Delia's Shadow (33 page)

His father grinned. “I guess I can’t turn down being deputized.”

“Just promise me two things, Dad.” Gabe waved his father out the door and into the hallway. “I can’t issue you a weapon, so stay back until I tell you it’s clear.”

“I didn’t lose my common sense when I retired, Gabriel. I remember how this is supposed to work, you won’t need to assign me a nanny.” His father frowned. “What was the second thing?”

Gabe locked the office door and dropped the key in his pocket. “Be careful. Mom will never forgive me if you get hurt.”

“I can take care of myself, son.” His father squeezed his shoulder. “But the same goes for you. Watch yourself.”

*   *   *

The sun was low on the horizon by the time Gabe and his men arrived in Thom Brennan’s old neighborhood. They parked the cars several blocks away and crept toward the house in small groups, using the cover of shrubs and plantings around the neighbor’s yards to conceal their movements.

Two older women worked in a flower garden at the end of the block and Jack shooed them inside, issuing a warning to wait for an all clear before venturing out. All the other front yards on the dead-end street were empty. The evening was clear and warm, and the absence of children playing outside after supper struck Gabe as strange. That he didn’t have to worry about keeping curious children out of harm’s way was a blessing, but he still wondered what kept them indoors.

Proximity to Ethan Brennan could explain the quiet in the neighborhood. Ethan wouldn’t hunt his neighbors, his every move was too calculated to draw that kind of attention to himself and where he lived, but Gabe doubted he could hide his nature completely.

Over time, the people on his block would recognize Ethan as a threat, even if they didn’t know what kind of danger he represented. Parents would learn to keep their children inside and close after an encounter with the strange, menacing man down the block.

The house itself wasn’t large, single-story with grayed cedar siding, a covered porch, and a long drive leading toward the back. One side of the yard butted up against open land, a part of Lincoln Park that ran clear to the ocean. The nearest neighbor on the other side was two lots away, with a tangle of windswept cypress and pivot hedge between the two properties.

More overgrown hedges stood between the house and the street, and a jungle of weeds and knee-high grass grew in place of a lawn. Night was coming on quickly and the dim, murky light worked to their advantage in the neglected front yard, helping to conceal Gabe’s men from anyone inside the house. A break in the hedge offered him the perfect vantage point to observe the house.

What looked to be an old carriage house or a small stable sat at the end of the gravel drive, doors wide open and the empty interior still visible despite the gathering dusk. Ruts in the drive showed fresh mud, evidence of recent use. The house and building behind were perfect for a man working as a cabbie.

And perfectly isolated for a murderer. Gabe realized with a start that he’d never considered the possibility that Ethan didn’t live in his father’s old house. The certainty wiggled under his skin and burrowed to the bone.

A light came on inside the house and a woman’s voice called out. “Andy! Time to wash up for supper. Hurry up now. You need to be sleeping before your papa gets home.”

Gabe’s pulse sped up, heart thudding against his ribs and a sour taste rising into his throat. Dora had warned that the killer might be married, a man with a family and the appearance of a normal life. Given what he knew of Ethan, just how “normal” the lives of his wife and child were was an open question.

But if his wife and the evidence of the empty carriage house were to be believed, Ethan wasn’t home and likely out driving his cab. This was their chance. Gabe didn’t plan to waste it.

“Dad, is there a backdoor?”

“There was. I can’t imagine anyone would board it up. Three or four steps up to the back porch if I remember and the door off the porch opened into the kitchen.”

His father’s deep, gravelly voice was surprisingly soothing in the darkness. Gabe suddenly remembered his dad sitting on the edge of his bed when he was five or six, telling bedtime stories and how much he’d loved falling asleep listening to that voice. The memory was so strong Gabe shivered, but he didn’t have time to wonder why he’d remembered such things here and now.

“Jack, take five men and work your way behind the house. Wait until you hear us at the front door before coming in the back.” He chewed on his lip, weighing risks. “Weapons ready, but don’t go in with pistols drawn. That little boy will be scared enough without us pointing guns at him.”

“Count to one hundred and we’ll be in place.” Jack tapped five men on the shoulder and led them away.

