“So Hart Burke did this,” Rainey said, looking for verification.
“Yes,” Katie answered, “but I don’t understand it. He was always so sweet.”
Cathleen asked for attention after reviewing the photos in Danny’s phone, which he held up to the window for her.
“Okay, Hart had a phone in his hand and said all he had to do was dial a number and boom.”
“That wouldn’t work,” Rainey said. “There is a cell phone jammer turned on somewhere on this property.”
Cathleen’s expression read incredulous, as if she were about to explain something basic to a recruit, when she said, “Rainey, if it can be turned on, it can be turned off. Go find him.”
Katie pushed her face as close to the glass as she could. Rainey jumped on the trailer tongue and mirrored Katie, so close to the glass it began to fog.
Katie said, “Honey, we can’t both be in this garage.”
Rainey stared into Katie’s blue eyes and asked, “Cathleen, what if we take the siding off or cut a hole in the bottom.”
Katie pressed her hand to the windowpane. “Rainey, he thought of all those things. You thought of all those things. There are sensors in the walls, floor, and ceiling. The floor is made with a Kevlar lining. The walls have bullet resistant drywall. It’s a tiny tank, we’re locked inside, and you can’t be here. You have to go. Our kids can’t lose us both.”
Cathleen had always reflected quiet calm. She laughed easily and went with the flow of things, but not today.
“Screw that,” she said. “I’m not dying in a tiny house. You,” she pointed at Rainey, “go find that asshole and take his phone. You,” she pointed at Danny, “you’re going to need tools. Find pliers, wire cutters, and grab all the little screwdrivers you can find. A sharp knife would help.”
Rainey still standing on the tongue of the trailer looked down at Danny. “If you can get to the keys, everything you need is in my trunk.”
“Go find him, Rainey. You’re our safety net.”
Rainey turned back to Katie. “I’ll be back to get you. I love you.”
“I love you, too. Be safe Rainey Blue Bell.”
“Always.”
18
The Grotto
“Remember Rainey, a wounded man will run until he can’t, and then he will lie down to die or coil up and prepare to fight to the death. The problem is both of those things look a lot alike right up until they don’t. A nearly dead man can still kill you.”
Billy Bell’s warning sounded in Rainey’s head, as her flashlight beam landed on drops of blood on the foliage leading into the forest behind the garage. She crouched in the undergrowth at the base of a large Tulip tree, with her flashlight low to the ground and the beam pointed straight down in front of her. The man she shot had stopped to lean against this tree. Trickled trails of softly falling raindrops ran through his bloody handprint, staining the gray tree bark red.
In front of her, three worn paths diverged from the back of the garage. These trails had been in use for many years. Rainey reflected on Danny’s description of the satellite images of the property. Jean Berry’s home lay to the north on a gravel path beyond the end of Station Road. The footpath leading in that direction had been used daily. The house on the south side of the property had once belonged to Robby Hughes. The path leading toward it was less trafficked with new growth extending into the trail. The third track had seen extensive use and bore the traces of a hand-truck or wheelbarrow. This was a supply line and led toward the westerly edge of the property and the grotto.
Rainey turned off the flashlight. She took a deep breath in through her nose and let it out slowly from her mouth. She did this several times until she felt the adrenaline rush recede enough that her heartbeat no longer filled her ears. Now, she could hear the forest around her. Rain dropped through the trees, from leaf to leaf. The tops of the tall pines creaked in the trailing breeze of the storm. Freshly sheared vegetation scattered across the forest floor demonstrated hail’s destructive power.
Rainey was running out of time. She had to get moving, but which way? The woods were not quiet, especially after a violent spring storm. Once the all clear sounded from the first brave souls, the rest of the insects and frogs found their full-throated evening voices, seeking hookups and reunions as life continued on. Nature’s song reverberated under the thick tree canopy of new seasonal growth. Even so, the snap of a twig underfoot stuck out as unnatural. He was there, moving away from her, headed west toward the grotto.
