by James Hunt
“We have nearly twenty agents and officers combing this place, and we have overturned every tomb we’ve come across,” Hemsworth said. “If she was here, then we would have found her already.”
Cooper cradled the side of her head, trying to think, trying to figure out what she missed. “Poe. That’s what was special to them. That was their connection. And that’s what he would use to tear them apart. She should have been buried there.”
“Cooper, Poe’s gravestone is cemented to brick,” Hart said, his tone firm but kind. “There’s no way he could have moved that in the time frame the girl was taken without someone noticing, or leaving behind something in the process.”
“It’s not a grave.”
Every head turned to the old groundskeeper, and Cooper was the first to reach him. “What?”
The old man shrugged, one of the straps of his overalls falling from his shoulder. “That’s just a monument to commemorate Poe. There isn’t anything buried underneath. His original grave is marked at another spot.”
Hemsworth and Hart radioed the agents and officers in the area toward the west side of the compound. The massive shift in resources converging on a single location caused the media to stir, and out of the peripheral of her right eye Cooper saw the bright flash of cameras and heard the deafening choir of questions hurled toward her on the run.
“Keep them back!” Hemsworth shouted as he kept stride with Cooper and the others.
Cooper checked the headstones for names, looking for the original marker, as the old groundskeeper was too slow to keep up with their hurried pace. Four more agents appeared with shovels, and the medical team that was on standby pulled their gurney over.
“I found it!” Hart jumped and shouted a few rows over.
Shovels hit the dirt before Cooper arrived, and she noticed the brokenness of the freshly laid sod over the gravesite. Another officer arrived with more shovels, and Cooper added her labor to the dig. Her shoulders burned with every scoop of earth cast aside, and when the metal tip of her shovel thudded against something hard she dropped to her knees, clawing through the dirt until she felt the grainy top of a box. “Find the edges!” Dozens of hands cleared the space, finding the corners until the top of the short coffin was completely unearthed. Cooper reached for the latch on the side, but it was locked. “We need bolt cutters over here, now!”
Hart handled the heavy tool and pried the jaws open wide enough to get a good grip on the lock. He pressed down, his face beet red and the veins along his neck pulsating as the metal on the lock whined. One more final squeeze, and it snapped in half, Hart exhaling as he collapsed backward.
Cooper lifted the hatch, the remaining dirt flinging from the opened top. The young woman inside was curled in a fetal position and unconscious. “Medic!” Cooper reached her hand out and pressed her fingers against the woman’s neck, looking for the pulse she prayed was still there. But before she felt the beat of life, medics pulled Cooper back and out of the way. Blue-gloved hands reached into the box, carefully removing the woman from her tomb, and set her on the gurney. An oxygen mask was placed over her nose and mouth, and one of the paramedics immediately placed both hands on the woman’s chest, pumping life back into her heart.
Sitting in the dirt, both hands in the soil, Cooper watched the paramedics wheel the woman away, and as they disappeared into the back of an ambulance she felt a piece of her fall into the grave they’d dug up. If that woman died, she wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take. But she understood one thing very clearly. The killer wanted her to know that he held all the cards. He was life and death. And he held her sister’s fate in his hands.
Chapter 8
The tall vaulted ceilings of the church of Westminster Hall echoed the loud chatter of the press corps and spectators outside. But inside all the long wooden pews were empty, save for one spot that Cooper had claimed. She leaned back, her bones as stiff as the wood underneath, and they both groaned from the motion.
The walls of the church were massive slabs of stone, laced with intricate patterns of statues, but what Cooper couldn’t take her eyes off of was the massive organ engraved into the far wall inside the church. The pipes of the instrument stretched all the way to the ceiling and numbered at least sixty across, all in different sizes and lengths. And every pipe funneled to the bottom, where they were controlled with a set of keys and foot pedals. She admired the dedication and time needed to build it, let alone play it. Her knees popped as she pushed herself from the pew and walked down the aisle. She squinted at the intricate detail of the designs painted along the pipes, the hand-carved wood that mounted the massive instrument into the church. She extended her arm and reached for one of the keys, but a voice pulled her hand back.
