The Burying Place

by Brian Freeman

  When she was done, she opened a spice cabinet and slowly spun the lazy susan inside until she found what she wanted. It was a bottle she had purchased a year ago, before she got pregnant. A bottle she had never opened. A bottle filled to its narrow neck with tablets of aspirin.

  She turned back and looked at the high chair. Callie was gone. Valerie's smile slowly dissolved, and the light went out of her eyes.

  'From now on, I'll never leave you alone,' Valerie promised her. 'Never ever. I'll always be with you.'

  Kasey had no idea how long she had been clinging to the frigid metal pipe. It could have been seconds. It could have been an hour. Time had no meaning in the darkness. Her arms grew thick and heavy, and the cold burned her skin, and all she wanted to do was let go. But she didn't. She couldn't.

  He was gone. For now. She had watched him take the flashlight and pick his way through the debris, and then the light had vanished behind a fragmented wall. Somewhere on the far side of the building, she'd heard a steel door opening and closing. Since then, she had heard only the other noises of the ruins: the water torture dripping from overhead and the morbid squeal of the rats.

  She held out little hope of rescue. She screamed - 'Help me! Help!' - but her voice bounced around the decimated building, and in the aftermath, she heard nothing at all. No one came running. No one shouted back. Wherever she was, she was on her own.

  In the early minutes, she didn't dare move for fear of dislodging the pipe or slipping and losing her hold on the metal itself. Eventually, as her strength waned, she decided she had to try. If she made a mistake, she died, but if she did nothing, she died anyway. She had to stay alive. She had to escape.

  Carefully, she eased one hand off the pipe and examined the rope with her fingers, looking for a way to undo the knot and slip the noose from around her neck. She pried at the twine, but the knot was tight and unyielding. With two hands, she might have been able to dislodge it, but not with one. She worked at it until her other arm groaned in protest, and when she felt her grip slipping, she brought her hand back to the pipe.

  She thought about shimmying up the rope itself to where it connected to the ceiling joist, but she didn't think she had enough strength in her arms to make the climb. She also thought about bringing up her legs like a gymnast and slinging them over the pipe, but she worried that the fragile metal would buckle under the pressure.

  Kasey decided to see where the pipe itself went. Prying her fingers off the metal, she slowly moved her left hand three inches. She repeated the process with her right hand. The metal was cold and wet, and her fingers nearly gave way. She moved again, another three inches. And then again. The progress was excruciatingly slow. The pain and cold thumped in her brain and made her dizzy. Her eyes saw strange things in the darkness. She tried to move again and couldn't. When she screamed at her muscles, they refused to take orders. Instead, she hung there, paralyzed, feeling the pipe grow loose and slippery under her fingers.

  It would be easy to let go. Easy to give up. Let the metal slip away, and let the rope take over.

  No.

  It was a test. She couldn't fail. Calm descended over her like a wave, and she sloughed her body along the stretch of pipe. She shunted her bound legs and slowly swept the space to her left with her feet extended. At the very edge of her t—s, she brushed something hard. Concrete. A wall. She peeled away her fingers and moved again, three more inches, and when she extended her legs, she could brace the bottom of her feet against the side of the wall. Flakes of paint scraped away under her skin. If she could find a t—hold, she could reposition herself and use both hands to attack the rope around her neck.

  Kasey tried to slide another few inches, but her head snapped to her right, choking her against the coil of rope. She had extended all the play left in the rope where it connected to the ceiling. It wouldn't go any farther. She was trapped.

  She reached out again with her legs, but this time, she moved too quickly, and her left hand lost its grip and fell. Her right hand clenched the freezing pipe and hung on, but the rope cut into her neck and choked off her breathing. She gasped and spat, dangling by one hand. Frantically, she grabbed for the pipe with her other hand, and as she did, her fingers brushed a scrap of metal hanging just above her. She grasped it, dropped it, and tried for the pipe again, and finally she curled her fingers around the thick length of pipe and pulled herself back up. The pressure on her neck eased enough for her to breathe.

  Kasey gave herself a few seconds to recover, but she was running out of time. Running out of strength.

