The Night Is Alive

David looked at Abby. Abby was white and pinched, but she didn’t turn away. “Can you tell?” David asked her.



To Malachi’s surprise, Abby nodded. “It’s not Helen,” she said.



“And you know that because...?”



She pointed to the corpse’s left breast—in relatively good condition. “Helen had a tiny clover tattooed right there. She told a bunch of the girls about it one day, as long as we swore not to say anything to the guys she worked with. She liked to tease them, telling them she had one somewhere, but they’d have to guess where, and when she had all their guesses, maybe she’d tell them. And the hair...I don’t think that’s the shade of Helen’s hair. She was almost platinum. This girl had a manicure and Helen didn’t manicure her nails. She always said wenches didn’t use polish.”



“Okay, then.” David let out a sigh. “We’re still looking for Helen. And we have to find out who this poor girl might be. I’ll get them started on missing-person reports back at the office. Thank you for coming in.”



Malachi didn’t want to leave yet. He walked closer to the table and stared at the dead woman. What he saw now might help him later when they were further along in the investigation. “Death was by drowning?” he asked.



“Her lungs were filled with water from the river,” Dr. Tierney said. “They’ve scraped her nails, searched for trace evidence...but I don’t know. She was in the river about a day and a half to two days, until she washed up near the dock.”



“So, she died around the time Helen Long disappeared,” Malachi said.



Tierney glanced at David.



David shrugged. “That timing sounds about right,” he said.



Malachi didn’t want to act like a ghoul but he wanted to touch the body. He moved closer and leaned over her, trying to study the remains of her face. He touched her arm; she was cold and he felt no sense of her. But he noticed something he hadn’t seen before. Perhaps it was a detail the medical examiner’s office and the police had wanted to keep quiet.



Her hands were darkened and curled at her side but there was something odd about her left hand. Malachi raised his brows at brow at Tierney and touched the icy hand. He looked at Tierney.



Tierney returned his look with a fierce frown.



Malachi straightened. “May I see the other corpses?” he asked.



Tierney swung around to face David.



“He’s one of my old partners, Doc. And now Mr. Gordon is a consultant with the FBI. I would appreciate it if you’d help us.”



Tierney hesitated and pulled back his sleeve. “It’s late,” he muttered.



“Please,” Malachi said.



“Can I... May I get out of here?” Dirk pleaded.



“Abby?” Malachi asked.



She wanted to stay and help—that was clear in her eyes—but it was obvious that she was the one who needed to be with Dirk.



“I’ll take you home, Dirk,” she said.



“I’ll take Mr. Johansen for a coffee across the street. We’ll wait for you,” David offered. “Abby should be here since she just graduated from the academy. She’s an FBI agent now.”



“So I’ve heard,” Tierney murmured. It didn’t sound as if he was impressed. Malachi made a point of grinning at her. Learn to live with it, he told her silently.



Whether she understood his message or not, she handled it. “Thank you. I believe it’s important that we see all the victims.”



David left with Dirk.



When they were gone, Malachi spoke to Tierney. “She’s missing her ring finger. It wasn’t gnawed off, it was cut off,” he said.



“We’re not letting that information out,” Tierney said curtly.



“I understand.” Malachi nodded. “Is it the same with the other corpses?”



“Yes.”



Tierney walked over to a wall with numbered sliding doors and placards in little slots. He went straight to drawer nine. A handwritten name tag read Ruth Seymour.



He pulled the drawer back and gently removed the sheet from her face.



Ruth had fared better than the unknown girl they’d just seen. Most of her face was intact. Malachi saw the mark of some kind of bondage that had been described in the autopsy notes. He also saw that the ring finger on her left hand had been severed at the knuckle.



“Head injury is here,” Tierney told him, pointing.



She’d been struck on the back of the skull—one solid blow.



“It would’ve knocked her out?” Malachi asked.



“Probably came close to fracturing the skull, so, yes, likely she would’ve been knocked out. But if you look at the wound closely, you can see there’s healing. So she regained consciousness again—a day, a few days?—before she was killed,” Tierney explained.



That made something cold curl up inside his gut. Dead was dead—but he wondered what torture she’d gone through before death.



“What about Rupert Holloway?” he asked.



