The Night Is Alive

10

Malachi called David, asking him to send a few officers to the alley. Then he called Jackson, suggesting he get someone to do historical and architectural research on the area.

In the meantime, he told Jackson, he and Abby would drive back to the hospital to talk to Helen.

“Any word on Bianca Salzburg?” she asked.

He repeated her question to Jackson; no, Bianca hadn’t appeared.

He and Abby got into the car and headed back to the hospital.

“What made you want to stop at the cemetery and talk to that couple?” she asked him.

He sent her a warm smile. “You.”

“Me?”

“When you talked to the Mortons and then told me how you envied them, I started to think about these two in the cemetery. They’re there for the long haul. Some people don’t care—dead is dead. You move on. Others...well, honor was a big thing to them. They need that tombstone fixed.”

“How am I going to convince city council and the staff in charge of the cemetery that I know how that gravestone should be corrected?” Abby asked.

“We’ll pull something out of a history book somewhere,” Malachi assured her. “Or some old record.”

Abby stared ahead, looking tired and grim. He reached over and took her hand.

“I’m worried about Bianca.”

“He holds his victims. We have time to find her.”

“He assaults his victims,” she said.

He couldn’t argue with that.

“We’ll see what Helen can tell us now that she’s a little more removed from the situation,” he told her.

At the hospital they learned that Helen was resting comfortably. Kat had been sitting with her; when Abby and Malachi came, she rose and stretched. “I’m off for a bit—walk around, maybe grab some coffee.”

“We’ll stay until you get back,” Malachi said. As she moved toward the door he asked quietly, “Has she given you any information?”

“She’s been asleep for the past hour. I suggested she try to remember details, but I’m sure she’s telling us everything she remembers—or what she thinks she saw. Maybe you can get more.”

Kat left, and Abby sat beside the hospital bed. Helen’s eyes flickered open and, for a moment, they registered fear—until she saw Abby. “Hey,” she said weakly.

“Hey, yourself. How are you doing?”

“Okay. Dirk came to see me.” She smiled. “With Aldous and Bootsie. Aldous is a sweetheart. He told me he’s been so worried, he almost grew back some hair.”

Abby laughed, then glanced at Malachi.

He nodded, letting her know she should do the talking for now.

Abby drew a deep breath. “Helen, we think he’s taken another woman.”

Helen’s eyes closed; she went gray, trembling visibly. “I’m so sorry!” she whispered.

“You’re the only one who can help us.”

Helen shook her head. “I don’t know how,” she said, her voice raspy. “I just...don’t.” Her eyes opened and she stared at Abby. “I never believed in ghosts before. And I know he was supposed to be a gentleman pirate, and that Errol Flynn and Johnny Depp made pirates seem cool, but...it was Blue, Abby. I know it was Blue Anderson. He’s dead, but somehow...”

“Helen, it wasn’t Blue. And even if he came back as a ghost, he’d never do anything like this. It’s someone dressing up as Blue.”

“But...”

“Think about it, Helen. You know that has to be true.”

Malachi stepped forward, dragging a chair closer to Helen, across from Abby. “Helen, you were hurt. You were hit on the head. You were abused and kept in a dark place. You’re being wonderful, but what we need you to do is try to remember every little detail. What happened right before Abby pulled you out of the water?”

Helen’s forehead wrinkled with her effort. “I remember hearing water. I remember it being dark, and I remember the man...Blue.”

“It wasn’t Blue. It was someone dressed as Blue,” Malachi said again. Abby frowned at him, but Helen let out a breath.

“Someone dressed as Blue,” she agreed listlessly. “I—I only saw him briefly. He put something on my eyes.”

“He blindfolded you?” Abby asked.

“Yes.”

“You remember him being in the room,” Malachi said. “What kind of room?”

“It was...I think it was a cabin.” Tears welled in Helen’s eyes. “Touching me,” she said with a whisper.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to remember that part right now,” Malachi said. “But did he wear cologne or aftershave? Do you remember anything about his voice?”

“It was gruff—like a pirate’s voice.”

“Do you remember any other sounds? Did you ever hear people?” Malachi asked.

Abby glanced at him and set a gentle hand on Helen’s. She carefully avoided the IV dripping fluids into a vein in Helen’s arm, but tried to comfort the young woman.

