Delia's Shadow (25 page)

Annie took a tray up to Esther so Sadie could help her mother eat while our supper cooked. Esther ate less each day, all soft foods easily swallowed. I set to work cutting up turnips and resolved not to think of how near Esther’s end drew, hour by swift hour.

With three of us in the kitchen, supper had come together quickly. Potatoes and turnips bubbled on the stove and the smell of roast beef filled the kitchen. Biscuits sat on the cutting board, covered with a flour-sack towel, ready to bake at the last minute.

I patted the last of the pie crust into a tin. Henderson was still peeling and cutting up apples, eating one wedge for each that he added to the mixing bowl. Until he finished I wouldn’t be needed. I washed flour from my hands and opened the door to the utility porch.

My trunk sat on the chipped brown linoleum floor and filled most of the small porch. The last anemic rays of sunset found their way through the window, glinting off brass hinges, and the wide metal-bands that reinforced the rounded top. Given the time the rail company had the trunk in their keeping, I’d expected it to come back to me scratched and dirty from weeks spent in baggage cars. Instead, the wood and fittings looked cleaner than when loaded on the train in New York.

Officer Casey had shoved the trunk into the room and turned it sideways to let the outside door close again, and the latch faced the backdoor, out of reach. Squeezing between the trunk and the laundry sink was a tight fit, but I managed. Having my own things again would be a treat and I wanted to change before Gabe arrived.

The etched nameplate on the front was gone, something Aaron Casey wouldn’t know to miss. A neat square of pale blue paper was wedged into the frame in its place, the words Miss Delia Martin written out in sharp, black ink.

I backed away until the wall behind stopped me, remembering at the last instant not to open the door and run. Clamping a hand over my mouth kept me from screaming, but only just.

“Oh, God … oh, God … oh, God.” I sucked in air, fighting to stay calm and not retch. “Marshall … Marshall!”

He hit the door at a run, a hand on his gun. Relief flashed across his face as he saw me, but he leapt the trunk to reach me, his long legs clearing the rounded top with ease. Annie appeared in the doorway right behind him. Her eyes went wide as she saw me huddled against the far wall.

“Are you all right?” Marshall turned me to face him when I didn’t answer. “Miss Martin— Delia, tell me what’s wrong.”

“He was here. He brought my trunk.” Breath caught in my throat and I choked, trying not to sob. I pointed at the blue envelope bearing my name. “Marshall … he was here.”

“Son of a—” He put an arm around my shoulders, holding me up as my knees gave out. “Annie, call the stationhouse and have them send two cars right now. If Lieutenant Ryan isn’t there, tell the desk sergeant to find him. Give the sergeant my name and make sure he understands this is urgent.”

Annie hesitated, twisting her hands in her apron and staring at me.

“I’ve got her, Annie.” His voice was calm, reassuring, and reminded me of Gabe. “Call the lieutenant.”

Henderson helped me around the trunk and sat me in a kitchen chair, leaving me only long enough to close the door into the porch and fetch a glass of water. I heard Annie’s voice from the parlor. She was speaking to Gabe. He and Jack would be here soon.

Esther’s ghosts, Teddy and the little girl, Beryl, shimmered into view, blocking the door onto the porch. Aileen and her sister ghosts appeared next to Teddy, and a new face, a young man I’d not seen before. Shutting my eyes didn’t prevent me from knowing they were there or sensing their anger. More would come as well, all determined to stop this man.

An army of ghosts haunted me, haunted Sadie and Esther, spectral guardian angels standing between us and the darkness a murderer cast over our lives. So many spirits, aware and purposeful, had gathered together for a reason. I couldn’t look into Aileen’s eyes and not believe that to be true.

The thought brought me comfort.

Gabe

Gabe swallowed his anger, struggling to remain detached and professional. Letting go of Delia to do his job was one of the hardest things he’d ever done.

Jack stood with him, taking notes as Marshall Henderson gave his report. Each angry scrawl of Jack’s pencil on paper was a reminder that his partner fought the same battle between duty and the need to be with Sadie.

Neither of them wanted to stand in the cold on unmowed grass, dampness from last night’s rain soaking into their trouser cuffs. Supervising the collection of evidence was the very last thing Gabe wanted to be doing. He knew Jack felt exactly the same. Neither of them had a choice.

