“Let’s take a look,” Logan suggested.
They left the Claymore crypt and started along the winding path again. “See,” she said to Logan, “isn’t that gorgeous? Marian Hatfield had it designed for Shelby McLaughton. They were both silent-film stars.” The memorial was carved to picture a feminine-looking angel with a finger to her lips, and beneath it were carved the name of the deceased and the words In Heaven All Whispers Are Heard Like the Voices of Angels in Song.
“So Claymore was right here?” Logan asked.
She nodded. “We can wait.”
They found another bench and sat. Madison began to feel restless; she was sure Logan had to be feeling the same. He’d listened to her, but she suspected they were on a wild-goose chase.
And then, straight and lean, white-haired and a bit fragile, Lucas Claymore appeared. He stood under the shade of an old oak, and he was watching them.
“Logan,” she whispered. “He’s here.”
* * *
As he neared the cemetery chapel, Sean heard his phone ring. Caller ID informed him that Benny Knox was calling.
He answered immediately.
“Two of my patrol officers found Helena LaRoux’s car,” Knox told him.
“Where is it? No sign of Helena?”
“No sign of Helena. The car’s on the street behind the northern end of Peace Cemetery. I’d say it’s about a half-mile around that back wall to the entrance of the studio. I’ve called the officers there, but none of them have seen Ms. LaRoux. And the guard about to go off duty—Colin Bailey—swears he hasn’t seen her, either.”
Sean frowned. “I’m in the cemetery now.”
“Do you see anything?”
“A lot of tombstones,” he said. “But I’m going to check out the chapel.”
Knox was silent for a minute. “What are you doing in the cemetery?” he asked.
“Looking for a pathway to the dead,” Sean said.
“I’m heading down there,” Knox said. “We need to get on a real search and find that woman. God knows, maybe she met up with a friend, maybe…” He groaned. “Why the hell park at the cemetery? There’s nothing around it for miles. This just gets worse and worse,” he said. “I’ll see you soon.”
Sean studied the chapel. Once upon a time, it had been consecrated as St. Bartholomew’s. But the parishioners had long outgrown the building and the area; St. Bartholomew’s was closer to downtown L.A. now and the chapel here was nondenominational. Eddie allowed them to use the building rent-free, as a place for services to be held or for mourners to say their prayers.
Sean had been inside once, years before, accompanying a friend to a funeral service. It was larger than the typical funeral chapel, but then it had begun life as a real church. The main aisle led up to a raised altar, while side aisles converged at the back, where the one-time choir might gather before entering. There were monuments above the walls. The pastor who had first reigned over the old congregation had originally been buried beneath the altar but his remains had been relocated, along with the congregation.
When he entered by the main doors, Sean thought it had been and still was a beautiful place, with just the right poignancy in the decor. The pews were hardwood with dark crimson cushions for kneeling in prayer, and the walls were divided into eight panels, which held Tiffany windows of clear glass with images etched into them—doves, lambs, olive branches and, closest to the altar, looking across at each other, a pair of angels.
Sean walked down the aisle to the altar. He paused for a minute, turning to get a feel for the size and scope of the chapel, and its relationship to the studio and the Black Box Cinema. It was possible that tunnels stretched from the chapel to the other buildings.
There was nothing to be seen in the empty church so he went around to the left-side aisle and through a door. He noted that in the rear of the church—where one might enter without being seen by the congregation—was a door.
The staging area for the chapel was in darkness. There weren’t huge cut-glass windows here to let in the sunlight. Two wall lamps were aglow, one on his side and one on the other side. The rear of the chapel was apparently used by the cemetery maintenance workers; several wheelbarrows were lined up against the back wall, a pile of sod waiting to be laid, and shelves holding vases. There were cones that advised Construction Area on the far side of the room. He walked over, trying to see what the construction might be, but nothing gave him a real indication. The place was old and well-maintained, but earthquakes, big and little, had shaken the area over the years, and old foundations always needed to be shored up.
