by Lisa Gardner
“This is where Stacey got the knife, killed herself,” D.D. filled in.
Brisk nod.
Bonita moved to the far right, opened up a door to a utility closet, pointed at a mop sitting in a bucket.
Keith’s turn. “Someone used the mop to clean up.”
Bonita tapped her chest.
“You had to clean it up?” D.D. felt ill at the thought.
Another brisk nod, then Bonita was shambling out of the kitchen. This time, they headed for the cellar. D.D. and Keith adjusted their pace to match Bonita’s, as she worked her way slowly down the narrow staircase to the cool, dark space below.
At the bottom, D.D. found the light switch, though once again the old sconces did little to illuminate the space.
Bonita hobbled forward and they followed. This time, the girl went directly for the heavy wooden doors at the end of the hall. The intricately carved double doors remained open from yesterday, the same chemical scent from the upstairs office emitting from this stone-forged space. D.D. wouldn’t be surprised if the forensic techs had spent the night dousing the room’s floor in luminol to reveal blood patterns. Kimberly would get the official report. D.D. already bet the findings included things gory and macabre.
In this room, Bonita moved less certainly. She shifted from hobble to shuffle, her shoulders up, her chin ducked low. She had assumed a defensive position, as if the shadows might attack at any moment. She moved to one of the stone walls and pressed her hand against it. Grounding herself? Something more?
Keith found the light switch in this room. It lit up a dangling overhead light, a wooden wheel suspended by dark metal chains and topped with flickering candelabras. Again, it did little to fight off the dark.
“What is this?” Keith breathed quietly.
“I don’t know. I’m guessing a meeting space.”
“You mean worldwide headquarters of Evil Enterprise?”
“Certainly looks it.”
Bonita hobbled to the massive stone fireplace. She peered inside, ran her hand along the collection of heavy, wrought iron pokers, then wandered closer to the huge oak table, appearing pensive. Finally, she pointed at a spot on the stone floor between the table and the far wall.
She gazed up at D.D. expectantly.
“Is that the last place you saw Stacey’s body?”
Nod.
“Do you know what happened to it after that?” Because why would you bring a body to the basement?
Shrug.
D.D.’s turn to inspect the fireplace. “Did they try to burn it?” she wondered out loud. A normal fire would never get the job done. A crematorium had to burn at over a thousand degrees to reduce bone to ash. Even a large hearth such as this one, she’d be staring at a pile of blackened bones, let alone still catch the scent of cooked flesh. Work too many burn scenes in a row, and detectives had a tendency to give up barbecue.
D.D. glanced back up at Bonita.
The girl shrugged again. Apparently, this was as much as she knew. D.D. crossed to the spot on the floor. Farthest point from the double doors, let alone the trek Bonita’s demon man would have had to make from the kitchen, across the very exposed foyer, down the stairs, and through an incredibly large cellar, while carrying a body. It didn’t make sense. Criminals were lazy by nature. Why not just cart the maid’s body out the back door under the cover of night? Bringing a body here entailed so much extra effort—and risk.
D.D. didn’t like it.
Keith was walking around the room, running his hands from one wall to another and frowning intently. Geeks, D.D. thought, just as her cell phone rang.
She held up her phone, surprised she had reception in the basement. She didn’t recognize the number, but the area code matched Kimberly’s.
“Excuse me for a sec,” D.D. said, then moved from the stone room into the hall. “Sergeant Detective D. D. Warren.”
“Sergeant Warren? This is Special Agent Rachel Childs. I’m leading the ERT.”
“I remember.”
“I’ve been trying to reach SSA Quincy, but she’s not answering her cell.”
“Okay.” Maybe Kimberly didn’t feel comfortable answering her phone in front of Walt? Though for a taskforce leader to not take a call . . .
“We have news to report,” Childs said. “Since I can’t reach Kimberly, I felt it was best to inform you.”
