by Anthony Izzo
“You were in the hot mom’s room? Did anything happen?” Chris said.
“Anyway I wake up and I’m not hurting anywhere near as bad as when I went in there. My ribs hurt, my head hurt, and my nuts—” He hesitated, remembering that Emma was in the room, and she smiled at him. He never noticed before, but she had a cute little crinkle in the corner of her mouth.
“So?” Chris said.
“I think she did something to me. I think she healed me somehow. My rib might even have been broken, and then there was almost no pain.”
“Vinnie really gave it to him good. He was hurting. Scout’s honor.” Paul raised his hand, three fingers held up.
“What about you, Fussel? Didn’t they hurt you, too?” Chris said.
“Harry got me in a headlock but the worst I got out of it was red ears,” Paul said.
“What happened next?” Emma asked.
“She says she wants to talk to me, and then she goes into this whole thing about how Ronnie needs someone to look after him, and how I’m the one to do it. I didn’t want to do it at first, but she made me take her hand and I felt all woozy. I agreed with her, I guess, but I really can’t remember it. Things started swirling and when I looked into her eyes it was like being hypnotized,” Jack said.
“Weird,” Paul said.
“You guys are shitting us, right?” Chris said.
“No, Scout’s honor,” Paul said.
“C’mon,” Chris said.
“Why would I make something like this up?” Jack said.
“For a goof.”
“I think they’re telling the truth,” Emma said.
“Why?” Chris asked.
“Because Jack wouldn’t lie. I know that for a fact,” Emma said.
Chris was a good friend and a great guy to have around if the bullies were on your tail, but he had no imagination. They could never play guns or Dungeons and Dragons or tell ghost stories with him. He usually sneered and said, “There’s no such thing.” If it didn’t involve playing a sport, he usually didn’t want any part of it.
“I say they’re setting us up,” Chris said.
“Tell the rest of the story, Jack,” Emma said.
“So I agreed to look after Ronnie for her, keep him out of trouble.”
“Are you nuts?” Chris said.
“I’m telling you, it was like she put the answer in my mouth. I had no choice.”
“That’s creepy,” Paul said. “What if she’s a witch or something?”
At that Chris let out a belly laugh and slapped Paul on the back. “That’s a good one, Fussel!”
“Believe what you want. I’m telling you what happened, you ass.”
“We all met in the kitchen after that,” Paul said.
“Then what, Frankestein and the Wolfman showed up?” Chris said.
“No, you cretin. I’ll tell you what happened,” Paul said.
Paul decided to tell the next part of the story, since he had experienced the tunnel thing more vividly than Jack. He had a bad moment when he thought he heard the back door open, but it was just the wind. If his father caught them down here, Paul would take a whipping for sure, because he wasn’t supposed to have friends over when his mother was sleeping. Luckily, she slept like a hibernating bear and hadn’t heard them.
“You had it wrong, Jack. You met us up in Ronnie’s room. You should see the place, like a palace. Ronnie said he had something to show us and pulled out a flashlight. We all went down to the first floor and wound up in tunnels underneath the estate.”
“There’s tunnels under the place?” Emma said.
“Yeah. Steadman built them. We went down there with Ronnie and he dared Jack to go down one of the tunnels that caved in and killed some workers. He threatened to break the flashlight if Jack didn’t do it.”
“That kid’s nuts,” Chris said.
“I’m afraid what might happen if we ditch him completely,” Jack said.
“What do you mean?” Paul said.
“I got the feeling bad things might happen to me if I don’t stay friends with the kid. Don’t ask me how I know, I just do. Tell them about what happened in the tunnel.”
Paul recounted hearing the noise on the rock pile, then the thing coming closer and snatching him up. He couldn’t help but shiver at the thought of the cold hands gripping his arms. They were so cold they felt like they would bond right to his skin, the way your tongue would if you stuck it to a metal fence in the winter. He recounted how Jack saved him.
“I bit the damn guy,” Jack said. “My mouth still feels funny, but not as bad.”
“John the limo driver showed up and scared the guy off,” Paul said.
Emma said, “That’s awful. Fussel, you’re lucky Jack was there to slow the guy down.”
“That’s another thing,” Jack said. “I don’t think it was a guy.”
“Now I’ve heard everything,” Chris said, throwing his hands in the air.
“I bit into the leg and it was almost like biting a frozen piece of meat. My mouth got tingly and cold, and it tasted like crapola.”
“Let me guess, the kid’s mother is a witch and you two bozos ran into a zombie.”
“Would you just keep an open mind?” Paul said.
“I’ll tell you what else I think,” Jack said. “I think whatever was in that tunnel killed that college guy.”
“I can’t believe I skipped basketball practice for this.” Chris hoisted himself up and started for the door.
“Think about it,” Paul said. “The murder took place just outside the grounds of the estate, and then we run into something in the tunnels. It obviously was something bad. What if it killed the guy and then hid down in the tunnels? What if it has a lair down there?” He was beginning to freak himself out.
Chris waved his hand, dismissing them.
What Emma said next caused all of them to freeze in their tracks.
“I say we go down and find out what it is. Unless you’re chicken, Chris. That’s the only way Paul and Jack can make you believe.”
