Delia's Shadow (15 page)

Listening to Gabe explain helped push back Shadow’s memories and fear. More than that, I got a glimpse of how his mind worked when presented with a puzzle, and likely, how he did his job without going mad. “What kind of pattern?”

“Both for my father’s cases and mine, the first few letters were sent to the newspaper. The killer claimed a string of victims the police never found and demanded front-page coverage. Dad believed him and so did I, but we never made the letters public.” Gabe frowned and raked fingers through his hair again, waking more curls. “Then a new set of letters arrived, addressed to my father instead of the papers. The last letter my squad found was addressed to me personally. In Dad’s case, the murderer went one step further. He began sending proof to my father that he was telling the truth.”

Shadow appeared, faint and ragged, almost not there. Neat plaits were undone, uneven chunks of hair hanging in her face and hiding some of the bruises. She cradled her broken hand to her chest and sorrowful green eyes stared into mine, making sure I’d seen. The ghost vanished.

I choked back the burning in my throat and the desire to be sick. “Dear God in heaven. What kind of proof?”

“Locks of hair, buttons, a wedding band, and a gold cross. Trophies he took from his last victim. I thought that cross was still in the files my father has at his farm. Seeing it on the floor of Dora’s tent was a shock.”

Gabe ran a finger along the crease in the crown of his hat, studying the old fedora as if he’d never seen it before. I thought he’d finished, but he cleared his throat and started again. “It got worse. The last letter, the one with the cross, was slipped under the front door of our house and threatened my mother. Dad and his partner took turns sitting up all night in our front room for three days. As soon as Dad could make arrangements, he sent my mother and me away. The killings stopped, but Dad didn’t bring us home for six months.”

“That’s why you ordered protection for Sadie.” He nodded, still seeming to pay more attention to the hat than me. I wasn’t fooled. “And for Dora.”

“I have men watching over my landlady, too. I’d station a man in every doorway of the city if I thought that would slow this killer down.” Gabe stopped his nervous fiddling and smiled, wry and without a trace of humor. “Keeping this man from repeating the rest of the pattern might be impossible, but I’m going to try. He’s won every move so far. That can’t last. Every killer makes a mistake sooner or later.”

I was fascinated and terrified simultaneously. He was resigned to contesting with fate, even if he was likely to lose. The handkerchief twisted tight around my fingers, digging grooves in my skin. “You make tracking a murderer sound like a chess game.”

The university was just ahead, green lawns and gravel pathways glinting in the sun. Gabe slicked his hair back and stuck the fedora down tight. “Playing chess is easier, Delia. With chess I can see the board.”

*   *   *

Gabe directed Henderson along a series of side lanes to the eastern portion of the campus. The roads were narrow, more pathways designed for bicycles or small carts than automobiles. Students stepped off the crushed gravel path into the grass to stare as the patrol car rolled past. A visit from the police couldn’t be a common sight on the quiet campus and I didn’t blame them for being curious.

Not many of the students were women, but those I saw were bolder than I’d been at that age. Young women pointed at Henderson and held hurried, giggling conversations behind upraised hands. Some of them must have spoken loud enough so that he heard or shouted things after the car passed. He looked straight ahead, but blushed furiously.

The antiquities building sat alone at the end of a long tree-lined lane. A half-circle drive in front, paved with white flagstones and edged with marigolds, let Henderson park near the base of the marble front steps. The building appeared newly built since the quake, three stories tall and faced with redbrick. Arched windows on the front of the building and brass handles on the double doors reflected sunlight into my eyes. A constant stream of students left the building and rushed off across the lawns, their classes ended for the day.

Gabe opened my door and offered his hand. “Colin’s office is on the second floor. We’ll give the crowd a few moments to make their escape and then we’ll go up.”

“I’ve never been to Stanford before.” I tipped the brim of Sadie’s hat down, shading my eyes so that I could look around. A large pond peeked from behind the building, shimmering in the sun. Tall trees grew next to benches along walkways and cast pools of shade on neatly trimmed lawns. “The campus is much bigger and more open than I imagined.”

“Leland and Jane Stanford’s only child died of typhoid. The story goes that the two of them decided to found the university as a memorial to their son.” Gabe stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, squinting up at the building. “The Stanfords traveled all over the world, visiting great universities and colleges, and came back to build this place. They made it their life’s work to educate other people’s children.”

