Sam dug into his tool bag. He pulled out his cordless drill and attached a medium-sized bit to the chuck. Standing before the downspout, he started the drill about four feet above the ground. It took the bit a few seconds to get a purchase on the slick steel, but then it caught and whined as Sam increased the speed. The drill spun, curling off a thin spiral of steel. After only ten seconds or so, it punched through and immediately revved up with a complete lack of resistance. Sam pulled it back out, got his flashlight and peered into the hole.
“Nothing,” he said. “I’ll try higher.” He looked up the pipe. “I sure hope the blockage isn’t way up there. We don’t have a ladder.”
Lacey hoped so, too. They could always go buy a ladder but… She just hoped they wouldn’t have to.
Sam started a new hole a foot above the first one. The drill whined again, rattling the drainpipe, but this time when it punched through, it immediately bogged down and then quit.
“Uh oh,” Sam said.
“What is it?” Lacey asked.
“It’s bound up in something. I can’t get it out.”
He reversed the drill and pulsed it a couple of times, then tried again to pull it out. It came a few fractions of an inch, then caught again. He pulsed it, pulled, pulsed, pulled. Little by little, it came. Finally it popped out.
Half the bit was coated with some black, goopy mess.
Sam touched it, smelled it. “Ugh,” he said. He showed Lacey.
“What is it?” she asked. She reached out a finger to it. It was cold, damp and sticky. It smelled totally gross.
“Gawd,” she said. “That’s awful. What is it?”
“I’d guess rotting leaves,” Sam said. “Leaves that have been in here a long, long time.” He pulled a rag from the duffel and wiped off the drill bit, then pulled out a pair of heavy duty tin snips.
Lacey was wishing for a plastic specimen bag, and wondered if they had anything in the car. Had they passed any convenience stores on their way here? She could buy some baggies…
The tin snips bit into the drainpipe and Sam twisted them to open up the hole. Ragged shreds of black gunk hung out of the hole, too thick to flow. He cut another hole above that, slicing through the corner of the rectangular pipe, then cut a connection between the two and peeled back the thin steel. He shone the flashlight inside, but Lacey didn’t need the light to see what was there.
Black. Thick. Smelly. Months—maybe years—of packed decaying leaves.
“This isn’t a drainpipe,” she said. “It’s a compost pile.”
“That’s right,” Sam said. “This thing is completely blocked. All the rain we’ve had, and there’s not even a drop at the bottom.” He glanced upward. “The water couldn’t drain out, and the slope Liang was talking about wouldn’t allow the water to flow into any of the other quadrants that were draining. All it could do was sit there, and get heavier and heavier.”
“Until the roof collapsed,” Lacey finished. She ground her teeth with outrage. “Six people dead. Because of leaves.”
In Liang’s office, talking about a blocked downspout, it had all been academic. Here, now, it was real—the sight, the smell… and the consequences. She was shaking with anger, and ripped all the paperwork out of her pack.
“What are you doing?” Sam asked.
“Calling LAPD.” She leafed through the police report. “Here it is: Detective Gorman, the lead on the investigation. He needs to see this.” She found the detective’s phone number on the report and punched the number in on her phone.
“Better hurry,” Sam warned.
She finished the number and hit the call button. “Why?”
“Guy just pulled up with a bulldozer out front.”
~~~
THIRTEEN
Lacey glanced around the corner of the building. Sam was right. A two-ton pickup just pulled onto the lot, towing a trailer with a bulldozer on it. As Lacey watched, the driver set the brake and hopped out of the truck to unload the ‘dozer.
“Stall him,” Lacey told Sam. “Tell him he can’t do that. This is still an active crime scene.”
Sam arched an eyebrow at her. “That investigation was closed,” he said.
“We’re reopening it. Hello? Yes, I need to speak to Detective Gorman, please.”
As Lacey waited, she watched Sam walk out to the front to hail the truck driver. She took up a stance by the drainpipe and wondered if Sam had any rope in his tool bag. They might need to tie themselves to the drainpipe to protect it from the ‘dozer.