“Hey.” Hart met her halfway down the aisle, his face slightly pink from the morning out in the sun. “Hemsworth just got done with the press.”
“What’d he say?”
“He kept it vague. Pulled a lot of political moves by answering the questions without actually giving an answer.” He twirled the wedding band on his finger, a nervous habit. “The captain and the chief want you to make a brief statement.” Cooper rolled her eyes and headed for the door. Hart chased after her, cutting in front of her before she burst into the line of fire. “Hey, it’s not something you have to do now. Run it by PR first. Trust me. I’ve seen it get real ugly for officers who try and go off script, even when they’re in the right.”
“Hart, there’s a vindictive psychopath on the loose that’s killed dozens, maybe even hundreds of people over the past thirty years, and now has my sister. My precinct doesn’t trust me, and my brother-in-law wants to see me burn at the stake. I think it’s safe to say that if I fall I don’t have that far to drop.” Cooper brushed him aside and exited the sanctuary, where she was immediately swarmed by the buzzing insects that were the media.
“Detective Cooper, any updates on the case?”
“What are the killer’s demands?”
“Is the woman that was pulled out of here alive?”
“Is this connected to the bombing at the stadium?”
The questions were spitted faster than Cooper could answer. She held up her hands, the flash of cameras intensifying the afternoon sun and nearly blinding her. “We are gaining traction on the killer, and though he hasn’t made any demands, I want to encourage every citizen to exercise extreme caution until we have brought this killer to justice. Rest assured that myself, the Baltimore Police Department, and the FBI are doing everything within our power to restore peace to our city.”
Janet Kimmings, the reporter that had continuously plagued her earlier, burst through the front line of bodies and thrust the microphone near her mouth. “Detective, if you could speak to the man who has your sister, what would you tell him?”
Cameras clicked, and the hive of reporters grew silent, all of the microphones outstretched to catch the sound bite. Cooper paused, censoring the first few words that came to mind, knowing that this would be on the six o’clock news. She turned to the nearest camera and acted as if the killer were right in front of her. “There is no place you can hide, nowhere that you can run where I will not be able to find you. I will catch you. It’s only a matter of time. I promise.” She stepped aside, another slew of questioning aimed at her as officers and Hart boxed them out so she could enter her squad car.
Once the horde was pushed back Hart climbed inside the passenger seat. Cooper floored the accelerator and watched the crowd grow smaller in the rearview mirror. “We need to speak with the woman we pulled out of that grave.”
“She’s over at Baltimore General,” Hart said, clicking on his seatbelt. “She’s still in surgery. One of the paramedics found a stab wound on her side and a bag full of blood in her pocket.” Hart shook his head. “The bastard hooked up an IV to slowly drain her body.”
“She might be able to identify the killer. Aside from Kate Wurstshed she’s the only one that’s ever seen his face and lived to tell the t
ale.”
Hart raised his eyebrow. “What if it’s just another situation like Kate’s? What if this guy and girl are working with him? You said it yourself—our killer doesn’t leave anyone alive. Why would he start now?”
“Hope.” Cooper looked over to him, her voice calmer than she expected, her body still as she turned onto the highway toward the hospital. “The killer wants to dangle the hope that I can still get my sister out alive.” If the killer had meant to plant seeds of doubt in her mind, then the ruse worked. She was dealing with a mind that she’d never come across before, someone who had ascended beyond the mastery of his craft.
The hospital parking lot was full, and the ER was busy. Hart spoke to the nurse at the reception desk, but one of the patients in the waiting room caught Cooper’s eyes. A mother slowly rocked her daughter back and forth in her arms. The young girl had a sling on her left shoulder, and her face was beet red from crying.
