Still Life

  “Max Stallings?” Declan said, adrenaline pumping through him. He looked to Lexi and saw the same fire in her eyes.

  The Bureau had long suspected Max of bringing in illegal immigrants, but they’d never been able to catch him in the act—until now.

  “You actually think one of these terrified people killed those men?” Tanner said, outraged.

  “Keep your voice down,” Declan said, his gaze scanning the room. “Your tone is scaring them.”

  “These men are what’s scaring them.”

  “Once Immigration takes over, we’ll lose track of them. We need to fingerprint and photograph each one so we have a record of them. That’s all.”

  “Fine.” Tanner tried calming the refugees as Rowley’s men did their job—fingerprinting and photographing each one. She was speaking with them in soothing tones, but he had no idea what she was telling them.

  Declan felt horrible about the turmoil they were causing, but they were just doing their job. He prayed Tanner would explain that to the refugees—and that she understood as well. What she thought of him was becoming more and more important, and yet he feared none of it was good.

  21

  Parker pulled to a stop at the end of North Point Road. The area had played a significant role during the War of 1812, and over the years it came to be known as Fort Howard and served a number of uses, with a variety of buildings being built up and torn down. The only sign of the fort’s early history still evident were two concrete coast batteries erected in 1902 in commemoration of the fort’s wartime history. Though now both were crumbling shells of their former glory.

  The Veterans Administration acquired the title in 1940 and built a five-story, three-hundred-and-seventy-seven-bed hospital, which remained in operation until 2002, when its doors were eventually and dishearteningly, to the community and the veterans it served, closed.

  Fort Howard was across the Patapsco River from Sparrow’s Point, and the sound of a train rumbling over the railroad tracks echoed on the wind across the dark water.

  As Parker and Avery walked the grounds, the dusk shifted to night, and the wind shifted to a calm, eerily silent breath. The only sound was the water lapping against the concrete base of the small red-and-white lighthouse thirty or so feet offshore.

  The hospital sat dark, the grounds overgrown, a meadow where a basketball court had once been, the entire area a hub for illegal urban exploration and ghost hunters who believed the empty hospital halls were haunted by spirits.

  It took a little time to find an entrance that wasn’t boarded up, but they did and without too much struggle were inside within half an hour of their arrival.

  A rank odor assaulted Avery’s senses as they moved down the hall littered with trash and old medical equipment. “Dare I ask what that smell is?”

  “I think we’re better off not knowing. Doesn’t smell like decomposition to me.”

  They passed a number of red gurneys and a defibrillator cart, before the hall ended and they turned right, taking the only available passage past an abandoned nurse’s station, dusty filing trays and empty bulletin boards still littering the space.

  Examining each room they passed, their flashlights bounced off dark walls, desk chairs, and patient beds.

  They stepped in the last room, and Avery screamed at a pair of legs lying feet up in an oversized laundry cart in the corner of the room.

  “It’s okay,” Parker said, stepping closer. “They’re prosthetic legs.”

  “Oh.” Her pulse slowly stopped racing.

  “Shall we continue?” he asked and she nodded, following him up a flight of stairs, past graffiti-covered walls and empty beer bottles, where they exited onto the second floor at the end of the hall. A different odor wafted down this corridor. One of death.

  “This place gives me the creeps.” That was usually something she’d keep to herself, but she trusted Parker enough to be open about the heebie-jeebies tickling the nape of her neck.

  “Hey,” Parker said, placing his hand on her arm and gesturing to the closed door with a deadbolt lock installed on it.

  “That’s odd.”

  “Looks recent,” Parker said, moving to bust it open with his Maglite.

  “Hold on.” Avery stepped forward, pulling a small case from her bag. “Allow me.” She picked the lock and swung it open.

  “Not even going to ask how you know how to do that,” Parker said.

  Avery smiled. “Best you don’t.”

