Brian tilted his chin upward. “I’ll do my best, Mr. Marley, sir.”
Trevor gave him a reassuring smile. Brian looked happier now that someone was taking charge.
They crossed to the ledge’s outer edge and stood side by side, then the two men went to work. Moving forward in a half crouch, one step at a time, they lifted all the rocks they could and peered beneath them. Before long, they reached the back of the ledge, and neither of them had found anything remotely like a bone.
Trevor straightened his back and turned to Brian. “There you go. I knew there was nothing to worry about.”
“But what about the rest of the ledge?” Brian asked. “And what about all the bigger stones we didn’t turn over?”
Trevor pursed his lips. He hated to admit it, but Brian did have a point. If there had been bones hidden beneath the smaller rocks then they might well have been carried off by animals before now. Trevor checked his watch. He’d been away from his post for some time, and the other workmen might have noticed his absence. But if he could tie this business up once and for all, it would be worth spending a few more minutes on the ledge. “All right, Brian. Why don’t you pick a few of the larger stones, and I’ll help you shift them.”
Brian raised his eyebrows. He hesitated then looked around the ledge. “Let’s move that big one,” he said, pointing to a substantial flat stone. “If there’s anything hidden around here then I reckon it’ll be under that one.”
Trevor groaned inwardly, but he didn’t say a word. Brian was already taking up position on one side of the stone; Trevor could hardly back out now. He stood opposite Brian and bent his knees, running his hands along the stone’s edge, searching for a good place to get a grip. “We don’t need to move it far,” he said. “We just need to lift it enough so we can slide it along.” He nodded toward the ledge’s lip. “We’ll slide it that way, all right?”
“Fair enough,” Brian said. “One, two, three, heave!”
Trevor put his back into it, tensing his stomach and straining every muscle in his arms and shoulders. Slowly, the flat stone inched upward, and as the two men slid it forward, it grated across the gritty ground.
Trevor focused on the stone, determined not to drop it, but he almost let go of it completely when Brian cried out in alarm.
“Oh my god!” Brian yelled.
Trevor turned his head, and when he saw what they’d uncovered, he quickly lowered his end of the stone to the ground. “Put it down, man! Put it down!”
Brian did as he was told. And as the stone came to rest, both men squatted on their haunches and stared. There, embedded in the thin black soil, and looking out at them with sightless eye sockets, was the unmistakable form of a skull—a human skull.
Chapter 30
2021
A FEW MILES OUTSIDE GRAND-PRESSIGNY, Crawford guided the guard’s battered pickup truck into a single track country road. He was certain he wasn’t being followed, but even so, he drove on for a little way before he looked for somewhere to pull over. The narrow road ran in a straight line across a flat stretch of farmland. Crawford frowned; if he stopped here, he’d be visible for miles. “Your instincts are slipping,” he muttered. But it was too late to turn back and search for another quiet road, so he pressed on, studying every passing place and hedgerow, but finding nowhere that was suitable for the grim work he needed to complete. It was getting warm and stuffy in the cab so he opened a window to let in the fresh air and drove on.
A few minutes later he spotted a gateway that led through a hedge and into a field of grass, and by some stroke of luck, the metal gate stood open. Crawford allowed himself a grim smile. The place wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do. He pulled the pickup onto the grass verge and parked it, but he left the engine running. Working swiftly, he took off his safety belt and released Jules’ from his, pausing only to make a perfunctory check for a pulse on the man’s neck. Naturally, the guard was dead; Crawford had never known the neurotoxin to fail. But he didn’t have time to gloat—there was still so much to do.
Crawford sighed then patted down the dead man’s pockets, searching for anything that might be useful. He took the guard’s wallet and the lanyard that bore his security passes. In the right-hand pocket of Jules’ trousers, Crawford found a wooden-handled Opinel pocketknife. Crawford opened the blade and tested its sharpness with his thumb. The blade was thin and made from poor quality steel, but Jules had kept it razor sharp. “Very handy,” Crawford murmured. “Well done, Jules.”