Too close, too close
. He couldn’t get the words out of his mind. Gabe looked from the side yard to the utility porch and the door into the house; he turned away again to keep from punching a wall. He was angry with himself for being careless and taking half measures, no one else. Ignoring the killer’s pattern put people he was supposed to protect in greater danger. People he cared for deeply.

Henderson wasn’t to blame for leaving the house unguarded and Gabe was determined no one would hold his promising rookie responsible. The young officer had done everything right. Aaron Casey was the one who’d disobeyed orders, but even so, Casey hadn’t let the stranger inside.

Gabe was extremely grateful for that second chance. He’d be willing to give Casey another chance and let him make up for his mistake—if they found him alive. That seemed less likely as more hours passed without word.

One man to watch the house and one to drive Sadie and Delia on wedding errands was at least one man short. He’d known that from the start, but Gabe had let the captain bully him out of having three to four men on each detail. That ended now, tonight. Extra men were already on the way to Isadora’s house.

“Lieutenant?” Maxwell stood at the top of the back steps. “Baker’s finished taking his photographs. We’re ready to open the trunk when you’re finished.”

Gabe stuffed clenched fists deeper into his trouser pockets. “Did Turner find any fingerprints?”

Maxwell leaned back inside the door to ask. “He says the prints he found won’t do us any good. They were smeared one set on top of the other and spread all over the outside. Rail company baggage handlers or Casey’s most likely. Nothing we can use to identify our man.”

He’d known, but he had to ask “Thank you, Maxwell. Sergeant Fitzgerald and I will be right there.”

Gabe glanced at the men working near him. His squad worked methodically and combed the ground in the side yard for clues, their kerosene lanterns casting flickering yellow islands of light around their feet. A depression in the soft ground near the porch showed where the stranger dropped the heavy trunk. Deep parallel gouges marked where Casey dragged it to the steps and mud left behind on weathered wood told how he’d walked the trunk up one step at a time, struggling with the weight.

No grooves marred the ground from the street to that telltale depression. The killer had carried the trunk, at least until Casey confronted him and refused to let him inside. A man that strong was more than capable of overpowering Terrance Owens or any of the other murder victims.

Annie had heard Aaron threaten to shoot if the angry stranger took another step. The shouting stopped then and when she’d peeked out the kitchen window, Aaron still had his gun drawn. Without Casey’s pistol pointed at him, the killer might have tried to force his way into the house.

Too close, too close.

Gabe clapped Henderson on the shoulder, signaling an end to questions. Marshall was tired, the corners of his mouth drooping and bruised circles darkening under his eyes. “That’s enough for tonight. We’ll pick this up again in the morning. Use the front entrance and go back inside. Annie’s keeping supper warm for you.”

“Yes, sir.” Henderson started to leave, but turned back. “I know Annie got a glimpse of him through the windows. But the deliverymen out front or the ice man might have gotten a better look at the man who brought the trunk.”

Jack stuck the pencil stub behind his ear. He glanced at Gabe before speaking, taking the lead. “We took the name of the furniture company from the people across the street and Annie knows the ice man. If they saw anything, we’ll know by morning. You did a good job today, Marshall. The lieutenant and I are both grateful to you for taking good care of Sadie and Delia. Let the rest of the squad take over now. Go eat your supper before you get me in trouble with Annie. She made me promise not to keep you long.”

That made Henderson smile. “Yes, sir. I wouldn’t want Annie mad at you.”

Officer Henderson headed toward the street and the front of the house, feet dragging with fatigue. Gabe started up the back steps, muttering so only Jack could hear. “You’re better at that than I am.”

“What? Making the rookies feel less guilty about needing to eat and sleep?” Jack clomped up the steps beside him and pushed the door open. “Set a better example if you want the squad to take you seriously, Lieutenant Ryan. Most of them feel they need to work double shifts just to keep up with you. They’re all afraid of letting you down.”

He stopped on the threshold and stared at Jack. “Jesus … I’m turning into my father. I swore to myself after Victoria died I wouldn’t do that.”

Jack put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him the rest of the way inside. “I won’t let you. I’d be willing to wager that Delia won’t, either.”

