“I just wanted to let you know I’m heading to the morgue. I’ll be attending at the next autopsy,” she said.

“I hope the local guy, Dr. Tierney, likes you better than he seemed to like me,” he told her.

He heard the soft sound of her laughter. “Not to worry. Adam Harrison has done his magic. We’re officially invited in. Jackson and Angela will be down at the local station, giving a heads-up on what we believe, based on what we’ve seen and learned from you and Abby.”

“We’re looking for a would-be pirate,” Malachi said quietly, “who likes to take the ring finger of the left hand as a souvenir. And...I, uh, have a finger to give you.”

“What?”

“Gus was onto something. I think the killer lost one of his trophies in the tunnel, and Gus found it before he had any idea of what was going on. It might be why he asked Abby to come down here.”

“You found it where?”

“In one of his drawers. I need to get it to you.”

“I’ll run by for it,” she said. “Maybe pirates liked to make necklaces out of the bones of people they killed? I’ll research my pirate lore,” Kat promised him. “Oh, and Will’s taking over for Dirk this morning as head pirate on the Black Swan to keep an eye on that ship. And Dirk.”

“The guy really does seem devastated,” Malachi said.

“And I gather he can be a very good actor—as a pirate, at least.”

“Excellent plan. And I’ve heard Jackson gets along well with the local police.”

“He has his ways. Not that he has a lot to say yet. They’re probably looking for a white male, with or without a companion,” Kat said. “Someone who knows the river.”

“And has a boat or a ship, or access to one,” Malachi added.

“Big river,” Kat said.

“Yes, it is. Keep me posted.”

“Back at ya.”

Malachi checked his watch. Time for a cup of coffee before starting the day. In fact, he could smell coffee coming from nearby, not from the restaurant below.

He showered quickly, thinking all the while about the clues they had—his thoughts disrupted now and then by another that intruded. Abby.

He was glad he was going to spend the day with her.

* * *

Abby selected two coffee cups and two small plates from the overhead kitchen cabinet. They actually had time for breakfast.

She toasted a couple of bagels, and Malachi spread cream cheese on them while she poured coffee. “You doing okay?” he asked her.

She glanced at him. He seemed exceptionally appealing as he stood in the tiny kitchen area of the apartment. Fresh from the shower, his hair was dark and slick. His hazel eyes were set somberly upon her and seemed to speak of a depth she couldn’t begin to understand. She wondered about his past—the wife he’d lost—and she suddenly wanted to know everything about him.

“I’m fine,” she told him.

“I can’t stop thinking about your grandfather—wishing I’d known him.”

She smiled. “He was great.”

“I can tell,” he said softly.

She put one of the cups of coffee in front of him. “Thanks.” She watched him for a moment. “You’re not going to comfort me by telling me that he was old and lived a full life?”

“Does someone having been old make you miss them any less?” he asked.

“No.”

“It does, however, help if you know that someone did lead a full life. And it should also help if you know just what you meant to him—that you were the most important person in his life. That’s what life is all about. The grief remains, but there’s consolation in those things.”

“What about you?” she asked. She was pushing it, she thought, but her curiosity was beginning to consume her. “How did you cope? What happened to your wife?”

“Cancer. One day she was fine and then, within a year, she was dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I appreciate that. And time has helped, as they say.”

“So...you coped.”

“I didn’t, not really. New Orleans was her home. I loved living there, loved the music, the food, the architecture. You name it, I loved it. But when she died...I quit the police force and the city. I left. I can’t bear to go back, even though I loved her family, too. I returned to Virginia, moved into my old family home, and...” His voice trailed off as he looked toward the windows and the river.

“And?”

He shrugged. “I realized that in my state of mind, I wouldn’t be able to play well with others. So I got licensed and became a private investigator.”

“But that is coping,” she said.

He smiled. It was a crooked, rueful smile, and she yearned to walk over to him and stroke his cheek.

“You’re coping,” he told her. “You’re on fire. Going after the killer.”

“But you can’t go after cancer. No one can.”

