“There won’t be anything left,” Pappas informed him. “That water came out of that hole like a freakin’ rocket.”
Kostner’s face lost a good deal of its color. He turned to Jack. “You agree?”
It took an effort for Jack to collect his thoughts and get the words out. “Someone still has to work the scene.”
Pappas apparently heard the comment and said, “I’m standing twenty yards away looking at it, and I’m telling you it’s a waste of time. Nothing could’ve survived that. Whatever was in there got blown away by the water.”
“I understand,” Jack said, “but—”
“Jack, it was strong enough to tear her clothes off.”
Jack explained, “There’s still the chain or whatever he used to secure her.”
“Beth and I can handle that.”
“You need to locate the killer’s entry and exit points and maybe a vantage point as well. One provides cover; the other searches.” His voice sounded tired even to him.
Beth Sturgis came on the line. “What do you mean vantage point?”
“Exactly what I said. First, do not assume you’re alone. The killer could easily have set a trap. Second, there’s been no ransom demand, so there’s a good chance he’s the type of freak to hang around and watch the show.”
“Crap,” Beth said, looking around her.
“In fact, I’d say it’s more likely than not,” Jack said. “Remember, he left clues for us to find at the farm. There was no reason for that.”
Beth said, “I’ll go down, Dan. You stay up here and make sure we don’t have company.”
“I don’t know,” Pappas said uneasily.
“I’ll be fine. What Jack’s saying makes sense. I need to get the tech kit out of my car. Give me a minute.”
Jack added, “You’ll need to move quickly. The lieutenant I spoke with told me he scrambled their tactical team. They should be there shortly, and more people—”
“Contaminate the scene,” Beth said. “I know.”
*
A short while later, Beth found herself standing in front of the control gate, frustrated. The first portal had shut, sealing the chamber off once again. She called Jack to report that. He decided to stay on the phone with her.
“When the engineers arrive, they can reopen it,” he said, “but you need to keep them back until you finish processing everything.”
“There won’t be much to do until then,” Beth said.
“Try to locate the killer’s point of egress.”
“Jack, the spillway walls are angled and at least twenty feet high. He didn’t come down or leave from them. In all likelihood, he used the stairs.”
“In all likelihood?”
“What else is there?”
“Could he have come from the river using the spillway?”
“Not really.”
“The water’s got to get to the river somehow. Can people walk in the spillway?”
Beth squinted against the glare, using her hand to shield her eyes. “It’s possible,” she said. “The spillway drops in elevation to funnel the water into a large pipe. Beyond that is the river.”
“Understood,” Jack said. “Could the killer have gotten in that way?”
“No—wait a minute, yes. I see a ladder. There’s another chain link fence at the top. Pretty crummy security, if you ask me.”
“What about the pipe itself?” Jack asked. “Could he and the woman have walked through it to gain access?”
“Possibly,” Beth said. “It’s about ten feet high. How far does it go?”
“According to Lieutenant Shaffer, a little over seventeen hundred feet. After that, it intersects the Chattahoochee. It might be worth checking out.”
“Great, another tunnel,” Beth muttered. “It would be incredibly tough for the killer to get in that way. He’d have to carry the victim.”
“Not really. Remember I mentioned roofies at the farm? He could have walked her in.”
“Good point,” Beth conceded.
“Wait for backup,” Jack said. “You shouldn’t go in there alone.”
“I’m a big girl, Jack. Pappas’ll be with me. At least this time he won’t have to bend down.”
*
For the second time in as many days, Beth and Pappas found themselves walking down a tunnel. Unlike the first, this one had light at both ends. It was hot, humid, and damp smelling. A third of the way through, they came upon a woman’s shoe and a portion of what appeared to be an orange cocktail dress.
Pappas asked, “Do we know what Sandra was wearing when she left home?”
“An orange print dress.”
She took a photograph and then bagged both items. Their trip to the opposite end yielded no clues. The pipe itself was surrounded by another chain link enclosure to keep people out, along with an access door where it emerged.
“Looks like you were right,” Beth told Jack. “The killer came this way. The lock’s been cut.”
“Bring it with you,” Jack said.
“I know that,” Beth said, annoyed.
“Footprints over here,” Pappas said. “A man and woman, by the look of ’em. Better tell Ben to come out and make some casts.”
Beth said, “I can see a single-track path going up the hill. I’ll bet that’s where he parked his car.”
“Let’s go find out,” Pappas said.
As they made their way along the path, Beth was suddenly seized by the feeling they were being watched. Pappas must have felt it, too, because he kept scanning the woods on each side of them. The trees and underbrush were just beginning to grow in, which made matters worse. Here and there a few wild dogwoods were blooming. As the slope steepened, the forest around them grew denser. In minutes they found themselves breathing heavily.
Eventually, the path let them out at the top of a hill with a road running perpendicular to it. A short distance away was a gravel clearing. Below, the Chattahoochee River, now several inches higher, flowed placidly on through the countryside. In the distance through an opening in the trees was an unrestricted view of the dam, the spillway, and the control gate they’d just come from. Beth knew in an instant Jack had guessed right.
How does he do that?