“I didn’t hear people...” Helen said. Then she bit her lip. “Yes, once...but it was early on. I thought I heard people. Maybe music. And tapping. A rhythmic tap...tap...tap. Only sometimes. Maybe it was a band...”

“Thank you, Helen,” Abby said.

Malachi took over again. “What do you remember about being held captive?”

Helen shuddered; Abby reached over and smoothed down a lock of her hair.

“I was in the bed...the bunk...whatever. It wasn’t comfortable. He said I was a captive who’d fallen in love with him. But he repulsed me. He...he made me want to vomit. I gagged or choked and then...then he was angry. He told me I was a bad captive.”

“Helen, was he with you all the time?” Malachi asked.

“I don’t...I don’t know. I remember lying there...my hands were bound and my feet were tied to something and I couldn’t move. He’d go away...and then he’d be back. And then he’d touch me again. So...so disgusting. I couldn’t—I couldn’t pretend. I couldn’t be what he wanted, couldn’t even pretend to be in love with him. He was very angry. My hands were still bound, but then...then he untied my feet...my ankles, I guess. He jerked me up and wrenched my hand around and...I felt one of his hands holding mine down on a table or something and then—”

She broke off with a sob.

“He cut you,” Abby said quietly.

“He cut off my finger!” Helen sobbed. “I can still hear the sound. There was a whoosh...and then I felt the slam of it...and I felt the pain. I was still blindfolded but I knew...I knew it was my finger.” She continued to sob.

“Oh, Helen!” Abby said, stroking her cheek gently. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Malachi apologized to Abby with his eyes but she obviously understood that he had to press forward. “Helen, he took your finger while your blindfold was on. What then?”

“He dragged me along the floor,” Helen began. “Maybe...maybe there was music again. I heard a beat...tap, tap, tap. And I thought I heard laughter across the water. I—I felt the night air on my skin. I knew he had a knife and I thought he was going to stab me. But he cut the ropes—and then I was in the water. I was suddenly in the water, and I was trying so hard to swim, but I was in pain, and my arms...they were so stiff. I got the blindfold off. I...I don’t know what happened to it. I don’t even know what it looked like. I couldn’t swim. I felt so heavy, I was all tangled up in something....”

“You were found wearing a wench costume,” Malachi told her. “Do you recall changing into it, or when you were changed into it?”

Helen shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes again. “I’m so sorry. I should just be grateful to be alive!”

“Helen, it’s okay,” Abby said. “You were assaulted, you were nearly killed. That’s a terrible trauma, and you’ll probably need counseling to get over it. But don’t worry now. You’re safe here, protected by people who’d die before they let anything else happen to you!”

“I owe you both my life,” Helen said.

“You owe your life to your own will and strength, Helen,” Malachi said firmly. “You are a survivor. You’re going to be fine. And don’t apologize for the pain you feel, and don’t ever apologize for crying. You have real inner strength, and you’re going to get through this.”

Helen managed a shaky smile.

There was a knock at the door. A tall, brawny male nurse was there; Malachi wondered if he’d been specially chosen to watch over Helen, just in case there was trouble. He didn’t doubt that Jackson Crow might have seen to such a thing.

“There are a few people out here asking to see Ms. Long,” the nurse announced.

“Oh?”

“I told them only two at a time. There’s a fellow out here named Roger English and a couple of others—Jack Winston and Blake Stewart.” He shrugged. “Earlier, they said it was fine for Mr. Johansen to see her with his friends. But I was told to check with whoever’s here from enforcement.”

Malachi could see that Abby was about to get up and prevent anyone from coming near Helen.

“Abby, could you talk to Roger for a minute? Tell him Helen’s had it very rough and that he shouldn’t push her. I think it’s okay for the other two gentlemen to come in right away. But, of course, that’s up to Helen.” He turned to her.

Helen nodded. “Yes, of course. I want to see my friends, but I— Abby? Would you run that brush through my hair?”

“Of course!” Abby hastened to do as she was asked.

When she was finished, Helen said, “How silly—I’m lucky to have my life and I’m worried about how I look.”

“That’s not silly,” Malachi assured her. “That’s life-affirming.”

“And you look beautiful,” Abby said.

“Wenches are supposed to be tough, aren’t they?” Helen asked.

