Cruel Winter

by Anthony Izzo

  “Positive.”

  “You mentioned the estate having ears. What does she have, bugs set up or something?”

  John regarded him with a pensive look, as if weighing the consequences of what he was about to say.

  “She’s the surveillance. You can believe or not believe anything I’m about to tell you, Detective. That’s your bag of apples. But she can see into people’s heads, know things you don’t tell her. She could probably tell you what color drawers you have on.”

  It made sense. The day in the car when he and Cassie had driven around the estate. He thought he was having a stroke, but it was her inside, poking around his brain like a mechanic under a car’s hood. The thought made him a little queasy.

  “Can she confuse you, make you forget things?”

  “Yeah. I’m pretty sure that’s how she got off the hook for murdering Ron.”

  “She pulled that on me the other day. It felt like someone blew fog into my ear. I can’t remember half of our conversation, no matter how hard I try.”

  “You should stay away.”

  “Can’t do that.”

  “She might hurt you, or worse.”

  He wasn’t about to be intimidated by some little redheaded woman. “Is it witchcraft?”

  “I don’t know. She can do other things, though. Heal people. I saw her mend Ronnie’s broken arm one time without even touching him.”

  “Tell me about the killer.”

  “This is really the cherry on the sundae. It’s Ronnie’s father.”

  “How could that be?”

  Kempf imagined Ramsey collapsing in a heap of laughter when he told him the killer was one of the walking dead. That’s a good one, Tank, old boy. He could hear it already.

  “Like I said, believe as much or as little as you want. But that’s another one of her abilities.”

  Kempf said, “I don’t really know why, but I believe you. Maybe I’m getting soft in the head. Just tell me where to find him.”

  “In the tunnels under the estate. There’s a whole network of them. They’re left over from when the estate was a nuthouse.”

  “Would you mind coming down to the station and telling this to Chief Ramsey? I’d like to get a sworn statement from you. We’ll protect you from her if you’re worried.”

  John scratched his cheek, thinking it over. “All right. I’ll come down at five o’clock.”

  Kempf thanked John and they shook hands. They stood up to leave.

  “One other thing. Ronnie’s been hanging out with some kids he met at school. One’s Jack Harding and the other kid’s name is Paul. I don’t know his last name, but they could tell you some things too,” John said.

  “Like?”

  “They’ve seen him too. Your suspect.”

  Kempf took out a small notebook from his shirt pocket and wrote down the name Jack Harding.

  Back at the station, Kempf flipped through the white pages until he found the name he wanted: Grady Dowd. Grady had been the head librarian at the Brampton Library from the early fifties until he retired in 1980. He was also the town historian, the foremost expert on everything Brampton.

  Kempf dialed and a craggy voice on the other end answered.

  “Mr. Dowd, this is Detective George Kempf from the Brampton police. How are you?”

  “Fine, I guess. What the hell do you want? I paid my taxes.”

  Oh, brother. “I need some information on the Steadman property.”

  “You came to the right place. Are you really a detective? I never heard of no Kempf on the force.”

  “I am. I need to find out about the tunnels under the property.”

  “I don’t know any Kempf.”

  “Trust me.”

  “Suppose you wouldn’t make that up. What do you want to know about them?”

  “Tell me everything you know about the property, including the tunnels.”

  A pause, only wheezy breathing on the other end. “I’m only gonna say this once. It’s almost time for me to take my pills.”

  Kempf learned a great deal about the property from Grady Dowd. From 1870 to 1900 it had served as Brampton Sanitarium. Like most mental hospitals, the place had a bad history. Patients were chained to walls, beaten with rubber hoses, and doused in ice-water baths. A patient named Reginald Pike raped and strangled a nurse in the hospital laundry. In 1900 a fire started in the Tanner Building and spread, burning down all six structures on the property. It was suspected that someone set fires in each of the buildings. Twenty-three patients and nine staff members died in the fire.

