Delia's Shadow (5 page)

Gabe wrapped the envelope in his handkerchief, tucked the note in a jacket pocket and buttoned the flap. He had cotton gloves and fingerprint powder in his desk. Nothing had shown up on any of the other letters, but he kept hoping overconfidence would make the killer sloppy.

His men knew their jobs and could finish up without him. He strode past Irwin without a word or a glance, his mouth dry and his heart pounding. The killer was raising the stakes, making this personal. He couldn’t summon the willingness to be diplomatic with the captain.

Jack caught up before Gabe got more than a hundred yards down the hill. His partner tucked the ever-present moleskine into an inside pocket, whistling a cheerful tune.

A catchy melody penetrated Gabe’s funk after a moment and recognition made him smile. The song was a hit in the saloons and bawdy houses near the docks, the lyrics lewd and not fit for decent company. Undoubtedly in poor taste considering the situation.

That made the song perfect in Gabe’s eyes. They’d stayed partners for ten years because Jack knew when to give him a moment to breathe and when to make him laugh.

Some of the tension bled out of his shoulders and he unclenched his fists. “Better not let Sadie here you whistling that song. She’ll start questioning where you learned it.”

Jack grinned. “Who do you think taught me? Sadie taught me all the words, too.”

“I should have known.” He chuckled and shook his head. “You two were made for each other.”

The air was clean away from the murder site, filled with the familiar seaweed and sand scent of the bay, the smell of pinesap and wet grass crushed underfoot. Noise from the Pan Pacific carried into the Presidio, voices and music an insect drone in the distance. Fog built an iron-gray wall outside the Golden Gate, biding its time until sunset. The killer would bide his time, too, using darkness and murk as cover to hunt.

The men from the coroner’s office and two of his patrolmen passed them, each man holding the stretcher handles tight or gripping the canvas sides to get the bodies safely down the hill.

Gabe paused to let the stretcher bearers get ahead and watched them go. “May God have mercy on their souls. With luck, we’ll turn up something that identifies them so their families can be notified. They deserve a decent burial.”

“And someone to mourn them.” Jack kicked at the grass, his cheerfulness gone. “We won’t get any clues in the letter he left. Not if it’s like the others.”

The driver who’d brought him from the station house waited at the bottom of the hill. Sunlight glinted off the windscreen of the black motorcar and the wire-spoke wheels. Gabe still preferred buggies, but the chief was determined to replace all the horse-drawn vehicles the department owned with automobiles. He and Jack ambled downhill, neither of them in any hurry to overtake the procession of stretchers.

“This letter isn’t exactly like the others, Jack.” Gabe’s hand strayed to his pocket, touching the bulk of handkerchief and envelope inside, mindful of the letters addressed to Captain Matthew Ryan in his father’s files. “He addressed this one to me.”

“A mash note then, like the letters you told me about.” Jack tugged off his plaid cap, beating the hat against his leg with each step. “It’s been almost thirty years since your pop got those letters, Gabe. This can’t be the same.”

“It isn’t the same.” Unlike his father, he didn’t have a wife and baby to threaten for one. The fire took Victoria and his unborn child from him. He didn’t have anything left worth losing. Gabe opened the car door and waved Jack inside. “Thirty years is too long. But it tells me this man is still a step ahead and knows more about us than we know about him. Frankly, that gives me the willies.”

The car jerked away from the curb, gears whining as the driver followed the twisting road that led off the base and back into the city. Gabe leaned his head back and tipped his hat over his eyes. Thinking, trying to put the puzzle together.

“Gabe, I still haven’t said anything to Sadie.” Leather seats and springs creaked under Jack’s weight. “If this man knows as much as you think … Should I be worried about Sadie and her family?”

He lifted the brim of the hat and looked his partner in the eye. “I’ll assign some men to watch the house and keep an eye on things. I can’t force an escort on her, but if Sadie consents I can assign officers to take her shopping or anyplace she needs to go. Talk to her. See if you can get her to agree.”

“How much should I tell her?”

Gabe thought of Victoria and pulled the hat back over his eyes. “Tell her all of it and put the fear of this man into her. Do whatever it takes to get Sadie to agree to police protection.”

Knowing his men were watching over Sadie would let him sleep better. He didn’t want to see the empty, wounded look in Jack’s eyes if anything happened to her.