Abby smiled, glanced at Malachi and hurried out. A minute later, the two young actors who worked for Dirk came into the room. Malachi studied them. They looked very different from the way they had when he’d seen them on the Black Swan.

Jack Winston, the older and more confident of the two, was dressed in a T-shirt that advertised Guinness and a pair of stylishly threadbare jeans. He was well-built and had a naturally cocky way about him, but his eyes were filled with tenderness as he walked in. Blake was younger and his heart appeared to be prominently displayed on his sleeve as he followed Jack. Tall and lanky, he wore jeans as well, but had on a polo shirt.

“Helen!” Jack said.

“Hi,” Blake greeted her. Jack kissed Helen on the cheek; Blake stood awkwardly beside the bed.

“Hey, you two!” she said.

Jack didn’t seem to recognize Malachi. He walked over to him and thrust out his hand. “I’m Jack Winston and this is Blake Stewart. We work with Helen. We’ve been worried sick. We, uh, called the hospital and they said it was okay to visit.”

“Sure. Helen needs to see her friends,” Malachi said, shaking hands with Jack. Blake seemed confused, as if he should know him but didn’t. Malachi smiled. “Malachi Gordon. I’m a private investigator working as a consultant with the federal unit down here.”

“Oh, uh, great,” Blake said. Still confused, he turned back to Helen.

Jack did the talking; he was a good bedside guest. He regaled her with tales of kids who’d been on the ship and told her how much she’d been missed. Blake listened, just staring at Helen, his infatuation evident.

He sat down, taking the place Abby had been in before. “Helen...oh, God. Oh, Helen, we missed you so much! We’re so glad... Anything, anything you need or want, you let us know. We’ll get it for you!”

“I’m going to be okay, Blake. Abby and this gentleman here, Mr. Gordon—they saved me.”

“I wish it had been me, Helen!” Blake said passionately. “I wish I could have saved you. If I ever find out who did this, I swear, I’ll kill him!”

His words hung in the air for a minute. “You can’t say that,” Helen told him. “You...you have to let the law take care of him.”

“Don’t worry,” Malachi said. “I understand how you feel, Blake. But she’s right. You have to leave this in the hands of the law.”

Blake didn’t answer.

Jack placed a hand on his shoulder. “They’ll get him, Blake. They’ll get him. Don’t upset Helen.”

“I’m fine,” Helen said softly. Malachi thought she was; seeing how Blake felt meant something to her. His affection made her stronger.

Just then, Abby came back into the room with Roger English, Roger looking duly chastised. He went over to Helen and bent down—then straightened abruptly and asked, “Is it all right if I kiss your cheek? It won’t hurt you or anything?”

“I would love a kiss on the cheek,” she said.

“I’m so glad you’re okay, Helen.” Roger kissed her cheek with great care.

“Thank you, Roger.”

He nodded, stepped back and looked at Malachi. He didn’t say anything else.

Malachi rose. “Come on, Roger, let’s go get some coffee.”

“So, Helen, we’re hoping you’ll be back with us soon. I mean, we want you to get rich and famous in a zombie movie, but we’d like you back with us, too,” Jack said.

Roger came forward again. “Helen, he’s taken another girl. Her name is Bianca Salzburg. You might have met her.... She took some of the local tours and she might have been on the Black Swan. Helen, you have to remember—”

“Stop it! Leave her alone!” Blake said.

Malachi got up, stepping between the two of them and glancing at Abby.

He clapped Roger on the back. “Kat should be back soon,” he told Abby.

He was done at the hospital; he’d gotten from Helen everything he thought he could, and it was time to start going over what she had said, and trying to put the pieces together. Now, Helen deserved a little peace.

As soon as he was outside the room with Roger, he said, “You were very good in there—at first. But we already told Helen that another woman is missing. She wants to help. I’m glad you came to see her, but badgering her won’t help. Abby explained that to you.”

Roger was red-faced but he nodded dully. “They haven’t found Bianca yet. She hasn’t been back to her B and B, and she isn’t answering her cell.”

Malachi didn’t tell him he was sure the police had put a trace on the phone. “We’re going to do everything we can” was all he said.

“Can I tell Helen I’m sorry?” Roger asked.

“I think it’s best if you don’t. She’s had enough for today.”

