A Barricade in Hell (41 page)

“Tea would be lovely, but I'm not sure Miss Bobet can wait. Let me introduce my nephew, Sung Zao, Mrs. Ryan.” Mr. Sung placed his hat on the seat of a chair, but didn't sit. Zao nodded, the barest hint of a smile lightening his expression, and remained standing as well. “Zao is my brother's son and learned to mix medicines from his father. Forgive me for presuming to bring him along without asking first. I didn't know if we might have need of his skills in attempting to cure Miss Bobet.”

“Cure” was such a lovely word. I savored that for an instant, resolutely ignoring that Mr. Sung had also said they'd attempt to help Isadora. He hadn't said he could guarantee their efforts would be successful.

“I'm very grateful you came. And of course your nephew is welcome.” I untied my apron and laid it aside, hiding how nerves and the thought of Dora never waking made my hands tremble. Feeling helpless in the face of her condition was torture. “I have to admit I'm over my head, Mr. Sung. I don't have the first idea of where to start.”

He followed me down the hall toward the guest room, Zao trailing a few steps behind us both. “Wu Mai taught me that admitting what we don't know was the first step toward finding answers. I've heard only street whispers about the woman who gave the lecture. Tell me what happened and what you know about Effie Fontaine.”

Dora had once said that the less Sung Wing knew about Effie Fontaine, the better, but circumstances had changed. I put her warning aside and told him all I knew, pausing in the middle of the hallway to finish the tale. He listened quietly, frowning at times or asking a question to make sure he'd understood, but for the most part he let me tell the story uninterrupted.

Zao's scowl never lightened from the first mention of the shadows surrounding Maximillian through my telling about the souls sheltered by the little girl spirit. Once I'd finished speaking, he said something to his uncle in Chinese. I didn't understand the words, but the harshness of his tone was unmistakable.

“English, Zao.” Mr. Sung frowned. “Show Mrs. Ryan the respect she's shown us. She is Miss Bobet's apprentice as I was apprentice to Wu Mai and Sung Lan was apprentice to me. There shouldn't be secrets between us. Tell her.”

Zao stared at his uncle, his expression blank, before bowing his head. “Your pardon, Mrs. Ryan. I told my uncle this is a fool's errand. The man you describe, Maximillian, is a shadow demon and a spirit hunter. No medicines I could mix will cure his touch.”

“But he never touched Dora last night.” I looked between the two men, stubbornly refusing to believe the churning in my stomach or that Zao's words held any truth. “None of Miss Fontaine's people touched her, only Randy and I. Something in the smoke made her ill.”

“Opium is very powerful and opens spirit pathways best left closed, especially for someone as sensitive as Miss Bobet. The chance of someone practicing black arts using opium alone is very small. It may very well be as you say, but we must consider other outcomes.” Mr. Sung took my arm. “Is this the room?”

Randy looked up quickly as the three of us entered the room. He had a book balanced on one knee, but still held tight to Dora's hand. I'd taken to forcing Randy away from the bedside every few hours, to eat and splash water on his face. Making himself ill wouldn't do Dora any good.

The cat was coiled tight against Dora on the opposite side of the bed. Mai opened one eye to peer at Sung Wing and promptly went to sleep again. Mr. Sung stood on that side, stroking Mai's head.

“This is Officer Randolph Dodd. Randy, this is Mr. Sung Wing and his nephew, Sung Zao.” I fussed with straightening the bedclothes and shifting Dora's pillows, giving myself something to do other than wring my hands. “Mr. Sung might be able to help.”

Randy struggled to stand and not let go of Dora's hand. Mr. Sung waved him back into his chair. “Please, Officer Dodd, sit. Miss Bobet rests easier with you near.”

I'd no doubt that someone as accomplished as Mr. Sung had easily discerned how Randy channeled harmful energy away from Dora. Sung Wing wore the same faraway expression I'd grown accustomed to seeing on Dora's face these past two years. He looked beyond the here and now and the surface world, searching for the secret that would explain why Dora wouldn't wake.

He glanced at me, his frown angry and sad at the same time. “Miss Fontaine's man may not have put his hand on Isadora, but he marked her as prey just the same. Her will is very strong or she'd have already fallen to Maximillian.”

