by Elaine Viets
‘We get it,’ I said, and set the pup down. He raced back and forth across the small office, bursting with playful energy. Jace was on the floor growling at the pup when Katie called us to order.
‘Enough with the puppy love,’ she said. ‘He’s already spoiled.’ At her command, Cutter reluctantly went back into his crate. Jace and I ate our breakfast of hot Krispy Kreme doughnuts and strong coffee, and we were ready to work.
I told them about my visit to Lisa McKim’s house and her efforts to find Rosanna, even hiring a detective to fly down to Fort Lauderdale.
Jace raised an eyebrow. ‘Rosanna’s mom hired Gussie Henderson? The St. Louis PI? Impressive. He’s a retired cop. Extremely thorough.’
I gave them copies of Gussie’s report and they both read it.
‘The detective concludes that the trail starts and stops at Briggs Bellerive’s place,’ Katie said. ‘He thinks Rosanna never left the property, and she’s there, either dead or alive.’
‘Judging by when Terri the track star was kidnapped and when her body was found,’ I said, ‘the best guess is that Briggs stashed her somewhere on the property and kept her alive for several months before he killed her.’
‘How long has Rosanna been missing, Jace?’ Katie asked.
‘Seven weeks,’ Jace said. ‘If that kidnap ’em and keep ’em alive theory is true, he could be tiring of Rosanna by now and kill her at any time.’
‘Rosanna might be hidden in that vast mansion,’ I said.
‘Maybe,’ Jace said. ‘I was sure that’s where he’d hide her. That’s why I had two teams search that place with a fine-tooth comb. I even went over the architect’s plans from St. Louis County – including the new kitchen addition. I checked for secret rooms and hidden passages. My team went through all eight-thousand square feet thoroughly.’
‘What about the guesthouse?’ I said. ‘Briggs called it his “playhouse.”’
‘Couldn’t find the plans for that place, but we searched it from top to bottom.’
‘Including the attic?’ I asked.
‘There wasn’t one,’ he said.
‘There has to be, Jace. Briggs told me his guesthouse is an exact copy of my home, which was originally built as a guesthouse on the Du Pres property. Both houses were built in the 1920s. Mine has a small attic. I can barely stand upright in it. It doesn’t have any windows, just a little square air vent where the roof peaks.
‘When you searched Briggs’s guesthouse, did you check the upstairs hall closet?’ I asked. ‘My closet hides a set of pull-down stairs that lead to the attic.’
‘Let me check my notes. I brought them with me.’
Jace had transferred the Briggs compound search files, photos and videos to a flash drive. He plugged it into his iPad and paged through the information. Finally, he said, ‘Here it is! The upstairs closet was opened and searched. We found a water heater inside. A tall one, forty-gallon size.’
‘A water heater?’ I said. ‘My water heater is in the basement. I’m sure that Briggs’s guesthouse has a basement.’
Except I wasn’t sure. Not any more. Briggs’s upstairs water heater really threw me. ‘Maybe the houses weren’t exactly alike, after all,’ I said.
That water heater in the upstairs hall nagged at me. I couldn’t let it go. ‘Do you have more photos of the upstairs water heater in Briggs’s guesthouse?’ I asked.
‘Sure.’ Jace opened another file folder on his computer and said, ‘Here they are. A whole gallery devoted to the water heater: close-ups, medium shots and distance shots.’
There it was, an ordinary white water heater.
‘Did you search the basement?’ I asked.
‘Of course,’ Jace said. ‘Here are those photos.’
The basement was just like mine and a thousand other older houses in the area – rough white limestone walls and a concrete floor. One side had wooden shelves for storage, stacked with dozens of cardboard boxes with labels like pots and pans, Xmas decorations and canning jars.
‘We opened every box,’ Jace said. ‘They all held exactly what they were labeled.’
The other side of the basement held a washer and dryer, a big old furnace and next to the furnace a … water heater.
‘Two water heaters?’ I said. ‘Why would a twenty-five-hundred square-foot house need two big hot water heaters?’
‘It wouldn’t,’ Jace said. He looked crestfallen, and oh, so tired.