He counted to one hundred and ten, just to be sure. Gabe waved half his men to either the left or right side of the yard, and went up the center walk with Captain Parker. His father kept his promise and stayed back, keeping low and following at a slower pace. He could only imagine what that cost his father’s pride. He knew what it would cost him.

Gabe reached the porch and listened hard for a man’s voice inside, holding his breath until Parker shook his head. The woman and the boy were the only ones inside. He beat his fist on the rough pine door, and yelled, “Mrs. Brennan! Police officers, open the door!”

He heard Jack go in the backdoor and the woman scream. The front door wasn’t locked. Gabe shoved it open and led his men inside.

The little boy came streaking through the sitting room from the back of the house, crying and running as hard as he could for the front door. Matt Ryan caught the boy around the waist and scooped him off his feet before he made it outside. The boy fought to squirm loose, kicking his feet and yelling. “Let me go! Let go.”

“All right now, calm down. No need to carry on like this. I heard your mother call you Andy. That’s your name isn’t it? No one’s going to hurt you or your mom, Andy. You’ve got my word on that.” Gabe’s dad wrapped Andy in his arms, holding him tight and patting his back until all the fight drained away. The little boy drooped, sobbing and limp. He carried Andy to an armchair out of sight of the window and settled in. “I’ll take care of him, Gabe. Go.”

Gabe’s men filled the house and swarmed over the carriage house in the back, moving purposely and searching methodically for anything that might tie Ethan to the murders. Dressed in their dark blue uniforms, they reminded him of ants at a picnic, hunting for every last crumb dropped from the table. He edged past them and down the short hall to the kitchen. They knew their jobs.

The square table sat in the center of the kitchen, the remains of Andy’s dinner cooling on a white glass plate. Dented tin pots and a cast-iron skillet were shoved to the back of the stove, presumably to keep the potatoes, spinach, and sliced pork inside from burning. The smell made Gabe’s stomach growl. He’d be lucky to eat by breakfast.

Mrs. Brennan sat opposite her son’s dinner plate, shaking hands folded on the tabletop, no doubt instructed by Jack to keep her hands in plain sight. She furtively watched the commotion of officers pulling open cupboards, drawers, and emptying the contents onto the counter and into the sink. Her lower lip trembled and she was obviously frightened, but she didn’t cry. Small, fragile-looking, and much younger than he’d have guessed Ethan’s wife to be, bruises—old and new—showed on both her arms.

A kitchen full of policemen was the least thing she had to fear or cry over.

Jack stood behind and slightly to one side, a buffer between Mrs. Brennan and the men gathering evidence to hang her husband for murder. His moleskine was in his hand, a chewed pencil stub tapping the edge. He caught Gabe’s eye and nodded before he moved around to where Mrs. Brennan could see them both. “Lieutenant Ryan, this is Mrs. Maddy Brennan. She says her husband left for work a few hours ago and won’t be back until after the fair closes at midnight. Mrs. Brennan says she has no knowledge of her husband committing any crimes.”

“I’m sure she’s telling the truth.” Gabe pulled out a wobbly kitchen chair and sat next to Maddy Brennan. He’d be as gentle and compassionate as she allowed, but time was in short supply. “I doubt Ethan would confess multiple murders to his wife. But you still knew something was wrong, didn’t you Maddy?”

She sucked in her lower lip, hands clutched together tight, and stared straight ahead. Gabe waited, hoping she’d say something and he wouldn’t have to push her. His men continued to move around the kitchen, speaking in low tones. Maddy Brennan stayed silent and avoided looking at anyone.

Gabe gently took one of her hands and pushed up a sleeve, revealing more bruises. She cried then, tears rolling off her chin to spot the front of her dress, but still didn’t make any noise or look at him. Maddy might have been one of the carved marble sculptures at the Pan Pacific. He sternly reminded himself that lives were at stake, that he had little choice.

He still felt like a bully. “Tell me if I’m right. Ethan hurts you. He gets mad if you ask questions about where he goes and when he’s coming back. But you see things that scare you, blood on his clothes maybe, so you ask again. Does he hurt Andy, too?”

Maddy shook her head, sniffling and choking back sobs. Gabe released her hand and offered his handkerchief. She dried her face, teetering on the edge of sobbing hard, but managed to compose herself enough to speak. “No, Ethan would never hurt his son, that boy means the world to him. And I do my best to keep Andy clear. I take good care of my little boy. I’m a good mother.”