He looked around, waiting for his eyes to get accustomed to the light.
Once they did, he saw a shelf near the pile of sod, and a number of old wooden signs piled up beside it. He dug through them. Several advertised restrooms in one way or another. Ladies, Gentlemen, Men’s, Women’s. He saw two doors on the right side, one with a large W and the other a large M. He opened both doors to assure himself that the rooms were indeed for the purpose advertised.
Back at the shelf, he dug deeper. At last he found one that read Crypt.
He took a second to look around again; he saw no stairs, and nothing that indicated a crypt.
Frustrated, he returned to the rooms with the large W and the large M.
Nothing, except that when he stood outside, he realized that the depth of the rooms didn’t match up with the distance between them.
“This place is full of false walls,” he muttered aloud. He studied the wall, tapped on it and shook his head. The crypt stairs had been covered over long ago.
He went into the women’s toilet. There was an old dressing table with a mirror behind it. He shoved aside the table and the mirror, uncovering an old pocket door. A large sign read Danger! No Entry.
Sean slid the door open.
A set of dark stairs led downward, into the darkness of the crypt.
* * *
Madison stood and smiled at Lucas Claymore. She lifted a hand in greeting, and walked slowly toward him, afraid he would disappear.
“Mr. Claymore!” she greeted him quietly. “Good morning, sir.”
Claymore didn’t run. He watched her sadly as she approached, then he looked over her shoulder at Logan Raintree. “You work at my studio,” he said to Madison. “What used to be my studio, I should say.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Something terrible has happened,” Claymore said.
“Yes, sir.” Logan nodded.
For a moment, Claymore became sheer, and almost disappeared in the breeze that moved softly around them.
“We’re trying to discover the truth, Mr. Claymore,” Madison said.
“I don’t have the truth to give you.” Claymore sounded sad, even distressed. “People come and people go. There are lights, there are noises, but…”
“Mr. Claymore, hundreds of bodies are buried in the catacombs that stretch out from the studio and the cinema,” Logan said.
“Yes, of course.”
“Of course?”
“That was long ago, so long ago,” Claymore said. “But I don’t know everything. The property was really my father’s, and he died…oh, years past. People were flocking here, you know.” He sighed. “And then the Depression came. Followed by the war. Most of the burials are very old. Back in the thirties, when there was no social security…no assistance for the poor. My father was a good man. When he could no longer help the living, he helped the dead. He wasn’t alone in what he did.”
“Who helped him?” Madison asked Claymore.
“Why, the Reverend Parker. He was over at St. Bartholomew’s. He’s been dead for years, too.”
Logan turned to Madison. “There’s where the tunnels begin,” he said. “The church.”
“Ah, well, those tunnels have been closed up forever.” Lucas Claymore sighed again. “You couldn’t have people wandering from a film noir movie into a graveyard now, could you? And Reverend Parker lived a very long life. When he
felt it coming to an end, we had the crypt closed off. No one goes down there now. Trust me, I had power in my day. I saw to it that the crypts were kept closed, and that even if the church opened them, there was no access to the studio. Everyone was careful not to let the truth be known. If people had found out, they would have come in. They would’ve dragged up the dead, who might have ended up in museums, in drawers, like all the specimens they have at the Smithsonian,” he said, staring at them as if trying to make sure they understood.
“I think that someone who’s very much alive has discovered the secret of the tunnels, Mr. Claymore.”
Claymore made a strange sound that, if he’d been living, would have been a disdainful sniff. “That one!” he said, shaking his head.
“That one—who?” Madison asked.
Claymore said, “I saw Eddie Archer with you, young lady. I was glad. He’s done the studio proud. But…that one he’s married to now. She came here. She traipsed around. She lit a cigarette in my vault and crushed it out on the floor. She was always waiting for someone here. And she’d be on the phone, yakking away. She was up to something, you mark my words.”