  Parker lifted his flashlight, illuminating the room . . . and they both stilled. Before them was the staging from Skylar’s photograph. A white sheet draped over a sofa with burgundy velvet pillows, which Avery recognized as the ones Skylar kept on her bed.

  That’s why Sebastian had been in Skylar’s place. He’d been taking props for his photograph. What else had he taken?

  Parker spotted a small generator and turned it on. Lights flashed on, revealing boarded-up windows with blackout curtains hanging over the plywood for extra concealment.

  Photographs of Skylar hung on the walls—clearly taken when she wasn’t aware she was being photographed—and they were surrounded by hand sketches of her in various poses, all of which were morbid or at the very least disturbing in nature. Whoever had drawn them had taken great care in getting all of Skylar’s features just right. He’d been studying her. Fantasizing about her. Planning the perfect portrait.

  A sound, soft and rhythmic, caught Avery’s attention.

  She spun around, facing the door. Parker quickly followed. Both still and listening.

  Something or someone was shuffling down the hall, the noise growing louder, closer. And then a new sound joined the shuffling.

  She looked at Parker. Was that . . . ?

  Humming.

  Parker pulled his gun and positioned Avery behind him.

  The noise shifted, moving away from them, and from what Avery could tell toward the stairwell.

  What if it was Sebastian? What if he’d detected their presence and was leaving? The one person who Avery believed held the key to Skylar’s disappearance.

  She looked to Parker and he nodded. “Stay right behind me.”

  They stepped into the hall, Avery glancing up and down. It was dark compared to the lit room they’d just exited. It was going to take a moment for her eyes to adjust, but they didn’t dare turn on the flashlight for fear of scaring Sebastian or whomever it was away.

  They moved quietly down the corridor, the humming growing louder again. They were headed in the right direction, getting closer.

  Avery’s heart thudded with a mix of trepidation and anticipation, her chest squeezing so tight she could barely catch a decent breath.

  Parker’s arm swung out, landing on her stomach and pressing her up against the wall. The sound was so close it was almost on top of them. Parker held at the corner of the wall and at just the right moment swung around to the intersecting hallway, aiming his gun at a very startled man’s center mass.

  “Wh . . . who’s there?” The man squinted. “Lizzy? Is that you?” an elderly voice quivered.

  Parker indicated for her to turn on the flashlight.

  The elderly man shielded his eyes from the light. Clearly he was used to the dimness of the building. His face was scruffy and unshaven, his clothes a size too big.

  “Who are you?” Parker asked.

  “Edward.”

  “What are you doing here, Edward?”

  “I live here. Have since ’69.”

  “They closed this place down more than a decade ago.”

  “No. No!” Edward shook his head, running a shaky hand through his thinning gray hair standing nearly on end. “Lizzy told me to wait for her, that she’d be right back after her surgery.”

  Oh. “Is Lizzy your wife?”

  “Yes.” His countenance brightened. “Have you seen her? She’s beautiful as a sweet summer day.”

  Avery’s heart broke for the poor man. “No. I’m sorry, I haven’t.”

&
nbsp; “Oh.” Anguish blanketed the brief glimpse of joy that had surfaced on his dirt-smudged face. “That’s okay. I’m sure she’ll be along soon enough.”

  Avery’s gaze settled on the McDonald’s bag clutched in his hand, the fresh scent of warm fries wafting through the otherwise stale air.

  “Where’d you get that?” she asked.

  He clutched the white paper bag to his chest. “It’s mine.”

  “Of course. I’m not trying to take it. I was just wondering . . . where I could get some of my own.”

  “Oh. Sebastian brings it. I keep an eye on the place and he brings me stuff.”

  Her muscles tightened. So Sebastian had recently been in the building, maybe still was.

  “Do you know where Sebastian is now?” She tried to keep the adrenaline coursing through her system from her voice, tried to keep her tone even when she felt anything but centered.

  “In his storage room,” Edward said, opening the bag and pulling out a fry, then popping it in his mouth.

  “Where he takes the pictures?” They’d just been in there. If he’d come and seen the light on, surely he would have left. They would have already lost him.