‘Can you search that closet again?’ I asked.
‘No way. In fact, cops need to maintain a presence on the scene even overnight, if we had planned to come back the next day. I had a big enough team that we executed the warrant in one day. We can’t get in that guesthouse without another warrant,’ Jace said, ‘and there’s no way we’ll get one now.’
‘It’s because Briggs lawyered up.’ I felt bitter and angry. ‘The rich have special privileges in the Forest.’
‘No, not true,’ Jace said. ‘Money has nothing to do with that. Even the poorest house in the Forest would have the same protection against unreasonable search and seizure. This happened because I screwed up. The buck stops here.’ I’d never seen Jace look so defeated.
‘I just hope I don’t have Rosanna’s death on my conscience,’ he said. ‘I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to that young woman.’
THIRTY-EIGHT
A discouraged, slump-shouldered Jace left for work. There was nothing Katie or I could say that would make him feel better. He was determined to blame himself for missing the water heater clue. But I had the germ of an idea. I thought I knew how to get into the guesthouse without getting all of us in trouble.
Jace was hardly out the door when I heard frantic yipping and scratching coming from Cutter’s crate.
‘What’s wrong with the pup?’ I asked.
‘He needs to go for a walk,’ Katie said. ‘I ran out of puppy pee pads, so I’ll have to take him outside.’
‘I’ll take him,’ I said.
‘Really? You won’t mind?’ She looked grateful. ‘I have work to finish.’
‘I’d love to,’ I said. ‘Is it OK to take him for a long walk?’
‘It will be good for him,’ Katie said. ‘But he’s going to drive you crazy sniffing every tree and peeing on every plant.’
‘I can’t be any crazier than I already am.’
‘OK, you asked for it. If you have any problems, use these,’ Katie said. She handed me a bag of puppy treats. I stuck them in my pocket.
‘You use bribery to train him?’ I asked.
‘I prefer to call it positive reinforcement,’ she said.
I opened the crate and Cutter romped out. I grabbed the fuzz ball’s leash. The pup didn’t walk. He had a swift, rolling waddle, like a teddy bear on the loose. I held the leash as Cutter led the way out of Katie’s office and ran down the hall. I could hardly keep up with him.
Once outside, he slowed down, taking time to pee on every weed in our path in the parking lot. Really, SOS needed a better lawn service. It was too bad Cutter wasn’t spraying weed killer.
I guided him to my car, and Cutter hopped into the passenger seat, paws on my dashboard. I scratched his ears and said, ‘You, Your Adorableness, are going to be my secret weapon to get me on Briggs’s property and into that guesthouse.’
‘Yip!’ said the pup, wagging his tail.
And we were off. Like many Forest mansions, Briggs’s home was guarded by impressive gates and stern security guards – in front. Most estates were not completely fenced where their land ran through the woodlands that linked the Forest mansions and gave the place its name.
I followed the system of trails that ran through the Forest behind the big mansions. I was pretty sure that Briggs’s estate was either unfenced or fenced with something easy to get through. I stopped at a little park about a quarter-mile from Briggs’s house. Cutter jumped out of the car, eager for a longer walk. I guided him though the park to the trail that led toward the Bellerive mansion.
> As Katie had bragged, Cutter was surprisingly well leash-trained. He stopped once to bark at a butterfly. Another time he yapped at a squirrel and started after it with his rolling, roly-poly run. The smart squirrel zipped up a tree and taunted Cutter with loud chattering. I pulled the pup away and he was off again, peeing on every leaf, weed and sapling. I wasn’t sure where he stored all that water. Finally, our comical walk was over. I recognized the ice-white chimneys of the Bellerive estate towering over the trees. As we got closer, I saw the back of the vast property was protected by three rusting strands of wire on equally decrepit poles. Sure enough, there was a hole in the fence. The bottom tier of wire had snapped.
Cutter easily waddled through the hole. I got down on the ground and checked that the green vine curling over the strands wasn’t poison ivy.