He saw that look in the mirror every morning. That was enough.

Delia

The front room of the dressmaker’s shop was stifling. Fanning myself with one of the brochures on the showroom table moved little air and did less to relieve the heat. I’d suffocate before Sadie emerged from the dressing suite.

I’d left my chair once to open the front door, hoping to let in some air, but the plump clerk behind the counter shut me in again immediately.

“We can’t leave the door open, Miss.” She eased the door closed, a faint touch of disapproval in her smile. Her square hands were smaller than mine, nails trimmed short to keep from snagging the fabrics, and pale against the dark wood frame. “Mademoiselle says the moisture is bad for the silks. And you never know who might come wandering in that don’t belong. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Yes, that would be nice. Thank you.” I’d settled in my chair again, resigned to waiting on Sadie’s pleasure.

Telling the girl that I didn’t belong here would only confuse her. This was the fourth shop we’d visited in two days and the fourth to prove I still lacked Sadie’s sense of style and fashion. I was adrift in a sea of swatches, pearl buttons and bobbin lace, following where she led.

Shadow stood near me, hands pressed to her stomach and eyes all too aware. The shawl she’d worn since coming to me was tied around her waist, as if the ghost found the room too warm as well. A silly notion, but she continued to change from the silent spirit I’d known for six months. Closeness to home and the life ripped away from her had to be the reason why.

She watched buggies and motorcars pass on the street with great interest, studied the faces of people walking past the windows and the few women who came into the shop. Looking for someone, perhaps searching for a face she knew.

Ghosts mingled with the people on the sidewalk, going about their business as they had in life. Whalers from San Francisco’s earliest days, Russian fur traders and troopers dressed in Civil War garb, they all took turns walking through the two women chatting outside the window. Some areas of the city were thick with restless dead and in others I never saw a spirit. None but my personal ghost. She never left me for long.

I watched Shadow, mulling over my nightmare and trying to understand what she wanted from me. What I’d learned in the dream brought me no closer to solving the puzzle she represented. Knowing how she’d died didn’t tell me how she’d lived or who she was in life. The need to discover all I could about her was growing stronger, becoming a compulsion. I didn’t know if that desire came from the ghost or from inside me.

Accepting that the ghost was real and haunting me was hard enough; that she might be influencing my thoughts made me uncomfortable. All that kept me from contemplating the possibility of insanity was that Esther had seen her too.

The door to the dressing suite swung open and Sadie finally appeared. Tears filled my eyes and I forgave all the waiting. She’d never looked more beautiful.

Sadie stepped up onto a round platform centered in front of a wall lined with mirrors. Mademoiselle Fouche shook out the full silk skirts of the wedding dress, settling the lace overlay into place. Long organdy sleeves reached her wrists. Lace appliqués, roses and lilies, and tiny pearls covered the silk bodice. The fabrics were a soft cream, not stark white, and set off Sadie’s coloring perfectly.

“What do you think, Dee?” She grinned and twirled round once, a curly-haired kewpie doll with roses blooming in her cheeks.

“I think Jack will faint dead away when he sees you in that dress.” I went to stand near Sadie and gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Trailing behind from shop to shop was worth seeing her so radiant. “Be sure to warn the best man. He’ll need to be ready.”

Mademoiselle set a matching silk cap and lace veil on Sadie’s head. She stepped back, smiling broadly and obviously pleased. “There. You will be a most beautiful bride, Miss Larkin. A few small alterations and it will be as if the dress was made just for you. I can have it ready for you within the month. Excuse me while I write up the order and prepare the bill.”

The dressmaker disappeared into the back room, leaving Sadie to preen. She fussed with the neckline, head tipped to the side and eyeing the fit of the bodice with a practiced eye. “This is excellent work. The girl who ordered the dress canceled at the last minute. Mademoiselle Fouche is letting me have it for half of the original price.” She twirled again so that the skirt floated around her, gleeful and happy. “It’s perfect, Dee! There couldn’t be a more perfect dress.”

Shadow left her place near the windows. The ghost glided in slow circles around the platform, eyes fixed on Sadie. She extended a hand to brush the full skirt, fingers passing through lace and silk without stirring the fabric.

