“Even if she didn’t,” Allison met Diana’s eyes, “we will. It’s two against one.”
“Right.” Diana turned away, squeezing her eyes shut, tight.
~~~
Graham missed the exchange due to the fact that Belinda had orchestrated an evening out for the two of them. With friends. One of whom was a lovely woman that fit his mother’s every desire for a daughter-in-law.
“I really wish that you would stop setting me up, Mother,” Graham complained as he drove them into town. Belinda preferred a driver, but Graham liked to be in control.
“I will stop, when you find a bride and settle down,” Belinda answered, unconcerned with her son’s objections. She was used to it. No matter how many times she arranged for him to spend time with a suitable woman, he complained.
“I told you that I’m perfectly capable of finding my own bride. When will you listen?”
“Proof, Graham dear. That is all that I require. Give me proof that you’re seeing someone appropriate, and I will gladly stop interfering.”
“Fine, I shall supply you with proof, as soon as I meet someone.”
“Until then, I’ll continue to offer assistance.”
“As you wish, Mother.” Graham had stopped caring about these little outings long ago. But he did find them tiresome. His complaints were perfunctory, at this point. Part of the dance his meddling mother expected, so he obliged her.
His mind drifted to the two girls, waiting for him in the cellar. Diana was so lovely, but so was Allison. He wondered if Diana was awake yet, imagined her terror as she realized her circumstances.
He enjoyed the terror, almost as much as he enjoyed creating a show for his viewers. Sex was part of the show, so he indulged his viewers fantasies, even though they were not his own. Any woman, or girl, who was not Aubrey left him cold. The girls who looked so like her were as close as he could come to enjoying the experience. Without their terror, he seriously doubted if he would enjoy it as much.
As his mother rattled on about some committee or another, Graham relived the last time he saw Aubrey. She was shopping at a local grocery, a place that Graham would never visit, but for the chance to see her. She never saw him, would not have recognized him if she did. The sunglasses, ball cap, and beard he wore made him unrecognizable.
The restraining order she’d taken out fifteen years ago compelled him to develop methods of evasion and camouflage, whenever he wanted to see her. He attributed his successful stealthy maneuvers today with his early training, born of necessity.
His thoughts turned to Diana, his latest success story. He hated leaving her, untouched, in the cold dampness of the cellar. Because she reminded him so much of Aubrey, he wanted to treat her special. He began to consider ways he could make their time together more meaningful.
Completely lost in his thoughts of Diana, Graham almost missed the entrance of the restaurant.
“Graham!” Belinda said, sharply. “Pay attention!”
“Yes, Mother,” he replied smoothly, slowing down in time to make the turn. Just a few short hours, and he could visit his special guests. The thought would sustain him, throughout the monotonous evening ahead.
Chapter Fifteen
“This really is a waste of time,” Jeri declared, pushing the computer away. “The ground is hardly visible.”
“I agree, but it was worth a try,” Ethan stood, stretching as he went for coffee. “We should firm up our plans for tomorrow, anyway.”
“About that,” Monique began. “Why don’t we interview the male homeowners? We’ll get a better sense of who they are in person.”
“Jeri would be the best person to gauge their personality,” Ethan agreed. “I think it’s a valid way to proceed.”
“Sure, we so rarely have such a large pool of suspects to consider, that conducting interviews are not a normal part of our investigation,” Jeri nodded, totally on board with the idea. “Monique, you and I can conduct the interviews, while Ethan and Chloe do the fly over.”
“Heck, yeah!” Chloe couldn’t contain her excitement. “I’d much rather fly around in a chopper than interview potential psychos.”
Everyone laughed at her enthusiasm, and her assessment.
“Can’t argue with that,” Ethan said. “So we’re agreed?”
“Definitely,” Monique nodded, eager to do something productive.
“I’ll have Nate clear it with the locals, then set the appointments. You want to go to them, right? At their homes? Makes it seem more social, less official.” Ethan grabbed his phone, waited for their assent, then went into the bedroom to make the call.