“Hey, they said she just got out of surgery and is on the third floor,” Hart said, walking toward the elevator.
“Okay.” Cooper followed, but as the elevator doors closed her gaze fell back to the mother and daughter, both their faces reminding her of Beth and Mary.
After speaking to another nurse on the recovery room floor, they were escorted to the woman’s room, where the doctor was taking a look at her chart. Her eyes were closed, and the heart monitor beeped steadily on the machine to her right. The doctor noticed their presence and nodded. “Detectives. I’m afraid she’s still sedated, but she should be awake in a few hours.”
“What can you tell us about the injury?” Cooper asked, keeping her eyes on the young woman. She walked over to her bedside and examined her hands, checking the woman’s nails for any signs of skin underneath the cuticle.
“It was oddly precise.” The doctor pointed to the laceration near the ribs. “The needle was connected to the liver, draining the organ’s blood and rendering it impotent. Another half hour of that, and the damage would have been irreparable.”
“You’re saying that little wound would have killed her?” Hart asked.
“Not immediately, no. But the human body cannot function without the liver. And if the organ failed, and she needed a transplant, she would have only lasted a few more days before the rest of her body shut down.” He marked a few notes on his clipboard and shook his head. “It would have been incredibly painful.”
Cooper lowered the hand, finding nothing under the woman’s nails. “What can you tell us about her physical condition? Any ailments, any other signs of abuse or force you could see on the body?”
The doctor shook his head. “Nothing that stood out to me. Other than the blood loss and unconsciousness, there weren’t any other visible symptoms.”
Cooper clenched her fists and turned away from the cot, toward the window. She ground her teeth and drew in a breath. She knows something, or has something that I need. “What about her personal belongings?” Cooper turned around, her voice cutting like the edge of a blade.
“You can check with the nurse at the station. If you’ll excuse me, I have a few more patients to check up on. If you have any questions, just let one of my staff members know.” The doctor smiled, returned the woman’s chart to the end of her bed, and left.
Cooper retrieved the items in a cardboard box and combed through them while Hart was on the phone with Hemsworth and the chief, no doubt discussing her comments to the press. In the end her search efforts only yielded the woman’s wallet and keys. No note.
“So the press is having a field day with your interview.” Hart snapped the phone shut and collapsed into an empty chair next to the box of the woman’s personal items.
“Good. Maybe it’ll light a fire under everyone’s ass.” Cooper ran her fingers through her hair, feeling the oil and grime that had accumulated from two days without shower or sleep. “Look, I’m going to head home for a bit.” She motioned back over to the woman’s room. “You stay here and let me know when she wakes up.”
“Sure,” Hart said. “I can do that.”
“Thanks.” Cooper squeezed his arm on her way to the elevator, and her eyes closed along with the doors.
The drive back to her apartment felt long. When she parked on the street she half expected to see a field of reporters outside, but the coast looked clear. She had her key in the door when she heard footsteps. Cooper reached for her pistol, spinning around to a shocked woman thrusting her hands into the air. “Whoa. I knew you didn’t like the press, but I’d say this is a step too far.”
Janet Kimmings. Cooper uncurled her fingers from the pistol’s grip. “I’ve already made my comment.”
Ignoring the statement, Janet hurried up the steps and leaned against the wall before Cooper could open the door. “How about an off-the-record comment, then?” She smiled, tucking away the recorder and making a point to show Cooper that she turned it off. “How close are you to really catching this guy?”
“Closer than we were yesterday.”
“Look, I think we have an opportunity to help each other here.” She smiled and reached into her pocket. “That sound bite you gave earlier can either be the death of your career or the start of something bigger. And I can help spin it in your favor.”
Cooper crossed her arms. “If you think I’m going to leak you information on the case, you’re more stupid than I thought.”
“Always about the laws with you people.” Janet pulled a small thumb drive from her jacket. “I could tell you what this is, but I’ve always held the mantra that seeing is believing.” She dangled it in front of Cooper’s face like a cat toy. “And I promise you it’s something you want to see.”