Sadie never noticed. The ghost looked to me, her eyes begging for me to understand.

“What’s wrong?” Sadie squeezed my hand. Her gleeful look was gone. “Is Shadow here?”

“Shadow is always here.” I managed a smile and steered the conversation to safer ground. “I’ve been home for three days now. When do I get to meet this fiancé of yours? I’m beginning to think you made him up.”

She laughed. Mentioning Jack was all it took to make her happy again. “You’ll meet him tonight. Jack and his partner Gabe are coming to escort us to the fair. We’ll have supper out and then see the sights. The four of us will have a marvelous time.”

“Scheming are you?” I folded my arms over my chest and peered up at her sternly, determined to look cross. “It won’t work you know. It never has.”

“Delia Ann Martin, I’m hurt. Scheming is the furthest thing from my mind.” She fiddled with the veil and pouted prettily. Pouting always worked on her beaus and admirers, and no doubt Jack was helpless in the face of her trembling lip. I was made of sterner stuff. “Gabe Ryan is Jack’s best man. You’d have to meet him sometime before the wedding. I thought the four of us could have a bit of fun tonight while you got to know each other. What’s the harm in that?”

“No harm at all. Not if a bit of fun’s all you’ve planned.” Sadie would never admit to matchmaking or that her scheming was doomed to failure. “And meeting Mr. Ryan means I can warn him about Jack fainting. He can begin planning his strategy for catching the groom.”

Sadie stepped off the platform and beamed at me, scenting victory. “Let me get changed and settle up with Mademoiselle. We can visit with Mama and tell her all about the dress before the boys call for us. This will be fun, Dee, I promise. You and Gabe will get along swimmingly.”

“Yes, great fun. I’m sure of it.” That I muttered to the closed door of the dressing suite didn’t matter. Sadie would heed my tone about as well as the door. “I’m sure Mr. Ryan has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.”

I shivered, suddenly chilled in the overheated room. Other ghosts, women dressed in evening finery, shopgirl frocks, or dancehall costumes that barely satisfied decency, shimmered into view atop the fitting platform. More ghosts appeared in the mirrors lining the wall, all standing and staring at me. Each spirit wore the stoic expression of my ghost, each mirrored Shadow’s waiting pose and the sorrow in her eyes. They all had secrets or obligations from life left undone, wrongs they needed set right before they could rest.

The weight of their need pinned me in place and I couldn’t speak, or turn away. All these lost souls wanted my help, as Shadow did, and left me with just as little idea of what they expected me to do.

The bell on the shop door jingled, announcing another customer, and the chipper voice of the dressmaker’s assistant greeted two older women. One by one the ghosts faded, releasing me and letting me breathe. I sat on one of the small chairs to wait for Sadie, fighting the need to curl over my knees and cry.

Shadow stood in her place by the window again, the shawl draped around her shoulders and one hand clutching the cross at her throat. She waited, patience personified.

CHAPTER 4

Gabe

Gabe leaned back in his creaky swivel chair, rocking and staring at the piece of blue stationery centered on his desk blotter. Imagining the letter taunting him to decipher what the killer’s message really meant wasn’t hard.

The precise handwriting in black ink matched the three letters sent to the newspaper. This letter was longer, two double-sided pages, but Gabe never questioned that it was written by the same man. The symbols on the bottom of the last page convinced him if nothing else.

Not knowing what the symbols meant bothered him. They might be nonsense, the meaningless creation of a deranged mind. That was the conclusion his father came to when he’d worked the letter murders case years ago, but Gabe wasn’t so sure. More than a hunch prodded him toward thinking he’d seen similar pictures before. Trying to remember when and where he’d encountered the symbols kept him awake at night.

The killer had repeated his demands to reprint all his letters on the front page of
The Examiner
and escalated his threat to hunt people on the Pan Pacific grounds. That was a sure way to start panic if word got out. The murderer had to know the mayor and the chief would never agree to publish any part of the letters. Gabe had a sick bet with himself that the killer was counting on that.

No trace of fingerprints appeared on either page or the inside of the envelope, but he hadn’t really expected to get that lucky. He’d found what he thought he’d find: raving that made little sense, threats and bragging, right down to the methodical detail of how the couple left in the Presidio cemetery were murdered.