  “No. That’s his studio.” Edward rolled his eyes, rocking back on his heels. “His storage room is in the basement.”

  “Could you show us?” Parker asked.

  “I don’t see why not. Sebastian likes pretty girls.”

  “I bet he does,” Parker whispered under his breath as they headed for the basement.

  22

  Rowley’s men finished fingerprinting everyone and exited the chow hall, leaving Declan and Lexi alone with Tanner and the frightened refugees.

  Lexi hung back as Declan approached Tanner. Why, he wasn’t sure. The two got along just fine, but both seemed hesitant about encroaching on the other’s territory. Not that he was either’s territory. He didn’t get women. Taking a deep breath, he stepped to Tanner’s side. She was busy helping the refugees wash the black ink off their hands with a handful of wet dishrags she’d procured from the kitchen.

  “Can you finish talking with Hana about the evil man?” he asked.

  She finished wringing out a washcloth and then looked up at him like he was nuts. “Seriously? I’d just convinced them that you were here to help, and then you guys treat them like criminals.”

  “We’re just doing our jobs. I’m sorry if you don’t understand all that entails, but we have a murderer on the loose and the remote possibility exists that he or she may be in this very room.”

  “Hana said he left.”

  “She said an ‘evil’ man left, but how do we know for certain he’s the killer? And if he is, where is he hiding? If you could please ask Hana about the man, it may just help us catch a killer.”

  Tanner’s heart was full of compassion, but she had to know the murderer’s presence onboard was a very real possibility—whether hiding among the crew, the refugees, or somewhere in the ship.

  “When you put it that way . . .” she said, moving back to Hana to finish their conversation, picking up where they’d left off.

  Hana spoke and Tanner interpreted. “Hana says the man started receiving special treatment rather quickly. Full meals, water, even better sleeping quarters.”

  “By who? Who gave him all this stuff?” Someone who knew he was different.

  “Hana said a number of different crewmen came to bring him food and water, and then when he moved to different sleeping quarters she was thankful because he was away, but whenever the ship made port he came back into the hold with them. Whenever he was in there, he was antsy and twitchy.”

  “And today? Was he in the hold with them or in his berth?”

  “He was in the hold with them, but someone let him out, and shortly after they heard gunshots. He returned not long after, grabbed his stuff, and left.”

  “His stuff?”

  “She said he had a knapsack.”

  “When she says he left . . . ? What does she mean exactly? Left the hold? Left the ship?”

  “Only that he left the hold in a hurry, and she hasn’t seen him since.”

  Declan signaled Lexi. “We need to account for all the lifeboats and fast rafts.”

  “I’ll go pull the ship records to find out how many boats they have and then ask Rowley to have his men do a count of how many there currently are.”

  “Smuggling ships also always keep a count of their ‘cargo.’” He looked at Tanner. “I apologize for the horrific nickname.”

  Tanner nodded. “Thanks, but unfortunately, I’ve heard the term before.”

  “I’ll see if we’re missing any refugees as well,” Lexi said.

  “Thanks.” Declan nodded, then turned back to Tanner. “And, thank you. Because of you and Hana we may have just figured out who our unknown suspect is. Now we just need to figure out where he is.”

  Avery and Parker followed Edward down the cement-block stairwell to the basement.

  Avery’s breath hitched as they opened the stairwell door—the metal hinges creaking something awful with the forced motion.

  She prayed if Sebastian heard the noise he’d assume it was simply Edward.

  They followed Edward through the furnace room, the hefty piece of equipment long unused, and past rusting machinery to a door at the far end marked Biohazards in big red letters painted on the once white, now faded yellow, peeling sign.

  “This way,” Edward said, opening the door. “In there.” He gestured at the closed door up ahead on the left with light emanating underneath.

  Please let it be Sebastian, and please let him have the answers we need.

  Edward hung back.

  Avery frowned. “Aren’t you coming?”

