Malachi stared out at the river. One of the big paddle wheelers was going by; the music and laughter traveled all the way to shore.
People looked at him curiously as they passed. On the riverfront, it was growing late. But tourists, in smaller numbers, were still passing by. The news of a missing woman—and the murders—was surely disconcerting to them. But if they traveled as couples or in groups, the horror was removed. They could sympathize, but this wasn’t their home, and it wasn’t their friend, lover or child who’d been killed or was missing.
No person could embrace every tragedy. It would make life unbearable.
There was nothing Malachi could see on the river. Not then.
“I guess I’ll call it a night.” He turned to Jackson. “They’ll watch him through the night?”
“There’ll be a man on his house at all times,” Jackson said.
Malachi nodded. “Good.” Then he frowned, shaking his head. “Jackson, something is bothering me. Helen talked about a sound. Tap, tap, tap. Does that mean anything to you?”
Jackson looked tired. “They weren’t taken by the ghosts of Fred Astaire or Gene Kelly,” he said. “Tap, tap, tap. I don’t know. I’ll try to think of things that could make that kind of sound. And I’ll see that the whole team is aware.”
“It’s hard,” Malachi said. “Situations like this always are. But,” he admitted, “it’s better when you work with others—the right others.”
Jackson managed a smile. “So, you’re in? As more than a consultant?”
Only if we find Bianca alive, Malachi thought.
“Assuming we solve this,” he said.
“We’ll solve it,” Jackson vowed. “We have to. And we will. We have a perfect record so far.”
They left the riverfront together, parting ways on Bay Street. Jackson had brought his car and Malachi didn’t want a ride for the few blocks to the Dragonslayer. He could dry off enough walking back, then he’d slink up the stairs before anyone noticed him.
The Dragonslayer was still open when he returned, but he didn’t pause to speak to anyone; he just started up the stairs. Grant, at the host stand, saw him and waved, and he waved back. None of the barflies was present, nor did he recognize anyone at the tables.
When he entered the apartment, Abby came rushing over to him and threw herself into his arms.
“I can’t wait to tell you what happened!” she said excitedly before drawing back. “Ugh. You’re all wet!”
“I went swimming,” Malachi said. He was sorry the moment he said the words. Hope sprang into her eyes.
“You found Bianca?” she asked excitedly.
“No. I dove into the river to get to Aldous’s yacht.” He inhaled. “Abby, the rowboat Roger saw on the river—it belonged to a ship owned by one of Aldous’s companies. The police searched the ship, welcomed by the captain.”
“Does that prove anything?” she asked. “Other than that a rowboat from a big ship broke away?”
“Maybe that’s all it is. But I also found a scarf on his yacht that might...that might’ve been used as a blindfold.”
“Might have been used as a blindfold. And that would hold up in court?” she asked.
“Abby, we’re searching for a killer. We’re not in court. We’re trying to find a young woman while she’s still alive.”
Abby let out a breath. “I know,” she said, meeting his eyes.
“Nothing’s been proven—we’re watching Aldous, Dirk, Roger, among others—and keeping an eye on Bootsie, of course.”
“He’s seventy!”
Malachi nodded. “But we have to watch everyone, Abby. Everyone who was familiar with Gus—and the Dragonslayer,” he went on. “Gus knew something because of what he’d seen here. There’s no way out of that. Don’t forget he found one victim’s finger.”
She nodded again. She looked deflated but seemed to have accepted the truth. “So much time is going by. Bianca doesn’t stand much of a chance, does she?”
“She’s strong and resilient. She may be playing it just right,” Malachi said. “He wants a captive who will fall in love with him. He’s trying to live out a fantasy.”
“If he doesn’t give himself away somehow, we’ll never find him,” Abby muttered.
“We will,” Malachi said with assurance. “He was afraid when he came to the Dragonslayer the other night. Why he came when he did, I don’t know. Maybe just to prove that he could.”
“The only people with keys are—”
Malachi interrupted her. “How closely did Gus watch his keys around his friends?” he asked.
She pursed her lips and then sighed. “He kept his keys on a hook behind the bar,” she said. “I guess anyone could have borrowed them and had copies made.”
“Anyone who knew how casual he was with them.”
“But the grate to the tunnel—”
“Was opened by someone who knew the combination.”