He wasn’t going to be able to sleep, so he got up and studied Gus’s room. It made him wish he’d had the opportunity to know the man. He’d evidently loved the river and history and ships. His room wasn’t furnished with reproduction pieces; the lamps and harpoons and other paraphernalia were original, probably worth a small fortune.
When he opened the old sea chest at the foot of the bed, he saw that it contained neatly folded blankets. Wandering around the small space, he discovered that the room didn’t have a closet, just an old oak armoire, but it had been emptied except for a few shirts and a woolen captain’s coat.
There was one dresser in the room. On top of it sat a few pictures. One he guessed was Abby as a child with her parents. Another was of Abby and, surely, Gus. Another was Abby’s college graduation photo. She was young and beautiful, and her eyes were filled with the bright light of one anticipating the future.
She still had that look about her, but now it was tempered by loss. The important people in her family had died. She’d made it through the academy and certainly seen enough of the brutality that could exist. It hadn’t silenced the resilient, vibrant chord of life within her; she’d seen something wrong in her grandfather’s death and was determined to get to the root of it.
And, she knew there was more in the world than what was seen by most people. Maybe she hadn’t had a lot of experience—but then, you didn’t really need a lot. Once you’d experienced the dead appearing before you or speaking to you, you recognized that it was possible.
He paused for a moment before opening the first drawer. Although he’d already been prying, he murmured, “Forgive me, Gus, I have to see if there’s anything here that will help us.”
The first drawer held neatly folded briefs and nothing more. It didn’t seem that Abby had gotten around to going through Gus’s more personal items.
In the second drawer he found T-shirts and two sets of long underwear. Savannah, on the river, could get damply cold in winter.
Third drawer contained jeans. He looked under them.
There was a newspaper neatly folded beneath the several layers of jeans. Malachi glanced at the date—three months earlier. He studied the paper. A brief article on the bottom of the front page had a headline that read Savannah Underground!
He scanned the article, which was interesting; apparently, years ago, Savannah had teemed with life below the surface.
He started to put the jeans back, deciding that, with more time, he’d refer back to the article. As he held the jeans, he felt something in one of the pockets.
He pulled out a small plastic bag. There was a Post-it stuck to the bag with a note. “Police. Found at bottom of tunnel ladder. Must get to right person.”
Curious, Malachi examined the contents of the bag. He couldn’t figure out what the object was and then a chill seemed to settle in his bones. The...thing was small and oddly dark, as if it were growing charred. He had to open the bag and let it spill out before he saw what it was.
A finger. Presumably a ring finger. Decaying. He looked at the note again. It had to mean that Gus had found the finger and meant to give it to the police. But he’d wanted to talk to his granddaughter—someone he trusted. Gus had known or suspected something.
“Hello?” Abby tapped at his door. He opened it.
“I heard you rummaging around,” she said. “So I knew you were awake. I wanted to tell you that Grant and Sullivan are gone. The Dragonslayer’s empty except for the two of us.”
He didn’t reply right away.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Gus was onto something.”
“What?”
He hesitated. “Gus found a...um, finger. He found a finger at the bottom of the tunnel. He knew that someone who had some involvement with the murders had been in the tunnel. Except the police never released the fact that the ring finger of the left hand had been taken from each of the victims. So he probably didn’t know exactly what he’d found—which was why he wanted to talk to you.”
Abby lowered her head. “He died,” she said dully, “because I didn’t get here fast enough.”
“Abby,” he said, lifting her chin, “he died because it was his time. He died doing what was right, and that would’ve been important to Gus.”
She nodded and he released her. “You’re right, even though you didn’t know him.”
“I wish I had, but I know that much about him.”
He realized she was far too close. She smelled sweetly of soap and shampoo, and he was surprised that it was suddenly so difficult for him to separate a coworker from someone...
Someone he wanted.
“What should we do with the finger?”
He stepped awkwardly back as her words broke through his thoughts. “Give it to Kat,” he said. “She’ll tell us whether it’s new and showing some kind of decay or if it’s been in the tunnel for ages.”
“Unlikely—since this killer is taking fingers.”
“I agree. But we’ll give it to Kat,” he said.
“All right.”
He paused for a minute. “We’ll deal with it tomorrow.”
“And then we’ll give it to the cops, right?”