  The tunnels underneath the property linked Tanner, Erlich, and Gretchen Halls to the administration building. They also ran out to a laundry and a staff dormitory. The tunnels were built so staff members could travel between buildings relatively quickly, even in bad weather.

  In 1920, Eli Steadman purchased the property from the state of New York, cleared the remaining ruins, and built a thirty-thousand-square-foot mansion. He built stables, houses for servants, and barns, hoping to do a little farming on the side. He made his fortunes in railroads, but like his father, he was a farmer at heart. Even if the farming was done by hired hands, it was important to Steadman.

  In 1925, he commissioned an engineer from the New York Central Railroad to design tracks for the tunnels underneath the property. He wanted something none of the other industry barons of his day ever had. Not Carnegie, Vanderbilt, or even the Rockefellers. A working rail system underneath his estate. Servants and workers could travel from one end of the property to the other in mere minutes. Several storm-cellar-like doors would be built, where workers entered and exited.

  Construction of the tracks was hampered by cave-ins, flooding, and quarreling among the workers. Steadman’s grand design ended when a worker knocked out a support beam and a roof collapsed, killing three men. The project was abandoned after that, and the tunnels had remained empty since then.

  Kempf asked Grady how much tunnel actually ran under the grounds.

  “Steadman expanded on them, so maybe a couple miles.”

  Miles and a million places for someone to hide.

  CHAPTER 33

  Ramsey strutted down the hallway and flashed past Kempf’s office door. Kempf called out to him but the chief either didn’t hear him, or was ignoring Kempf. Annoyed, Kempf rose from his chair and poked his head in the hallway.

  “Chief!”

  Ramsey turned, and Kempf motioned for him to come to the office. The chief seemed quiet, not his usual how-are-you, slap-you-on-the-back self. He had read the article, Kempf was sure of it.

  “Want to talk to you about the case.”

  “Fine.”

  They entered Kempf’s office and took seats at the desk.

  “Read the paper today,” Ramsey said.

  “Lots to keep up with these days.”

  “What the hell is going on, George? You suspect the killer is on the estate and it should be avoided?” Red splotches crept into Ramsey’s cheeks. “We haven’t got squat yet, but you’ve got the balls to go to the paper with this.”

  “This is the same guy you wanted me to talk to the other day and it wasn’t a problem then.”

  “Things have changed. Another murder, panic. You have a description of the guy in the article. Wearing bandages.” He waved his hands around. “People will think we have a slasher film going on here. A masked murderer who kills in the dark. Way to keep people calm.”

  “They’re already panicked.”

  “Stay off that property. So help me I’ll take your badge if you go back.”

  Kempf leaned closer to him. “I know what I saw out there and I don’t give a shit if you believe me or not. You want to take my badge? Go ahead. I’ll still go out there and shoot the fucker myself if I have to.”

  Ramsey looked stunned.

  “And I have a witness who can back all this up. He’s coming here to give a statement at five o’clock, so I suggest you stick around.”

  “What’s his name?�
�

  “John Brown. He’s Cassie Winter’s limo driver. He told me he thinks someone is hiding out in the tunnels under the estate. Grady Dowd confirmed that the tunnels exist, so we should go.”

  “Dowd’s going soft in the head,” Ramsey said.

  “Stick around until my witness shows up. Whoever killed those two guys is hiding on her property, and I’ll bet she knows all about it.”

  Ramsey rubbed his forehead with his index finger and thumb, working the wrinkles.

  “The gauze we found on the college kid’s body. It’s the same shit on the killer’s face.”

  “Why bandages, George?”

  “Disfigured. Burned. Acne scars?”

  “Don’t be a smart-ass. We need to leave Cassie Winter alone. With her money she could have both our jobs for an appetizer.”

  Kempf rubbed his eyes. His stomach ached and his temples started to throb. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Cassie Winter being a potential campaign contributor, would it?”

  “I’m still a cop.”