One bare bulb dangled from a wire in the ceiling, harsh white light that made Gabe squint until his eyes adjusted. Fingerprint dust covered the outside of Delia’s trunk, fine black grains clumping around the oily mass of prints near the latch and the handles on each end, fuzzy as mold on spoiled bread. He slipped out of his overcoat and hung it on a hook near the backdoor with his fedora. Jack did the same with his coat and hat.

“Turner, do you have a cloth I can use to wipe away the fingerprint powder?” The porch was warmer than outside, but still too cold to take off his suit jacket. Gabe compromised and pushed up his sleeves. “I’d hate to get it all over Miss Martin’s clothes.”

Turner dug in his case and came up with two pieces of soft flannel. Gabe wiped the trunk front clean and took the second cloth to do the same to the latch and the rounded top. Fingerprint powder stuck to his fingers, but a splash of water from the sink and a handkerchief solved that problem.

He went to his knees on the cold floor, a worshipper at the altar of the murderer’s cleverness. This man had repeated his pattern exactly, proving to Gabe as he’d proven to Matt Ryan that he could take anyone he wanted. He counted his blessings again.
Too close …

Sweat trickled into his collar, down the back of his neck and between his shoulder blades. Gabe traded looks with Jack. He silently counted to three, took a breath, and flipped open the lid. The top layer showed nothing but neatly folded stockings and petticoats, exactly what he’d expect to find in Delia’s traveling trunk.

After the surprises the killer had left for them in the past, Gabe didn’t trust that in the slightest. The only small bit of relief he allowed himself was that they hadn’t found a body stuffed inside.

He began laying some of Delia’s things inside the rounded top, but the bottom of the trunk was twice the size. Not everything would fit. “Jack, does Annie have a wicker basket, one she uses for laundry?”

“I’ll ask. Be back in a tick.” Jack slid between the trunk and the edge of the sink and disappeared into the kitchen.

Gabe removed pieces of clothing carefully, unfolding blouses and skirts to make sure nothing was hidden inside. He felt funny about handling her undergarments and nightdresses, but that was just the place the murderer would hide something terrible.

Jack returned with two deep baskets and raised an eyebrow at the cluster of young men crowding the utility porch. “Out, all of you. Talk to Officer Morris and find out what he needs done. The sooner you get through his list the sooner you get to go home. The lieutenant and I will take care of this.”

His partner refolded everything Gabe handed him and Jack laid Delia’s clothes in the deepest basket. Toward the bottom of the trunk, Gabe found a layer of shoes, books and jewelry boxes of different sizes. He handed the jewelry cases to Jack to search.

One by one, Gabe shook the shoes out and dropped them into a basket. He’d almost finished when something small and wrapped in brown paper fell out of the toe of a black shoe, clinking on the floor with a metallic sound. He set the shoe aside, heart thumping against his ribs. “What are the odds of Delia hiding trinkets in her shoe?”

“Not very good I’d say.” Jack sorted through the largest of the jewelry cases. He frowned and lifted out a slim parcel, wrapped in a large man’s handkerchief and tied with a ribbon. “Probably the same odds of her keeping books in a jewelry box.”

“It might be a diary.” Gabe couldn’t have explained why, but he knew that was wrong as he said it. He poked at the paper around the trinket and began to work at untying the string holding it in place. “Open it. We can tell Delia we’re sorry later if that is her journal.”

He ended up tearing the paper off rather than fight the string. An old-style police sergeant’s badge lay in his hand, the brass tarnished green and pitted. Gabe rubbed at the front with his damp handkerchief, trying to make out the number. “Badge seven forty-eight of the San Francisco Police Department. That’s an early number, Dad was badge eight ninety-one. This one was issued before he joined the force.”

Jack gave up trying to slip the ribbon off and dug a penknife out of his pocket. The ribbon cut easily. “The department lost a lot of records in the fire. Any chance that your father might know who that number belonged to?”

“He might remember. Dad knew almost everyone on the force back then.” He turned the badge over in his hand, staring at it and trying to deny the icy knot forming in his middle. He needed the information in his father’s files. Visiting his parents might draw the killer’s attention toward them, but the risk was there even if he stayed away. Gabe couldn’t bring himself to say aloud what both he and Jack knew. The killer had hidden the badge for them to find, taunting them again. “I’ll take it to show Dad tomorrow. This means something, I just don’t know what. About the only thing I’m certain of is that Delia didn’t pack this in her shoe.”