Malachi got out of the shower. Angela had left him several pieces of Jackson’s clothing. He didn’t want to look like an agent but he wanted clothing that didn’t advertise the fact that he was carrying a weapon. He chose jeans, a polo shirt and a navy windbreaker. He was going to drink with the barflies today, get them talking, learn more about them. And he’d do it with Abby, who would know what was true and what wasn’t and if any of the trio—or even Sullivan, Macy or Grant Green—behaved strangely.
Downstairs, he was glad to find Kat Sokolov at the dining room table, watching the screens that patrolled the Dragonslayer and now the river embankment, too.
“Kat, what about the victim from the tunnels? Have they identified her yet?”
Kat shook her head. “They have her DNA and took dental X-rays, but there’s nothing to compare them to. I received some possible candidates from the database, but nothing definitive.”
Malachi sighed. “A woman’s murdered and we don’t even know who she is.”
“Do you think it would it help us find the young woman who may still be alive if we did know who the other victim is?”
“Maybe not. But the thing is we have three dead women, one who escaped and a dead man. We also believe Gus was a victim. We assume that both men were killed because they stumbled onto something. The women were new to Savannah, although Helen Long had been here for a while. They were all attractive—all beautiful female captives. But I suspect the killer saw them, watched them, before he took them. I suspect he’s looking for a woman to be the perfect mate in his life of pirate crime.”
Abby had come down and stood in the doorway.
“He has a whole fantasy built up,” Abby said, continuing Malachi’s narrative. “He’s the pirate who seizes a captive and the captive falls in love with him, eschews her old life and joins him on the high seas. Perhaps the killer thought he had the right woman with Helen—but she kept saying she was repulsed by him. She didn’t want him to touch her, and she couldn’t pretend. That’s what happens when he gets to the point where he feels rejected, he kills. And then he searches for another woman.”
The others nodded.
Abby lifted her hands. “How does this help us, though?”
“It does help us. We watch for someone who...watches,” Malachi told her. “Let’s head back to the Dragonslayer.”
“Because we’re going to find the killer there?”
He studied her for a moment. She was obviously trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
“Yes,” he said. “Because we’ll find him there.”
It was late for lunch, but the Dragonslayer was still doing a booming business. Macy was at the host stand, and Bootsie and Aldous were at the bar. Abby got up onto the stool next to Aldous. He’d just finished a plate of fish and chips, and while she affectionately called him a barfly, he wasn’t drinking; he sipped from a cup of coffee.
“How are you holding up?” he asked, nodding at Malachi, who sat beside Abby.
“I’m fine, Aldous. Just confused—like everyone else. And scared. There’s another girl out there somewhere, and I’m hoping we can find her, as we did Helen. Alive, I mean.”
“Yeah, alive. It’s a sorry thing, huh? And your friend Roger English—is he broken up over it!”
“I know. They’d just started dating, but he felt he’d found the ‘one,’” Abby said.
Bootsie did have a beer in front of him. He let out a snort. “Roger, ah, that boy! Well, she was—sorry, is a pretty girl. But I don’t think she’s the one for him. Roger is falling apart now, but that boy is a passionate soul. He loves the city, he loves dress up and history. She’s a little namby-pamby for him. He’ll figure that out.”
“Let’s hope he gets to figure that out,” Malachi said.
“Let’s hope,” Aldous repeated. “He’s here now—over there, at a table. With your other high school bud, Abby. What’s that other kid’s name? The one he works with?”
“Paul Westermark?”
“Yeah. Apparently the girl playing Missy Tweed isn’t available tomorrow—she’s up in Charleston for her mother’s birthday. You said the show was to go on, so...I guess they’re trying to come up with someone to fill in or rewrite or whatever.”
“That doesn’t sound like a problem,” Malachi said. “They have Abby. She’s a wench at heart, the best wench ever, I’d think. She’s related to Blue Anderson. His descendent, I should say.”
“He was my great-great-great-whatever uncle.”
“Still, the whole swashbuckling thing is in the genes,” Malachi said. “It sounds like great fun. I’d love to get in on it, too.”
“Lad, I’m betting they’d welcome you!” Bootsie assured him. “There’s nothing like playing pirate.”
“Aye-aye!” Aldous said.
“Not when you have to do it every day and make drinks in costume and wash these bleached cotton shirts all the time!” Sullivan chimed in. He’d finished preparing a tray of drinks for one of the waitresses but was listening to them and now walked down on his side of the bar to join them.
“You don’t really mind, do you?” Abby asked him. “The pirate and wench outfits here have become tradition. Maybe I could spruce them up, though. We haven’t changed in while. Maybe get you a nice new frock coat?”
Sullivan laughed, running his fingers through his red hair. “It’s not so bad, Abby. I’m just bitching. Well, we could spruce up some of them. I’m not sure I want a frock coat. It can be hot as hell in Savannah.” He looked at Abby anxiously. “Were you planning to make a lot of changes?”
She smiled. “No, Sullivan. I love the Dragonslayer, and Gus handled it brilliantly by leaving things alone. I won’t be here all the time, anyway. And Macy and Grant do a great job. But I’ll okay new uniforms if we can improve on tradition.”
Sullivan seemed pleased. “Cool. I love my job here. And I agree that the costumes add to the ambience. One day, I’ll save enough to buy my own place. Oh, I’m not going to compete with you—it won’t be pirate-themed! Maybe I’ll go with a high-Victorian type of place. And it won’t be for years.”
Abby couldn’t help laughing at his conciliatory tone. “Savannah abounds with fine places and the Dragonslayer is only one of them. When you open your own place, Sullivan, we’ll all celebrate.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll make my bartenders dress to the nines! I know—I’ll have them look like the butler in Downton Abbey. Grant will love it—whoops, don’t worry. I won’t steal him away.”
“I’m not worried,” Abby shook her head.
“You might want to worry about Rog over there, Abby,” Bootsie murmured. “He’s down in the dumps.”
“Yep, he’s broken up about that girl,” Sullivan said. “I don’t blame him. She seemed to be nice. He was so pleased and proud to introduce her around.”
“I’ll go talk to him.” Abby slid off her bar stool. She walked over to the tables in the dining room with the Blue Anderson statue by the grate. Roger and Paul Westermark were there. She wasn’t sure what they were talking about because they glanced up at her approach and grew silent. Paul quickly stood and gave her a hug. Roger did so more slowly. He looked at her anxiously.
“Anything?” he asked.
“Not yet, Roger. But the police are following new leads.”
“New leads?” he asked. “Like what?”
“They’re inspecting the rowboat we found last night. They’re still combing the river and the ships and boats. They will find her, Roger. You have to have faith and...and keep living your life,” Abby said.