#
Rainey and Katie took the kids to the North Carolina Zoo last summer. Timothy’s love of animals extended to the wilds of Africa. The lion enclosure brought on an excited discussion with a zookeeper who had the patience to answer a million questions from three excited four-year-olds.
Inside the sunny, open-air exhibit, a lioness sunbathed on a rock outcropping with her cubs. A huge male with a long flowing mane lounged in the grass not far away. Rainey remembered looking at the paw of the big guy and understanding exactly why he was called the King of the Jungle. One of the facts the zookeeper shared with the kids stood out in Rainey’s mind at the moment. The keeper said an average adult male lion would weigh four hundred and twenty pounds. An average female was much smaller at two hundred and eighty pounds.
After hearing a lion roar in close proximity to her location in a dark, thick, and unfamiliar forest, Rainey whispered under her breath, “I hope that’s a female. More importantly, I hope that is a female that cannot get to me.”
She could hear her little naturalist Timothy comment in her head, “But Nee Nee, the lioness is the main hunter.”
“Thanks, for the info bud,” her inner voice answered back.
Not recognizing the guttural grunting sound at first, Rainey’s brain said, “HIDE,” which she did. A distinctive roar followed the series of grunts. Rainey identified the sound about the time she landed in the wet leaves behind a stack of fallen logs. Timothy’s animal obsession had extended into his fifth year. A CD of the “Sounds of Africa” and its accompanying book ranked as two of his prized possessions, right up there with Carl, the dog. Rainey was familiar with the communication methods of elephants, gorillas, chimpanzees, water buffalo, baboons, wildebeests, and more, but the one she would recognize above all others was Timothy’s favorite—the call of Africa, the roar of a lion.
At the first grunt, she had ducked behind the stack of dead falls outside the ten-foot chain-link fence she nearly plowed into. It was covered with vines so dense she couldn’t see through to what the fence was guarding.
“Raawwwrrr,” echoed from behind the fence.
A man’s voice demanded, “Hey, hey. Get back there.”
The voice lacked command tenor. It was more a suggestion than an order. Rainey was not the only animal who sensed the speaker’s weakness.
“Raawwrr,” came the answer.
Next were the sounds of whining hinges and the groaning of a heavy metal door grinding shut with a reverberating thunk. These were audible reminders to any creature that had ever heard them, including man, that freedom was not theirs to have. As uncomfortable as the sound made the animal, it alarmed Rainey quite a bit.
“Let’s hope that was the lion being shut in and not let out,” she whispered.
Talking to herself helped keep the anxiety of thinking about being attacked by a lion at bay. But talking, even whispering, was ill advised with a predator nearby. It was best to keep her thoughts audibly unexpressed.
“Well, that explains the bite marks on the skulls. Let’s not add your own to the collection,” she thought while studying her surroundings.
She was at a corner in the fencing. As she peeked around the stack of logs, Rainey could see a gate on the fence. A gate, which a quick check with her flashlight proved, left open with a bloody palm print visible on the vertical bracing.
“Okay, now that’s a clue.”
The growling and roaring had stopped. No more doors creaked or groaned. The drippi
ng of rain and nature’s chorus resumed its audible dominance. Knowing she had no choice but to follow, Rainey stood and approached the gate. The voice she had heard, and the lion roars seemed to come from deep inside a cavernous space, giving her the confidence that there was some distance and possibly a structure between the entrance and the source. She slid through the opening without touching it, avoiding any creaking warnings to the occupants inside.
A dim amber light shone through a small, square doorway at the back of the grotto. Too short for a human to walk through without stooping low to the ground, the opening provided enough ambient light for Rainey to see shadows and thankfully the steep drop off below the observation platform where she stood. The entire structure was made of stone or had been created to look that way. A massive back wall stood about thirty feet away. It and the sides attached to it were about eight feet taller than the front wall that formed the concrete deck for peering down at the animal on the floor of the enclosure, about eighteen feet below.
“This does not look like the exhibit we saw at the zoo.”
