The Night Is Alive

“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.”

 

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