“Have you ever seen her in the chapel, Mr. Claymore?” Logan asked.
Claymore shook his head. “I don’t stand around here all day, young man. I don’t watch people endlessly. Sometimes I come because it’s beautiful and peaceful, and I love this land. I can’t tell you more than that.”
Logan was already tugging at her arm. “Let’s go,” he said. He pulled his phone from his pocket and started dialing.
“Thank you, Mr. Claymore!” Madison called back.
“Thank you, yes, thank you so much!” Logan said. “Damn!” he muttered as they hurried across the cemetery.
“What’s wrong?”
“Sean isn’t answering,” he told her. “He’s got to be out of contact. The wretched things worked in the tunnels by the studio, but…”
Fear instantly wrapped icy fingers around her heart. “He’s here—you said he’s here, in the cemetery somewhere. Why haven’t we seen him, Logan? Why hasn’t he answered?”
“He’s probably in the chapel. I know he was here. Maybe he thought a chapel that was once a church might have a crypt. And that chapel’s a very old building. There might be something blocking cell phone reception. But don’t worry—we’ll find him. He’s a well-trained agent, and he’s going to be fine. Now, you, on the other hand, stay close to me.”
She didn’t intend to do anything foolish. Logan Raintree was tall and long-legged and he kept up with her easily as she ran through the cemetery. When she nearly tripped over a gravestone, he was there to catch her.
“Madison, I’m sure Sean’s fine,” he said.
“Yes, I am, too.”
He smiled, holding her arm. “We’ll walk quickly—but we walk, okay?”
She nodded, feeling chastised but knowing he was right.
When they got close to the chapel, she drew ahead again, calling Sean’s name as they hurried in. Entering the building, she heard the echo of her voice against the old stone walls. Sean didn’t answer.
“Come around here,” Logan said, moving past her down the aisle.
She followed him and then entered the sacristy, or staging area, for the church. “Watch it! There are lights, but it’s dangerous back here.”
“We didn’t ask Lucas where to find the crypt!” Madison said.
She walked around and saw a maintenance area. Some of the flooring had been roped off.
“I wonder what happened here, or what they’re doing.”
Logan joined her. “It doesn’t look like they’re doing anything yet. Someone who works here might have realized that the flooring is treacherous. They’ve probably asked for a structural engineer to come in.
Madison walked over to the area that had been roped off. “The ground looks damp. Maybe they had a leak,” she said.
“Maybe. I heard it was bizarrely wet last month, lots of rain. But that’s good. It’ll help keep the fires down this summer.” Logan was trying his phone. “Doesn’t work in here, either,” he muttered.
“Yes, but it doesn’t matter. Sean isn’t in here!”
“He’s here somewhere,” Logan said. “Sean!”
He walked toward the bathrooms, but Madison could see that Sean wasn’t in the men’s room—the door was gaping open.
She crossed the floor, trying to study the roped-off area.
“Madison!”
She turned around. “You found him?” she asked.
“This way.”
She took a step and tripped into the roped-off area.
“Madison!” Logan called again.
“I’m all right. I’m—”
She never finished her sentence.
The floor beneath her gave way, and she pitched straight down into a dark abyss.
15
Sean went dead still, hearing the sound of the scream.
He wasn’t sure how he recognized a scream, but he did.
Madison.
He’d traveled no more than twenty feet into the crypts, straight to the rear of the structure, or so he believed. Here, marble slabs covered every entombment, except for those that had been dug into the ground and were covered with memorials, some in stone and some in brass. He hadn’t discovered where the tunnels connected with the studio, but he knew he’d eventually find what he was seeking. There was no other way for a killer to escape without leaving some clue—a drop of blood, something.
The scream! It was close, and yet he didn’t know where it had come from.
“Madison!” he shouted.
“Sean!” she cried in return.
“Sean!” He heard Logan’s shout, too.
