Eyes of the Innocent

by Christopher Wright

  ***

  Matt parked his rental car on the blacktop where Pete had launched the model aircraft just that morning. While waiting for Valdieri to slip into his dark blue coveralls, Matt felt his way in the darkness to the pile of rubble where they'd hidden the plane. It had gone. So either the police had found it as evidence, or Pete had managed to retrieve it.

  "Stephen, I really thought Lauren was going to stop you," Matt said. "You have a very persuasive way. I hope I'm not getting you into serious trouble."

  Valdieri spoke quietly. "I suppose if you can handle awkward clerics at the Vatican, something like this should be easy. But I have to admit I found it easier with senior clergy than I do with Lauren." He gave a brief chuckle. "Just joking. Now, which way is it?"

  A glow from the reflected city lights on the low clouds gave them more light than they really needed. As far as Matt was concerned it was a case of the darker the better. Or the darker the safer.

  They had studied the aerial photographs and the Google Earth satellite view, and treading carefully they made their way to the end of the strip of blacktop that the developer had once optimistically put in. Four hundred yards beyond the end they would come to the boundary of the Senator's land. Because the aerial view was almost vertical, and the trees completely obscured the fence, Matt was uncertain what sort of fence they were going to find.

  Valdieri kept with him, carrying the shovel and cutters, leaving Matt to lead the way. Valdieri seemed to have no fear of being caught holding equipment that would definitely be considered tools for breaking and entering.

  The trees loomed high above them on the left. Matt held out his hand to the shadowy figure of the ex-archbishop. He wished they could use flashlights as they stumbled over the ground. At last the boundary fence loomed up.

  "It feels like ordinary chain-link." Matt reached up but was unable to touch the top. "We're going to have to cut our way through it, but not here."

  The concrete posts supporting the fence were the standard six feet apart. Matt smiled to himself. Just under two meters. The Americans were totally against the metric system.

  "The cabin is about seventy meters from the corner here. So we need to count..."

  "Thirty-eight posts," Valdieri whispered.

  Matt chose to ignore making a comment on the speed with which Valdieri answered. "You count and I'll count," he whispered in return. "It won't matter if we're a post or two out. We'll easily be able to find the cabin when we're through."

  Matt tried to walk quietly, but the noise of broken sticks underfoot would be giving them away if anybody was on the other side listening.

  Matt jumped as Valdieri tapped him on the shoulder. "Thirty-eight. Do you want me to cut the wire, Matt, or are you going to do it."

  "I don't suppose it will make any difference to our guilt, Stephen, but leave it to me. At least you'll be able to say that you were just here as a spectator."

  Valdieri chuckled. "I think we'd both be found guilty. But if we manage to dig up the casket, and find your..." He broke off with a sigh. "Sorry, Matt, but I think you know what I mean."

  Matt nodded. He knew all too well what Valdieri meant, but at least finding Jack's tiny body would bring some sort of closure. He thought of Zoé and Lauren back at the hotel, and wondered what they were doing at this moment. Lauren would probably be praying, and maybe Zoé would be as well. The only time he'd ever seen Zoé praying on her knees was in the motel last night. It must be strange to have a partner who prayed regularly.

  Lights shone through the trees from two upstairs windows of the large house. The rest of the house seemed to be in darkness, which probably meant people were in bed. Valdieri made him jump again by touching his arm. "If we're going to do it," Valdieri whispered, "then let's do it now. We've not heard a sound from the house, and there are no lights in the yard."

  The cutters they'd bought in Georgetown were more like bolt cutters than wire cutters. Cautiously, Matt cut through two of the chain link wires and waited for an alarm to sound. Nothing did.

  He cut two more, then another two, and kept going until a large piece of the chain-link fencing fell away. Stephen Valdieri, in his dark blue coveralls, was through the gap like a dog chasing a rabbit down a hole. He certainly seemed keen. Matt felt relieved to see the ex-archbishop's commitment.

  Although the trees were not very close to each other, the undergrowth was thick in places. Matt had the feeling that if they went much deeper they'd emerge in the open part of the yard and the light sensors would pick them up. There was only one light now in the upstairs windows. It was possible they had already cut through or interrupted a continuous line of sensors around the whole perimeter, but surely someone would be looking for them. The darkness felt intense under the trees.

  Matt jumped again when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He wished the ex-archbishop wouldn't keep doing it. "This way," Valdieri whispered.

  Matt followed a slight change of direction. Perhaps Stephen Valdieri's eyes were more tuned to the darkness than his. Almost immediately he could see the glow of the clouds above, and ahead a dark shape that must be the cabin.

  They made their way cautiously around the cabin to where the aerial photograph had shown the grave. Matt knelt on the damp ground and felt forward. Yes, there was the cross. It was made of wood, exactly as he thought when looking at the photograph. Pete's camera was good.

  Quickly he cleared the cross and the flowers from the mound of earth. It was horrible to think that baby Jack might be two or three feet below. But he had to know.

  He stood up and reached for Valdieri. "The spade," he whispered. "Pass it to me. Let me do the digging." He wasn't going to add that he would be able to do it much quicker than Valdieri.