‘Leaves of three, let it be,’ was the old warning chant, though it wasn’t entirely reliable. These woods teemed with poison ivy, poison oak and poison sumac. I’d learned through bitter experience what all their leaves looked like. This vine turned out to be honeysuckle, and when summer came, its fragrance would be delicious.
I slid unharmed through the hole in the fence and shortened the leash to keep Cutter closer to me. If I encountered a security patrol, I could grab the pup and run back through the fence. We walked through the spring woods, following a small creek lined with ferns. Cutter saw a frog, ran up and sniffed it, then froze when the frog hopped away. We followed a deer trail next to the creek until the trees parted and we came to the back of Briggs’s guesthouse. It was eerie seeing a carbon copy of my home on the edge of the woods.
My heart was pounding, but not from fear. I was afraid that Rosanna might be in that house – and afraid she wasn’t. I had the oddest feeling that time was running out for Briggs’s missing housekeeper, and if I didn’t find her here, we’d never find her. Not alive, anyway.
Cutter was tugging on the leash, dragging me toward the guesthouse. I gave him more slack and followed his lead. He went around to the side of the house, where the outside basement entrance was on my home. Same here, except Briggs’s basement doorway was surrounded by pots of red and white petunias. Cutter lifted his leg to anoint the flowers, and I pulled him away. ‘Cutter! No!’ I hissed.
Now he was down the steps, pawing at the entrance to the basement. The door was painted white, like my basement door, and it had the same lock. It used an old-fashioned skeleton key.
I felt in my purse for my keys. Yep, I had my basement door key. It should fit this door. Cutter was pawing frantically at the door, yipping and scratching to get in. I could hear thumping and banging coming from somewhere inside. The sounds were faint, but they excited Cutter. Now he was throwing himself at the door with all his puppy might.
I tried to peer in through the basement windows, but they were boarded up. I had to get inside. What if Rosanna was in there? Were those her muffled screams?
Before I unlocked the door, I called Katie on my cell phone.
‘Where the hell are you?’ she said. ‘Did you walk my freakin’ dog to Kansas City?’ She sounded more worried than angry.
‘He’s fine. Cutter does really well on the leash, too. I’m at Briggs’s guesthouse. I’m about to open the basement door.’
‘Are you out of your fuckin’ mind?’ Katie yelled into the phone. ‘You broke into the Bellerive estate? If you’re caught, you’ll be fired. Fired! With no references! The whole Forest will come down on you! You’ll be ruined!’
‘I have to take the chance,’ I said. ‘I have no choice.’
‘You have every choice,’ she said, her voice low and slow. ‘And going inside that guesthouse is the worst possible choice. You could be killed.’
‘I’m going in anyway,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry. I have my Swiss Army knife and pepper spray.’
‘Pepper spray! Pepper spray won’t do shit if that maniac’s got a gun.’
Cutter was frantic to get inside, and so was I.
‘Sorry, Katie. If you don’t hear from in me in half an hour, call Jace.’
‘Angela!’ Katie shouted.
‘What?’
‘Be careful!’
‘I will,’ I said. I was touched.
‘I mean be careful with my puppy. Don’t let anything happen to him.’
I switched off the call, and reached in my purse for my pepper spray. I transferred it to my pocket where I could easily reach it.
As I expected, my skeleton key worked on Briggs’s basement door. The old door swung open with a horror-movie creak. The pup let out a yelp of joy and ran into the dark basement. He’d pulled his leash out of my hand and disappeared into the shadows. Damn, I needed leash training, too.
‘Cutter!’ I whispered. ‘Cutter! Get back here!’
I felt for a light switch near the door, but couldn’t find one, so I waited on the threshold for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I turned on my phone’s flashlight app and the darkness swallowed it.
Cutter let out a terrified yelp.
Now I heard whimpers and puppy cries from the far end of the basement. Through the gloom, I could see Cutter cowering in a corner by the washer-dryer. I could hear him crying. A shadow loomed over him, almost as tall as I was. The puppy was frantically yelping and squealing. Upstairs, I heard pounding and screaming and a muffled cry. Was that someone shouting, ‘Help! Help!’
I couldn’t tell. But every nerve was alive, fizzing and alert.
