David kept them as briefly as possible. He looked at Abby curiously and asked how she’d known Helen was in the river. Abby told him she hadn’t known—she’d just been there and seen the disturbance in the water. They called Jackson at the hospital before they left; Helen Long was still unconscious. But the doctors hoped she’d make a complete recovery.
When they returned to the Dragonslayer, Grant Green and Sullivan were just shutting down, and Abby realized they’d gone into the wee hours of the morning.
It had been a long day. They’d found the body of one dead woman—unknown, but surely loved and missed, and there would be sad news for a family somewhere.
But, she reminded herself again, they’d also saved a woman. Someone she knew and even considered a friend.
“Oh, my God, you both look like bloody hell!” Grant told them.
“We took a swim,” Malachi said. He didn’t mention Helen, but Abby knew everyone would hear about it soon enough. No need to come up with something clever to explain their sodden shape.
“A good swim. We found Helen,” Abby said.
“You found her?” Sullivan demanded.
“She was in the river,” Abby explained.
“You just found her—in the river?” Grant asked. “I mean, that’s wonderful! I haven’t had the news on. Oh, no, wait, is she...dead?” he asked, the last word a whisper.
Abby shook her head. “She’s alive. They’ve taken her to the hospital.”
“Then...then she’ll be able to tell them what happened,” Grant said. “Thank God! The cops will catch this bastard. Maybe he’ll resist arrest and they’ll have to shoot him. That would be justice!”
“Grant, we have courts for justice, but, yes, we hope she’ll be able to tell the police what happened to her,” Abby said.
“She hasn’t said anything yet?” Sullivan asked.
“She isn’t conscious,” Malachi answered.
Sullivan let out a sigh. “But she will regain consciousness?”
“They’re hoping for a full recovery,” Abby told him.
“Thank God!” Grant breathed.
“Yes, thank God,” Sullivan echoed.
“Well.” Grant wrinkled his nose and stepped back. “They’ve done a lot to clean up that river, but you two are pretty disgusting. Abby, that hairstyle—plastered to your face—is not your best. We’ll finish locking up. You two go take showers. And get some sleep. We’ll take care of this place. Go on.”
“Going now,” Abby said.
She turned and started up the stairs. “Good night, you two,” Malachi said. He followed Abby and they went into the apartment together.
“It’s not locked,” Malachi noted.
“I rushed out,” Abby said.
“I’ll just take a quick look around, huh?”
She nodded. Malachi went down the hall. His “look” wasn’t really that quick. She heard him open doors and she was pretty sure he checked under the beds. When he returned to the living room, he headed straight to the bank of cameras. He knew how to use the equipment, running through the time they’d been out, scanning it all, screen by screen. He sat back after a minute. “Nope, no one even tried this door. Sullivan came up at about nine to get two bottles of bourbon. Grant came and worked in the office for a while.... Everyone else just worked. All seems well here.” He looked over at her. “Why did you go to the river?”
“I saw a shadow by the grating—it was Blue. He led me all the way through the tunnel and to the river. Malachi, the hatch was open. It should have been sealed.”
Malachi drummed his fingers on the computer desk. “When you found Gus, he was at the end of the tunnel.”
“Yes.”
“The police and emergency crews came, didn’t they?”
“Yes, but...well, no one checked the hatch.”
Malachi pulled out his cell. He called David and winced when his friend answered, then covered his phone. “Sounds like I woke him and he’s cranky,” he said. But she could dimly hear David’s voice; he might’ve just fallen asleep, but he was already awake, telling Malachi he’d get crews right on it.
He walked over to the apartment door and locked it. Smiling, he said, “Despite Grant’s comment, I’m not sure you could find a bad hairstyle, Agent Anderson. Even dank from the river, you don’t look bad.”
“Thank you. We’re locked in, so we’re fine, aren’t we?” she asked him.
“We are,” he assured her. “And I have some news.”
“What?”
“We found out about the finger—from Gus’s drawer,” he said.
“Oh?”
“It belonged to Ruth Seymour. The first victim.”
“Gus couldn’t have known that!”
“No, I don’t believe he could have. But I do believe he called you because of it.”
“Why not the police?” she murmured.
“He must have been worried—and perhaps he knew you’d never suspect him of such brutality, but the police might. Still...I don’t think it would’ve changed anything if he had called them.”
She nodded.
“You’re okay?”
“Of course. I know Gus was doing his best.” She gave him a weak smile. “I’m going to have a shower.”