Crawford paused and examined the bunch of keys dangling from the pickup’s ignition, inspecting each key carefully. There were a great many of them, far too many keys for the domestic needs of one person, so some of them almost certainly belonged to the museum. “Good,” Crawford muttered. His lock picking skills were a little rusty and the keys would save him a great deal of time and effort.
He looked at Jules and ran through a mental checklist. Was there anything he’d missed? Back pockets, he thought. He leaned across and rolled Jules’ dead weight from side to side, reaching around to check the back pockets of the dead man’s trousers. Crawford grimaced. The body was still warm and stank of stale sweat and pastis.
But Crawford found nothing new from his search, and it was time to move on. He climbed down from the driver’s seat then moved around to the passenger door and opened it carefully. He placed one foot on the sill of the door and braced himself; he knew just how heavy a body could be.
Crawford glanced up and down the road then he hooked the dead man under the armpits and slid the corpse slowly from its seat. He staggered a little as he took the full weight of the body then, grunting with the effort, he backed across the verge, dragging his unwieldy load toward the gateway. One of the guard’s shoes slipped off and Crawford growled in frustration. He paused to draw breath and the warm dusty air conspired with the pickup’s exhaust fumes to sting his throat. He coughed and spat on the ground then muttered, “For god’s sake!” But he couldn’t deal with the shoe now—he needed to get Jules out of sight. He’d retrieve the damned thing later, as soon as he’d hidden the guard’s mortal remains.
Crawford gritted his teeth and shifted his grip on the body then he moved on, dragging the cumbersome corpse through the gateway. He headed along the edge of the field, hoping to push his grisly burden into the bottom of the hedge. But the hedgerow was too dense, with no sign of a helpful hollow that might provide a hiding place, so he struggled on. The ground was uneven and Crawford made slow progress. It was a warm evening, and soon, a sheen of sweat prickled Crawford’s forehead. He was breathing hard, his chest rattling with every gasped gulp of air. Every step was an effort. He stumbled several times, but he had to carry on; even if he couldn’t find somewhere suitable, at least he’d have shifted the body as far as possible from the gate.
But just as Crawford decided to give in and leave the guard’s body where it lay, he spotted a drainage ditch near the base of the hedge. The ditch was too narrow to be an ideal hiding place for a corpse, but it was better than nothing, and it tilted the odds in Crawford’s favour. Once the body was in the ditch, there’d be a good chance it wouldn’t be discovered until the next morning at the earliest. And that would be long enough.
Crawford heaved Jules’ mortal remains into the ditch and watched as the guard’s body rolled slowly over and came to rest on its side. Crawford stepped back and checked his handiwork, but it wasn’t good enough; the guard’s shoulder protruded from the ditch and would be plainly visible to anyone who looked. Crawford let out a growl and pushed against the body with his foot, but the corpse refused to budge.
“It’ll have to do,” Crawford muttered then he straightened his jacket and smoothed his trousers, brushing the dust from the silky grey material. Job done, he thought. He took a quick glance around the field then walked swiftly away, closing the gate behind him. The road was still deserted, so he climbed back into the pickup, turned it around, and headed back toward the main road.
He’d been
driving for a full quarter of an hour before he remembered the guard’s shoe; it was still lying in plain sight on the grass verge. “You bloody fool,” he whispered. “What the hell’s the matter with you?” But there was nothing to be done about it now. He certainly couldn’t risk returning to the scene. He’d have to hope that no one noticed it. After all, it was just a shoe; he’d seen stranger things discarded by the roadside. But it was the principle of the thing that niggled at him. It was a foolish error, and he wasn’t accustomed to tolerating mistakes. “Come on, man,” he muttered. “Pull yourself together.” He’d have to do much better than this if he was going to succeed. And failure was not an option; there was far too much at stake.
Focus on your objectives, he told himself. Be aware of every detail. Then he turned his attention back to the road and concentrated on his driving, being careful to keep his speed just below the legal limit.