I had to rescue Cutter first. Then I’d go upstairs.
‘Screeeech! Yip! Yip! Yip!’ said the frightened pup. ‘Ow! Ow! Ow!’
THIRTY-NINE
Keeping my hand on the pepper spray in my pocket, I stepped over the threshold into the bottomless cave of a basement. I saw an old, dirty mop leaning by the door and grabbed it. It smelled like mildew, but I might be able to use it.
‘Cutter!’ I called. ‘Cutter, I’m here. I’m coming, little dude.’
I followed the whimpers to the far corner of the room. Cutter was cowering behind the washer. His whimpers were heartbreaking.
‘What’s wrong, dude?’ I asked.
His only answer was a frightened yip. I peered around the edge of the washer and saw the furry little pup rolled into a ball, being terrorized by … a mouse. A little gray field mouse. Standing its ground, teeth bared.
‘Shoo!’ I said, and prodded the ferocious mouse with the handle of the mop. It scurried behind the dryer.
Cutter’s leash was tangled in the water pipes behind the washer and he couldn’t get free. As I reached carefully around to free Cutter’s tangled leash, I saw the mouse protectively shielding six babies in a nest of dryer fluff.
‘Never underestimate the power of a mama, young pup,’ I said, as I finally freed him. I picked him up and put him on top the dryer, where I brushed the cobwebs out of his fur and attached the leash. I couldn’t keep him on the dryer for long. The pup was eager to go – and leave the site of his humiliation, no doubt.
Firmly grasping the leash this time, I followed the pup as he bounded up the basement steps. He stopped at the top of the steps and pawed at the door. I followed him, and saw a light switch at the top of the stairs.
‘Let there be light,’ I said to the pup, and suddenly, we were both blinking in the well-lit basement. Now I could see everything that Jace had seen during his search – the shelves of labeled boxes on one side and the washer, dryer and water heater on the other. He’d assured me there was no place to hide someone in the basement, and since I could hear muffled yelling and thumping from upstairs, I decided to move my search upward.
I tried the door.
Locked.
This door also needed a skeleton key. As the pup danced impatiently at my feet, I unlocked this door, too, and we were in the kitchen. As Cutter dragged me through the kitchen, I saw it was far more updated than mine. That breakfast bar was a nice touch, I thought, then focused back on where we were.
Whoa! What was that? I pulled on the leash and Cutter came tumbling to a
stop. Someone had been using the coffee maker. There was at least a cup of dark sludge in the pot. Was the killer in here?
The muffled screams were louder now. Cutter tugged impatiently on his leash, and I followed his pudgy body through the dining room (clean but dusty) to the living room with the showcase furniture (tidy but dusty), to the hall with the guest bath (sparkling clean and unused), and up the stairs to the second floor.
Now the muffled cries were still louder. I could hear thumping overhead.
The pup frantically pawed the hall door.
I opened it and saw a hot water heater, just like Jace said. With no dust on the top. Odd. Water heaters were always dusty. The rest of the furniture was dusty, so who was dusting the hot water heater?
Stranger still, the water heater was not connected to anything.
Now the screams were sharper and more frantic. I looked up and saw the pull-down cord for the attic stairs. It was attached to a hook so it wouldn’t dangle down.
I had to move the water heater. I tried to pull it toward me, but it wouldn’t budge. It was not only heavy, it was awkward to grasp. The closet was so narrow, I couldn’t get a good grip on it. I needed something to help me. Cutter was at my feet, dragging his leash. His leash! That was it.
I unhooked the leash, lassoed the bulky water heater, and dragged it out of the closet. I pulled down the steps. Unlike my attic steps, these had a retractable railing.
Now the cries were strident and the thumps were thunderous.
Before I could grab Cutter and put on his leash again, the pudgy puppy ran up ahead of me, barking and yipping.
As I ran up the steps, I was hit hard with a horrible odor. Someone in my business always recognized that stink.
Decomposition.
My stomach flip-flopped, and I tried not to gag. I held onto the stair rail to keep from vomiting.
Was I too late to the rescue?