He shrugged again. “I guess I know that—knew that. I went after God for a while. Didn’t work. But...ah, well. I have an ancestor who hangs around, too. Doesn’t hesitate to speak his mind. He fought a revolution and saw friends die right and left, and wasn’t interested in my self-pity. So...I started really using whatever this ability is that we have. I pursued bad guys. I tried to save lives and sometimes succeeded. That does help.”

Abby made a point of keeping her distance from him. She didn’t think she’d ever wanted to touch another person so badly.

“With any luck, we’ll save Helen Long,” she said.

“Luck—and work,” he agreed. He flicked a glance at his watch. “We meet your friend soon? Where?”

“In front of the tavern. But not until ten.”

Macy was at the host stand when they went down. She greeted them both, acting a little perplexed. “Good morning,” she said. “You came in earlier?” she asked Malachi.

He leaned on the stand and gave her a charming smile. “I’m staying here.”

“Oh. Oh, uh...” Macy looked at Abby. Abby just smiled, too.

“Macy, you’ll see some of my colleagues here in a few hours,” Malachi told her. “They’ll be setting up some security cameras. If they need it, you’ll lend them a hand?”

“Of course,” she said, sounding flustered.

He thanked her and turned to head out of the building.

“What’s going on?” Macy whispered to Abby.

Abby merely shrugged and smiled. She quickly joined Malachi outside.

“She thinks we’re sleeping together,” he said. “Did you set her straight?”

“I don’t know what she thinks. I just followed you. Is there a reason you walked out?”

He nodded. “Kat’s coming by.”

“Oh.” She lifted a questioning brow—and then she remembered. The finger. “Oh.”

A moment later, a dark SUV swung into the lot. Malachi headed for it, reached into his pocket and produced the finger wrapped in a clean silk handkerchief Abby had given him.

“I may be able to match it to a body,” Kat said.

“I hope so. I also hope it doesn’t mean there are more bodies out there.”

Kat nodded and waved to Abby. He stepped back from the SUV and she drove off.

“It’s almost nine, so I’m going out to see if I can buy a better lock. Should be back in half an hour or so.”

Abby spent the time he was gone organizing more of Gus’s papers. By 9:45, she was too anxious to do anything but wait for Malachi downstairs.

He returned just as she stepped outside. “Got it. I’ll leave it in the car until we’re back. Good timing—that’s your friend’s car, right? As he spoke, Roger waved at them from across the parking lot.

Abby waved back. “Be prepared,” she warned Malachi, smiling. “You’re in for a tour. I don’t think Roger can help himself. He should be an ambassador.”

“That’s exactly what I want,” Malachi said. He paused as Roger drew closer. “What I want are the ins and outs tourists don’t usually get. The city secrets,” he told her.

“And no faith in me, huh?” she asked.

“Eternal faith in you, Ms. Anderson. But Roger English made the map that Helen Long might’ve had in her possession.”

“True. And he probably does know more than I do. It’s my home, my heritage, and I love Savannah. But Roger is a fanatic.”

He smiled, head slightly bent, and she liked the way he looked at her. He might see the world through mocking eyes, but if so, he seemed to mock himself first and there was something charming about that. Then again, he seemed more and more charming to her as time went by.

And, of course, she was more and more intrigued by him.

Not to mention attracted...

“Hey!” Roger said, walking up and shaking Malachi’s extended hand. “I’m Roger English, best guide in the city. I’m totally yours for the day, my minions are handling all else...and where shall we go from here?”

“Malachi Gordon, Roger. And the answer is everywhere—the public city and the hidden city,” Malachi told him.

“You’re with the feds.”

“Yep.”

“And you’re taking a tour?” he asked politely.

Malachi grinned at that. “Yeah, with the feds, hoping to catch a killer. I think it’s the killer’s city, so I need to know it, too.”

“You’re with the right man!” Roger studied Malachi for a minute, hands on his hips. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Okay, well...we can walk first, if you’re up to it. My favorite secret is about four blocks up, but I thought we’d walk along the riverfront and start with Colonial Park Cemetery,” he said, glancing at Abby.

“Fine with me,” she said.

“Well, you’ve been in the Dragonslayer, of course,” Roger began.