“I’m going,” Roger muttered, heading toward the elevator. “I guess I’ll check out the Dragonslayer.”

Malachi watched him leave. As he did, an elevator door down the hall opened and Kat stepped off. She tried to keep the doors from closing but she didn’t move quickly enough. She apologized to Roger, who mumbled something, pushed the call button and stood there, waiting.

Kat came down the hall. “Everything all right?” she asked Malachi.

Malachi nodded, still watching Roger. “I think Helen’s had all the visitors she can handle for the day,” he said.

“She has visitors in there now?”

“Jack and Blake—the pirate actors she works with on the Black Swan.”

“Ah. You let them in on purpose, I take it.”

“I did.”

“Suspects?”

“I don’t think so. I think they’re just friends. No ulterior motives. But we can’t be sure yet.”

“I’ll get the nurse to shoo them out. He’s a great guy and a major help. His name is Byron. He’ll do twelve-hour days—switching with Bruno, another nurse Jackson found here—and one who fits his name well,” Kat said.

Malachi nodded, keeping an eye on Roger, who continued to wait by the elevator. “Leave it to Jackson Crow,” he said, and smiled. “Did Will see or hear anything on board the Black Swan?” he asked.

“No, but he got along famously with Dirk,” Kat said. “And with his buddies, Bootsie and Aldous.”

“Is he back at the house on Chippewa now?”

“Spelling Angela on the cameras, yes.”

“I’d like him to follow Roger English,” Malachi said.

“You think Roger is responsible for all this?” Kat asked. “Isn’t he the one who’s going crazy looking for Bianca?”

“Yes and no. I don’t believe he’s a killer. But he’d be interesting to watch. He’s in love. And he knows the city. He may lead us someplace he suspects might be a haven for the killer. He may even have an idea he isn’t willing to share. He doesn’t feel any of us wants to find Bianca Salzburg with the same desperation he does.”

Kat pulled out her phone. Malachi waited while she put through the call to Will, who promised to get to the tavern quickly and start following Roger. Kat spoke for another minute or so and hung up.

“Jackson was about to call you. He’s at a place near the river called the Wulf and Whistle. It’s by that alley you told him about. He wants you to go there as soon as you can,” she said.

“We’re on it.” Malachi paused. “Kat, what do you think the killer is using to hack off fingers?”

“A very sharp object, one with some heft. He’s taking them cleanly.”

“So, maybe something like an old pirate’s boarding ax?”

“Could be,” Kat said.

“Thanks.”

Kat reached for the door to Helen Long’s room. “I’ll send Abby out—and sic Byron on our visitors.”

Soon after, Abby joined him in the hall.

“Helen is doing fine,” she said. “I told Roger we’d talked to her and that she’d given us everything that she could. I warned him not to push her.”

“I know. Come on. Jackson asked us to meet him at the Wulf and Whistle.”

“It’s in front of the alley our ghosts pointed out to us this morning.” Abby hesitated. “Malachi, what do you think she heard—aside from the music. If she was on the river, she might’ve heard the entertainment from any of the tourist boats. But the sound she heard, like a beat. She didn’t say it was drums, exactly, but something like that.”

Tap, tap, tap.

He didn’t know, but he felt he should. It was there, hidden somewhere in the back of his mind.

* * *

The Wulf and Whistle was in one of Savannah’s historic buildings; it had gone up about ten years before the yellow fever epidemic. Abby had been inside many times. Businesses owners in the city could be a tight group; what was good for the city was good for everyone, and Gus had been close with the people he saw as his colleagues rather than competitors. Right now, the restaurant and bar was owned by Samuel Mason, who lived in Florida. His manager, however, was Steve Rugby, a man in his mid-forties who ran the place with friendly ease. Abby had always liked Steve and the Wulf and Whistle.

When the building had first gone up, it had been a tavern with apartments above it.

It was still a tavern with apartments above it. Peanuts were served in shells, the walls were decorated with old advertisements and the feel of the establishment was warm and congenial.

As soon as they entered, the hostess directed Abby and Malachi down to the rum cellar. Once, it had probably housed little more than rum. Now, it still held the old casks, but there were also endless rows of wine, and cases and stacks of fine bourbons, whiskeys, rums, gins and other alcohol, too.

