At Fancher’s door, she tapped and waited for her to look up.
“Come in, Beth,” Fancher said. “You’re here nice and early.”
“Thought I’d get a jump on the day, LT.”
Fancher smiled. “Nothing makes the boss happier than seeing people who work for her busy. What’s up?”
“I’m about to head back to Jordan. The sheriff just called and said they found a tunnel in the barn.”
“Why is that important?”
“I don’t know yet,” Beth said. “But I think it will be. Yesterday I spoke with a former FBI agent who worked the original Scarecrow case. It was his idea. He thinks there’s a second crime scene nearby. This could be it.”
“You’re making another trip to Jordan because this man thought there could be another scene?”
“I am,” Beth said. “It merits another look. I’ll want forensics again, too.”
Lieutenant Fancher leaned back in her seat and considered this. She then informed Beth, “Our unit has a major backlog of uncleareds. We’re also understaffed. Are you certain this trip is necessary?”
“Tell me you’re kidding.”
“I’m not. I was just going over the numbers, and we’re way behind where we should be. It doesn’t help that the city council cut our budget by thirteen percent, Detective.”
“I still have to work the case.”
Fancher drew a long breath. “This is an interdepartmental referral. That means we’re assisting as a courtesy, not taking it over. Can’t you get by with one of their people?”
Penelope Fancher was a number cruncher, and the bottom line mattered to her because it was scrutinized by the bosses. Add to that the fact that the crime happened outside the city limits and the town of Jordan was getting the short end of the stick.
“I’ll try,” Beth said evenly. “The problem is they’re not equipped to handle what we’re dealing with here.”
“And what’s that? Yesterday you told me the killer’s a copycat.”
“I still feel that way,” Beth said. “My partner thinks there’s bad mojo in the air on this one.”
“How so?”
“The way that man was killed, the missing finger, the lack of blood, the locket around his neck, the missing women, and now we find a tunnel. Take your pick. Whoever did this is following the Scarecrow’s playbook.”
“Tell me about the locket,” Fancher said.
“According to the sheriff, there are two missing women in Jordan. The man I spoke with yesterday, Jack Kale, thinks the killer’s sending us a message he has one of them. That means we can expect another victim. If there’s any chance of preventing it, we need to move and move quickly.”
Penny Fancher reached forward and nudged her computer mouse. She studied the screen for several seconds, then said, “Dusty Shelton’s tied up on the south side until later this afternoon. Head up there and see what you can do with one of the locals. I’ll have a uniform meet you in the garage as backup. If you think you’ll need more help, I’ll spring Shelton loose as soon as he’s done and send him your way.”
She’d been with Robbery-Homicide a whole three months and had a single week-long course in forensic training. Hopefully her five years’ experience working environmental crimes would do. Every detective knew the rudiments of investigative techniques. She hoped Max Blaylock wouldn’t realize he was getting shortchanged.
*
On the way back to her desk, she ran into Dan Pappas. He was a no-nonsense cop with fifteen years in Homicide.
“Enjoy your talk with Penny Pincher?” he said, using the lieutenant’s nickname around the squad.
“The best,” Beth said.
“Got something cookin’?”
“I landed a murder case up in Jordan.”
“Jordan?”
“Interdepartmental request for assistance.”
“On your way up there now?”
“Yep.”
“Who’s your backup?” Pappas asked.
“Fancher’s giving me a uniform. She told me to use one of the locals,” Beth said.
“Figures,” Pappas said. “How ’bout I take a ride with you? I need to stretch my legs. The fresh air’ll do me good.”
“It might get you in trouble, Dan,” Beth said, looking toward Fancher’s office.
“Lenny Cass is still flat of his back,” Pappas said. “If he finds out I let you go solo, I’ll be in more trouble with him.”
“You sure?”
“Assisting another detective in a dangerous situation is what we do. Pincher has a problem with that, she can file a beef.”
Pappas got up and put on his jacket. The man was built like a defensive tackle, probably six foot four and close to 250 pounds. His face carried the scars of childhood acne. If he gave any thought to his clothes, it didn’t show. He always reminded her of a walking unmade bed. If they had to go into a tunnel together, she hoped it wouldn’t be too narrow for his shoulders. Though she was grateful for his offer, she couldn’t bring herself to say so, other than to thank him.
“Tell me a little about the case,” he said.
“Let’s get rolling before Fancher waylays you. I’ll bring you up to speed on the way.”
Chapter 11
The uniform was waiting for them in the garage. Beth told him he was off the hook and free to carry on. He gave them a half salute and headed back to the elevators. During the ride, she filled Pappas in on the murder details and her meeting with Jack Kale.
“I met him during the original investigation,” Pappas said when she had finished. “Quiet and kinda intense.”
“Well, he’s a jerk,” Beth said. “I asked for his help—nicely, mind you—and he about tossed me out of his office.”
“That’s odd.”
“You should have been there. Any idea what’s the matter with him?”
Pappas shrugged. “There were some rumors floating around.”
“What sort of rumors?” Beth asked.
“The feds were especially tight-mouthed, but about a year after we caught Pell, I ran into an agent who worked the taskforce with us and asked how Kale was doing. The guy said physically fine.”