It didn’t take Crawford long to arrive back at the museum. He ignored the public car park and drove around to the rear of the building. He parked the pickup very close to a door that looked as if it served as an entrance for the staff.
“Here we are,” he whispered. “Another step closer.” He turned the engine off and took the keys, then he climbed down, closing and locking the pickup’s door behind him.
As he walked toward the museum, he noticed a CCTV camera from the corner of his eye, but he did not look up at it, nor did he worry about it unduly. If he had time, he might locate and destroy the recordings, but it wasn’t a priority. By the time the recordings were viewed, he would be long gone.
The back door to the museum was solid wood and secured by a heavy duty mortice lock. Crawford sorted through the bunch of keys he’d taken from Jules and found the correct key quickly. Inside, the alarm control panel was exactly where he’d expected it to be: at head height and just inside the door on the left hand side of the entrance hall. He selected the blue security card from the guard’s lanyard and inserted it firmly into the slot on the panel. An LED on the panel changed from blinking red to a steady green. Crawford allowed himself a smile then he returned to the wooden door and closed it, engaging the mortice lock and removing the key. There was a steel deadbolt near the top of the door and he drew it closed for good measure; he couldn’t risk anyone barging in.
He checked his watch then crossed the entrance hall to the only other door. This internal door was modern—reinforced glass and stainless steel—and it was secured with an electronic lock. Crawford pressed the guard’s security pass against the card reader, and the lock opened with a low click. Again, Crawford noticed the blinking red light of a CCTV camera mounted near the ceiling, but he pressed on regardless.
There were several doors leading off from the corridor, but although one or two were labelled, the rest of the doors were blank. “Damn it!” he muttered. He should’ve extracted a description of the layout from Jules, but it was too late to do anything about that now.
Crawford moved on quickly. Each of the doors had a small window at head height, and he paused by each one to peer inside. The rooms all seemed to be for storage: shelves stacked high with crates and boxes. But none of them looked significant enough to house the strongroom that Jules had mentioned, and it seemed unlikely that the route to the museum’s most recent and priceless acquisition would be through an ordinary storeroom.
Crawford turned to search the corridor for clues. “Ah, what’s this?” There was a small noticeboard attached to the wall, and Crawford hurried to examine it. Perfect. It was a set of instructions for evacuation in the event of a fire, and it included a small map with every room helpfully labelled. Crawford looked around, orienting himself. Room 6 was just around the corner.
He picked up the pace, repressing the urge to break into a jog. Keep calm, he told himself. Don’t do anything stupid. He took a steadying breath, but already his mouth was dry, and every gasp of air rasped in the back of his throat.
And there it was. Room 6. Crawford looked in through the door’s small window. This was more like it. The room beyond the door was in darkness, but from the small amount of light filtering in from the door window, Crawford could see rows of white lab benches and racks of gleaming bottles. This had to be the place.
Crawford used the security pass to open the door and let himself into the lab, turning on the lights as he went. The room had no external windows, but there was another door at the far end of the lab, and it was panelled in solid steel. Crawford marched toward it, and when he saw the electronic combination lock, he knew he’d found the strongroom. “Yes,” he whispered, and he let out a satisfied grunt. “Wonderful!”
Crawford typed the numbers 1,9,8,8 into the lock then he took a deep breath and pressed the door handle. With an almost inaudible click, the lock disengaged and the handle moved smoothly down. Crawford smiled and pulled the handle toward him. The door looked as though it would be heavy, but its hinges were well oiled, and it opened smoothly and without a sound.
Crawford stepped inside the strongroom and an automatic light came on in the ceiling. He looked around the room in awe. The walls were covered in shelves, each one stacked with neatly labelled plastic crates. Crawford licked his dry lips and studied the nearest shelf. The labels meant little to him, and he would not have time to check every single one.
He walked farther into the room, scanning the shelves. Where would I put it? he asked himself. And the thought of holding the amulet in his hands, made his mouth water. Where would I put it, if I wanted to keep it safe?
