“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.”