“Physically?”
“Yeah. It was a strange response. Anyway, we talked some more and he let on Kale had left the Bureau. That really floored me. I mean, he was their fair-haired boy, particularly with all the publicity after nailing Pell.”
“Sounds that way,” Beth said. “You ever find out why he left?”
“Sometimes you have to read between the lines.”
“Okay, give.”
“We chitchatted for a while, and I eventually asked how Kale was keeping busy in his retirement. I figured maybe he had a book deal going or something. The guy just shook his head and told me no one had seen him for months. ‘Vacation?’ I said. ‘Nah,’ he says. He never comes out of his house. The guy turned into a recluse.”
“Maybe all the publicity got to him.”
“Maybe,” Pappas said. “But that’s not the vibe I picked up. It was like he collapsed emotionally.”
“Jeez,” Beth said.
“Yeah. Jeez.”
Chapter 12
A light rain was falling when they arrived in Jordan. The cross still stood in the middle of the field, a stark reminder of what happened there. Beth and Pappas found a couple of yellow ponchos in the trunk and put them on, then made their way through the tall grass. Sheriff Max Blaylock and Juan Avilles, the deputy who found the tunnel, were waiting for them in the barn. Beth made the introductions.
“I spoke with the families of both women,” the sheriff informed them. “Sandra Goldner and Betsy Ann Tinsley are still missing. The locket belongs to Betsy Ann. Her mother identified it as her birthday present.”
Beth asked, “Were they together when they disappeared?”
“According to Sandra’s brother, they went into Atlanta Thursday night to meet Betsy’s new boyfriend, Jerome Haffner, the gentleman we found in the field.”
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“Who is he?” Pappas asked.
“Was,” Blaylock said. “Some bigwig with a brokerage firm. That’s all we know so far.”
“Any ransom demand yet?” Pappas asked.
“Nothing,” Blaylock said. “The families haven’t heard a word.”
Beth made a note of that in a little book she carried and then looked over to where Avilles was standing nearby. The deputy was a tall, skinny young man with close-cropped brown hair and an overbite.
“Good work finding that trap door.”
“Appreciate it, ma’am.”
Without looking up, she added, “It’s Beth or Detective Sturgis. I’m not that much older than you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Any idea where the tunnel comes out?” Pappas asked.
“Not yet,” Blaylock said. “Avilles and I walked the tracks some but didn’t see anything.”
“Guess we’re about to find out,” Beth said. “Show me the door.”
Avilles led them to the corner of the barn where the workbench had sat the day before. It was now pushed off to one side.
“I used gloves when I moved it,” he said. “Same for the door handle.”
“You did right,” Beth said, feeling a little tick of excitement growing inside her. She glanced down and saw the floor had been swept. Hay was spread over it to disguise the broom marks. The straw on top was clearly fresher.
“Prick cleaned up after himself,” Pappas observed.
The detective placed the crime scene kit on one of the hay bales and removed a digital camera from the box. He took a few pictures while Beth ran the Polilight over the workbench and the trap door handle.
“Got a partial print here, Dan,” she said. “Looks like a good one.”
“Is your tech coming out?” the sheriff asked.
“He’ll be here. We’re just doing the preliminaries.”
Near the bench was a window covered with an elaborate spider web, where a white moth was struggling to free itself. Making its way slowly along one of the diagonal strands was a white spider about the size of a quarter. Transfixed, Beth stared at it. After a moment, she snapped out of her trance and used the end of her Maglite to destroy the web. The moth fluttered off.
“Wasn’t in the way,” Avilles observed.
“I don’t like predators,” Beth muttered slowly and turned her attention to the trap door.
The deputy and Pappas exchanged glances. Pappas snapped a picture of the handle as Beth held her pen next to the print to mark its location and provide some perspective. He then dusted the area while she kept the Polilight in place. Once that was done, he lifted the print off with tape and attached it to a card.
“Slender,” Pappas observed. “Could belong to a woman.”
He deposited the card with the print in a plastic bag and sealed it. They then returned to the trap door and shined their Maglites into the hole while the sheriff and his deputy looked on. A black beetle skittered across the top rung of the ladder and disappeared into a crack in the shaft. Conscious the men were watching her, Beth clenched her jaw. She’d never cared for tight places, and the thought of going down there made her stomach clench. A queasy stomach, however, was better than dying of embarrassment because she froze and couldn’t do her job. Being a woman in a men’s club only made matters worse.
Lesser of two evils, her inner voice whispered.
After what seemed like an eternity, she forced herself to move, dropped down into a crouch, and examined the first few rungs of the ladder closely. There were markings in the dust. Someone had clearly been there.
Pappas saw them as well and asked, “How do you want to play this?”
Beth pulled the poncho over her head and tossed it onto the hay. “We’ll never find that girl standing here,” she said, drawing her weapon. “Me first. You follow.”
“I’ll come, too,” Avilles said.
Beth liked him better for that.
“Let’s keep it at two,” she said, remembering Jack Kale’s comment about the number of people walking a crime scene. “Any more and we risk contamination. You okay with that?”