  Then act like one and let me tear that property apart, Kempf thought.

  “Will you at least hear John out?”

  “Fine. But after this, no more with Cassie Winter.”

  He slapped Kempf on the knee, got up, and left the office.

  John ascended the porch steps, wondering if his meeting with Kempf had been a huge mistake. If Cassie found out what he told the detective, she might do something worse than her handiwork on Ronald Winter. He had no desire to wind up as one of the living dead.

  The wind blasted, scooping up snow and flinging it. A few logs for the fire were in order, so he grabbed four off the woodpile and carrying them in one arm, unlocked the door with the other. He flipped on the lights and set the logs on the hearth in front of the fireplace.

  A knock came at the door and he opened it to find Cassie Winter standing in the snow.

  “Come in,” he said.

  She thanked him and walked in the door.

  “How about a cup of tea?” she said.

  He filled a teakettle with water and put it on the stove to boil, then took out a mug and tea bag.

  “Weather’s awful,” she said.

  “What brings you out here?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about Detective Kempf.”

  “Nice guy.”

  “Asks too many questions, though.”

  “Detectives are funny like that.”

  She passed the table, running her fingers along the maple top. “What did he want to know?”

  “If I’d seen anything. He’s pretty sure whoever killed those two guys is on the property.”

  “He has no proof.”

  “But we know better, don’t we?”

  She sat at the table, folding her leg under her. “I can control it. It’s like a trained dog, that’s all.”

  Somehow John didn’t believe that.

  The water in the kettle began to hiss and John turned off the burner.

  “What does the detective know after today?”

  “I told him I hadn’t seen anything.”

  “If that’s all you told him, why did you have to leave to meet him somewhere?”

  They were locked into a dance where one mistake could not only get his toes stepped on, but put him in the grave. And Cassie was leading. “I didn’t meet him anywhere. I had to get the oil changed in the limo.”

  He poured the steaming water in the cup and dropped in the tea bag, bobbing it up and down.

  “You didn’t tell him anything else while he was here?”

  “Nada.” He set the mug in front of her.

  “I’ll control the Wraith. That Kempf is an idiot, but I don’t think I’ll have much more trouble with him. The chief of police himself called me, and for some reason he doesn’t want Kempf coming up here.”

  “You’re sure you can control it? It’s tasted blood.”

  “It’s not a vampire,” she said. “I can bend its will.”

  “They’ll figure it out sooner or later. I don’t think Kempf will let this go, regardless of what his boss says.”

  “He may be sorry he came up here at all.”

  “No more killing,” John said.

  “Do you think I’m that foolish? I’ll scare him.”

  “Like you scared Jack and his friend? It almost killed him and me.”

  She sipped her tea and looked at him over the cup, probing, trying to see if he told her the truth. It would be nothing for her to slip into his mind and probe, prying out his thoughts and memories to discover what had happened at Rudy’s. So far it was only a verbal joust.

  “I didn’t tell that cop anything if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  “You’re lying.”

  With a flick of the wrist, she whipped the tea, cup and all, at him. It burned his chest and he jumped up. He backed up from the table but didn’t get far. A thousand needles dug into his skull, sending him to the floor. He gripped his head and rolled on the floor.

  Cassie got up and booted him in the gut. “You fucking dirty liar!”

  He looked up into the face of a crazy woman. The skin on her face had gone pale and rubbery, as if someone were wearing a Cassie mask. For the second time in his life, he was terrified of her. The first had been the night she killed Ronnie’s father, a night when he thought he would wind up buried in a shallow grave behind the house.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  A fresh wave, this time a thousand stinging hornets in his head. He managed a groan.

  “John. Tell me. Please. I don’t like doing this to you.”

  “I can’t think. Stop.”

  “Okay, I’ll stop.”

  “I didn’t tell him a goddamn thing.”

  “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

  Another blast and he rolled onto his back. Tears streamed down his face. Jesus, God, please let the pain end.