The depth of the enclosure explained the muffled cavernous quality of the noises. It had come from an interior space, where the glow allowing Rainey to see originated. The opening permitted the animal inside to explore its stone prison under a limited view of the sky. There was no hope of ever scaling the steep walls, not by man or beast, not without a rope, which Rainey did not have.
Above the outside fencing, a labyrinth of steel piping created a dome of wire and vines. It resembled a giant birdcage plopped down over the grotto like a cloche over the main course. It reached at least twenty feet into the surrounding canopy of old growth forest. Rain dripped through the wire mesh. Sunlight could filter in, but whatever lived beneath the tangle of vines and steel had not seen the wide-open sky for many years.
“This is looking very Jurassic Parky.”
Before leaving the garage, Rainey had crawled through her car to reach the console, where she retrieved the cell signal jammer detector. She pulled it out now, verifying the jammer was still activated.
“I hope you have my girl out of that garage by now, McNally,” she whispered under her breath while shoving the device back into her pocket. “I’m going to kiss your future wife if she disables that bomb.”
She started looking for a way down to the level where Eugene/Hart had gone. Guessing the best place to start was down the fence line, Rainey felt for it in the shadows. Something or someone passed the little doorway below, temporarily blocking the light. It became creepy dark in that instant. Her brain remembered the drop-off, sending a wave of unsteadiness to remind her to watch her step. Gripping the fence to stave off a stumble, the chain-link let out a rusty groan under her weight.
Rainey froze against the fence and listened for a reaction. The sound of shuffling footsteps below told her it wasn’t a lion on the loose down there. She remembered watching a nature show with Timothy, where, in a thick South African accent, the guide told his guests, “Don’t worry so much at every twig snapping. It is the animal you do not hear that will get you. If the lion wants to eat you, he will make no sound until the second before you are about to be his meal.”
A bi-pedal animal, a human, skidded lightly across the stone floor. That was no man. At least not one the size of the guy she put a bullet in. “Childlike,” her brain spit out to a woman who knew the sound of children skittering about.
“Think, Rainey,” she said in a hushed breath.
Who had she not accounted for? Ann was Hart/Eugene’s wife. Did she know who he really was? Rainey knew plenty of wives of serial murderers that had no clue to whom they were married. She also knew plenty who played an active part in their husbands’ crimes.
Whether it was Ann, Jean, or both in the bowels of the grotto, Rainey thought, “If a bloody man didn’t scare you out of there, you’re either unable to leave or complicit.”
She inched along the fence until she came to a metal door, this one large enough for a person. It had to be the way in. The ticking of the clock in her head told her she had to go. Rainey pulled on the handle before the fear could stop her.
The creak was slight, explaining why she hadn’t heard it earlier when Eugene went down these steps. She couldn’t see the bottom of the stairs because they curved, but she knew he was down there. There was no doubt. Rainey could see bloody handprints smeared along one of the dimly lit walls of the stairway. There was also no doubt that her presence had been detected.
Eugene’s weakening voice called out, “Naamah? What took you tho long?” His lisp evident on the “s,” soft “c,” “sh,” and “z” sounds, which were replaced with “th,” he explained his predicament, “I’m thot. I need help. I dropped the jammer remote thomewhere. I can’t get to the unit to turn it off manually. I can’t activate the IED. They’re going to get away and call the polithe. We have to run.”
The lisp confirmed his identity and that he was waiting for his mommy.
“How utterly predictable, Rainey thought, “a serial killer with self-esteem and mother issues.”
Rainey focused on the part where he said he dropped the jammer remote and couldn’t activate the IED. Maybe he lied about the necessity for a reset.
Eugene struggled to move around. That was the scene Rainey’s brain imagined while listening to his strained grunts and heavy breathing, as he continued speaking.
“I rethet it when they pulled up. They have about thirty minuteth left on the timer. They’ll ethcape if they haven’t already. We need to get out of here. Help me get her ready.”