He stood still. The open shelves and plastic boxes were far too vulnerable. The amulet would be kept somewhere much safer, out of sight. He lowered his gaze from the shelves. And there, in the far corner, standing on the floor, was a sturdy stainless steel cabinet. Crawford hurried toward it then bent down to examine it. The cabinet was fitted with an electronic combination lock. Crawford tried the same code as the strongroom door, but the handle refused to move. He tried again, reversing the order of the digits, but it was no good. He hissed under his breath. The amulet must be inside this cabinet. If only he’d interrogated Jules a little more thoroughly, he’d have got the code and the door would be open by now. A stupid mistake, he thought. I must be slipping. But there was no point dwelling on his error; there was a good chance the security guard simply hadn’t known the number. A lowly guard would not have needed access to the museum’s prized pieces. And anyway, it was far too late to ask him now.
Crawford ran his hands over the steel door. There had to be another way to open the damned thing. He stood up straight then headed back into the lab. There were cupboards beneath the benches, and the first one he tried wasn’t locked. It held a bewildering variety of equipment, but none of it useful. Crawford searched through the rest of the cupboards in turn, not bothering to close them as he moved on.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “There must be something.” He looked around the lab. In the corner, opposite the lab’s entrance, there was a tall cupboard set into the wall: some kind of broom cupboard or closet. He crossed the room quickly. The cupboard was locked, but thankfully, the key was on his bunch, and as soon as he opened the door, he knew he’d hit the jackpot. Among the clutter of cleaning equipment and plastic crates, there was a black plastic toolbox.
Crawford flipped the catches on the toolbox and lifted the lid. Inside, there was a jumbled collection of household tools. He selected a large, flat blade screwdriver, a claw hammer, and a small cold chisel.
He took his precious finds back to the strongroom and went to work on the locked cabinet. First he slid the tip of the screwdriver between the door and its frame then pressed it home. When the screwdriver was embedded firmly in the slot, he used it as a lever to widen the gap at the edge of the door. The steel cabinet was strong, and at first, the door refused to budge. But Crawford gritted his teeth and pressed with all his strength, and slowly, the gap widened. Then, holding the screwdriver steady with one hand, he forced the blade of the cold chisel into the gap. I don’t kno
w if it will hold, he thought. I don’t know if it’s in far enough. He gave the cold chisel an extra shove, then he held his breath and released the screwdriver gently, hoping that the chisel would not lose its tenuous grip on the smooth metal and slide out.
The chisel stayed in place, and Crawford breathed a sigh of relief. He picked up the claw hammer and brought it down firmly on the head of the chisel. The sharp ring of metal on metal was unnaturally loud in the small room, but Crawford didn’t care about that. There was no one to hear.
He brought the hammer down again and again, each time driving the chisel further into the cabinet. The door began to buckle and distort. Grinning, Crawford adjusted the angle of chisel so it pointed down toward the lock then he brought the hammer down hard. The chisel sliced down into the lock’s mechanism, and the tortured metal squealed as it began to give way. Crawford struck the chisel again, even harder, and this time the chisel passed straight through the lock with a satisfying snap.
Crawford let out a dry chuckle then he mopped his brow with the back of his hand. He took a second to catch his breath. He wanted to savour this moment; the moment when he’d finally hold the amulet in his hands. The moment that would set him free.
“Come on,” he murmured. “It’s time.” Slowly, he opened the cabinet door. There was just one plastic box inside and he lifted it out carefully and removed its lid. The first layer contained the dull fragments of inferior artefacts, but the box was deep, and when he lifted out the foam padding, there it was.
Crawford’s heart beat hard against his ribs. “At last,” he whispered. “There you are.” The amulet was perfect in every way. And when he reached out to take it, he could not stop his fingers from trembling. “I’ve got you now,” he murmured as he laid the amulet in the palm of his hand. He took a slender gold chain from his pocket and threaded it carefully through the hole in the smooth stone disc. “No one can stop us now,” he whispered. “No one.”
Scaderstone Pit (The Darkeningstone Series Book 3) Page 18