Steve, a barrel-chested balding man, was there with Jackson Crow, David Caswell and a number of other officers. The shelves had been removed from one wall and Steve had been showing the police and Jackson a section of that wall.

Jackson and David hailed Abby and Malachi when they arrived.

“We sent some officers out on a door-to-door,” Jackson explained. “And Steve called to tell us about the tunnel.”

“So there is a tunnel here?” Abby asked. “I never knew about this one, either!”

Steve joined the conversation. “None of us knew about it. We did some renovations down here about three months ago,” he said. “When we did, we had engineers in—you know, you have to make sure these old places are safe. Anyway, they were looking at the pilings and found that we had a false wall here. They knocked it down. My assistant did some research for me, and we’re putting the info on our new menus,” he added proudly. “The owner during the War Between the States was a heartfelt abolitionist, and this place was a stop on the Underground Railroad. Anyway, they must have kept the entrance hidden behind rum casks back then. And by the time we got to it, the false walls had been painted over again and again. But, like I was showing the police, we had our entrance here sealed as part of the renovation.”

It might have been sealed before, Abby thought, but not anymore. The police had taken sledgehammers to it.

Now, a dark hole gaped before them, running beneath the earth. The artificial light from the cellar faded into the far reaches. David Caswell held a large searchlight and started moving slowly into the dank tunnel.

“Shall we?” Jackson asked, pulling out a flashlight, as well.

Abby felt Malachi’s hand on the small of her back as he guided her forward.

Light played over the walls of the tunnel. There were places where the earth had fallen in and other places where plaster or wooden walls remained to shore it up.

They walked for about fifty feet and came to a dead end.

Jackson, David and Malachi tapped on the solid wall of earth they’d reached, listening for a hollow sound that would indicate the tunnel had been blocked but continued. Malachi used the end of his light to dig at the earth. He hit more earth.

They tried, moving along, casting the light in different directions, tapping and searching, but an hour later, they remained frustrated.

“Nothing,” Jackson said. “I could’ve sworn there’d be something,”

“Me, too,” David Caswell agreed.

“We can get some engineers down here tomorrow,” Jackson said, “and see if we’re missing anything. For now...”

“For now we have to give it up?” Abby asked.

“An engineer will uncover what we can’t,” Malachi told her.

“Right.” Abby felt deflated; she’d been so certain they’d find something.

They trudged back out of the tunnel. Steve and the other officers remained in the cellar.

“We’ll call it a night and get someone in here tomorrow,” David announced.

Jackson stepped forward to thank Steve for all his help. “Hey, it’s my city,” Steve said. “And it tears at my heart to hear about the bad things that are happening. Whatever I can do...”

“Sorry about wrecking the wall,” Jackson reminded him.

“Easy to fix,” Steve assured them. “Don’t worry about it.”

They left, going up to the tavern and out to the street, where David, Jackson, Malachi and Abby stood together, looking at one another.

They resembled kids who’d been playing in the mud, Abby thought. “Well,” David said with a wry grin. “Time to hit the showers.”

“Bianca Salzburg hasn’t surfaced, has she?” Abby said. It wasn’t really a question.

Bianca, her disappearance, had to be the reason for tonight’s exertions.

“No,” David admitted. “She’s still missing.”

“He has her,” Abby said.

David turned to Jackson. “We traced her cell phone. The signal disappeared somewhere around here. That’s why we needed to tear everything up at the restaurant. But I have men on the riverfront. We might go broke on overtime, but we’re leaving nothing unturned. We have police vessels out on the river and the coast guard, too. We’re doing everything we possibly can.”

Abby nodded. “But—”

“We have to quit for tonight,” Jackson said decisively. “Everyone needs to sleep.”

They wished one another a good night. Then Abby and Malachi returned to the Dragonslayer.

Grant Green was at the desk when they walked in. “My God!” he said, staring at the two of them, mouth agape. Guests were still having dinner in the dining rooms; a few people—along with the trio of Bootsie, Aldous and Dirk—were at the bar. Grant hurried around the host stand to meet them. “What have you been doing?”

“Playing in the dirt,” Abby said facetiously.

“Okay, never mind.” Grant sighed. “How’s Helen?”

“Doing well.”