“I heard you guys had discovered another possible grave?”
“We’ve found five more graves.”
The team leader’s tone was curt. Even after seeing Bonita’s drawing, even knowing there had to be more bodies in the woods, D.D. felt shocked.
“Given the number,” Childs continued now, “I need to contact HQ for reinforcements. We’re going to need multiple teams, perhaps even multiple forensic anthropologists, to work a scene of this size.”
“There may be dozens of graves,” D.D. managed to say.
A moment of silence. “Then I’m going to recommend bringing in search dogs again.”
It wasn’t really D.D.’s call, being an out-of-state cop, but she still said, “I would agree.”
“These remains, they appear more recent than the first ones we found. We’re not experts, but based on some flora, fauna, something”—Childs’s voice was dry—“Harold is thinking the past five years.”
“I have a feeling we’re going to find remains from all sorts of time periods.”
That pause again. But D.D. didn’t clarify. She was keeping Bonita’s role to herself. The girl was in enough danger. The fewer who knew about her, even among the taskforce, the better.
“I texted SSA Quincy and left a message,” Childs said now.
“But you still haven’t heard anything back? Not even a text?”
“Negative.”
“I’ll reach out.”
“I appreciate it. I’ll be in touch later this afternoon. We’re going to cordon off and secure what we’ve found thus far, while Harold and Franklin continue to search.”
More graves, thought D.D. More bodies. “Sounds good.”
“I’ll be in touch. If you do hear from Quincy—”
“I’ll be sure to let you know.” D.D. hung up the phone. She moved back into the meeting room. “Keith, when you and Flora were at Walt’s yesterday, did you have cell phone coverage?”
“Oh yeah. Wi-Fi, too. His security system depends on it.”
D.D. nodded absently. “Mind texting Flora for me?”
“Why?”
“Just . . . touch base. I’ll do the same with Kimberly.”
Keith wasn’t fooled. But he followed D.D.’s gaze to Bonita, who was standing near the table, arms wrapped tight around her waist. “Okay.”
He pulled out his phone, tapped away. D.D. sent her own message. She had a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. But whether that was the effect of this dungeon-like space or a legitimate investigative instinct, she couldn’t be sure.
Keith had put away his phone and was inspecting the walls again.
“What are you looking for?” D.D. asked finally.
“I’m not sure. But this space, it isn’t right.”
“What do you mean?”
“Old homes generally have cellars with earthen floors, and with pillars of piled rock in the middle to help support the home above. This basement, with its narrow hall, tiny room, and now this . . . This is quite elaborate.”
“Maybe the Counsels did this after the fact, so they would have extra space for their staff. I mean, at some point they clearly added plumbing and electricity.”
“To the small rooms, sure. But this space.” He moved near the fireplace. “This wall is clearly part of the original foundation.” He ran his fingers along the jagged lines of giant chunks of stone, piled tight. Clearly an engineering feat back in the day when they’d had no heavy equipme
nt. “If only these stones could talk.”
D.D. arched a brow. “From computer analyst to stone whisperer?”
“Nah, just a nerd who read about the history of this town while we were driving up.”
“Dahlonega started the gold rush. ‘There’s gold in them thar hills.’ That’s what you told us.”
Keith nodded. “Guess what else is in these hills?”
“Well, gold mines.” D.D. paused, said more slowly, “Tunnels. These hills would be full of tunnels, where various miners searched for gold.”
“And after the gold rush, guess what else this area became known for?”
“I haven’t a clue.”
“A major hub along the Underground Railroad. Wealthy abolitionists took in escaping slaves. Where they could secret them away in their cellars, then spirit them along a vast network of underground tunnels.”
D.D. got it. “You think there’s a tunnel down here. This room, it’s a meeting point for a reason.”
“If the same people were always appearing at this inn for some clandestine meeting, people might notice. And we probably would’ve heard about it. Local gossip and such. But what if they didn’t have to ever enter the inn? What if there was another way?”
