sidewalk. Malachi and Abby crawled over the roots that sprouted through the concrete, and they stood in the narrow alley behind the Wulf and Whistle.

  “Who knows exactly what was going on when,” Malachi murmured, studying the building. “But there was a tunnel in the Wulf and Whistle. Presumably, during the yellow fever epidemic, they were bringing the sick and the dead down to various tunnels and underground rooms. Then, when the Underground Railroad became active, they reopened the tunnels. After the war—the Civil War, this time—the local owners, aware of what went on at the cemetery, which was now under military rule, might have hurried and covered up their secrets.”

  “But we went down into the Wulf and Whistle. You tapped all the walls in the tunnel there yourself.”

  “Yes, but an entry from the tavern might have been sealed o
ff. That doesn’t mean there aren’t more tunnels beneath us.”

  “And how are we going to find one? And if it’s all blocked off, how’s a killer using it?”

  “The killer, obviously, knows where it is,” Malachi said. “And, somehow or other, he’s opened it.”

  Abby turned around in the little space. Behind the Wulf and Whistle was a wooden portico and a gate that sectioned off an area. She realized that was where the tavern kept their garbage.

  “Hey!” she said.

  She went to the gate and opened it. She saw a bin there and threw it open. Inside it was another bin that could be removed to dump the garbage.

  “Malachi!” she called.

  He hurried over to her. “They’d never need to move this,” she said. “They obviously always lift out the inner bin when they have to empty it. Steve must have some of his employees take it to the end of the alley for garbage pickup.”

  Malachi walked around behind the giant bin. Planked grating supported the bin and stretched about two feet behind it. He bent down and raised the wooden planks.

  “There’s a hole,” he said. “A big black hole. Shall we?”

  12

  The hole went straight down. At some point, Malachi thought, the tunnel must have been dug as part of a sewage system. Maybe those dealing with the yellow fever outbreak used it, and for the Underground Railroad any route was better than no route. It was good to think that there’d been those willing to risk everything to help others, just as it was chilling to think about the fear escaping slaves must have felt when they slipped into the tunnels. He could imagine them praying that they’d reach a ship, and that the ship would take them north without being stopped and searched.

  The tunnel smelled dank. Malachi thought about death and disease and human misery as he crawled down the treacherous earth ladder that led to the floor below. Hitting the ground, he dug in his pocket for his flashlight, then shone the light over the length of the tunnel. Like the others, this one appeared to head straight for the river.

  “Careful,” he told Abby. “The grips are old and weak.” He set his flashlight on the ground and reached up to help her make her way down.

  “Plus wet and nasty,” Abby murmured.

  “Yeah. But let’s see where this goes.”

  “Should we have called it in?” Abby asked.

  “No. The killer could well have seen all the commotion going on at the Wulf and Whistle. He might be amused now, assuming we had it completely wrong. I don’t want him to know we’ve found this place. If he doesn’t know, he might try to make use of it again.”

  Abby nodded. She had a small flashlight herself and she waved it before them, letting the light fall over the earth walls.

  As they moved along the length of the tunnel, it began to narrow. Halfway down, they came across a break in one of the walls.

  The fork and the main tunnel stretched ahead, both stygian in their darkness. They looked at each other in the eerie glow of the flashlights. “No splitting up,” Malachi said.

  “I wasn’t about to suggest it. Good agents trust in their partners and their backup.”

  “Then I say we go right.”

  Abby considered where she was for a moment. “I’m trying to figure out where we are—where we’d be if we were on street level. We’d be heading back to the Dragonslayer.”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Let’s go.”

  The tunnel was narrow; in places, dirt was falling in. They walked for what Abby estimated was at least a block.

  After that, they walked for the equivalent of another block. As they did, she heard their feet scraping on the rough ground. Malachi stopped and touched the walls.

  “Are these tunnels solid?” she asked.

  “They seem to be. They were dug properly, support beams were set in...we’re safe. They seem to be in better shape than half the new housing you’ll see,” Malachi remarked.

  They kept walking, their flashlights illuminating the way. And then they came to a solid wall of earth.

  “Well, this is great,” Abby complained.

  “Actually, it is,” Malachi said, stepping back.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You know about where we are?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said slowly. “We’re almost at the Dragonslayer.”

  “Start at the very end, then back up. Feel the walls. Feel them, tap them...tell me when you feel something different. Let’s put the lights down and shine them on the walls.”

  They did so, one light facing left, the other pointed toward the right.

  Abby moved along the walls, testing them. They seemed to be earth, but the long-gone architects of the tunnels had given them support beams and arches. Dampness had damaged some of the wood that shored up the walls, but she assumed they would have used a hardwood that didn’t easily decompose. After all, they’d lasted this long.