“You read my mind,” Jack said.
“No way,” Paul said.
Jack had lost him on that one. The chances of him going back down there were slim and none, and slim just took the last train out of the station.
“I’m not chicken. I ain’t no girl.”
“Then you’ll go down there?” Emma said.
“Sure. I’ll prove these two wrong anytime.”
“Jack, why do you want to go back there?”
“To show Chris. And maybe we can help out the cops, stop someone else from getting killed.”
“How do you know the tunnel guy committed the murder?”
“I don’t know. It just makes sense. Think of it. We could be heroes. What if we cracked the case?”
“Yeah. I like that idea, Harding,” Chris said, rejoining the circle. “We could get on television. Not that I think there’s anything down there,” he added.
“Jack’s right. I’m sure he is,” Emma said. “I’m in.”
“You’ll have to prove it to me but I’m in, too,” Chris said.
“Paul?” Jack said.
Even as the tunnel thing had clutched him, he was sure someone would come down into the darkness and save him. And someone did. Besides, the tunnel guy was probably long gone by now, right?
“All right, I’m in,” Paul said. “What about Ronnie?”
“He’ll have to go with us. It’s his house, after all.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Jack. I’ll go with you, but I don’t really like it,” Paul said.
“Stick with me, kid, and we’ll go far,” he said, ruffling Paul’s hair and drawing a grin from him.
“Then it’s settled,” Emma said. “Jack can call Ronnie tomorrow and we’ll go. You think he’ll go for it?”
“I don’t think it’ll be a problem. I’ll dare him if I have to,” Jack said.
“Now that that’s done, would you two mind leaving us alone? Ja
ck and I have to talk about something.”
Paul looked at Emma, then at Jack, who nodded.
Standing up, he said to Chris, “C’mon, beanpole, let’s leave them alone.”
“No smooching, you two,” Chris said.
Paul punched him on the arm, and they left the room.
CHAPTER 22
Kempf collapsed into his office chair, opened the top left drawer to his desk, and pulled out a bottle of Anacin. He popped two of the aspirins, chewing them and wincing at the bitter taste. He’d had a pounder of a headache since his meeting with Cassie Winter, but at least he didn’t feel like he was going to pass out or puke. He remembered going up to the mansion, being let in, and getting into the car to tour the estate. The Winter woman had become prickly when he asked about her son, and that was about the last thing he remembered before the drive back to the station. It was as if someone had reached in and plucked out a slice of his memory, like a missing puzzle piece.
Head down, he massaged his temples, resting his elbows on the desk. It was cold against his skin. The manila envelope with the crime scene photos of the college kid’s body caught the corner of his eye. Maybe having another look at it would jar something in his memory. Sometimes investigations could be like doing one of those word searches where the words were hidden forward and backward. Look at it too long and it would drive you buggy, but take a break, come back, and you might find something you missed.
He loosened his tie and took the photos from the envelope. He flipped through the first few, but nothing hit him. The third one he looked at was a shot of the kid’s head and shoulders. His head was cocked to one side, revealing the jellied mess that was his throat. Arms splayed, he looked like he might be making a snow angel.
Kempf stared hard at the photo, knowing there was something waiting to jump out at him. The kid had been wearing a dark blue parka, and bits of the lining rested on him from where it had been slashed open. They looked like little downy balls of cotton. One piece in particular caught Kempf’s eye, and he took a magnifying glass from his desk drawer. He couldn’t say why it was unusual, but it warranted a further look.
He moved the picture closer to his face and peered through the magnifying glass
It was an inch by an inch, triangular, and ragged around the edges. Some type of cloth. He squinted hard and could make out crosshatching in the fiber, like mesh. Or gauze.
“Gauze,” he said.
“What’s that, Tank? Talking to yourself again? It’s when you start answering that you’re in trouble,” Ramsey said. He was propped against the door frame, arms folded, which surprised Kempf because he might actually crease his precious uniform shirt that way.
“I may have found something. Piece of gauze on the victim’s body. I’m going to check with the boys in the lab to see if they have anything on this.”
“Good, Tank. Probably nothing, but you never know.”
“It’s probably something we missed the first time. Could be important.”
“If you say so. Hey, don’t forget that reporter’s coming by today. Remember, give him the company line, that’s it.”
“Company line, right.”
He barely heard Ramsey. Kempf was already dialing the number for the crime lab in his head. The report didn’t mention anything about the gauze, but it wouldn’t hurt to give the lab a call and see if maybe they had something else on it.
“Catch you later, Tank.” Ramsey made a little shooting gesture at Kempf and left, strolling down the hall and whistling.
Kempf felt juiced for the first time in a long time. First he would call the lab and see if they had anything; then he would go to the scene and look for anything the crime lab might have missed.
He dialed the number for the Wingate County Crime Lab, hoping that they had a piece of gauze from the scene secured in a plastic baggie somewhere. On the night of the murder, the technician looked like he’d been doing his job, going over everything with a fine-tooth comb. How could they have missed the piece of gauze?