  “Sebastian doesn’t like folks in his space. I keep an eye on his rooms, but I don’t go in. ‘Never go in,’ he says.”

  “Okay. Why don’t you wait here for us?” Parker said.

  “Wait here?”

  “Yes, please,” Avery said. They were going to want to ask him more about Sebastian and what he’d seen taking place in the building.

  “Wait here.” Edward nodded.

  She followed Parker to the door.

  “Ready?” he said under his breath, gun drawn.

  She nodded.

  Parker opened the door, and her heart lurched.

  23

  Can you ask Hana if she has any idea where the man slept once he was moved?” Declan prayed she knew. If they were really lucky, maybe they’d find the man, if not perhaps something—anything—to help uncover his identity. Speaking of identity . . . where was that sketch artist?

  “Hana says they put him in one of the crew’s quarters.”

  “Can she show us which one?”

  Please, Lord. They needed a break.

  “Hana said she never saw the man go in a berth.”

  Declan struggled against asking Tanner to press Hana for more information, but what was the use? She either knew or—

  Hana tugged Tanner’s arm, speaking urgently.

  After listening for a couple minutes, Tanner turned with a smile. “Hana says her grandson, Adam”—she pointed to a boy Declan estimated to be about eleven who was seated at the nearby dining table—“sneaks out of the hold at night to scrounge for food. Hana told him it was too dangerous, but he’d just wait and go after she fell asleep. She’d wake up and there’d be a chunk of bread in her pocket or a few crackers. She said Adam saw the man in question come out of a berth one night to use the head. Adam hid, fearful of being seen, and waited until the man went back into his berth.”

  “Can Adam show us that berth?”

  “Sure,” Adam said from the table.

  Surprised the boy spoke English, Declan smiled at him and then looked back to Tanner. “I owe you a big kiss. You may have just given us our suspect.”

  He followed as the boy sprinted down the narrow ship corridor to the room nearest the hold, which made perfect sense. If the man ever needed to rush back into the hold, he cou
ld do so in a matter of seconds.

  What didn’t make sense were the words that had just come out of his mouth. “I owe you a big kiss”? Had he seriously said that? Perhaps he’d fantasized about kissing Tanner a time or two—who was he kidding? A lot—but it made no sense, and if nothing else, he was a sensible man.

  He ducked, stepping inside the berth as Adam darted back, no doubt to Tanner, where he felt safe.

  Tanner.

  Kissing Tanner.

  Get your head in the game, man.

  What on earth was going on with him?

  The berth. Focus.

  It was a small berth, as most were, consisting of a double bunk and metal wardrobe.

  He’d have to ask Adam if he saw which crewmember shared the berth with the man.

  Declan moved to the wardrobe, praying he’d find something inside, but there was zilch. Hana said their unknown suspect took his knapsack, but what about his roommate? Surely the man hadn’t gotten a berth all to himself? Not in such tight quarters. Not with such a large crew. Not unless he was a man of great importance to someone high up.

  Lexi ducked her head in. “Hey.”

  “Hey. We need to have another chat with the captain.”

  “That might need to wait,” Lexi said, her tone holding an urgency Declan recognized immediately.

  “What is it?”

  “This ship is missing a fast raft, and one was reported floating adrift in the harbor about eight hours ago.”

  “You’re kidding me?”

  “No.”

  “That’s a half hour before we arrived on site. Why are we just finding out about this now?”

  “The couple who spotted the empty raft notified the harbor master. He had no idea it had any connection to this investigation until Rowley put out a call for any sighting of a fast raft matching the description of theirs. Based on the coordinates the sailboat couple gave, along with the time the call came in and the currents, it is Rowley’s estimation that our suspect exited along Canton’s shoreline. Most likely in the area between Holabird Avenue and Lazaretto Point.”

  “Let’s send a team to canvass the area,” Declan said. “Starting with the businesses in that particular section, though most are well past closed.” They’d need great luck to locate anybody who witnessed their suspect come ashore.