You might well haunt these streets for eternity if you’re waiting for all men to embrace one another, Malachi thought.
But he said, “Noble indeed, Lieutenant. I wish you well. I believe we are on the way. I honestly believe most men seek the right to life, liberty and happiness for all. But to end all prejudice—the whole world has a way to go. Where one hatred dies, another often springs to life.”
“Perhaps,” the lieutenant agreed. “Sir, it was a pleasure—you cannot imagine what a pleasure—to make your acquaintance.” He tipped his cavalry hat and started to walk on.
“Excuse me, sir. Perhaps you could help me.”
The lieutenant paused, looking at him. “I would be happy, of course, to be of assistance to a visitor to my fine city.”
“Do you know anything about the tunnels around here? Tunnels that lead to the river?”
The lieutenant smiled broadly. “I knew quite a bit. My wife, although scorned by society for doing it, still managed to help many a man and woman to escape via the river. Captain Emanuel Vance used to bring a ship in, laden with supplies. He pretended to run the blockade, but what he did was carry many to freedom.”
The question had brought out enthusiasm in the young lieutenant. “The Dragonslayer, of course, was known for its tunnels since the days of the pirates. As was the Pirates’ House. But a network was dug during the yellow fever. I saw the morgue myself as a young lad. No longer in use at the time, of course, but the remnants were there. Still are, I believe. But what we used for the Underground Railroad, sir, were the tunnels through the vaults. The vaults do not exist anymore, but the tunnels do.”
“What vaults?”
“Very old burial vaults,” the lieutenant said. “The one behind my house is gone, but it connected to a vault beneath a tavern.”
“The Wulf and Whistle?”
“Indeed. You know the place?”
“Yes. I went down to the tunnel, which led to the Dragonslayer—and from there, to the river.”
The lieutenant smiled. “Oh, sir, there are other branches in that tunnel. Savannah’s secret society of abolitionists knew that tunnels could easily be discovered. There are little pockets, twists and turns down there. Before the shelling of Fort Sumter, those who believed in freedom for all were secretly working down here. Some of the finest engineers in the country were below the ground, along with some of the finest engineers from Europe. Those tunnels are extensive. Explore, but take care. If you are buried in any kind of collapse, sir, I fear you will not come out.”
Malachi thanked him, furious at his own stupidity.
They’d found the damned tunnel underneath the Wulf and Whistle. Why hadn’t they broken down all the walls?
Malachi saw the young lieutenant off, then hurried back to the alley. A man in jeans and a polo shirt leaned against the wall, reading a tourist guide. Malachi walked up to him. “Officer?”
The man looked at him quizzically; Malachi produced the ID Jackson had given him to use while working the case.
“Yeah, Shubart. Officer Mike Shubart.”
“I’m going down,” Malachi said. “If I’m not back up in an hour, alert the troops.”
“Yes, sir. You got it.”
Malachi walked to the tunnel and phoned Jackson, telling him what he was about to do. He reached the wooden cover, moved it and crawled into the tunnel. Hitting the ground, he pulled out his flashlight.
He patted his side, making sure the Colt .45 that was his favorite weapon was exactly where it should be. Then he played his light over the darkness that swallowed even that glow. He proceeded slowly.
*
Abby couldn’t get hold of Malachi. His cell went straight to voice mail and his recorded voice said, “Leave your message, please.”
“It’s Abby. A very annoyed Abby. Where are you? What’s going on?” she demanded, and then ended the call.
Police work, any kind of law enforcement work, could be tedious. Much of it involved watching. And waiting. Endless waiting.
She was watching at the Dragonslayer. Could be worse, she tried to tell herself. If she got hungry, at least there was food. And the seats were comfortable. The climate was nice.
And there was enough coffee to keep her wired for a week.
But try as she might to stay calm, she grew increasingly anxious. She sat at the bar, watching. Waiting.
Roger and Paul seemed to have nothing to do that day. Maybe Roger was watching her as she watched him. He probably assumed that if anyone was going to know anything, it would be her.
Every so often, news about the suspect in the River Rat case came on. Everyone went still and stared at the screen.
And then they turned to Abby.
She shrugged. “I haven’t been able to reach my colleagues yet,” she told them. That was true in a way. Malachi wasn’t answering.