“All right,” Roger said. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Take a walk. See if you can think of anything. If you do, call me.” Malachi presented a card. It had nothing on it but his cell phone number.

“You don’t even have a name on this,” Roger told him.

“Doesn’t need it. You have my name. Call if you need me.”

Roger nodded and glanced wistfully toward Helen’s hospital room. The uniformed officer on duty by the door stood there with his arms crossed looking at Roger.

“I’m going,” Roger muttered, heading toward the elevator. “I guess I’ll check out the Dragonslayer.”

Malachi watched him leave. As he did, an elevator door down the hall opened and Kat stepped off. She tried to keep the doors from closing but she didn’t move quickly enough. She apologized to Roger, who mumbled something, pushed the call button and stood there, waiting.

Kat came down the hall. “Everything all right?” she asked Malachi.

Malachi nodded, still watching Roger. “I think Helen’s had all the visitors she can handle for the day,” he said.

“She has visitors in there now?”

“Jack and Blake—the pirate actors she works with on the Black Swan.”

“Ah. You let them in on purpose, I take it.”

“I did.”

“Suspects?”

“I don’t think so. I think they’re just friends. No ulterior motives. But we can’t be sure yet.”

“I’ll get the nurse to shoo them out. He’s a great guy and a major help. His name is Byron. He’ll do twelve-hour days—switching with Bruno, another nurse Jackson found here—and one who fits his name well,” Kat said.

Malachi nodded, keeping an eye on Roger, who continued to wait by the elevator. “Leave it to Jackson Crow,” he said, and smiled. “Did Will see or hear anything on board the Black Swan?” he asked.

“No, but he got along famously with Dirk,” Kat said. “And with his buddies, Bootsie and Aldous.”

“Is he back at the house on Chippewa now?”

“Spelling Angela on the cameras, yes.”

“I’d like him to follow Roger English,” Malachi said.

“You think Roger is responsible for all this?” Kat asked. “Isn’t he the one who’s going crazy looking for Bianca?”

“Yes and no. I don’t believe he’s a killer. But he’d be interesting to watch. He’s in love. And he knows the city. He may lead us someplace he suspects might be a haven for the killer. He may even have an idea he isn’t willing to share. He doesn’t feel any of us wants to find Bianca Salzburg with the same desperation he does.”

Kat pulled out her phone. Malachi waited while she put through the call to Will, who promised to get to the tavern quickly and start following Roger. Kat spoke for another minute or so and hung up.

“Jackson was about to call you. He’s at a place near the river called the Wulf and Whistle. It’s by that alley you told him about. He wants you to go there as soon as you can,” she said.

“We’re on it.” Malachi paused. “Kat, what do you think the killer is using to hack off fingers?”

“A very sharp object, one with some heft. He’s taking them cleanly.”

“So, maybe something like an old pirate’s boarding ax?”

“Could be,” Kat said.

“Thanks.”

Kat reached for the door to Helen Long’s room. “I’ll send Abby out—and sic Byron on our visitors.”

Soon after, Abby joined him in the hall.

“Helen is doing fine,” she said. “I told Roger we’d talked to her and that she’d given us everything that she could. I warned him not to push her.”

“I know. Come on. Jackson asked us to meet him at the Wulf and Whistle.”

“It’s in front of the alley our ghosts pointed out to us this morning.” Abby hesitated. “Malachi, what do you think she heard—aside from the music. If she was on the river, she might’ve heard the entertainment from any of the tourist boats. But the sound she heard, like a beat. She didn’t say it was drums, exactly, but something like that.”

Tap, tap, tap.

He didn’t know, but he felt he should. It was there, hidden somewhere in the back of his mind.

The Wulf and Whistle was in one of Savannah’s historic buildings; it had gone up about ten years before the yellow fever epidemic. Abby had been inside many times. Businesses owners in the city could be a tight group; what was good for the city was good for everyone, and Gus had been close with the people he saw as his colleagues rather than competitors. Right now, the restaurant and bar was owned by Samuel Mason, who lived in Florida. His manager, however, was Steve Rugby, a man in his mid-forties who ran the place with friendly ease. Abby had always liked Steve and the Wulf and Whistle.

When the building had first gone up, it had been a tavern with apartments above it.

It was still a tavern with apartments above it. Peanuts were served in shells, the walls were decorated with old advertisements and the feel of the establishment was warm and congenial.