Ugh.
“Detective Gorman,” a clipped male voice said.
“Hi. My name is Lacey Fitzpatrick and I’m a private investigator. I’ve been hired to look into the roof collapse of the warehouse owned by Ray Gibbons, and I have the police report showing you were the lead detective on it. I’d very much like to have you come down to the site. My partner and I have uncovered new evidence that changes the conclusion drastically.”
The words tumbled out in a torrent. Between her pent-up anger and her anxiety over the bulldozer, she couldn’t take time for small talk.
She explained briefly about the process that led them to the discovery of the blocked drain—leaving out any mention of ghosts. All that mattered to the LAPD was the physical evidence, the hard facts. She was gratified to hear Gorman’s, “Uh huh,” over and over as he jotted notes.
“And you’re on site right now?” he asked finally.
“Yes,” she said. “And there’s a man here with a bulldozer. Gibbons told us he was anxious to clear the lot so he could start rebuilding, so I really need you here like ten minutes ago.”
She could tell Sam was still talking to the driver, but even so, the man continued his work of unchaining the ‘dozer from the trailer. In just a few minutes, the behemoth machine would be ready to go to work.
She heard a quiet chuckle over the phone. “I’m on my way.”
She exhaled with relief. As soon as she keyed off the call, she switched to camera mode and began taking massive amounts of pictures: wide shots, close shots, the gaping hole with the black gunk hanging out, both splash guards, anything she could think of in case the physical evidence was destroyed.
The sound of the ‘dozer roaring to life stopped her.
She shoved her phone in her pocket and rushed to the front. The driver was up on the ‘dozer, pushing buttons, pulling levers, and black smoke puffed from the high exhaust. Sam was waving his arms and calling out to him, but his words were lost amid the grumbling roar of the huge machine. The driver backed the ‘dozer off the trailer and pivoted it toward the building.
Desperate times called for desperate measures, Lacey thought. She darted past Sam and took up a stance directly in front of the huge blade. She made sure the driver could see her, saw him scowl at her, and stretched up to her full height, her arms raised outward.
The man yelled at her, his own words lost in the noise, and motioned angrily for her to move aside. She did not. Now Sam joined her, and they both stood firm in his path.
The man glared at them for a moment, his bald head shining in the sun. He waved them aside again, but when they didn’t move, he began pulling levers. The ‘dozer revved up louder, and more black smoke poured out of the exhaust.
The ‘dozer lurched forward.
Lacey quelled the urge to leap out of the way and planted her feet more firmly. It was immensely helpful to feel Sam beside her, almost shoulder to shoulder. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the man.
Not moving, she said silently in her head.
The ‘dozer revved again, spurted more black smoke, and twitched forward. The driver was good, Lacey had to admit. He knew how to inch the thing forward, little by little, yet with a violent thrust that promised severe bodily harm. If she had thought the man had any homicidal tendencies, she would have skittered out of the way already.
When the blade of the ‘dozer was barely three feet from them, the lurching stopped. The man sat in his high seat, visibly f
uming. His lips moved, but whether he was asking them nicely to move, cussing a blue streak or muttering to himself, Lacey couldn’t tell. He held up one arm and tapped his watch.
Lacey shook her head.
He shut down the earth mover.
The silence was almost painful after the constant roaring and belching. Lacey let the ringing in her ears subside, then realized the man was calling them forward. He swiveled sideways in his seat so he was facing the side and waved them over.
“Look,” he said, half shouting as if the machine still growled, “I got two more jobs today. I need to get this done. Come on; give me a break.”
“Go do those other jobs first,” Lacey said. “You can’t do this one yet. The police are on their way.”
The man’s eyebrows jumped up in surprise, then slammed down over his eyes again. “Huh uh, I’m not falling for that. And I’m not leaving and coming back later. You know the hourly rate for this thing?”
“I don’t care,” she said. “You’re not leveling this place until the police get here.”