  She groaned and reached up with her left hand. Her fingers bumped against something square and sharp, dangling on a thin strand of plastic wire. She yanked on it and felt it give way, but before she could grab it, her right hand slipped, and she had to stop and hold on to avoid falling. She took a few long breaths. Sweat gathered on her palms, making both hands slippery.

  She tried again. This time, the metal plate and the thin wire came away. Dust settled over her face. She coughed and nearly lost her grip again, but she held the plate in her hand. Her right arm howled in pain as the fingers of her left hand traced the outline and found a metal corner that was bent and sharp, where it had obviously torn away from a larger frame.

  Kasey knew she had only one hope. Cut the rope.

  She found a reservoir of strength and bent her elbows to do a chin- up. Her body climbed, slow inch by slow inch. The pipe wobbled. Her fingers twisted and slipped as blood and sweat gathered under her skin. When she felt her chin touch the metal, she nudged her right arm over the pipe and then let go with her left arm, hanging by her crook of her elbow.

  The pipe made an ominous lurch downward. The rope yanked her chin back and tilted her head up. Kasey sawed the edge of the metal plate against the rope around her neck. She felt the cord fraying, threads splitting and cutting loose.

  The pipe shifted downward again. The rope choked her. She couldn't breathe, and she felt her cheeks puffing out and leaching the rest of her air. Her face was wet with tears. Her right arm grew numb and lifeless.

  She sawed frantically. The rope thinned but refused to yield. Her body twitched as she jerked the jagged metal up and down, and the repeated pounding added to the stress on the pipe.

  It was all too much. She had no air. She had no strength. Her left arm collapsed, and the metal plate dropped from her hand and fell to the ground below her with a clang. Unconsciousness began creeping in.

  Oh, God, no.

  Then, from the wall beside her, came the groan and squeal of metal tearing.

  The pipe separated and gave way. Kasey felt her body falling, with the rope still clutching her windpipe like powerful hands.

  * * *

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Troy Grange opened the door of his house with a bottle of beer in one hand. Over his shoulder, Maggie saw a basketball game on the wide-screen television in his living room. He wore an untucked flannel shirt and jeans. His eyes were rimmed in red, and his skin was pasty.

  'Sorry to stop by so late,' she told him.

  'It's OK. Come on in.' He led her into the main room and muted the sound on the television. 'You want a beer or something?'

  'No thanks.'

  'So did you lose a bet?' Troy asked.

  'What?'

  'The hair.'

  'Oh. Yeah, funny. It was just a stupid whim.'

  'Uh huh.' He added after a long pause, 'I saw the news.'

  'Yeah.'

  'Same guy, huh?'

  'Looks that way.'

  Troy swore. He finished his beer and wiped his mouth. 'Are you any closer to catching him?'

  'I'd like to say yes, but so far, he's one step ahead of us. We're pursuing a lead down in Colorado, but it's too early to tell whether that will pan out. The car he was using was stolen in Colorado Springs, so we're checking on pattern crimes in the area.'

  'You think he's been at this for a while?'

  'I don't know, but these guys don't usually quit
until they're caught.'

  Troy shook his head. 'It's a fucked-up world.'

  'How has it been for you at work?' Maggie asked.

  'Oh, it's crazy, which is a good thing. I get into the office, and the first crisis hits about two minutes later, and the shit keeps up until it's dark and I'm driving home. I don't have time to think about anything until then.'

  'Is the baby still with Trisha's parents?'

  Troy nodded. 'I'll probably go get her this weekend. Debbie misses her. So do I.'

  'The offer still stands, Troy. Anything I can do to help.'

  'I know. I appreciate it.' He added, 'What about the kid? Do you have anything on Nick Garaldo?'

  'We think he's one of these guys who likes to break in where he doesn’t belong,' Maggie told him. 'Urban ruins.'

  'Really?'

  'We found a photo card in his apartment. He was inside the Duluth Armory a few months ago.'

  Troy rubbed his chin. 'We've had break-ins at a few of the unused areas of the port over the past couple years. I wonder if Nick was involved.'