“Thanks for the suggestion, Monique. Meeting with the men, one on one, could be beneficial. Our killer is very socially adept, and probably quite charming. Though I don’t expect the interviews to make him nervous, or break him down, we may be able to isolate him, based on those traits alone.”
“So what, no good cop, bad cop?” Monique asked, disappointed.
“Not this time,” Jeri laughed. “We approach the meetings as if we are trying to eliminate the men as suspects. We keep everything friendly, especially as some of them may have their lawyers in tow.”
“Is our killer more or less likely to have a lawyer present?” Chloe asked, fascinated with the psychological aspects of the case.
“Less, I think. Our killer is highly intelligent, but he’s also confident. I’m betting that the confidence outweighs the need for an attorney. Our killer believes he can handle anything, can outwit anyone. Two lowly females will be no match for him,” Jeri grinned.
“Of course not,” Monique grinned back.
~~~
Thomas waited until the kitchen maid retired for the night before he slipped out the back door, on his way to the cellar. He expected to have at least an hour before the Grants returned, and he wanted to see for himself that Mr. Grant was not a kidnapper, or a murderer.
He followed the tracks left by Mr. Grant’s truck, easily visible in the moonlight. If anyone saw him, he could say that he was out for a stroll, the night was so lovely.
“Lovely, but chilly,” Thomas noted, then picked up his step. The sound of the river, lapping against the banks, increased as he neared the cellar.
He’d never actually been to this part of the property. Mr. Grant made it clear, when he hired him, that the cellar was off limits. He said that it was unsafe, that their liability insurance did not extend to the underground shelter.
Thomas hadn’t minded, had no desire to visit such a dreary location. He preferred to stay above ground, whenever possible.
Now, as he rounded the trees that blocked the entrance from view of the house, he braced himself for the unknown.
The stand of evergreens hid a small structure made from rock and mortar, housing a doorway that reminded him of a medieval castle. The walls stood nearly six feet, but were only three-feet wide, on any side. The structure basically stood to create an entrance, not to contain a room of any kind.
Grateful that it was not necessary to get on his knees to open the door, Thomas reached for the handle, only to find a thick padlock, attached with wrapped wire cording, protecting the entryway.
Surprised at the necessity of such an elaborate lock, Thomas took a step back. There was no way he could breach the lock without Mr. Grant knowing. For good measure, he looked at the hinges, briefly considered the possibility of removing the door altogether, at another time. But the iron hinges were built into the rock, to remove them would do considerable damage to the building.
Pressing his ear to the door, he listened for any signs of life, but could hear nothing. Not surprising, as the door appeared much too thick for sounds to travel through. Still, he had to try.
With no other options, he turned to leave the sheltered entry. Glancing down at the ground, he saw a button, glittering in the moonlight.
Reaching down for the shiny object, he felt a cool wind blow over him, sending goose bumps along both arms. It felt like someone had walked ov
er his grave.
Rhinestones twinkled on the face of the button, six small stones winking up at him.
It took a moment for Thomas to process what he was seeing. Rhinestones? On a button? No one in the Grant household would wear such a thing. In fact, he could think of no one at all who would wear a rhinestone button. Except for a showgirl of some sort.
Or a teenage girl.
The thought hit him like a ton of bricks, nearly knocking him to his knees.
But it couldn’t’ be, what would a young girl be doing in the Grant’s field, near the cellar door?
The obvious answer was staring him in the face, but he couldn’t go there. Not yet. Not until every other possibility had been eliminated.
Or until he had proof.
Accusing Mr. Grant of something so horrendous, without proof, would surely be the end of his career. But not saying something could be even worse. And with the ladies from the FBI coming tomorrow, to interview Mr. Grant, it would be an opportune time to mention something. Or not.