The man chewed on his lip, thinking hard. Finally he raised both hands in surrender.
“What is it the police need to see?” he asked. “Something out back?”
“Yes,” Lacey said. “The back drainpipes.”
“Show me.” The man fiddled with a lever or two, seeming to stabilize the metal beast, and waved them off.
“Go ahead; I’ll follow you.”
Lacey and Sam both turned toward the back of the lot.
They hadn’t gone fifty feet before the ‘dozer roared to life behind them.
Lacey spun and saw the driver slew the heavy blade around in a short arc, then head directly for the side wall of the building.
Both she and Sam ran back, waving their arms and shouting. Lacey ran directly toward the path of the beast, planning to install herself between the blade and the wall, but she wasn't quick enough. The edge of the blade made contact with the wall, stopped for a second, then pushed forward. A hole opened up in the wall and debris began falling everywhere.
Lacey dodged a chunk of concrete that rolled her way, then felt Sam grab her arm and jerk her sideways. Knowing the wisdom of it, she still came only reluctantly. She pulled away from Sam and stood as close to the ‘dozer as was safe, guarding the back half of the side wall and hoping against hope that the demolition of the front half didn’t take the entire wall with it.
The ‘dozer smashed the front half again and again, the hole opening up until fully a quarter of the side wall was reduced to rubble. At that point, the driver pulled back slightly and angled the blade directly at the center of the side wall.
Lacey had already taken a step toward the breach when she saw flashing lights.
A plainclothes cop car pulled into the lot and drew up just off the front edge of the ‘dozer’s blade. Lacey took the opportunity to step in front of the blade, and waited there for the detective to join her.
The earth mover clicked off, and only then did Lacey hear the last whoop of the cop’s siren. The flashing lights continued to cycle from the bubble on the dash and from the grille, even after the detective stepped out of the car and came to join her and Sam between the ‘dozer and the wall.
He was a tall, lean black man, wore a charcoal gray suit and held his badge forward as he came. “Detective Gorman,” he called, sliding the badge into his jacket pocket. He approached the driver. “Sir, I need you to cease and desist. You can trailer this puppy because you’ll do no more work here today.”
“I got a job order for this,” the driver growled back. He shook a piece of paper at Gorman.
Gorman pulled out his cuffs. “And I’ve got the authority to arrest you for destruction of evidence. Your choice.”
The driver sat in his high seat and fumed. Finally he pulled out a phone.
“I’m calling Mr. Gibbons,” he said, as if that was a threat.
“Fine,” Gorman said. He walked to the side of the machine. “Give me the keys.”
The driver recoiled. “Hell, no. I’m responsible for this—”
“And I’m responsible for this investigation.” Gorman pulled his weapon and pointed it at the driver. “Keys. Now.”
Shocked beyond words, the driver dropped his phone and fumbled the keys out of the ignition. He tossed them down to Gorman, and as soon as the detective moved away, grabbed up his phone and ran for his truck. He shut himself up in the cab and began stabbing at his phone with a stubby finger.
Gorman joined Sam and Lacey again, chuckling as he holstered his gun. “That should keep him out of our hair for a while.”
“Thank you,” Lacey said with a sigh of relief.
“Sure thing, Ms. Fitzpatrick. Or should I say Detective Fitzpatrick?” He took her hand in a warm handshake.
“Oh, but I’m not…”
“I know.” He smiled. “But your reputation precedes you.” He offered his hand to Sam. “And you must be the notorious Sam Firecloud.”
“Yes, sir,” Sam said with a grin.
“I was very glad to get your call,” he said. “I didn’t care for the way this investigation wrapped up, but I had no further evidence to contradict it. I just felt it had a stink to it, you know?”
Lacey smiled grimly. “You’re more right than you know. Come on back here. We’ll show you what we found.”
As Gorman studied the ragged hole in the pipe and the stinking black gunk inside, Sam explained the whole odyssey to this point, ghosts and all. Gorman followed Sam to the far corner and the other, damp, drainpipe, then returned to the offending one. He felt everything Sam pointed out, including the black goo, took pictures and finally called in for forensics backup.