D.D. looked around. What Keith was saying made some sense. “Your wall, the fireplace wall, is original,” she noted slowly. She turned to the left. “That wall, also clearly old stone.” Behind her were the double doors, framed into drywall. Which made sense. A cellar was generally open, whereas the Counsels had clearly enclosed this space after the fact. Which left her with the wall behind the oak table, where Bonita stood.
That wall wasn’t old, dark stone. It was drywall, covered in some historically patterned wallpaper of deep crimson with tiny gold diamonds. The dark color absorbed the light, made the wall that much harder to see. As if the wallpaper wasn’t just decoration, but camouflage.
Keith was back at the fireplace, running his fingers along the upper ledge of stone. A lever, D.D. realized. He was looking for some hidden latch that would reveal the secret doorway. Which didn’t feel so far-fetched after all. And certainly would explain bringing a dead body down here.
She took up a position on the other side of the fireplace, just as they both heard footsteps thunder overhead.
D.D. froze. Keith, too.
Heavy wooden doors, D.D. thought. They could barricade them with chairs. Then keep looking for the escape tunnel while waiting for a hulking demon to break in from the other side?
Why the hell hadn’t Kimberly texted back yet? Or Flora?
D.D. experienced that hollow, edgy feeling again.
She needed to take action. Identify the threat, then neutralize it.
Except all she had was the sound of heavy footsteps and a room ringed in black.
“Detective Warren?” a voice suddenly called out from down the cellar corridor.
The sheriff’s voice. D.D. nearly sagged in relief. Of course, he was coming over to help.
“Yoo hoo?” Franny’s voice, echoing her boss’s.
D.D. cleared her throat. “We’re down here, in the basement!” she called out.
Keith had finally relaxed, returning his attention to the fireplace’s intricate stonework.
The sheriff finally appeared in the doorway. His eyes were wide. “Never been down here before. Never would’ve even known such a room like this exists.”
“Welcome to headquarters for Diabolical-R-Us,” Keith said.
Franny had followed the sheriff into the room. The older woman was wearing a pale blue sweater set, which she now clutched at her chest. “I don’t . . . I’m not sure . . .”
She caught sight of Bonita, in her oversized sweats and FBI cap. “You have a child down here? That’s terrible!”
Franny gave D.D. a clear look of disapproval.
“We’re about to go up,” D.D. said defensively, even as she prepared to go on the attack. “So what exactly happened at the jail this morning?”
Franny promptly flushed. “I don’t rightly know. Mr. Benson came in, claiming some taskforce officer had taken advantage of his business.”
“Who’s Mr. Benson? What’s his business?”
“Bill Benson. He runs the ATV rental operation.”
“Wait a minute.” Keith drew up short. “Flora and I talked to Bill Benson twice. We rented ATVs from him, but we paid, fair and square. I still have the receipts!”
Franny spread her hands. “I tried asking him what he meant, but he just grew angrier and angrier. Next thing I knew, he was shouting at me.”
Keith frowned. “Really? He didn’t strike me as the shouting type.”
“Can’t say that he’s done that before,” Franny agreed. “Can’t say that I’d like for him to do that again. But he grew so agitated . . . I had to call for help. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You called for the deputy who was watching Howard’s cell,” D.D. filled in.
“Deputy Chad was the only one in the building. It was still pretty early, you understand, and everyone’s been working such long hours . . .”
D.D. got it. The cabal had needed to take out Howard, and once again they’d moved strategically. Appointed this Bill Benson, who’d probably learned about at least some of their investigative efforts from Keith and Flora, to head to the police department first thing in the morning. He’d provided the distraction, while a second person had slid by to encourage Howard to do the deed. Or, for all they knew, person number two had already been in the station. Hell, maybe even worked at the county sheriff’s department, which employed dozens of civilians as well as officers. At this point, anything was possible.