  She grabbed the kettle from the stove, steam still rising from the spout, and held it over him. “Don’t make me do this. Please.”

  She dumped the boiling water. It splashed over his eyelids and on his nose. He yelped, not expecting that.

  “Do I have to keep this up? It’s really not pleasant for me, either.”

  “Okay. No more,” he said. “I’ll tell you what happened.”

  Jack’s mother called him to the phone almost as soon as he got his coat off and got in the door. On his way home from school, there had been a snowball fight, with kids from the sixth and seventh grades lining up across the street and winging snowballs at one another. It lasted a good half hour and it was three forty-five by the time Jack got home. That drew an angry scowl from his mother.

  Mom handed him the phone.

  “Hey, you want to come for dinner?”

  “Thought you had detention,” Jack said.

  “I’m done. So you coming or what?”

  “Who else is coming?”

  “You, Paul, Chris, and Emma.”

  “What are we having?”

  “Pizza Hut.”

  There were few things in the world more tempting than Pizza Hut pizza. His defenses were weakened already. The chances of his mother letting him go out for dinner on a school night were slim, but it was worth asking in order to taste Pizza Hut.

  “Let me ask.” He covered the receiver with his hand and turned to his mother. “Can I go to Ronnie’s house for dinner?”

  “I’ve never even met this boy.”

  “It’s Pizza Hut.”

  “Let me talk to his mother.”

  That was almost as good as a yes. He reminded her that tomorrow was a half day of school due to the start of Christmas break, and that he had no homework save for reading a chapter in his history book.

  “My mom wants to talk to your mom.”

  “Okay.”

  Cassie Winter said hello into the phone and asked Jack how he was doing. He said okay and handed the phone over to his mother. Mom said she remembered talking to Cassie the othe
r day, and asked how late the boys would be. Then she said she guessed it would be fine with only a half day tomorrow.

  “You can go.”

  “Yes!”

  Paul came in a moment later, for he had straggled behind. Jack informed them they were going to Ronnie’s and having pizza for dinner. That brought a smile to Paul’s face. Paul was the only person Jack knew who loved pizza as much as he did.

  His mother handed the phone back to him and Cassie told him John would come pick them up in the limo in twenty minutes. The danger of the Wraith and John’s stories of it seemed distant, and Jack was sure they would have nothing to worry about as long as they stayed in the main house.

  All four of them rode in the limo, and they had picked Chris up last. Jack was shocked to learn that Chris was suspended from the basketball team, and after he stopped laughing about Munch’s missing shorts, he asked how Chris’s dad took it.

  “Not good. There was no way he was letting me come to dinner tonight, but after Ronnie’s mom talked to him on the phone, he seemed okay with it. She must be a smooth talker,” Chris said.

  “Yeah,” Emma said. “My mom had dinner all ready to go and I had a Popsicle’s chance in hell of her letting me go. But Mrs. Winter talked to her and she gave in.”

  Jack had a pretty good idea they had been tricked by Mrs. Winter, but he didn’t say anything. Not only was he looking forward to eating pizza, but they might get a chance to do some exploring of the mansion and learn more about Cassie Winter. Besides, turning down an invitation was not advisable. She might view that as an insult to Ronnie, and the last thing he wanted to do was be the focus of her wrath. They would go, make nice with Ronnie, and eat free pizza.

  He was starting to like the kid despite some of the crap he pulled with Vinnie and the day he had deserted them in the tunnels. It took stones the size of bowling balls to ask the rich girl to the dance, but he had done it with style. Jack never would have had the guts to ask her out. Hell, his insides went to putty when Emma had asked him to go with her. Actually asking a girl would be unthinkable.

  They rolled through blowing snow, a silent John steering the limo up the road to the mansion. Paul chewed the tip of his thumb, working the nail. Emma and Chris looked generally spellbound, both of them looking out a window, this their first trip to the estate.