“I hadn’t heard that story before. How very sad.” I turned in a slow circle, taking in the open space, lush plantings, and magnificent architecture. “And yet it’s such an admirable thing to do with grief. I don’t know if I’d have the strength.”

“I suspect you have more strength than you realize.” He watched me with a melancholy half-smile and a look in his eyes that I couldn’t interpret. “We all find personal ways to deal with loss. And if we’re lucky, we find work to do that means something.” Gabe offered his arm and the sadness went out of his smile. “The stampede for the door seems to be over. I think it’s safe to go up to Colin’s office now.”

The corridors were empty and our footsteps echoed in the cavernous entryway. Paintings hung on the white plaster walls in the corridor, mainly landscapes depicting scenes from all over California. Portraits of people I didn’t recognize decorated the stairway walls off to the left. Glass cases full of ribbons, trophies, and photographs stood on either side of the doors.

Hand-painted banners announcing a dance on Saturday night spanned the width of the hallway. The smells in the building reminded me of school: the sweet scent of ink and paper, shellac on desktops, and the sour smell of damp string mops the janitors used to clean floors.

We started up the wide staircase that went to the second floor. The wooden risers carried a thick coat of wax, clouded and scuffed long past the point of being slippery. I imagined hundreds of students tromped up and down all day, grinding bits of gravel and mud from the soles of their shoes into the stairs. That the oak wasn’t worn down to splinters was something of a miracle.

The second floor hallway was filled with classrooms on one side and large, quiet offices for professors on the other. Open classroom doors gave me glimpses of chalkboards and rows of empty desks. Most of the offices were closed up for the day, roller shades drawn over the door’s window that had the professor’s name painted in gold. The corridor was quiet and even our footsteps were muffled. Twice I thought I saw a ghost walking through a wall or turning the corner ahead of us, but the spirit moved too quickly for me to be sure.

Professor Adams’s office looked to be empty as well. Gabe rattled the brass doorknob several times and knocked on the door frame. “Colin? Colin, are you in there?”

“Perhaps he’s been detained.” I twisted the handle of my handbag around my hand, thinking of all the time spent making the trip. Time Gabe could have put to use tracking the killer. I didn’t know Professor Adams, but I hoped he wasn’t the kind of person to forget appointments.

“We’ll give him a few more minutes.” Gabe rattled the knob again and leaned against the wall in defeat. “He’s probably talking with some of his students.”

Our wait was brief. A tall, thin man, in a shabby brown suit, came huffing around the corner at the far end of the hall, his long legs taking strides twice the length of mine. Thinning black hair was combed straight back from his forehead and a pair of spectacles perched dangerously close to the end of his nose. He raised a hand and waved. “Gabe! I’m so sorry I’m late. The department chairman needed a word with me and I couldn’t break away.”

Colin Adams fumbled in his pockets for keys, dropped papers out of the stack balanced on one arm, and had to retrace his steps to retrieve them. By the time Professor Adams came to a halt in front of us, Gabe was smiling.

“You’re always late.” Gabe shook Colin’s hand before introducing me. “This is Miss Delia Martin. Miss Martin is Sadie’s best friend and the maid of honor for the wedding. Delia, this is Professor Colin Adams.”

Colin smiled and offered his hand. Despite the balding patches in his hair, his face was youthful and his green eyes bright. “I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Martin. How do you happen to be here? Gabe doesn’t usually arrive with charming young women in tow.”

“Please, call me Delia.” I shook Professor Adams’s hand and glanced at Gabe, a bit uncertain about Colin’s tone. Gabe’s hands were stuffed in his trouser pockets and he looked rather unsure himself. “Gabe asked me to come along. He thought I might find it interesting.”

Professor Adams fumbled his key into the lock and gave Gabe an appraising look. “Does Miss Martin have a special interest in Egyptology?”

“Delia was the one who suggested the drawings might be hieroglyphics. I thought she deserved to know if her hunch was right or not.” Gabe pushed the door open and waved me inside. “After you.”