D.D. found herself eyeing the sheriff again. On the one hand, the corrupt local sheriff seemed too obvious. On the other hand, clichés always started with a kernel of truth. Sheriff Smithers put on a good show as the local father figure, genuinely concerned for his community. But he was also one of the few people who knew they needed a password from Mayor Howard. No one else in the sheriff’s department, not to mention the town, had been in on that discussion. Just D.D., Kimberly, Flora, Keith, and Bonita. D.D. trusted her team implicitly. Which left her with . . .
“I’m sorry,” D.D. said at last, given that Franny was clearly distressed and the silence growing strained.
The older woman nodded stiffly. “I apologized to Sheriff Smithers. I’ll add my apologies to you, too. This is my mistake and mine alone. We haven’t ever had such a . . . situation before. I’m afraid I saw Mr. Benson as my neighbor, never even crossed my mind he might be a threat. Shame on me for that. But what’s done is done. I’m here, and I want to help. What can I do?”
D.D. looked over at Keith, who was working the fireplace.
“What are you looking for?” Sheriff Smithers asked, clearly noting Keith’s effort.
“A secret tunnel.”
“A secret tunnel?”
“He’s not lying,” D.D. assured the sheriff.
“And I’m not wrong either,” Keith stated triumphantly. “Look at this.” His fingers closed around the edge of one of the stones. He tugged. It moved. And at the far end of the room, just beyond the huge oak table, the crimson-covered wall slowly rumbled to life, a panel emerging, then sliding right.
Bonita jumped back, hobbling quickly to D.D.’s side.
D.D. couldn’t blame the girl. A draft of cold air blew into the room, striking her across the face. It carried the scent of dirt and pine, but also something fainter, more troubling.
The smell of death.
The secret doorway rumbled all the way open, and they stared into the abyss.
CHAPTER 38
KIMBERLY
KIMBERLY FELT UNEASY. AFTER WALT’S pronouncement that he could prove the trees really did scream at night, Walt had walked across his sprawling property and disappeared into an outbuilding.
“Does he always carry the shotgun?” Kimberly asked Flora the second he was gone.
“Yes.”
“I have a backup twenty-two. You have what, your bright shiny knife?”
“It’s a good knife.”
“One butterfly blade plus one small caliber handgun hardly equals adequate protection against buckspray.”
“Then let’s not get shot.”
“Do you believe him?” Kimberly asked seriously. “That he really did try to save you? That he’s not as evil as Jacob Ness and now he’s magically going to compensate for an entire life of reprobation by leading us to the bad guys?”
“I don’t know. It sounds funny to say this, but . . . Jacob had some good in him. He liked to play games. He brought me DVDs of my favorite TV shows. He could be nice. On occasion. Maybe his father has some good in him, too.”
Kimberly was not convinced, but then she heard the sound of a four-stroke engine firing to life. A moment later, Walt reappeared, driving a mud-splattered red ATV with monster tires. He parked the beast in front of the porch, then headed back, ostensibly for another. Their modes of transportation, Kimberly deduced. Flora and Keith had said the locals preferred the network of forest trails to county roads. Better access—and better cover.
As in, Walt could lead them just about anywhere, and who would know?
Kimberly dug her phone out of her pocket to text D.D. No bars, dammit. Funny, because she could’ve sworn she’d had coverage earlier.
Walt roared around the corner on a second ATV, this one even filthier than the first. He gazed at them expectantly. Kimberly took that as a hint to follow Flora to the first four-wheeler. Flora was already climbing on, wrapping her fingers around the handlebars.
“You know what you’re doing?”
“Easy peasy. Only hit four or five trees yesterday. Hang on tight.”
With a lurch, they were off. A short pause as Walt dealt with the gate guarding his property, unlocking, opening, closing up, relocking. Waiting, Kimberly thought she saw a flash of light in the woods. A glint of metal? But then it was gone and Walt was pulling away in a spray of gravel.