As soon as they entered, the hostess directed Abby and Malachi down to the rum cellar. Once, it had probably housed little more than rum. Now, it still held the old casks, but there were also endless rows of wine, and cases and stacks of fine bourbons, whiskeys, rums, gins and other alcohol, too.

Steve, a barrel-chested balding man, was there with Jackson Crow, David Caswell and a number of other officers. The shelves had been removed from one wall and Steve had been showing the police and Jackson a section of that wall.

Jackson and David hailed Abby and Malachi when they arrived.

“We sent some officers out on a door-to-door,” Jackson explained. “And Steve called to tell us about the tunnel.”

“So there is a tunnel here?” Abby asked. “I never knew about this one, either!”

Steve joined the conversation. “None of us knew about it. We did some renovations down here about three months ago,” he said. “When we did, we had engineers in—you know, you have to make sure these old places are safe. Anyway, they were looking at the pilings and found that we had a false wall here. They knocked it down. My assistant did some research for me, and we’re putting the info on our new menus,” he added proudly. “The owner during the War Between the States was a heartfelt abolitionist, and this place was a stop on the Underground Railroad. Anyway, they must have kept the entrance hidden behind rum casks back then. And by the time we got to it, the false walls had been painted over again and again. But, like I was showing the police, we had our entrance here sealed as part of the renovation.”

It might have been sealed before, Abby thought, but not anymore. The police had taken sledgehammers to it.

Now, a dark hole gaped before them, running beneath the earth. The artificial light from the cellar faded into the far reaches. David Caswell held a large searchlight and started moving slowly into the dank tunnel.

“Shall we?” Jackson asked, pulling out a flashlight, as well.

Abby felt Malachi’s hand on the small of her back as he guided her forward.

Light played over the walls of the tunnel. There were places where the earth had fallen in and other places where plaster or wooden walls remained to shore it up.

They walked for about fifty feet and came to a dead end.

Jackson, David and Malachi tapped on the solid wall of earth they’d reached, listening for a hollow sound that would indicate the tunnel had been blocked but continued. Malachi used the end of his light to dig at the earth. He hit more earth.

They tried, moving along, casting the light in different directions, tapping and searching, but an hour later, they remained frustrated.

“Nothing,” Jackson said. “I could’ve sworn there’d be something,”

“Me, too,” David Caswell agreed.

“We can get some engineers down here tomorrow,” Jackson said, “and see if we’re missing anything. For now...”

“For now we have to give it up?” Abby asked.

“An engineer will uncover what we can’t,” Malachi told her.

“Right.” Abby felt deflated; she’d been so certain they’d find something.

They trudged back out of the tunnel. Steve and the other officers remained in the cellar.

“We’ll call it a night and get someone in here tomorrow,” David announced.

Jackson stepped forward to thank Steve for all his help. “Hey, it’s my city,” Steve said. “And it tears at my heart to hear about the bad things that are happening. Whatever I can do...”

“Sorry about wrecking the wall,” Jackson reminded him.

“Easy to fix,” Steve assured them. “Don’t worry about it.”

They left, going up to the tavern and out to the street, where David, Jackson, Malachi and Abby stood together, looking at one another.

They resembled kids who’d been playing in the mud, Abby thought. “Well,” David said with a wry grin. “Time to hit the showers.”

“Bianca Salzburg hasn’t surfaced, has she?” Abby said. It wasn’t really a question.

Bianca, her disappearance, had to be the reason for tonight’s exertions.

“No,” David admitted. “She’s still missing.”

“He has her,” Abby said.

David turned to Jackson. “We traced her cell phone. The signal disappeared somewhere around here. That’s why we needed to tear everything up at the restaurant. But I have men on the riverfront. We might go broke on overtime, but we’re leaving nothing unturned. We have police vessels out on the river and the coast guard, too. We’re doing everything we possibly can.”

Abby nodded. “But—”

“We have to quit for tonight,” Jackson said decisively. “Everyone needs to sleep.”

They wished one another a good night. Then Abby and Malachi returned to the Dragonslayer.

Grant Green was at the desk when they walked in. “My God!” he said, staring at the two of them, mouth agape. Guests were still having dinner in the dining rooms; a few people—along with the trio of Bootsie, Aldous and Dirk—were at the bar. Grant hurried around the host stand to meet them. “What have you been doing?”