I’d imagined Professor Adams’s office as a dark and dreary cave full of Egyptian artifacts, odd specimens floating in jars and smelling faintly of formaldehyde. His office turned out to be quite pleasant. Big windows took up most of one wall, letting in plenty of sunlight and showing a view of wide lawns, trees, and the tranquil pond at the back of the building. Two of the casements were opened halfway, letting in fresh air. The scent of honeysuckle and jasmine came in with the warm breeze, vanquishing the musty smell of old books and leather bindings.

Wooden bookcases were built into the longest wall, the fronts framed in ornately carved molding. Deep shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, but Professor Adams’s books were stacked two and three deep. Glass cases sat under the window and along the wall behind the door. Ornately painted pottery, wine jars, and etched clay tablets filled the inside shelves. Some of the images reminded me of the painted sign outside Isadora’s tent.

Small animal mummies—a hawk, a dog, and what looked to be a small crocodile—sat on top of the largest cabinet. A small painted coffin, much like one made for an infant that I’d seen at the museum in New York, rested on top of the other case. The thought of a tiny mummy resting inside made me uneasy.

The centerpiece of the room was an old mahogany desk. An inkstand of carved oak sat at the top of a dark brown blotter, inkwells capped and pens laid neatly in a wide groove chiseled in the front edge. A small calico cat slept in a desktop tray on one corner, curled tight in a sunbeam with a paw over her eyes and determined to ignore visitors. She purred as I scratched behind one of her ears, taking it as her due, but didn’t open her eyes.

“The cat’s name is Nefertiti. She’s convinced this office belongs to her and I can’t dissuade her of the idea. Nor can I get her to stop sleeping on my correspondence.” Professor Adams dropped his stack of papers on the desk. The cat opened one eye to glare balefully at him and promptly went back to sleep. “Take my advice, Delia. Never name a cat after a powerful queen, even one long dead. They do their best to live up to the name.”

Colin rooted around under his stack of papers. A bottom drawer was searched next. He came up frowning, patted down his oversized jacket pockets, and wandered over to the bookshelves. “There was a book I wanted to show you, but I think I left it in the lecture hall. I’m going to beg your indulgence for another few moments, Gabe. I’ll be back shortly.”

He left and I turned to Gabe. “Is he always this … this scattered?”

“Always.” Gabe grinned and took his turn petting the cat. She lifted her head long enough to lick his fingers, a sure sign of favor, and went right back to sleep. “Colin is one of the best at the research he does, but when it comes to practicalities like remembering a book, he’s hopeless.”

More artifacts cluttered one section of bookshelves and several small tables in the room. I wandered the office studying each piece, as fascinated with Colin’s collection as I’d been with the museum exhibit. Many of the pottery pieces in Colin’s office were in better condition, the colors brighter and the designs sharper.

Amongst the figurines and clay shards on one shelf, I found a tarnished silver frame holding the photograph of a young bride. She was slim, still more girl than woman in appearance, and I guessed her to be no more than seventeen. Dressed in a white silk gown and a lace veil that trailed to the ground, she clutched a huge bouquet of roses and lilies. My mother always said happiness made all brides beautiful. Gazing at the photo and the bride’s radiant smile, I’d no reason to doubt the truth in that.

“Is this a picture of Colin’s wife?” I took the frame off the shelf and held it up for Gabe to see, unable to keep myself from smiling back at the fading photograph. “She’s very pretty.”

Gabe froze in the act of petting Nefertiti. Deep grief twisted his face with pain and vanished, a glimpse of something private he locked away again. He smiled, but his voice cracked on her name. “Victoria was my wife and Colin’s sister. That portrait was taken on our wedding day. I—we—lost her in the fire.”

“Oh.” I’d missed the resemblance to the sad ghost trailing after Gabe. Time and pregnancy had changed her face, transformed the girl into a woman. I held out the photograph, not knowing what to do or say. “I’m so sorry, Gabe. I didn’t mean … I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right, you couldn’t know. I’ve never mentioned her to you. Jack’s always telling me I should talk about her more.” He came and took the frame. Gabe cleaned dust off the glass with a sleeve, staring at the photograph for a few seconds once he’d finished. He brushed a finger over Victoria’s face and set the frame back on the shelf. “I’m starting to forget what she looked like.”