The report listed the kid’s clothes, a condom found in his pocket, scrapings from his hair and nails, and a gas can, among other things. There had been no bandages on his body, and no gauze found on his person. It had to be from the killer. It was goddamn windy that night, and the only thing Kempf could think of was the evidence might have blown away before they could collect it.
He got the operator and asked for Jerry Spidel.
“Spidel.”
“Jerry. George Kempf.”
“Hey,” Spidel said. His manner of speaking always reminded Kempf of Eeyore the donkey.
“I need some information on the Quinn case.”
“Yuh.”
“I didn’t see anything on the report from the lab, but I was wondering if you had anything at all on gauze found at the scene.”
“Gauze, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Hang on, let me pull the file.”
He set the phone down and papers ruffled in the background.
“Uh, nope. Nothing on gauze.”
“Nothing was collected from the victim’s body?”
“Nope.”
“And he wasn’t wearing any gauze. No bandages on the body from the autopsy. Shit. Okay, thanks, Jerry.”
“Sorry, George. If you find anything else we’ll run it for you pronto.”
“Thanks.”
The reporter was due at four o’clock. A check of his watch told him it was three-fifteen, and that left him plenty of time to drive up to the scene and take one last look.
The fuzziness in his head subsided, and he chalked the whole thing up to exhaust or stuffy air in the car. He still couldn’t remember what he had seen (if anything) on the Winter property, but another trip might refresh his memory.
He grabbed his coat and headed for the parking lot.
Emma knelt on the floor. She wrung her hands, then smoothed them on her jeans, hoping to dry the sweat. She licked her lips to moisten them.
Jack came over and sat on the floor cross-legged in front of Emma, and she knelt across from him. Outside the room, the furnace clicked on. Paul’s and Chris’s muffled voices echoed through the doorway, and Emma didn’t think they could hear her, but still she decided to whisper.
“So what did you want to talk about?” Jack asked.
“Lower your voice.”
“Sorry.”
Here it went. She hoped the words would get around the lump fast forming in her throat. “The first thing’s about my cousin Jacob.”
“Jacob the nerd?”
“The one and only.”
“What about him?”
“Something happened. Twice. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you. Maybe we should go.”
She had started to stand when Jack reached out and placed his hand over hers. It shocked her so much that she almost lost her balance, teetering to one side for a moment.
“You can tell me, Emma. I promise I won’t laugh or tell anyone.”
If he touches my hand like that again, I might burst, she thought. “Not even Fussel or Chris?”
“Scout’s honor.” He imitated Paul’s Scout salute and it made her laugh.
“He grabbed me. Once over the summer and once yesterday up in my room.”
“Grabbed you where?”
She felt a blush for the ages crawling into her cheeks.
“My boobs. And my rear end.”
Jack couldn’t have looked more surprised if boobs sprouted from his own chest. The look of amazement quickly turned to that of someone who has just gotten a whiff of sour milk.
“That’s disgusting.”
“I know. It made me feel slimy and gross.... What am I going to do?”
The tears dribbled down her cheeks. Tears never had good timing.
“Did you tell your mom?”
“I can’t.” Emma lowered her face and covered it with her hands, the tears wet on her palms. “My aunt would just defend the creep and no one would believe me. They think Jacob doesn’
t even like girls.”
She looked up to see Jack digging in his pockets for something. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to find you a Kleenex.”
“That’s sweet.”
How lame, in the middle of a crying fit, telling a boy she had known since they were four how sweet he was. Get it together, Emma, she told herself. But it was sweet, and that was Jack. Chivalrous Jack.
“Uh, thanks. I don’t have one though. Sorry.” He looked away.
“He said he wasn’t finished with me,” she said, wiping the tears on her shirtsleeve.
“We’ll see about that.”
“I think he might try to do worse things. But I did slam him a good one right in the nuts.”
“That’s awesome. I mean, not the situation. The shot to the nuts. Wait till I tell—”
“Not anyone, Jack. Not yet. Please.”
“Why did you tell me?”
“Because somehow I knew you would help me.”
“I will. We all will if you want. I know Paul and Chris would. If you let me tell them.”
“Not yet, okay?”
“Let me think about what we can do to him. When are you going to see the ass wipe again?”
“No time soon if I’m lucky.”
“We’ll get him good.”
“Thank you, Jack.”
She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. He immediately turned pink.
“And one more thing,” she said. Here goes the big question, and me with tears and snot running down my face. “Will you go with me to the Christmas dance?”
“Sure.” There was relief in his voice.
And she gave him a slick smile, much like the one Cassie Winter had used on George Kempf, only Emma’s had much better intentions.
Kempf gave the sedan gas and it fishtailed, the rear end kicking out, the tires sliding on the icy road. He was trying to hurry but then saw an abandoned white station wagon in a ditch and slowed down.
Mother Nature wasn’t helping any. He had the wipers going at full speed to clear away the snow as it rocketed into the windshield. Every so often a gust of wind rocked the car, so much so that he had to white-knuckle the steering wheel to keep the car from being shoved into the oncoming lane. A yellow county snowplow passed on the other side of the road, its blade throwing snow to the side of the road. Salt fell from its tail end, getting up into Kempf’s wheel wells and making a rickety sound.