The Night Is Alive (13 page)

“What?”

“Gus was onto something. I think the killer lost one of his trophies in the tunnel, and Gus found it before he had any idea of what was going on. It might be why he asked Abby to come down here.”

“You found it where?”

“In one of his drawers. I need to get it to you.”

“I’ll run by for it,” she said. “Maybe pirates liked to make necklaces out of the bones of people they killed? I’ll research my pirate lore,” Kat promised him. “Oh, and Will’s taking over for Dirk this morning as head pirate on the
Black Swan
to keep an eye on that ship. And Dirk.”

“The guy really does seem devastated,” Malachi said.

“And I gather he can be a very good actor—as a pirate, at least.”

“Excellent plan. And I’ve heard Jackson gets along well with the local police.”

“He has his ways. Not that he has a lot to say yet. They’re probably looking for a white male, with or without a companion,” Kat said. “Someone who knows the river.”

“And has a boat or a ship, or access to one,” Malachi added.

“Big river,” Kat said.

“Yes, it is. Keep me posted.”

“Back at ya.”

Malachi checked his watch. Time for a cup of coffee before starting the day. In fact, he could smell coffee coming from nearby, not from the restaurant below.

He showered quickly, thinking all the while about the clues they had—his thoughts disrupted now and then by another that intruded.
Abby.

He was glad he was going to spend the day with her.

* * *

Abby selected two coffee cups and two small plates from the overhead kitchen cabinet. They actually had time for breakfast.

She toasted a couple of bagels, and Malachi spread cream cheese on them while she poured coffee. “You doing okay?” he asked her.

She glanced at him. He seemed exceptionally appealing as he stood in the tiny kitchen area of the apartment. Fresh from the shower, his hair was dark and slick. His hazel eyes were set somberly upon her and seemed to speak of a depth she couldn’t begin to understand. She wondered about his past—the wife he’d lost—and she suddenly wanted to know everything about him.

“I’m fine,” she told him.

“I can’t stop thinking about your grandfather—wishing I’d known him.”

She smiled. “He was great.”

“I can tell,” he said softly.

She put one of the cups of coffee in front of him. “Thanks.” She watched him for a moment. “You’re not going to comfort me by telling me that he was old and lived a full life?”

“Does someone having been old make you miss them any less?” he asked.

“No.”

“It does, however, help if you know that someone did lead a full life. And it should also help if you know just what you meant to him—that you were the most important person in his life. That’s what life is all about. The grief remains, but there’s consolation in those things.”

“What about you?” she asked. She was pushing it, she thought, but her curiosity was beginning to consume her. “How did you cope? What happened to your wife?”

“Cancer. One day she was fine and then, within a year, she was dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I appreciate that. And time has helped, as they say.”

“So...you coped.”

“I didn’t, not really. New Orleans was her home. I loved living there, loved the music, the food, the architecture. You name it, I loved it. But when she died...I quit the police force and the city. I left. I can’t bear to go back, even though I loved her family, too. I returned to Virginia, moved into my old family home, and...” His voice trailed off as he looked toward the windows and the river.

“And?”

He shrugged. “I realized that in my state of mind, I wouldn’t be able to play well with others. So I got licensed and became a private investigator.”

“But that
is
coping,” she said.

He smiled. It was a crooked, rueful smile, and she yearned to walk over to him and stroke his cheek.

“
You’re
coping,” he told her. “You’re on fire. Going after the killer.”

“But you can’t go after cancer. No one can.”

He shrugged again. “I guess I know that—knew that. I went after God for a while. Didn’t work. But...ah, well. I have an ancestor who hangs around, too. Doesn’t hesitate to speak his mind. He fought a revolution and saw friends die right and left, and wasn’t interested in my self-pity. So...I started really using whatever this ability is that we have. I pursued bad guys. I tried to save lives and sometimes succeeded. That does help.”

Abby made a point of keeping her distance from him. She didn’t think she’d ever wanted to touch another person so badly.

“With any luck, we’ll save Helen Long,” she said.

“Luck—and work,” he agreed. He flicked a glance at his watch. “We meet your friend soon? Where?”

“In front of the tavern. But not until ten.”

Macy was at the host stand when they went down. She greeted them both, acting a little perplexed. “Good morning,” she said. “You came in earlier?” she asked Malachi.

He leaned on the stand and gave her a charming smile. “I’m staying here.”

“Oh. Oh, uh...” Macy looked at Abby. Abby just smiled, too.

“Macy, you’ll see some of my colleagues here in a few hours,” Malachi told her. “They’ll be setting up some security cameras. If they need it, you’ll lend them a hand?”

“Of course,” she said, sounding flustered.

He thanked her and turned to head out of the building.

“What’s going on?” Macy whispered to Abby.

Abby merely shrugged and smiled. She quickly joined Malachi outside.

“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....”