“What happened?” he yelled.
“I went through the floor,” Madison yelled back.
“I’m trying to get down to her,” Logan said.
“Are you all right?” Sean’s voice echoed off the cold slabs of marble in the darkness around him.
“I’m…up, I’m on my feet. I’m fine, no bones broken…but it’s dark down here!”
“Keep talking. I’m trying to get to you.”
“Okay,” Madison said. “I guess I’m going to be a bit late for work. Hey, did you find out anything about our missing Helena? Oh, wait, that would mean you answer and I quit talking. Logan was great this morning and he kept trying to make me remember if there was anything else I knew. I was sure there wasn’t, but we were looking for tunnels, and information about the property, and I don’t know why it hadn’t occurred to me that I knew the ghost of the man who’d owned the studio before Eddie—Lucas Claymore. So we went to his tomb….”
She paused for breath.
“So did I!” Sean called. “Logan, can you see Madison?” he shouted.
“You’re so muffled I can barely hear you!” Logan shouted back. “I’m trying to give her some light…until you reach her. Then I’ll get down there, or you can get Madison back up here.”
“Madison, start talking again!” Sean said. So far, he’d been walking in one direction, which seemed to be his only choice. Except that he was moving farther away from Madison’s voice, and he needed to get closer. He retraced his steps, using his flashlight to illuminate the grave markers and the floor. Then he froze; there was blood on the ground.
Fresh blood, a trail of it.
“Madison!” He felt a prickle of fear. “Madison, keep talking!”
He followed the blood, and it seemed to lead into a wall of tombs.
“I’m here. Let me see, I’m not sure what to say. Um. It was good to be back at work yesterday. I’m looking forward to going in today. It’s—oh, God, Sean, it’s really…dark down here.”
But she kept talking. He realized that following the trail of blood had made her voice seem louder. He’d taken a slight turn to the right, and might be doubling back under the center of the church sacristy.
But there was that wall….
Puzzled, he put his hand on on
e of the tombs. The blood trail seemed to lead to it, and then beneath it.
He pushed on the marble slab covering the tomb. Nothing.
“Madison!” Logan called. “I’m shining the light down there. Can you see anything?”
“Yes, I can see the floor…I’m in the crypt. There are walls of graves down here, and there seem to be more tunnels, like the ones by the studio, except that these are in better shape. Well, I can really only see where your light is shining— Oh!”
Her words broke off in a horrified gasp.
“Madison!” Sean screamed, pushing at the stones. He could hear her clearly, she was so close.
“There—there’s something here…in a crypt. In a broken crypt.”
“Can you see what it is?” he shouted to her.
“Logan!” she called up. “Can you twist the light around?”
Logan must have done so.
Madison let out a long and terrified shriek.
“Madison!” He banged frantically at the slabs on the tombs.
“I’m all right,” she said, but her voice was weak.
“What? What is it?” Sean demanded. “Madison…”
He’d done something right; the slabs were false. There for show, but perfectly fitted, and probably first engineered when a young pastor and the owner of the property wanted to make sure the down-and-out among L.A.’s dead weren’t thrown into nameless pits.
The marble shifted silently, sliding open. He moved his flashlight about frantically.
He saw Madison, white-faced, as she backed away from the wall of crypts.
Sean cast the light in that direction.
“We’ve found Helena LaRoux,” she said, her voice a raspy whisper.
His light fell on the body that dangled from a rope attached to a metal hook on one of the crypts. The hook had been intended to hold flower arrangements and had nearly bent with the woman’s weight.
The other end of the rope was attached to the handles on a vault. The blood he’d seen had apparently dripped from the slashes on her wrists. It appeared that Helena had come here, tried to slash her wrists but failed to do so deeply enough and then hanged herself instead.
Krewe of Hunters, Volume 2: The Unseen ; The Unholy ; The Unspoken ; The Uninvited Page 52