Faced with the dilemma, Thomas decided to give Graham Grant the benefit of the doubt, until he could find further reason to suspect him of such unthinkable crimes.
Slipping the button in his pocket, Thomas silently vowed to search the truck Mr. Grant so often disappeared in, and to take a look at his computer, to see if he could find anything incriminating.
Keeping his head to the ground, in case another clue presented itself, Thomas failed to see headlights coming across the field, until they crested the knoll and illuminated the path in front of him.
Shocked at the sudden intrusion, Thomas looked up to face the truck, barreling directly toward him.
~~~
Graham couldn’t believe it. Thomas was walking in the field, only a few hundred yards from the cellar. The look of surprise on the butler’s face was evident, even at this distance. For an instant, Graham could swear that he also read fear in his expression.
Thomas stopped, moving to the side as the truck drew nearer. Pulling to a stop beside him, Graham rolled down the window. The fear he read from a distance was still there in the man’s eyes.
“Thomas, what are you doing out here?”
“Enjoying the evening, Sir. I decided to walk down to the river and back. I hope you don’t mind.” Thomas worked to keep his face neutral, purposefully did not mention the cellar.
Graham didn’t like it. First, the FBI women were here snooping around, then Thomas decided to stroll across the field, a practice that was completely out of character. It was entirely possible that Thomas wanted to check out the cellar, based on the FBI’s description of the girls being held in a concrete room.
He didn’t like it. It was too much of a coincidence. If Thomas wanted to check the cellar, unsuccessfully, what would stop him from alerting the FBI to the fact that the cellar existed?
In a split second, Graham knew what he had to do.
“Of course not, Thomas. In fact, it’s quite fortuitous to find you here. I could use some help with a project I’m doing in the cellar. Would you mind?”
“Help? With a project?” Thomas’ normally cool exterior faltered as he stammered the questions.
Graham became even more certain of his decision.
“Yes, it won’t take long. Hop in.” Smiling his most gracious smile, Graham motioned to the passenger door.
“Yes, Sir. Certainly.” Against every instinct he possessed, Thomas walked around the truck, opened the door, and climbed in. His thoughts whirling, he did his best to appear completely at ease.
“It is a lovely evening, Thomas. But don’t you find it a bit chilly?” Graham initiated small talk for the short ride to the cellar. Thomas’ footprints were evident on the pressed grass, all the way to the entrance. So the man was trying to investigate the cellar, Graham thought, but did not say.
“Yes, actually. It’s unusually chilly for this time of year. But I do so enjoy walking in the moonlight. Your property is lovely, especially by the river.”
“That’s funny, Thomas. I never pegged you for the outdoorsy type,” Graham smiled at him charmingly, with no indication of malice.
“Yes, Sir. I enjoy many outdoor activities,” Thomas lied, his skin tingling as they drew to a stop. “I’m surprised that you’ve invited me into the cellar, you were very clear about it being off limits to employees.”
“Yes, well, this is just between us. I’m sure that you will be safe enough, helping me move the table. As I said, you won’t be here very long.”
“The structure is quite interesting,” Thomas tried to ignore his apprehensions as Mr. Grant unlocked, and unwrapped, the padlock. “It appears to be very old.”
“Yes, my twice-great-grandfather had it built. There are rumors that it was part of the Underground Railroad, but we’ve no proof of it. Good thing, or the biddies from the historical society would be all over us to protect it.” Graham chuckled as he finally opened the door.
“The light switch is on your right,” Graham stood back to let Thomas pass. “Head on down, I need to retrieve something from the truck.”
“Certainly,” Thomas felt a bit relieved that Mr. Grant was comfortable enough to leave him alone in the cellar. Perhaps this was perfectly innocent. Anyone could have dropped that button, kids trespassed where they didn’t belong all the time.
Thomas reassured himself with thoughts of Grant’s innocence, all the way down the rock staircase. Landing at the bottom, he was surprised to find the ground covered with large, flat stones, almost as if it were tiled. The stones fit against each other to make the flooring, the center path was worn smooth, after centuries of use.