  'Half the fun for these guys is staying ahead of people like you and me,' Maggie said

  'So you think he had an accident somewhere?'

  Maggie nodded. 'That's our best guess right now. Nick may have been casing an abandoned school in Buckthorn. I've got a guy from a local security agency taking a look at the site. I haven't heard from him yet.'

  'Well, keep me posted. Nick's girlfriend is worried sick.'

  'I will.'

  'You look tired, Maggie. Is the investigation wearing you down?'

  'Yeah, a little,' she admitted.

  'Stride's back on the job next week, right? That should help.'

  She grunted affirmatively, but Troy picked up on her mixed emotions.

  'You don't sound thrilled to have him back,' Troy said. 'Do you not want to give up the big chair?'

  'He can have it.' 'So what's the problem?'

  Maggie shrugged. 'It's complicated. I'm not going to bother you with my troubles.'

  'Right now, it's easier to worry about someone else's problems,' he told her. 'We're friends. If you want to talk, talk.'

  Maggie sighed. She was tired of keeping it a secret from everyone. 'It's me and Stride. Something happened.'

  'Something?' Troy asked. Then he read her face. 'Oh, that kind of something. Yeah, well, that is complicated.'

  'Tell me about it.'

  'Isn't he involved with someone else?'

  'Yeah.'

  'So now what?'

  'Now I tell myself what an idiot I am.'

  Troy chuckled. 'Sorry. Wish I could help. Romantic advice isn't really my thing.'

  'Me neither. Listen, keep this to yourself, OK? Nobody knows.'

  'My lips are sealed.'

  Maggie heard her cell phone ringing. She dug it out of her pocket and checked the caller ID, but the source of the call was blocked. 'This is Maggie Bei,' she answered.

  'Ms Bei, my name is Jim Nieman.'

  Maggie didn't recognize the name or the voice. 'What can I do for you, Mr Nieman?'

  'I got a call from Matt Clayton in Buckthorn today. He said you were making inquiries about that falling-down school they've got out there. I handle security on the place for the township.'

  She remembered the name now. 'Did you have a chance to check it out today?'

  'I did. As a matter of fact, I'm over there right now. I was hoping to get out here earlier in the day, but I got pulled into some home security jobs.'

  'What did you find?' she asked.

  'Matt said something about looking for red pistachio shells. Is that right? What's that all about?'

  'Did you find any?' she replied without explaining.

  'Actually, I did.'

  Maggie covered the speaker with her hand and said to Troy, 'This is the security guy for the Buckthorn School. I think Nick Garaldo was out there.' She spoke into the phone again. 'Did you check inside the school?'

  'I was going to do that, but I thought I'd call you first. Since I found those shells, I didn't know if you wanted me to hold off on searching the interior. I didn't want to screw up any evidence if you think we've got a crime scene there.'

  'When were you last inside?' she asked.

  'A couple days ago, I guess.'

  'Have you been inside since Saturday night?'

  'Yeah, I think it was Sunday,' Nieman told her.

  'Did you find anything out of the ordinary?'

  He laughed. 'Well, the whole thing is pretty creepy, if you ask me.'

  'Was there any evidence that someone had broken in recently? Could someone have been inside and you didn't realize it?'

  She heard him pause. 'Anything's possible, I guess. There are a lot of nooks and crannies in the place. I didn't see evidence of a break- in, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.' 'OK.'

  'You want me to go inside?' Nieman asked. 'Like I said, I'm outside the place right now.'

  'Yeah, I do. Check it out carefully. We've got a missing person, and I think he's been at the school recently. It's possible he broke in, or tried to break in, and got hurt. Call me back when you've checked it out, OK?'

  'Will do.'

  Maggie heard him hesitate. 'Is something wrong?'

  'Oh, no, I'm happy to do it. Anything for the boys and girls in blue, you know. I just thought, if something did happen to this guy inside, you might want to have a cop with me when I search the place. I know it's late, but I thought maybe you could get someone to join me here.'

  Maggie thought about it. 'Sure, that's a good idea.'

  'I'd leave it in your hands entirely, but I'm the guy with the keys,' he added.