“I’m thinking,” he said, staring up at the top of the pipe, “our guys can do some testing of this thing, pour some water in and see if it percolates through, and if it does, establish the rate.” He eyed the sticky black mass. “But I’d be surprised if anything gets through at all.”
“Me, too,” Lacey said, “especially if that dry splash guard is any indication.”
Just then they heard tires on gravel, and Gibbons pulled his own pickup next to the idle bulldozer. He leaped from the truck, slamming the door behind him, and stalked to the three talking in the back. The ‘dozer driver hung back near his machine.
“What the hell is going on?” he demanded. “You said you were done with your work here. What’s this all about?” He waved a hand at the ‘dozer.
“I said we were close to done,” Sam said. “We found the last bit of evidence we needed today.” He pointed to the hole in the pipe.
Gibbons leaned closer to look, but not too close. “What is that stuff?”
“Decomposing leaves,” Sam said, “clogging the drainpipe. This pipe was so solidly packed with dead leaves, no water could drain from this section of the roof. This quadrant gave way first, taking the rest of the roof down with it. Six lives lost, because you couldn’t bother to do some simple maintenance.”
Gibbons’ face blanched. “But… but I… No, that would be up to the HVAC people, when they did their seasonal checks. They…”
“Who are they?” Sam asked, his face hard. “And do you have a contract with them that says clearing the drains was part of their responsibility?”
Gibbons looked visibly scared. His eyes darted about, and he swallowed heavily. “I, uh, I don’t know…”
“If you don’t have that spelled out in a contract,” Sam continued, “you’re on the hook for this. And for those six lives lost due to your negligence.”
Gibbons’ eyes narrowed and his expression hardened. “You’re way off base here, and this building is being leveled. Get off my property.”
“I think not,” Gorman said. He held up his badge. “This is an active crime scene. No one is laying a finger on anything here until my team has finished their investigation, which might take a while. You and your man here might just as well pack up and leave. We’ll let you know when we’re done.”
Gibbons’ face flushed an infuriated red. He glared at the three of them, flexed his hands into fists, and shifted his feet nervously. He finally focused his attention on Sam.
“You!” he spat. “This is all your fault. You’re a fraud. There are no ghosts. You won’t see one more penny from me. Not one penny. I’m telling everyone that you do not talk to ghosts.”
Sam shrugged, completely unperturbed. “Fine with me, although I suspect the police report is going to say different.” He nodded toward Gorman.
Gorman smiled wickedly. “That’s right.” He indicated the revealing hole in the drainpipe. “How else would we know to look here?” He stared down his nose at Gibbons. “We’ll be in touch about the possibility of negligent homicide charges. Don’t leave town.”
Practically apoplectic now, Gibbons sputtered and stammered. The changing emotions that flickered across his face cycled from suspicion to anger to abject fear. Finally he pointed a shaking finger at Sam.
“I’ll see you in court,” he sneered.
“Any time,” Sam said.
Still shaking with rage, Gibbons stomped off and began shouting at the ‘dozer driver. The two of them got into a quiet, but very heated argument.
Two more unmarked cars pulled up to the curb, and Gorman turned to Sam and Lacey.
“I think we’ve got this covered now,” he said. “You two are free to go if you want.”
Sam and Lacey traded looks. Sam nodded.
“We’ll leave it in your capable hands,” he told Gorman.
“Here’s my card,” Lacey said. “If you have any questions, just give us a call.”
Gorman took the card. “Will do,” he said. “Why don’t you two go celebrate?”
~~~
FOURTEEN
“Well, that was fun,” Lacey said as she started the car. “Remind me to turn down any future jobs that involve bulldozers, would you?”
Sam chuckled. “That’s an occupational hazard we haven’t run into before.”
She pulled out of the lot, noting the team of investigators that swarmed toward Gorman.
Storm Walk Page 6