Without speaking, Pappas tapped her on the shoulder and pointed at the ground. Just off the road in the red clay where the gravel ended was a partial tire tread mark and more footprints.
Beth laid out a grid in her mind and began to walk it while Pappas checked the area out.
“Dan, take a look at this,” she said, pointing to a black spot on the ground.
“Some fluid drip. Oil, maybe,” Pappas said, dropping down and rubbing the substance between his thumb and forefinger.
Chapter 22
Jack disconnected and was sitting in the crime lab with Captain Kostner and Burt Wiggins. Ben Furman and his assistant had left to meet Beth and Pappas.
“Thanks for the offer, Burt. I think your people can handle it from here,” Jack said.
“Just not as quickly or efficiently as they could with you on board,” Kostner said.
“It’s just that I’m pretty tied up at the moment with my classes and this research paper I’m writing.”
“Demanding job,” Kostner said.
Jack’s eyes locked on the captain, who returned the look calmly. He then turned to Burt Wiggins and said, “I’m not sure I’d be a good fit. I left the FBI under—”
“We know all about the IA investigation,” said Kostner. “Anyone might have lost it under the circumstances. If it were me, I’m not sure I would have let Pell live. You did, and that says something about you. It’s ancient history. Do you really think the killer is going to stop now?”
A long pause ensued before Jack answered. “No . . . he’s just getting started.”
He glanced away and looked at the equipment scattered around the room. He didn’t want to be there. So why, as Wiggins asked, was he? Oddly, he felt composed. Breathing normal. No tightness in his chest.
Mouth’s not dry. No desire to escape. So far, so good.
“So you just gonna walk away?” Kostner asked.
“It’s not that simple, Art,” Jack said. “I’ve been out of the profession for a long time.”
“Sure,” Kostner said. “It took you a whole five minutes to figure out the clues that prick left. Give it a while; your timing’ll come back.”
I’ll get you for that, Art. Nice move.
Jack laughed to himself and was about to offer up a different argument when his eye fell once again on the department’s poster.
“Protect and Serve.”
He pushed the sleeves of his sport coat back, picked up Beth’s file, and sat down to read it.
*
It took the Emergency Response Team more than forty minutes to arrive on site via helicopter. They were led by a Sergeant Kowalski, who was big enough to be a pro wrestler. His head was shaven and his biceps filled his black shirt sleeves to the point of straining. The body armor he was wearing only made his chest seem larger.
Pappas explained the situation while the remaining six men in Kowalski’s squad spread out to make sure the dam was secure. The process took another half hour. When it was done, a corporal came back and reported.
“Everything’s good except for the front gate and the padlock down below. Someone blew ’em to hell.”
“I’m afraid that was me,” Beth said.
“Yes, ma’am. We sorta figured that. I called the base and told ’em to get a repair unit out here.”
Beth asked the sergeant, “Can you have one of your men open the outer door? I need to process the scene.”
Kowalski turned to the corporal and jerked his head toward a small concrete bunker at the end of the road where the computer control was located.
“Nasty business,” Kowalski said. “Both of you going in?”
“No choice,” Beth said.
“Yeah,” Kowalski said. “Give us a few minutes. You got some ear protection?”
“Why?”
“Once the door’s open, the siren goes off. It’s gonna be loud in that chamber.”
“We didn’t bring anything,” Beth said.
“Let me see what I can do.” Kowalski keyed the hand mic on his shoulder. “Brentano, go back to the chopper and bring me two com sets.”
*
Several minutes later, the warning siren began to blare, once again shattering the relative tranquility around them as the massive door slid open. It left a gaping maw that reminded Beth of a painting she’d once seen depicting the mouth of hell. Thanks to Sergeant Kowalski and the Corps of Engineers, she and Pappas were now wearing two headsets and were able to speak with each other. The units were effective at shutting out most but not all the noise.
As they entered the chamber, she saw there were still several inches of water present in the room. Muttering to herself about ruining a good pair of shoes, Beth nodded to Pappas and stepped in. The shock of cold hit her immediately, but she gritted her teeth and kept going.
Why didn’t I stay in anthropology?
Pappas’s voice came over the headset.
“You still want in first?”
“Yeah,” Beth said. “I can see her hanging from the pipe. I’ll take the vic, then walk the grid. You check the entrance to see if anything might have hung up.”
“Fat chance,” Pappas said.
“I know.”
With the siren continuing its mournful blasts, Beth looked around and took several photographs of the victim. She wanted to cover Sandra, but there was nothing to do it with. Inside, the noise was magnified tremendously, bouncing off the walls, making even thinking difficult.
Sandra Goldner hung by her arms from a pair of old-style handcuffs.
She was a tall woman with limp blonde hair. The worst part were her eyes. Beth’s mind began to play tricks thinking that they were following her. She shook off the feeling and continued a methodical inspection. Pappas was right. The rising water had swept away anything useful. All she wanted to do was finish her search and get the hell out of there before she threw up. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself and approached Sandra Goldner, gently shutting the woman’s eyes. At nearly the same time, the siren ceased its dirge, startling both her and Pappas.
Kowalski’s voice came over her headset. “Hope that helps. One of my guys figured out how to kill the noise.”