Part of the walls surrounding the hallway were rock, like the outside structure, but the stones gave way to concrete as Thomas walked. The hall was surprisingly long, with three doors leading off it. Not sure which way to go, Thomas took the opportunity to check behind the first door, before Mr. Grant joined him.
He was totally unprepared for what greeted him, as soon as he found and flipped the light switch.
The long metal table was the first thing to catch his eye, followed by the shelves of bleach on the wall behind it. A large tray of knives, and other tools, rested on a rolling cart beside the silver table.
Taking a step inside the room, Thomas forgot about Mr. Grant as his eyes wandered over the long hose attached to a water nozzle, hanging from the ceiling, and the large grate in the floor, directly beneath the table.
“It’s a drain,” he whispered, moving farther into the room.
“I see you found my operating room.” Graham’s voice was directly behind Thomas. “It’s too bad that you didn’t follow the rules, Thomas. It’s really too bad.” As he spoke, Graham injected Thomas with ketamine, but did not attempt to catch him as he fell to the floor.
“I’ll have to think of something to tell Mother,” Graham sighed, as he walked to the tray and selected a large butcher knife. “She won’t be pleased.”
Having no interest in terrorizing the man as he did the girls who made it into this room, Graham knelt beside the unconscious butler, tipped him on his side, and stabbed him in the heart. Quick, but not clean, the mortal wound sent blood spurting onto the floor as Graham removed the blade.
Holding the man on his side until the blood stopped seeping, Graham considered what he would do with the body. Thomas had nothing to do with Aubrey, so he need not take him to Clevestone. Also, having him turn up dead would be a problem, as Graham had already decided that Thomas would leave like a thief in the night. Taking some of his mother’s finest silver and several of her favorite pieces of jewelry, of course.
It was a fitting way to repay his mother for her time-sucking meddling. It would also bring in some extra cash, once she filed the insurance claim. Not that they needed it, but why not profit from this huge annoyance?
When Thomas finally stopped bleeding, Graham rolled him onto his back. Going to the shelf, he opened a bottle of bleach, then poured it over the body, the floor, and into the dr
ain. Letting the bleach sit for a moment gave him time to consider his alternatives.
He could throw him in the river, but he would eventually surface downstream, so that wouldn’t do.
He could cut him into pieces, and put him in an acid vat to dissolve. The thought of the acid intrigued Graham, but cutting him into pieces seemed like too much work. Besides, he would have to purchase a container, not to mention the acid. And how was he to dispose of the resulting liquid? Could he wash it down the drain? Possibly, if he kept the container in this room. Then he could simply tilt it over, let the acid and what was left of Thomas run into the river.
“I could also wrap you like a mummy in cellophane. Leave you in the storage room to decompose. Deal with you later.”
Liking that option the most, Graham stood and dragged Thomas to the hallway. He would not leave him in the operating room until he could make it back with the plastic. The man would surely start to smell.
As he dragged Thomas past the doorway to the girl’s chamber, Graham snarled. He so wanted to spend quality time with them tonight. It was the reason he cut the evening short, claiming that he had urgent business to attend in Asia. His mother had no clue what he did to increase the family coffers, so a phone call to Asia seemed perfectly reasonable to her.
Now, instead of spending time with Allison, or Diana, he would be making the nosy butler’s belongings disappear. He would also have to wait until his mother was sleeping soundly, before going into her room, and rifling through her jewels.
It was a good thing that Thomas had rooms separate from the rest of the staff. Graham could have him packed up, and moved out, without anyone being the wiser. But it would take time. Time stolen from his lovely guests, waiting beyond that door.
“I can take a moment, pay them a little visit,” he told Thomas as he left him in the storage room. “I’ll give them your regards.” Laughing, Graham closed the door soundly, before moving back down the hall.
~~~
A Killer's Watch Page 10