Avilles nodded.
“Sheriff?” Beth asked.
“Makes sense,” Blaylock said. “We’ll guard the front door. I don’t know if you’ll have reception down there, but try to stay in touch with your cell phone so we know you’re all right.”
Beth pulled her phone out and examined the screen. “Two bars,” she said. “I’ll keep going as long as I can.” She turned to Pappas and asked, “Ready?”
“Ready.”
“As soon as I clear the area, you follow.”
Pappas nodded.
Grateful she’d worn slacks that day, Beth lowered herself down the ladder rung by rung. Pappas and Avilles used their flashlights to light the way. At the midpoint, Beth paused and looked closer at the rung level with her eyes.
“Got a blue thread here,” she announced, placing it in an evidence bag.
“Betsy Ann’s mom told me she was wearing a blue blouse when she left home,” Avilles said.
The lower she got, the more she became conscious of a dank smell hovering in the darkness. Her heart was beating faster, so much so that she had to force herself to take several breaths to slow her respiration down.
The room they’d seen from above was nothing more than an irregular opening at the bottom of the ladder. It couldn’t have been more than six feet square. She assumed a combat stance and swept her light and gun back and forth until she was satisfied there were no threats. The light revealed a series of wooden two-by-eight boards jammed into the walls for support. They were frail with age and did nothing to increase her comfort level. Ahead, the tunnel’s blackness swallowed her flashlight beam. The roof was only an inch or two above her head and supported by more of the beams.
Pappas won’t be happy.
“Clear, Dan,” she called up. “Watch your head when you come down. It’s pretty tight.”
The big detective began his descent. When he reached the bottom, there was barely enough room for them to stand shoulder to shoulder.
“Nice place you got here,” he grumbled.
“Yeah.”
“Any idea how far it runs?” he said, squinting down the tunnel.
Beth shook her head. Although it was cooler below the barn, her face was bathed in perspiration.
“You okay?” Pappas asked.
“Fine. Let’s—”
Pappas put a meaty hand on her shoulder and said, “My wife hates basements, too. Let’s take it slow and easy, okay?”
“Slow and easy,” Beth repeated.
“Check the ground every few feet for trip wires.”
“Trip wires?” Beth said.
Pappas explained further. “I was in Desert Storm. The Taliban loved to booby-trap homes we were trying to clear.”
“That’s wonderful, Dan. I feel loads better now.”
“It pays to be cautious.”
Beth nodded her agreement. “Ready?”
“Still want the lead?” Pappas asked.
“No, but I got it,” Beth said.
Widthwise, the tunnel was uncomfortably narrow with barely enough clearance for her shoulders. It was worse for Pappas. In order to negotiate his way, the detective had to turn sideways. He called the sheriff on his cell phone to let him know they were moving out. After a hundred feet, the air began to feel heavy, making breathing difficult.
“Fuck,” Pappas said, startling her.
She spun around and leveled her flashlight at him. “What?”
“Just tore my goddamn jacket on an exposed nail,” he said. “Monica’s gonna kill me.”
“You scared the hell out of me,” Beth said. “Are you hurt?”
“It’s just a scratch. I’ll live.”
With that, they started forward again as the darkness closed around them. After another fifty feet, Pappas’s phone lost reception. He stuck it in his pocket. Beth gradually came to a halt and listened. So
mewhere, not far off, water was dripping.
“You hear that?” she said.
“Yep. Keep movin’,” Pappas said.
It took thirty yards to identify the source. The tunnel suddenly widened into a second room. Rainwater was dripping from the roof onto the top of a cast-iron stove.
“What the hell?” Pappas said.
“It’s an old stove.”
“Great detective work. What’s the fuck’s a stove doing down here?”
Beth raised her shoulders and ran the beam from her Maglite across the surface and sides, checking for a trap. At first she thought the slender, white object sticking out of the burner was a twig. When the realization that she was looking at a finger hit her, she recoiled, taking a step backward into Pappas.
“Oh my God,” she said.
Pappas saw the grisly object at the same time. “Sonofabitch,” he said. “I think we just found the source of your print.”
Beth fought down a wave of nausea and forced herself to move closer. Her legs suddenly felt like lead.
“Get a picture,” she told Pappas, pulling another plastic bag from her back pocket.
The camera’s built-in flash momentarily lit the room, revealing another ladder in the corner. At the top was a second trap door. She and Pappas spent several minutes examining the stove, floor, and ladder hoping to find more clues. There was nothing.
When Pappas took the bag from her and put the severed finger inside, she didn’t protest. It was slender and the nail was coated with red lacquer—clearly that of a woman.
Once they were satisfied the room had given up all its secrets, Pappas said, “Let’s get the hell outta here. I’ll go first. That door looks heavy.”
The detective started to climb but stopped three-quarters of the way up and shined his light near where his left hand was grasping.
“What is it?” Beth called up.
“Looks like a drop of blood,” he said. “I think I can dig it out with my knife.”
Pappas reached into his pants pocket and produced a small folding Buck knife and began to work the wood, eventually breaking off a piece. He bagged it.
Once Shadows Fall Page 5