  'Understood.' 'I'll wait for the cavalry before I open the doors. Do you think it will be long?'

  Maggie checked her watch. 'Tell you what, Mr Nieman. I'm just five minutes away from the school right now. I'll drive over there myself.'

  * * *

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Denise Sheridan slapped her phone shut. 'Still no answer,' she said.

  'Are you going to drive over there?' Serena asked.

  Denise shook her head. 'It's late. If Valerie's in bed, let her sleep.'

  Serena didn't think Valerie was sleeping. If she was in bed, she was staring at the ceiling. If her phone was off, it was because she didn't want to hear the news about Callie.

  The two women rejoined Stride among the scattered headstones of the cemetery. Behind him, one of the light towers set up by the crime scene technicians cast his shadow across the grass into the trees. He stopped in front of a line of graves that all bore the name GLENN.

  Serena watched him. His arms were folded over his chest, and his face was dark and thoughtful. Snow flew sideways through the light, landing on him and turning him into a white statue. He wore the leather jacket he had owned for years. His hair looked as if he had just rolled out of bed. In his eyes, she saw the intensity of a man who never let go. She couldn't help herself, she was still in love with him. She couldn't imagine turning her back on what she felt, not when they had spent three years together. The easy thing for her was to whisper, I'm not going anywhere. See what he did. See how he reacted. See if he still felt the same things for her.

  But she didn't do that. She said nothing at all.

  'So what the hell does this mean, Stride?' Denise demanded. 'Who's the boy in the ground?'

  Stride stared at the graves. 'I don't know yet.'

  'What's the medical team saying?' Serena asked. 'How did the baby die?'

  'There's no sign of foul play,' he replied. 'There's no trauma, no obvious evidence of injury or abuse, but we won't know until the autopsy is completed.'

  'Recent death?' Denise asked.

  'Based on the condition of the body, yes. We're talking days, not weeks.'

  'But nothing to help with identification?'

  'No.'

  Serena took a long look at the cemetery and at the surrounding forest. She put herself in the shoes of someon
e who would carry a baby to the woods and dig its grave. There were so many places you could lay a body where it would never be found. Why so close to the cemetery?

  'How was the body placed in the ground?' she asked Stride.

  She wanted a sense of the kind of burial that had happened here, whether it was something sacred or profane. Their eyes met, and she knew he had been thinking the same thing. That was another part of their relationship she couldn't escape - their minds were connected.

  'He was wrapped in a white sheet.'

  'Carefully?'

  Stride nodded. 'Someone took time to do it right. It was almost tender.'

  'This doesn’t make sense,' Denise protested. 'Who takes the care to wrap up a dead child and then buries it in the woods like garbage?'

  'Not like garbage,' Serena said, shaking her head. 'Whoever did this couldn't bury the baby in a cemetery where he might be discovered. But the baby was close to the cemetery. I think that's significant.'

  'I agree,' Stride said. 'It feels ritualistic. Almost religious.'

  'But what does it have to do with Callie and Marcus?' Denise asked.

  'I don't know. Maybe nothing at all. Maybe we stumbled on to something unrelated to Callie's case.'

  'Or maybe Micki's lying,' Denise suggested.

  They heard a harsh, tired voice cut through the wind. 'I'm not lying.'

  When they turned, they saw Migdalia Vega on the slope of the cemetery behind them. Her round face glistened with melting snow. Her feet were planted in the ground, and she had her hands on her hips. 'You hear me?' she continued. 'I'm not lying. I did what you asked. I showed you where I found the toy. Where Mama saw the light.'

  'You knew we'd find a body,' Denise snapped, 'but we only have your word that you found the toy there at all. Who's the kid, Micki? Who did we find buried there?'

  'I don't know. And I found the horn in the woods, just like I said.'

  Stride put a hand gently on Denise's arm. He stepped closer to Micki, his voice calm. 'We don't think you're lying,' he told her.

  'Tell that to her!' she retorted.

  'We're all tired, Micki. It's been a long night. You've helped us a lot, and I appreciate it, OK? But I need to know if you have any idea who that little boy could be.'