“Raawrr. Hiss-ss.”
His feet could be heard shuffling across the cement floor, as Eugene spoke to someone or something beyond Rainey’s view.
“Back up. What’th wrong with you?”
Rainey was a bit more concerned about the lion than the man with the gun. On the bright side, she knew Jean wasn’t down there with Eugene, and Cathleen had more time to disable the device than originally thought. It also meant Jean was mobile and mentally aware enough to know what a jammer was and to make it down the steep staircase. Jean was also conscious of the bomb. Apparently, her son anticipated his mother coming to help him.
Rainey didn’t need ol’ Jean sneaking in behind her. She pulled the door shut and looked for a latch, but found none.
“I suppose it wasn’t built to keep people out,” she thought.
Her next thought ran around in her brain screaming, “Shit, shit, shit. I’m going to get locked in if I go down there.”
Rainey pushed the door open a few inches. It squeaked a bit, but not as much as before. Her worry over the noise was drowned out by her sudden appreciation for the crisp, fresh air being drawn in. The door was massive and made heavy steel. Feeling around in her pockets for a way to jam the door open, she found the shotgun shells she had stuffed there. She took two out and wedged them into the long hinge that ran the length of the door.
“Now the door can’t close. One problem solved breeds another. I can’t shut the door either, and I’m exposing my back to whoever pulls it open.”
Rainey would have to deal with Jean if the time came, but at the moment the pressing issues were Eugene, the lion, and whoever else was down there. She pressed her back against the wall and began her descent into the unknown.
“Naamah?” Eugene called out again.
“Nope, not your mommy,” Rainey said aloud.
Rainey crept down the steps, curving with the wall as she progressed, and trying to get an idea of where Eugene might be. The cavern’s rounded edges and uneven surfaces caused the sound to bounce around the enclosure.
“I have a gun,” Eugene said.
“I’m aware of that,” Rainey answered. “I have one too, but then you know that as well.”
“Where ith Naamah?”
“She’s not here. I think that is the most pertinent information at the moment. Would you like to know more?”
Eugene didn’t answer the question. Rainey stopped before she rea
ched the bottom step. She could see part of the smooth cement floor. She knew he would take a shot at her the second she stepped into view. Even with the vest on, Rainey had no desire to take a bullet, much less have him get lucky and accidentally shoot her where she was not protected.
“Here’s what I know, Eugene. I know that you are injured and need to go to the hospital. I know that only people with badges are going to get around me to get to you. FYI, they’re on the way. Your little jammer thingy rotates through signals. My personal locator beacon will hit on a satellite while your jammer is off blocking cell signals from bomb detonators. I also know that the IED is being handled by a bomb technician, you don’t have the jammer, and I have a lot more bullets than you do.”
“It…only…taketh…one,” came a strained, staccato reply.
Eugene was trying to move and in pain.
“Look, there is no way I’m dying down here with you this evening. It’s just not going to happen. You guys are all alike, you know. You think I sit around thinking about you all the time, hunting you, just waiting for the opportunity to face you in some life or death struggle. That’s not even remotely true. I’m a fucking analyst, for Christ’s sake.”
“You’re an FBI profiler,” Eugene said, acknowledging that he knew who waited in the shadows for him.
“I was an FBI behavioral analyst and not the TV kind. I sat behind a desk reviewing case files. I walked crime scenes after the violence was long over. I interviewed assholes like you after they were safely behind bars. I wasn’t running around in a ballistics vest leading raids on the lairs of serial killers. I have had more near death experiences since I’ve been out of the Bureau than my entire fifteen years in it. I don’t intend to die at the hands of one of you miscreants because you felt the need to draw attention to yourself for whatever bizarre reason. So bleed to death you murdering ass-hat. I don’t care. I’ll sit right here and wait before I step around this wall and let you take another shot at me. Better yet, I should just lock you down here, go back to the garage, and wait for the police.”
Rainey with a Chance of Hale (A Rainey Bell Thriller Book 6) Page 18