Confusion filled Randy's eyes for an instant. “Hang on a minute. Maximillian's not here, and he wasn't anywhere near Dora last night. Are you saying he's responsible for her not waking up?”

Mr. Sung whispered something in Chinese, the words soft and sounding not unlike a prayer. He touched Dora's cheek. A blessing. “Miss Bobet's spirit runs and hides from the hunter nipping at her heels. Her body is here. She fights her battle elsewhere.” He straightened up, tugging down the front of his suit coat. “Stay with her, Officer Dodd. Help her fight.”

Without a word, Sung Wing left the room. Zao and I followed him to the kitchen, both of us hurrying to keep up. He'd already taken a seat at the kitchen table and begun rummaging through Zao's case of medicines when we reached the kitchen. I sat opposite him, a platter of cookies and a pot of cold tea between us. Sung Wing looked at me over the glittering vials and pile of muslin bags.

“Forgive me, Mrs. Ryan. I didn't take the threat of Effie Fontaine and her hunters seriously enough. That was a grave mistake on my part, one I won't make again. I should have listened to my brother, Liang. Keeping her hunters away from my people wasn't enough. I should have done more.” He continued sorting through the box, his expression grim. “Undoing my mistake will take time and preparation. But first we must do what we can to strengthen Miss Bobet in her fight against this creature. Then I can begin.”

My hopes plummeted. “I'd thought—You're saying you can't wake her.”

“The cure for what's wrong with Miss Bobet doesn't lie with me. I have many skills, but I'm not in the business of working miracles.” He held out two small bags, sympathy and compassion in his eyes. “There are things I can do, but they are things of this world, not magic. Keep the young officer with her and add these herbs to her tea. Both will make her stronger. You'll know if I succeed.”

I took the packets of herbs from him, not knowing what they were, caring only that they'd help Dora. Sung Wing and Sung Zao repacked the box, preparing to leave. I couldn't just let him walk out. “Mr. Sung, I have to ask. If what you try doesn't work, how long will Dora stay this way?”

“You're asking what will happen if I fail her.” He studied the lid of the box for an eternity, considering. “You deserve the truth. Isadora will sleep until she wins or loses the battle for her spirit, or until her body gives out. She's a strong woman. I can't say how long she will survive.”

I nodded, numb and unable to comprehend the possibility of her dying. Dora was young and vibrant. People like her didn't die. She couldn't.

Mr. Sung's hand on my shoulder startled me. “Don't mourn her yet. This Maximillian and Miss Fontaine have harmed far too many innocents. I don't intend to fail.”

Zao picked up the big wooden box and followed his uncle out of the house. I sat there long after they'd gone, watching the pale blue winter sky darken into an indigo twilight, thinking hard about hope and belief.

Gabe

The battered old clock over the door chimed six, startling Gabe. Darkness came early in January, and he'd turned on the desk lamp long before and lost track of time. He'd spent the entire afternoon reading over all the autopsy reports recovered from Sal's home. Searching the home of victims for clues about why they'd been killed was standard. In Sal's case, what he and Jack uncovered confirmed what they already knew.

Gabe slumped back in his chair, easing the ache in his shoulders, and attempted to wipe the tiredness from his eyes. The deputy coroner had made duplicate files for all the cases they suspected involved Effie Fontaine, keeping the second set in his study at home. Sal must have had a reason to suspect that filing the autopsy reports in the morgue alone might turn out to be a problem. Whatever Sal Rosen's suspicions or the reasons behind them, he'd been right. All the case reports Sal had filed over the last two months had disappeared from the coroner's file room.

How daring Effie Fontaine was in covering her tracks and how far her reach in his city extended were frightening.

Jack nudged the office door open with his shoulder, two brimming mugs of coffee in his hands. Gabe had overridden Jack's protests and sent his partner home to have dinner with his wife and baby. “Sergeant Riley had just made a fresh pot of coffee when I came in. I pulled rank on Baker and that new kid, Quinn, to get the first two cups. Sadie said to say hello and told me to thank you. We had that talk like you said. It's killing her that she can't help take care of Dora, but she understands it's too risky.”

“I worry enough about Dee and Isadora being in the same house. And thank you, I need coffee.” He sipped from the mug, not really tasting the liberal portion of cream or the two cubes of sugar. “I've read the Baldwin autopsy twice. Sal comes right out and says he doesn't believe Archie Baldwin killed himself. He found marks on Archie's arm that were consistent with recent hypodermic injections.”