  It was now easier to see things in the gloom. Matt knew that the ability to see in the dark improved minute by minute, and even now, nearly twenty minutes later, things were still getting clearer. He took the spade from Valdieri and began to dig into the grave.

  The ground was soft, having been freshly dug. He had no doubt that this was a very recent burial. Almost certainly as recent as yesterday. A noise in the yard made him stop digging. A beam of light flashed between the trees. Somewhere they must have triggered an alarm.

  "Someone's coming with a flashlight," Valdieri whispered urgently. "Take the spade and lie flat behind the cabin."

  "Stay with me," Matt whispered back.

  "Better they find me, than find you with the spade, Matt."

  Before Matt could reply, a man shouted from the edge of the trees, "Stand where you are. I'm armed."

  The beam from the flashlight was getting closer.

  "Hide," Valdieri urged. "I'm going to divert attention. As soon as you can, carry on digging. We need to get that casket."

  A shot rang through the trees. It was almost certainly fired high. Valdieri didn't need another warning. He crashed his way to the left, parallel to the fence, keeping deep in the woodland. The flashlight beam tried to pick him out and another shot rang through the trees.

  Either Valdieri didn't mind getting shot, or he didn't believe the threat. It was an amazing move for a man who must be close to sixty. Ken Habgood wouldn't be able to move that fast. Matt picked up the spade and dug furiously. From the street he could hear the siren of an approaching police car.

  A shot now ripped through the undergrowth. "Stand still or I'll shoot you." It sounded like Wendell Harris. Whoever it was, he and Valdieri were now in serious trouble.

  Matt could see reflected red and blue lights flashing from a stationary police cruiser in the street. Another shot, and he heard a shout of pain. Presumably Stephen Valdieri had been hit.

  "Police! Everyone stay exactly where you are."

  A flood of light filled the yard. Matt knew that he and Valdieri were caught, but it was a relief to know that they would be caught by the police rather than by Wendell Harris, or whoever was shooting at them.

  "Drop that gun and put your hands in the air," a voice ordered.
>
  Matt wished he could see what was going on, but he decided to stay put. He hadn't been seen yet. Maybe he could finish digging up the casket.

  The hole was surprisingly deep, but at last he felt the spade hit something hard and hollow. At that moment he was almost blinded by a high-power light shining into his eyes. Without being asked, he put his hands in the air. Quickly. The spade fell into the hole, landing with a clatter.

  Matt could hear voices, and another siren approaching.

  "Police. Move away from there," a loud voice of authority said.

  More voices in the yard made it clear that reinforcements had arrived. Matt decided not to show the officer the grave. Everyone was jumpy, and he didn't want to be mistakenly shot by being seen to delay.

  He was quickly and expertly handcuffed with his hands behind his back. But the officer didn't seem vindictive as he led him carefully through the undergrowth without stumbling.

  Matt looked around the yard that was now brightly lit with security lights. Wendell must have kept them off so he could detect intruders, and perhaps the Senator or Mrs. Harding had overridden them with an emergency switch as soon as they heard the commotion. They had presumably phoned the police.

  Wendell Harris stood there, his hands no longer on his head. Matt wondered why he wasn't handcuffed too. Wendell recognized him immediately.

  "You need to arrest this intruder," Wendell said. "He's been warned to keep away. He has an obsession with the dog's grave."

  "Arrest him and take him away."

  Matt turned to see who was speaking. A man in a white bathrobe stood near the house. It was, presumably, Senator Harding.

  "I believe this man's wife earlier entered my house on false pretences, making wild accusations that I had kidnapped her baby."

  Matt decided to speak up. "Yes, Mrs. Harding showed my wife a baby, but it wasn't Mrs. Harding's. My baby was kidnapped in Central Park in New York." He nodded towards Wendell. "And this is the man who did it."

  The Senator came forward angrily. Matt watched him tie the cord tightly around his robe, probably in an attempt to look more dignified. An open, flapping bathrobe and pajamas wouldn't carry the same authority.

  "I want this man taken from here immediately, and locked up. Do you understand me?"

  Matt knew he only had one chance. Valdieri had not reappeared, and might be lying dead or seriously injured somewhere in the woods. "There's a grave by the cabin, over there." He nodded his head back the way he had come. "I've just dug it up, and there's a baby's casket at the bottom."

  Senator Harding gave a loud but forced laugh. "It's our dog," he snapped. "My wife loved that dog and we wanted to give it a proper burial. Now, officer, will you please take this man into custody immediately."

  Should he mention Valdieri? Yes, surely Valdieri would be here now if he could walk. Matt felt himself being jerked towards the house before he could say anything.

  The officer holding him said, "You're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have a right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you."

  "Okay, okay, but I'm not alone," Matt said. "This security guard has shot my partner. He's out there in the woods, dead or seriously injured."

  "It's all right, Matt." The powerful voice came from the undergrowth. "The shot missed me, but I tripped and fell. That's all." Several flashlights beamed in on a man in dark blue coveralls holding a small white casket.