“That was different. As far as I can tell, Holloway was knocked out and killed soon after. Maybe a few hours later, somewhere in that time frame, at any rate. Both young women were kept alive longer. I assume you’ve read the reports. Although I can’t state it definitively, I believe both were sexually molested, and killed later. I don’t think they were in any condition to fight off the rapist. They were probably knocked out and held until they annoyed their attacker—or he tired of them. Ms. Shepherd was the last victim found before today. She’s right here.”



She could have been anyone. “How did you ID her?” Malachi asked.



“Fingerprints. They were on file at her school. It’s a safety measure taken there.”



“She’s missing the ring finger?”



“Yes.”



Malachi looked at Abby. She was stoic, watching, listening, betraying sorrow but allowing little else to show on her face.



Tierney went over the young woman’s injuries.



Malachi moved closer to inspect the corpse again, touching the body. And again, he had no sense of anyone remaining.



“Mr. Rupert Holloway is the last of our recent victims. You don’t want to visit the entire morgue, do you?” Tierney obviously wanted to be on his way.



“Just these victims,” Malachi said. “Mr. Holloway, please.”



Rupert Holloway was in nearly the same shape as their Jane Doe, and his head wound was worse; the skull had been fractured. “He might still have been out cold when he was tossed in the river,” Tierney said.



“But he’s missing his ring finger, as well.”



Tierney looked uncomfortable. “Yes. Taken while he was still alive—as with the others.”



“Any other marks on him?” Malachi asked.



“Just one. On his back. Help me roll him and I’ll show you.”



He obliged; Rupert Holloway had been a big man.



Low on his back there was a wound, which was sharp and broad.



“Not serrated,” Abby commented.



“No, it was made by a smooth blade,” Tierney said. “Now, if that’s all...”



“That’s all, Dr. Tierney. Thank you so much for your time.”



He led Abby out. They removed the scrubs they’d donned and left them in the appropriate receptacles.



“Definitely a serial killer,” Abby said. She shuddered and looked at him apologetically. She was ashen, although she’d held up well. “Why...why the fingers? Is there a significance to the ring finger? Are they trophies?”



“Possibly. And I can’t begin to fathom if there’s a symbolic reason of some kind for the ring finger. Does it have anything to do with wedding or engagement rings? Holloway was married, but the others...” He shrugged. “I don’t know.” As he spoke, he watched something come alive in her eyes.



“I’m an idiot,” she said.



“Why?”



She flushed. “I mean, there is a symbolic reason for the ring finger. Pirates used to cut off the ring fingers of their hostages specifically to steal their rings. Blackbeard supposedly cut off his own ring finger as a warning to others to leave him alone.”



“Then it is symbolic,” Malachi said.



“Yes, I believe that has to be it. But still, the killing of Rupert Holloway was different from the others. The injury on his back is completely unlike the injuries on the women. What do you think the blade was?” Abby asked. “And why that mark left there?”



“At the small of his back?” Malachi mused thoughtfully. “A pirate sword, Agent Anderson. I’m willing to bet that wound was made by a sword.”



5



“It’s not Helen. It’s not Helen,” Dirk repeated. He’d said the words dozens of times during the drive back to the Dragonslayer.



“No, Dirk, it’s not Helen,” Abby assured him.



“Oh, my God! Did you see her face?”



They reached the parking lot and Abby put the car in Park. Malachi was out of the backseat, opening the door for Dirk. When Dirk stood in front of him, he steadied the man with a hand at his elbow. “Not Helen, Dirk. So if you can think of anything at all that might help us find her, it could save her life.”



“What if he’s doing that to her—to Helen—right now?” Dirk asked.



“Dirk, the poor girl looks so bad because of what the creatures in the river did to her. Helen could be alive. She’s a bright girl, and if anyone can manage to stay alive, she can. I’ll tell you what might help. You let the police do a thorough search of the Black Swan,” Malachi said.



“A search?” Dirk asked blankly.



By then, Abby had come around the car. “If they search the Black Swan, Dirk, they might find something Helen left on the ship. A note, a scrap of paper, a card—something.”



She watched Dirk carefully—although she couldn’t believe anything evil of him, not in a thousand years.



His expression didn’t change. “If it’ll help, hell, yeah, search the ship.”