Jack scowled, but the tone of his question was cautious and careful. “How recent?”

“Within an hour or two of death. The punctures hadn't healed at all.” He flipped the file around so Jack could read. “Archie had been in that cell for days. Sal's conclusion was that Baldwin was probably drugged so his killers could make his murder look like a suicide.”

“Son of a bitch.” Jack flipped through a few more pages and shoved the folder away. “We know Marsh was in that cell.”

“And thanks to Dodd, we know Marsh was working for Effie Fontaine. I've already sent a message to Judge Alger.” Gabe stacked the folders neatly, grateful that Sal had been the overly cautious type and angry all over again that his friend was dead. “This is the proof he wanted. Alger will have to issue a warrant now.”

A loud rap on the door was all the warning they had before Sam Butler stuck his head inside the office. The victorious smile on Butler's face made Gabe's heart race. “Captain Ryan, I'd like to introduce you to someone.”

Sam opened the door wider and ushered in an obviously nervous young woman. She wore a plain blue coat, a matching hat with two white ostrich plumes, and black skirts. Working-class clothing, clean and practical. He'd expected any response to their attempt to flush out Fontaine to come from a member of high society, but Gabe had faith in Sam Butler. The reporter wouldn't bring this woman to his office without a reason.

Springing the trap on Effie Fontaine was the best reason Gabe could think of.

“Captain, this is Miss Rosie Taft. Miss Taft works as a housemaid in Bernal Heights and her employer, Mrs. Cummings, owns several houses in the city. Miss Taft came to see me this afternoon about an article the
Call
ran this morning.” Sam stayed close to Rosie Taft, hovering and likely keeping her from bolting. “I thought you'd be interested in hearing what Miss Taft has to say.”

“Come in, Miss Taft. Please, have a seat. How can I help you?” Gabe smiled and tried to look calm and welcoming, hiding how his heart pounded. He pulled over one of the visitor's chairs before taking his own seat behind the desk. Looming over her would only add to her nerves. Jack stepped back as well, placing himself off to the side and out of Rosie Taft's line of sight.

Rosie perched on the edge of the chair, her fingers wrapped tight around the top of her handbag. “It's not me that needs help, Captain. Mrs. Cummings is the one I'm worried about. She's getting on in years and she's got no one to watch out for her. I knew I had to tell someone. I go twice a week to tidy up the house Mrs. Cummings owns at 29 Prospect Avenue.” She opened her handbag and pulled out a folded sheet of newsprint. Rosie held it out to Gabe. “The woman in this picture has been staying in the Prospect house. I'd feel terrible if she did something sinful to Mrs. Cummings and I didn't tell the police what I knew.”

The sheet of newsprint was the front page of the
Call,
complete with Sam's article and Effie Fontaine's picture. Gabe passed it over to Jack and clamped down hard on his emotions. “You did the right thing, Miss Taft. When was the last time you saw Miss Fontaine?”

“Just a few hours ago. Today was my day to clean over there.” She glanced at Sam, who smiled and nodded encouragement. “I went in through the kitchen as always, but I knew right away something wasn't right. There were broken dishes all over the floor and I could hear shouting in the parlor. My mama taught me eavesdropping is wrong. But I went down that hall quiet as I could to see what was going on. Starting in sweeping up the mess in the kitchen didn't feel right, you know?”

Gabe traded looks with Jack. “I do know, Miss Taft, and I don't blame you in the slightest. Coming in to work and finding things in an uproar must have been frightening. Was Miss Fontaine in the parlor?”

“I was told to call her Mrs. Wolf, but she's the same woman in the paper.” Rosie hugged her handbag to her chest. “She was in a terrible state, crying and huddled up on the settee while that husband of hers kept yelling. Mr. Wolf wasn't speaking English, but his face was all red, and whatever he said made her cry harder. I decided right then and there I wasn't staying around. I tiptoed back to the kitchen and left.”

Jack came around to stand next to Rosie. A small muscle in his jaw twitched, the only sign of emotion he let slip. “You did the right thing. Did you see anyone else with Mr. and Mrs. Wolf?”