Without taking the thumb drive, Cooper looked her dead in the eye. “What do you want if it’s not information about the case?”
Janet curled her fingers around the drive then slipped it back into her pocket. “Once you find this guy, I want the exclusive with him, and you, and anyone that’s on the witness list.”
“I can’t guarantee that,” Cooper said. “The victims choose who they speak with. Not me.”
The reporter laughed, shaking her head. “God, you really are incorruptible. You know I followed your story pretty closely a few years ago. When you testified against your partner?” She crossed her arms. “That took some balls. I bet the heat in the locker room was pretty hot after that.”
“If you followed the story then you know how it ended.”
“Yeah,” Kimmings said, scoffing. “Farnes’s big brother, the governor of Maryland, made sure the captain and the rest of his higher-ups walked away scot-free. But that’s what happens when you stack the deck in your favor. If the DA hadn’t caved, you would have put them all behind bars.” She gave Cooper a look up and down, and her eyes rested on Cooper’s still-healing hand with the busted knuckles. “I’ll tell you this, though—I’d hate to be the bad guy that steps in your way.” She tossed the thumb drive in the air, and Cooper caught it as Kimmings walked away.
Cooper shook her head, holding the drive up as the reporter made her way down the sidewalk. “I told you I’m not—”
“You’re a good cop, Detective.” Kimmings smiled and walked backward. “I don’t see enough of you guys in my line of work. Consider that back wages for past deeds.” And with that she disappeared down a side street.
Cooper examined the small device, twirling it over in her hands before tucking it into her pocket. She trudged up the steps, pushed through the police tape around her door, and undressed on the way to the shower. The showerhead spit cold water, and the pipes whined from the effort, but after a few minutes it warmed, and she let the grime slide from her body and down the drain.
Once the past few days had been scrubbed off, she lingered under the water, her eyes closed as she lifted her face to the rushing liquid, savoring the moments of relaxation that had been few and far between as of late. But the feeling was short-lived as guilt flooded her mind at the reprieve. She turned off the water, dried, and dressed.<
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Most of the furniture and items in her room had been returned to their normal positions, but everything in the living room and the kitchen was either tagged or taken. Cooper poured herself a glass of whiskey, leaving the bottle on the counter this time, and made her way to the couch, her eyes shifting to the writing on the wall, but only for a moment.
Thumps from the upstairs tenants, followed by shouts and screams, broke the quiet of the apartment, and Cooper slid lazily onto her back on the couch, watching the dust fall from the ceiling with each angered stomp. She closed her eyes, the weight of the day sinking her deeper into the cushions.
Cooper opened her eyes, and saw her pants on the floor. She pushed herself off the couch and retrieved the thumb drive inside the pocket. She sipped the whiskey and twirled the device in her hands. She walked to her laptop on the kitchen table, but stopped at the sound of her ringtone in the living room. She set the thumb drive on the table and when she reached for her phone she saw that the number was blocked.
Ignoring the first instinct to chuck the device against the wall, Cooper chose to just let it go to voicemail. But just as quickly as the ringing stopped, it started again. She flipped the phone open and pressed it to her ear. “Hello?” Silence lingered on the other end, and Cooper repeated herself, the irritation in her voice rising. “Who is this?”
“Have you liked my stories?”
Goose pimples spread over Cooper’s flesh, and a chill ran up her spine. The voice was soft but well spoken, with a casual tone that understated a strength that he kept in check. She took control of the adrenaline-induced trembling of her body and made sure it didn’t transfer to her voice. “They’re really not my genre.”
“Then perhaps you’d like something with a little more gore?”
Cooper walked to the windows, peeling back the corner of the blinds, and looked down to the sidewalk and street but saw nothing but trees and parked cars. She paced around the living room, the adrenaline solidifying to rage. “Let my sister go, and you could make a deal with the DA. If you cooperate—”