“It does,” Beth said. “Thanks.”
“Your ME and crime tech just showed up. Want me to send ’em down?”
“Give us five minutes,” Beth said. “I’m about to examine the body.”
“Jeez,” Kowalski said. “Will do.”
Now that the noise was gone, she and Pappas pulled off their com units and draped them around their necks. Beth then carefully checked under the victim’s fingernails and then moved on to her hair, combing it for any trace evidence that might have survived the water.
Pappas commented on the scorch marks on Sandra Goldner’s shoulder. “The fucker Tasered her.”
Beth nodded. She took a photograph and continued examining the body. Without warning, a deep groan coming from under the rear door froze both detectives. Beth and Pappas looked at each other.
“I know,” he said. “Place gives me the creeps, too. You finished?”
“Pretty much.”
“Let’s get outta here.”
“What about the cuffs?” Beth said. “I don’t want to leave her like this.”
“Neither do I, but my key won’t work and neither will yours. The cuffs are too old. We’ll have to cut ’em.”
“Wonderful,” Beth said.
Chapter 23
The killer closed the book he was reading, shut his eyes, and leaned back in his chair. The Mayans had it right. At least this particular sect of their society did. They were called the Eaters of Souls. When a vanquished enemy fell into their hands, the body was dismembered and the pieces passed around to be eaten. The heart was saved for the shaman and the chief. Not really a novel concept. Religions around the world practiced simulated rituals like it every week. Of course, he would never dream of eating anyone. That would be barbaric. Still, the name intrigued him.
The real key was to be in complete control of another human being. To decree whether they would live or die and how. That, he decided, was a rough equivalent of owning their soul.
“Eater of Souls,” he whispered, savoring the phrase, as he ran his fingers over the book. “Eater of Souls.”
Still too long. He needed a better name. Something catchy.
The killer smiled.
Soul Eater. Now that had a nice ring to it.
The killer picked up a little bottle of medicine from the end table next to him and tilted the clear liquid first one way and then the other. Alongside it lay two hypodermic needles and his favorite toy. The Taser was quick, quiet, and efficient. Also on the table were two scalpels. He would have preferred an obsidian flake knife. It was far sharper than any of the new instruments, but sad to say, they were not readily available and their edge began to degrade in the air after twenty minutes or so. It would be nice to try it one day. Traditions were important.
*
“We were so close,” Beth said. “So close. I could see her.”
“Don’t beat yourself up,” Pappas said. “There was nothing we could have done.”
Beth shook her head and took a sip of the rum and Coke in front of her.
Han Lo’s wasn’t crowded at that hour. Sooner or later the little Chinese restaurant on Buford Highway would fill up with cops. It was Jack’s first visit and he liked it, though no one would ever accuse the owner of putting in too much atmosphere. According to Pappas, the décor hadn’t changed in thirty years and was basically straight out of the seventies. At most there were twenty tables. No tablecloths. Paper napkins. The menu was written on a chalkboard that sat on a chair near the cash register and was basically whatever Mrs. Lo decided to cook that day. A pupu platter consisting of egg rolls, satay chicken str
ips coated with peanut sauce, and some tempura shrimp and vegetables occupied the middle of their table.
On returning to the office earlier, Captain Kostner informed them Jack would be joining the investigation and that Pappas had been reassigned as Beth’s partner until Leonard Cass was off medical leave. They both received the news well. At least Pappas did. As a detective lieutenant, Jack now technically outranked each of them, which may have accounted for Beth’s cool attitude toward him at the moment. She was pleasant enough, though somewhat distant. It was obvious she wasn’t happy with the situation. Jack wasn’t sure why. Hadn’t she asked him to help? Pappas didn’t seem to care one way or the other.
Beth met his eyes across the table and responded with a perfunctory smile. There were few things, he thought, colder than the icy smile of a beautiful woman.
Beth said, “I’m going out to Mayfield tomorrow to interview Howard Pell, if that’s all right with you.”
“You don’t need my permission,” Jack said. “It’s still your case.”
“Not according to Captain Kostner.”
Time to fix this, Jack decided.
“Beth, it’ll be your case and your collar,” he assured her. “I’m just here to help.”
“Probably work to your benefit,” Pappas added.
“How’s that?” Beth asked. “One minute I’m in charge of an investigation, my first as a lead since I joined the department, the next I’m taking orders from our new consultant.”
Pappas took a long breath and let it out. “You’ve got a lot to learn, rookie.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah, that’s so,” Pappas said. “Kostner isn’t operating alone. There’s a reason Burt Wiggins showed up with him.”
“I don’t get it,” Beth said.
“Think it through. Kale comes out of retirement to help nail this asshole. If he succeeds, great. He’s still a consultant and the department takes the credit for their brilliant move. If we fall flat on our faces, he gets it in the neck.”
Beth looked at Jack, who sat there silently.
Pappas continued, “That’s one reason Chief Ritson wants him to be our front man with the press. It’s a sure bet the story’ll hit the papers sooner or later.”
Once Shadows Fall: A Thriller (A Jack Kale and Beth Sturgis Thriller) Page 9