They watched in silence as the rescue workers hoisted the stretcher from the water. When the stretcher and the woman on it were brought up, the EMTs started artificial respiration. He listened to the counts as two men worked together, trying to breathe life into the victim.
Water suddenly spurted from the woman’s lips.
“She’s alive?” Abby whispered.
“She’s alive,” an EMT said.
Malachi saw the river-diluted blood that was smeared on much of her tangled clothing. He winced, suspecting what it signified.
Abby began to shake in earnest.
Malachi held her more tightly. “Pretty incredible, Abby,” he told her. “A few more minutes in that river with all that clothing tangled around her... She wouldn’t have stood a chance.”
Abby looked at him, her blue eyes enormous against the ashen color of her face.
“It’s Helen, Malachi. It’s Helen Long. And thank God, she’s alive.”
Hard to believe how quickly the media arrived on the scene.
Or maybe not. The newscasters followed calls for police and rescue vehicles.
David Caswell moved to keep the media at bay, but before anyone could decide what information to keep secret, someone had guessed that the missing Helen Long had been found, and reporters immediately began setting up, even while rescue personnel and police worked the scene.
Abby stood there shivering, watching it all, grateful for Malachi at her side. And grateful that David was shielding them from inquisitive—and sometimes aggressive—reporters.
The situation seemed personal to her, very personal. She was grateful; they’d saved a woman.
They’d saved a woman she knew.
Helen Long was rushed to the hospital, and Jackson climbed into the ambulance to drive with her. Soaking wet, Abby and Malachi again made the drive to the police station, where David Caswell met them. Encased in blankets, they gave more statements.
David kept them as briefly as possible. He looked at Abby curiously and asked how she’d known Helen was in the river. Abby told him she hadn’t known—she’d just been there and seen the disturbance in the water. They called Jackson at the hospital before they left; Helen Long was still unconscious. But the doctors hoped she’d make a complete recovery.
When they returned to the Dragonslayer, Grant Green and Sullivan were just shutting down, and Abby realized they’d gone into the wee hours of the morning.
It had been a long day. They’d found the body of one dead woman—unknown, but surely loved and missed, and there would be sad news for a family somewhere.
But, she reminded herself again, they’d also saved a woman. Someone she knew and even considered a friend.
“Oh, my God, you both look like bloody hell!” Grant told them.
“We took a swim,” Malachi said. He didn’t mention Helen, but Abby knew everyone would hear about it soon enough. No need to come up with something clever to explain their sodden shape.
“A good swim. We found Helen,” Abby said.
“You found her?” Sullivan demanded.
“She was in the river,” Abby explained.
“You just found her—in the river?” Grant asked. “I mean, that’s wonderful! I haven’t had the news on. Oh, no, wait, is she...dead?” he asked, the last word a whisper.
Abby shook her head. “She’s alive. They’ve taken her to the hospital.”
“Then...then she’ll be able to tell them what happened,” Grant said. “Thank God! The cops will catch this bastard. Maybe he’ll resist arrest and they’ll have to shoot him. That would be justice!”
“Grant, we have courts for justice, but, yes, we hope she’ll be able to tell the police what happened to her,” Abby said.
“She hasn’t said anything yet?” Sullivan asked.
“She isn’t conscious,” Malachi answered.
Sullivan let out a sigh. “But she will regain consciousness?”
“They’re hoping for a full recovery,” Abby told him.
“Thank God!” Grant breathed.
“Yes, thank God,” Sullivan echoed.
“Well.” Grant wrinkled his nose and stepped back. “They’ve done a lot to clean up that river, but you two are pretty disgusting. Abby, that hairstyle—plastered to your face—is not your best. We’ll finish locking up. You two go take showers. And get some sleep. We’ll take care of this place. Go on.”
“Going now,” Abby said.
She turned and started up the stairs. “Good night, you two,” Malachi said. He followed Abby and they went into the apartment together.
“It’s not locked,” Malachi noted.
“I rushed out,” Abby said.
“I’ll just take a quick look around, huh?”
She nodded. Malachi went down the hall. His “look” wasn’t really that quick. She heard him open doors and she was pretty sure he checked under the beds. When he returned to the living room, he headed straight to the bank of cameras. He knew how to use the equipment, running through the time they’d been out, scanning it all, screen by screen. He sat back after a minute. “Nope, no one even tried this door. Sullivan came up at about nine to get two bottles of bourbon. Grant came and worked in the office for a while.... Everyone else just worked. All seems well here.” He looked over at her. “Why did you go to the river?”
“I saw a shadow by the grating—it was Blue. He led me all the way through the tunnel and to the river. Malachi, the hatch was open. It should have been sealed.”
Malachi drummed his fingers on the computer desk. “When you found Gus, he was at the end of the tunnel.”
“Yes.”
“The police and emergency crews came, didn’t they?”
“Yes, but...well, no one checked the hatch.”
Malachi pulled out his cell. He called David and winced when his friend answered, then covered his phone. “Sounds like I woke him and he’s cranky,” he said. But she could dimly hear David’s voice; he might’ve just fallen asleep, but he was already awake, telling Malachi he’d get crews right on it.
He walked over to the apartment door and locked it. Smiling, he said, “Despite Grant’s comment, I’m not sure you could find a bad hairstyle, Agent Anderson. Even dank from the river, you don’t look bad.”
“Thank you. We’re locked in, so we’re fine, aren’t we?” she asked him.
“We are,” he assured her. “And I have some news.”
“What?”
“We found out about the finger—from Gus’s drawer,” he said.
“Oh?”
“It belonged to Ruth Seymour. The first victim.”
“Gus couldn’t have known that!”
“No, I don’t believe he could have. But I do believe he called you because of it.”
“Why not the police?” she murmured.
“He must have been worried—and perhaps he knew you’d never suspect him of such brutality, but the police might. Still...I don’t think it would’ve changed anything if he had called them.”
She nodded.
“You’re okay?”
“Of course. I know Gus was doing his best.” She gave him a weak smile. “I’m going to have a shower.”
“I’ll go do the same,” he said.
Abby walked down the hallway to her own room. She stripped, but before she went into the shower, she tended to her Glock. This wasn’t a night she wanted to discover that she’d damaged her service weapon. When