“Playing in the dirt,” Abby said facetiously.

“Okay, never mind.” Grant sighed. “How’s Helen?”

“Doing well.”

“What about the other girl? The one Roger was seeing?” Grant asked.

“No one knows yet,” Malachi told him.

“That—that bastard!” Grant sputtered. “He takes a new one the minute he...loses one. Can’t you stop him?”

“We will stop him,” Malachi said.

“Are you getting any closer?”

No! Abby wanted to scream. How is he doing this? How is he eluding this kind of manhunt?

“I believe we are,” Malachi responded. “Thanks to Abby, one girl is alive. And with the police prowling the river now and all the searches taking place out there...he’ll be caught.”

“Soon, I hope!” Grant said.

“Every criminal makes a mistake at some point,” Malachi insisted. “That’s when we’ll get him.”

“Uh, you might want to clean up first,” Grant said, looking pointedly at Abby.

“I’m going upstairs now. Oh, Grant, can you ask the chef to make us something to eat?” she asked. “You can send it up—”

“Or,” Malachi interrupted, “we can eat at the bar. Join Dirk, Bootsie and Aldous.”

“Okay,” Abby said. “But first, a shower.”

Malachi came with her, but didn’t seem to notice that she was shrugging out of her muddy clothing as they entered the apartment. He repeated his inspection, making sure no one was inside, under the beds, in the closets. He headed back to the bank of computer screens to watch what was going on in the restaurant.

Abby cleared her throat. “I’m hopping in the shower,” she told him.

He nodded; he didn’t even glance up. So much for her appeal.

Hot water had seldom felt so good. Well, other than the night before, after she’d plunged into the river...

It felt sensuously good. Despite everything they were frantically doing in their desperate new search to find another young woman, she wished Malachi would join her.

She almost needed him.

She pictured him walking into the bathroom, stripping off his clothing, imagined the sleek feel of his naked flesh and his hands on her breasts.

But he didn’t come in.

She emerged, feeling a little embarrassed. When she returned to the living room area, having donned jeans and a T-shirt to head back down for dinner, Malachi was still studying the screens, fixated on them. But he immediately sensed her standing behind him.

“The soap... You smell wonderful,” he told her. There was a husky note in his voice and a darkening in the hazel of his eyes as he watched her; it made her knees tremble.

“You would’ve been welcome to join me,” she said.

He smiled, an ironic twist to his lips. “I had to know that this apartment was safe.”

She smiled. He stood and started to touch her but drew back. “Go down and join our friends at the bar. Try to casually find out what they’ve been doing all day.”

She wanted to argue with him. Bootsie, Dirk and Aldous—these men were bulwarks in her life. They couldn’t be guilty of anything. Will Chan had been watching Dirk and the Black Swan. Bootsie was old. Aldous...

Aldous was healthy and fit—and not all that old. He’d always looked like a pirate with his gleaming bald head and single gold earring.

He had money. Enough money to do whatever he wanted. His business was a shipping company; he had ships and boats at his disposal.

She didn’t say anything, but Malachi gave her another rueful smile. “I see your mind working,” he said.

“Aldous?” she asked.

He nodded.

“I’m sure your FBI friends have checked out everything they possibly can on him. As far as I know, he’s never even had a parking ticket.”

His grin deepened at that. “Hey, you’re the one who’s actually a fed at the moment,” he reminded her.

Abby rolled her eyes. “I’ll be downstairs,” she said, and left him in the apartment. She was grateful to see that Grant had ordered dinner for her and Malachi. Two covered plates were set on the bar, next to Bootsie. Aldous was sitting between him and Dirk.

Abby kissed the three of them on the cheek, hitched herself onto the bar stool beside Bootsie’s and took the cover off her food. Chicken potpie. It smelled wonderful.

“You doing okay?” Bootsie asked her, his eyes grave.

“I’m just feeling sick that this killer may have taken another young woman,” she said.

“But,” he said, lifting a glass of ale to her, “you saved Helen. She seems to be doing just fine—minus a finger, unfortunately. But you can live perfectly well with one less finger. I should know. I’ve lived most of my life without a leg.”

Dirk bent over the bar to speak to her across the other men. “Did you see Helen again tonight? She’s really doing well?”