  She was so intent on her work that she was startled when she heard Malachi shout, “Aha!”

  She turned around. At first, all she saw was darkness and the glare of the light—but then she realized that the light was creating shades of darkness. Malachi had found another fork in the tunnel.

  “How... There was wall there before!” Abby said.

  “That mud patch with the vine attached is like something I have at my house in Virginia. In the house, it’s called a pocket door. The wall slides into a pocket in the rest of the wall.”

  Abby picked up her flashlight and stood by his side. She gasped. “Malachi—that’s the end of the tunnel that leads from the Dragonslayer!”

  “That’s what I figured,” he said. “So, our killer’s been able to access the Dragonslayer from the Wulf and Whistle, the Wulf and Whistle from the Dragonslayer and the river from either of them.”

  “We can shut off the bastard, cement him in,” Abby said bitterly.

  Malachi shook his head. “Not if we want to find him while Bianca is still living.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “Right now, we go back. We pretend we’ve never been here—and we get Will to bring in some cameras. We need to follow this killer wherever he’s going. That’s how we’ll rescue Bianca.”

  Malachi stepped through the hole he’d created in the tunnel wall. He inspected the pocket into which he’d slid the wooden door that had originally seemed to be just more earth-and-hardwood tunnel wall. “At my house,” he told Abby, “this kind of door was used to turn the place into a tavern by night—a way stop for travelers—and then back into separate rooms for working and sleeping. Thomas Jefferson’s family had apparently been involved with the building of my house. I really have one of those places where you get to say ‘Washington slept here.’ But I believe this technique must’ve been common during colonial days.”

  “I guess these tunnels were used at various times, for various reasons,” she mused.

  Malachi nodded. “City planners might have started them, pirates might have continued to use them—to shanghai others or to effect their own escapes. And then they became important to the Underground Railroad during the Civil War. At other times, the city or property owners sealed up entrances, as well as these secret doorways from one tunnel to another. Remember, governments—federal, state and municipal—usually do whatever is cheapest. You don’t need a tunnel, then seal up the entrance. If you know the city and you’ve heard about its history all your life—and studied it—you might realize where to look for these entrances.”

  “I know the city!” Abby said.

  “Yep, and you knew about the tunnel under the Dragonslayer because it was your tunnel. You knew about the hospital tunnels because their existence and the history of what went on during the yellow fever epidemic was recorded—sketchily, yes, but there were records,” Malachi said. He offered her a dry smile. “Since you were never looking for a way to kidnap people and take them out on the river, you probably never tried to explore underground Savannah as thoroughly as our killer did. Come on, let’s go
back to where we came in. I don’t want to use the Dragonslayer tunnel and the tavern stairs. The dining room will be full right now, and I don’t want to be seen.”

  “Let’s hope nobody sees us crawling through the garbage,” Abby said.

  “Yeah,” Malachi agreed. “I’m going to give Jackson a call so he can arrange for someone to watch the entrance here. Someone in plain clothes who won’t be noticed. Jackson will have to talk to David Caswell, get someone he trusts implicitly.” He had his phone out, tried to call, then made a face at her.

  “Well, that was dumb. No signals down here. Come on. Let’s go back up as smoothly as we can and get someone down here.” He grinned at her. “After that, we need to shower again. Another reason I’d rather not go to the Dragonslayer—I don’t want to be seen like this. We’ll go to your house on Chippewa, okay?”

  Abby nodded. Malachi closed the pocket door, and they made their way back through the tunnel.

  Abby’s flashlight reflected off something on the floor. She instinctively started to pick it up and then didn’t. She hunkered down and took a closer look; Malachi hunkered down next to her. “Gum wrapper,” he said. “Or part of a gum wrapper.”

  “Fingerprints?”

  “Possible, yes,” Malachi said. He glanced at her. Even in the eerie light, there was a beauty, a strength, in his face. Not only that, she couldn’t remember being able to communicate with anyone as she could with him.

  It was the ghost thing.

  It was the sex.

  It was whatever made him unique.

  “Certainly not an eighteenth-or nineteenth-century object,” he said. He was prepared; he reached into his pocket and she saw that he had a little envelope. He turned it inside out to pick up the ripped gum wrapper, secured it without touching it and slid it into his pocket. He took her arm, drawing her up. “Okay, let’s get out of here now.”

  He hoisted Abby up and out of the hole. She turned around to help him, but he’d gotten a grip on the tenuous ladder to get himself up.

  “Wow,” he said, looking at her. “Let’s hope we don’t run into anyone we know.”

  “That’s not easy here. I know a lot of people.”