He and Abby walked slowly behind Will and Roger, coming along the riverfront and then hiking over to Bay and down toward the Dragonslayer.
When the other two split off, heading to the center of the old town, Abby waved. “I feel like such a jerk,” she said. “Roger and I went to school together from the time we were kids.”
“And you’re being a good friend. Remember, part of shadowing people is to clear them,” Malachi reminded her.
As they returned to the Dragonslayer, he noticed that the sun was just coming up.
“Let’s get a few hours’ sleep,” he said huskily.
Abby nodded. “Good idea.”
The morning crew had yet to arrive. Abby unlocked the door and they trudged up to the second-floor apartment. She started for the bedroom; he wanted to follow.
“I’m just going to check the screens. I’ll be right there,” he told her.
He sat down and looked at the various views of the Dragonslayer. Nothing. He ran the footage back, quickly at first. Then he reran it, closely studying the screen that showed the front of the Dragonslayer.
He saw himself and Abby leaving. They went out of view.
He glanced to see the time; they were gone about ten minutes when someone else approached the Dragonslayer.
Head down.
Most of the time when a person or persons couldn’t be identified on video, it was because of a sweatshirt with a hoodie.
But this person wasn’t in a hoodie. He wore a sweeping hat and a cloak. A long black cloak.
But the figure reached the Dragonslayer and seemed about to try the door, then abruptly stepped back. The hat still blocked any view of the face. “Look up, you bastard!” Malachi muttered.
But the person didn’t look up. Apparently, something at the Dragonslayer had spooked him.
Malachi went through the footage of the bar area and saw a shadow appear just inside the front door.
“Blue,” Malachi whispered. “Blue, you are watching over this place.”
He typed a message to Jackson. Maybe Will could enhance the footage in the morning; maybe there was some information they could get.
Jackson was still at the computer in Abby’s house.
Police closest to the area were dispatched. They were there in minutes but the person was gone, and out of camera range almost immediately.
While we were by the river.
Yes.
Do you think the cameras scared him off?
Don’t know. Camera would be pretty obvious if it was someone who knew the Dragonslayer.
Any hope of enhancing the footage?
I’ll get Will on it later in the morning. Rowboat taken to the forensic lab. I’ll report as soon as we learn anything.
OK. Grabbing a few hours sleep.
I’m on for the next few hours here. Angela spells me at eight. Police know to call at any time. I’ll keep you posted.
Malachi signed off and walked down the hallway to Abby’s room. He went in and tiptoed over to the bed.
Abby was sound asleep. She’d set her gun on the dresser—hadn’t even taken off her clothes. He pulled a blanket over her, stripped and lay down himself. He stayed awake for a few minutes, once again wondering about the mysterious noise Helen had reported.
Tap, tap, tap. He knew it meant something. But what?
*
Abby woke up with a jolt. It felt very late, and although the drapes were drawn, she could feel the warmth of the sun pouring in.
She dashed out of the room and found Malachi sitting at the computers.
“Good morning,” he said.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Ten.”
“Ten! We should be up and doing something.”
“You’ll notice that I am,” he said with a laugh. “But when you’re ready, we’ll go back to the area around the cemetery and the Wulf and Whistle.”
“All right. I just have to send a few emails before we go.”
“Okay, take your time.”
“Take my time?” Abby echoed. “No, no, I slept a lot. We have to get started! If this guy is following his usual timelines, Bianca doesn’t have much longer. But if we’re going back to the cemetery today, I have to live up to my promise about having that tombstone repaired.”
“Do you know who to contact?” Malachi asked.
“I know a few people on the city council. I’ll write the emails to get things started.” She walked over to the desk near the balcony, where she’d left her laptop, and then paused, looking at him. “So, how am I going to explain why I know all this? We don’t really have an opportunity to research it.”
“Just say it came up when the bureau was investigating. They won’t ask anything else if you do that. I’ll tell Jackson. He really can get someone on the research,” Malachi said.
Abby nodded and she retrieved her notepad before she quickly sat down.
“‘Lieutenant Josiah Beckwith,’” she read. “‘Born April 9, 1790. Died for his country, September 12, 1814, at the Battle of North Point during the War of 1812. Beloved son, husband and father. A patriot.’ I have it all—yes?”