“She’s really doing well,” Abby assured them. “So, what about you gentlemen? What have you been up to today?”

“We went with Dirk to see Helen,” Aldous said, looking at her as if she should have realized that.

“That was this morning,” Abby said. “How about later? Have you been sitting on these chairs all day?”

Frowning, Dirk surveyed the restaurant and said, “Abby, you know I’ve been back on the Black Swan. That handsome young Asian fellow, or whatever he is, has been working with me. You know that,” he repeated.

“Will Chan.”

“Yeah, Will. He’s a good guy. A great performer.”

“I don’t really know him but I have heard he’s a pretty talented magician, as well,” Abby said.

“Yeah, he’s something else. He pulls doubloons out of kids’ ears, has ’em laughing. Wish I could keep him,” Dirk said. “He was with me for the afternoon tour. I assume he’s keeping an eye on me, right?”

“An eye on the guests, the river...everything, Dirk.”

“Yeah. Like I’m a suspect!” Dirk said, sounding a little bitter.

Sullivan walked up to Abby. “Water? Beer, soda—anything to drink?”

“Just water, thanks, Sullivan,” Abby told him.

“And not to worry—these old barflies haven’t been here all day!” Sullivan said, grinning. “They’ve only been back for about three hours now.”

Three hours. So, ever since Dirk had berthed the Black Swan. There’d been at least three hours when they could’ve been doing anything. Separately or together.

And of course, there were two hours between sailings on the Black Swan. Right around lunchtime...

Right around the time Bianca Salzburg had disappeared.

“Is your food okay?” Sullivan asked.

“Yes, it’s fine. I just started talking and got distracted.”

“Ah, there’s your colleague,” Sullivan said. He waited as Malachi, fresh from the shower, came to join her.

“Hello,” Dirk said in greeting. The others echoed him.

“Gentlemen.” Malachi took his seat next to Abby.

“Cops, FBI people wasting their time watching me and God knows who else,” Dirk muttered. “And they’ve come up with...nothing.”

“Sometimes a killer’s never caught,” Aldous reminded him.

“They’d better catch this one, or Savannah will run out of women,” Bootsie commented.

Malachi turned on his bar stool to face them. “You don’t feel the police are doing everything they can?” he asked.

“Killer hasn’t been caught,” Bootsie said. “And they’re hounding good people, like our friend Dirk here.”

“Oh, they’ll catch this killer,” Malachi spoke with all the confidence he could muster. Grant had moved over toward the bar. Sullivan remained where he’d been, right behind it. All five men stared at him. “This killer...well, he’s pretending to be Blue Anderson.”

“Yeah, I heard. The media got hold of Helen Long’s story about being attacked by a ‘pirate,’” Sullivan said. “So he’s pretending to be Blue?”

“Here’s the thing,” Malachi went on. “And I’m not talking out of line. The police want some of Helen’s information out there to prevent other women from being taken. The man who lured her to the abandoned church had given her a business card with the name Christopher Condent on it. I’m sure you gentlemen know who the real Christopher Condent was?”

“A pirate. A brutal pirate who got away with it,” Sullivan said.

“He died in France, right?” Dirk asked.

“Rich as Midas, from what I’ve read,” Aldous added.

“Yes, I think our killer believes he can do whatever he wants, get away with it and then sail off into the sunset. Christopher Condent. Students of piracy or local history might know the name, but it’s not like Blackbeard or any of the really well-known names. So, he amuses himself by using the name and the business cards, but then dresses up as Blue. Everyone in this area knows what Blue looks like. There are dozens of paintings of him, including the replica of him right here in the dining room. But there’s a problem with that.”

“What?” Bootsie asked. “Other than the guy getting his pirates confused.”

“Well, Blue, of course.”

Everyone stared at Malachi. “What do you mean?” Aldous asked.

“I mean the real Blue won’t stand for it.”

Bootsie began to laugh. Dirk let out a choked cough that became a chuckle.

“Blue Anderson’s been dead for two and a half centuries!” Sullivan said.

“Blue is here in spirit,” Malachi told them all.

“Yep—in all the spirits behind this bar,” Sullivan said, grinning.

“Oh, no, my friends. Don’t kid yourselves. Blue is very much here, in every brick and beam of this tavern. And his anger will grow—and when it does, the killer had best beware.”