Officer Polk hesitated in the doorway, shuffling his feet and clearing his throat. “Lieutenant? Could I have a word with you?”

His job pulled him in five directions at once. That was nothing new and he was used to delegating responsibility to Jack and others. Gabe didn’t relish the feeling of cowardice as he left his partner to deal with Maddy Brennan. That was new and most unwelcome. “Stay with her, Jack.”

He followed Polk to a small bedroom in the back of the house. Polished stones, seashells, and a robin’s egg were displayed on the windowsill. A faded blue calico curtain had been pulled back on the closet, revealing a few neatly ironed shirts and a jacket hanging from a crooked rod. Small shirts. This was Andy’s room, neater than the rooms of most small boys, but the trinkets and treasures testified to the fact that the room belonged to a child.

The bed was pulled away from the wall. A trapdoor gaped in the floor.

This was likely the room from Delia’s dream, the last place Aileen Fitzgerald saw light before Ethan locked her in the dark and killed her. He didn’t want Jack inside this room, to be this close to where the mother he never knew died, but Gabe knew what he wanted didn’t matter. This was Jack’s job as much as it was his.

Officer Dutton’s head and shoulders poked up through the trapdoor. Under streaks and smudges of dirt, his normally ruddy face was chalky. “Lieutenant, we found two rooms under the house. He— the killer poured lime on the bodies in one room. We found two full sacks stacked against the outside wall. The other room—” Dutton wiped a hand over his face. “The other room is where he killed them.”

Gabe jammed his hands deep into his trouser pockets, thinking of the job, planning what needed to be done to recover evidence and which men were best for each job. He concentrated on the necessary, the practical. If he let himself think of Maddy Brennan tucking her small son into bed each night, or of Andy playing with tin soldiers in this room, Gabe knew he’d put his fist through the window.

Captain Parker appeared in the doorway. His eyes swept the room, taking in all the details that marked this as Andy’s room. He blanched and swallowed, but recovered quickly. “You’re needed in the carriage house, Lieutenant Ryan. We found the remains of several victims.”

Another room. Ethan couldn’t bring prey into the house with his wife and child. “On my way, Captain. Give me one minute.”

Gabe gave his orders. He trusted his squad to obtain the necessary photographs and he didn’t need to stand over them. Tomorrow they’d begin sifting the ground for undissolved bone and belongings. Tonight his sole concern was making sure Ethan never killed again.

He checked his watch on the way down the hall. Less than three hours before Ethan was due home and they sprung the trap. Gabe didn’t want anything out of the ordinary to tip him off. They needed to leave the carriage house undisturbed.

One patrolman stood guard by the backdoor and Jack was deep in conversation with Parker on the porch. His father sat at the kitchen table with Maddy and Andy Brennan.

Maddy’s arms crisscrossed over Andy’s chest and her chin rested on the top of his head. She rocked him side to side as they both listened to his father. Matt Ryan was telling Andy stories about his grandfather Thom, recounting adventures and mishaps from their days as rookies. The little boy listened with rapt attention, just as Gabe always had when he’d heard the same stories as a boy.

He wasn’t sure if the stories were for Andy’s benefit or if telling them made his father feel better. In the end, it probably didn’t matter.

*   *   *

By sunup, Gabe was forced to admit that Ethan wasn’t coming home. He went over every move they’d made since arriving at the house, every command decision on his part. The mistake that alerted Ethan to their presence, whatever it was, eluded him. He came to the reluctant conclusion he might never discover if he’d done something wrong or if Ethan planned to vanish all along.

As the night dragged on, the fear grew that Ethan’s disappearance was tied to his threat to kill two people on the Fourth of July. Questioning Maddy Brennan revealed that there were occasions when he didn’t come home for days at a time, reappearing again without explanation or any sign of remorse. Maddy had learned not to ask her husband questions about his time away.

Gabe spent hours pacing the darkened house. Time and again, he found himself compelled to make the trip down the short hallway to Andy Brennan’s bedroom. The bed had been shoved to block the closet on the other side of the room, clearing the way for his men to work. Moonlight filtered through the curtains and the tin soldiers on Andy’s dresser threw shadows on the wall behind.