by James Hunt
***
Dawn arrived quicker than Cooper would have liked as she pulled the jacket over her face to block out the morning sun breaking through the front windshield of her cruiser. But when the light refused to recede, she lifted her seat to an upright position and rested her forehead on the steering wheel. With dry, tired eyes, she squinted into the empty parking lot she pulled into last night and found herself alone. With her mind still clouded from the restless sleep, the first stop was a quick coffee and breakfast. Once awake, the next destination was the precinct.
When Cooper arrived the night shift was clocking out. She spotted Agent Hemsworth across the bullpen, and before she could duck into her office, he spotted her, “Detective Cooper, I need to have a word.”
Cooper sipped the coffee, hoping the caffeine would offer her the needed strength to deal with him. “What?” But before he answered she already knew the question of his inquiry as she saw the binder tucked under his arm.
Hemsworth pulled her out of the open hallway and into her office, sealing them both inside. He lifted the binder, waving it in front of her face. “I assume you know what this is?”
Cooper set the coffee down and then took a seat herself. “Do you?”
Hemsworth tossed the binder on the desk. “I checked the records in there, and saw that you pulled them without permission.” He stepped forward, the authoritative tone growing with every word. “That’s a felony.”
Cooper reached for the binder and opened it to the first page. A picture of a middle-aged man, complete with weight, height, and physical description, was the first thing that greeted her. She grimaced at his face, turning the page. “If you knew about the miscarriage, then you know why I have this.”
“Yes,” Hemsworth said. “I do.” He picked up the file and cleared his throat. “Henry Miller. Aged forty-six. Caucasian. Six feet, two hundred pounds, brown hair and green eyes. Deceased.” He snapped the binder shut and drummed his fingers on the cover. “I see you got your mother’s looks.”
Anger from the comment dissolved Cooper’s fatigue, and she shot out of her chair, her fiery gaze locked on Hemsworth as she knocked the binder out of his hands. “This binder doesn’t have anything to do with the case. And neither does half the evidence I saw your people tag.”
Hemsworth’s cheeks reddened, and he puffed his chest. “You stole confidential material from a federal database to hunt down your own biological father, who you found was already dead.” He gestured around to the office. “Is that why you got into police work? So you could hunt him down?”
“If you want to charge me, then do it.” Cooper spit the words, kicking the binder away and sending some of the papers spilling out over the sides. “Or you might not have to the way the reporters have been snooping around.” She ran her hands through her hair, her nerves fraying, and let out a sigh. “Half the police force uses the DMV to look up old boyfriends or girlfriends, check up on who their kids are dating.” She turned around. “I used a federal database to locate my biological father without permission because it was no one’s business but my own. And it still is.”
“Detective, you and your family are at the center of a federal investigation. By now someone has leaked your information to the press, and the entire country will know what’s happening by this afternoon. Knowledge of obtaining unwarranted pieces of information is not something you want added to the headlines.” While the tone had remained strict, the enthusiasm and anger Hemsworth displayed earlier faded from his voice. He rubbed his forehead in frustration and changed the subject. “We couldn’t find anything in your apartment. Nothing that wasn’t already found. You can head back whenever you need to.” He lingered for a moment, looking down at her father’s file. “Get rid of that before it bites you in the ass.” He stepped out and Hart entered, the two passing at the door, neither exchanging a word.
Hart set his coffee down and adjusted the tie on his collar. “What’d he want?”
“My apartment’s a dead end,” Cooper answered. Hart nodded, reaching for his coffee and rubbing his eyes. Cooper noticed the dark circles and the fact that he hadn’t shaved this morning. “You all right?”
“Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” Hart drained half his cup and set the mug down. “The baby kept waking Alice up, which kept waking me up.”
A quick knock on their door, and the panicked face of one of the desk officers ended the brief quiet. “We’ve got another one.”
Cooper drained the rest of her coffee and followed the officer out to the front. When she stepped out into the waiting area she saw the news trucks still camped out front, but her attention was focused on the young man that paced the waiting room floor, holding a folded piece of paper that trembled along with his arms. “Can I help you?”
The young man stopped and looked at Cooper. The peach fuzz on his cheeks was a failed attempt at trying to look older, his voice cracking as he spoke. “I-I don’t know. I saw what was happening on the news, and then I got this.” He looked down to the paper. Most of the edges were crinkled. “I don’t know what it means.”
He extended the note and Cooper reached for it, un-crinkling the paper carefully, taking in the letter written in red crayon. “How long has she been missing?”
The young man was thin, all skin and bones, with a thick mop of brown hair on his head. “I-I just saw her last night. I spoke to her an hour ago actually, and she was fine. And then when I went out to my car to head to work I saw this on my windshield.” The vein on the side of his neck pulsed quickly, and all of the color faded from his cheeks. “Did something happen to her?”
“Let’s get some information from you, and we’ll figure that out together.” Hart stepped in, taking the young man by the arm and leading him back into one of the interrogation rooms. Cooper lingered in the waiting room and reread the note:
Dear Addy,
Do you remember how hard high school was? The pressure, the hazing, the constant worry of whether or not people liked you, and that first-time feeling of young love?
Once there was a young boy who knew that struggle all to well. He was small, weak, but intelligent. Attributes that none of his peers appreciated. He struggled through school, waiting and wishing for the day he could escape, waiting for his moment to shine, waiting for those who could help lift him up instead of bring him down. He fought through ridicule and bullying, pain and insecurities, and when he finally managed to arrive on the other side, he barely had enough left of his soul to survive.
But on an evening six months ago, everything changed. The young boy had grown into a young man, and on his way home from the movie theater he came across a young woman. She was distraught, searching for a watch her grandmother had given her. The young man stopped to help look, and when he found the watch in a thick cluster of bushes the two became lost in conversation.
And in that conversation the young man shed all of his fears and insecurities, and asked the woman on a date. They grabbed coffee. And then dinner. And then dessert. They shared the same interests, loved the same music and films, and suddenly the young man who struggled for so long finally felt like he could fly.
Don’t let their future stay buried. Save her, Addy.
Love,
Beth
Cooper crumpled the paper in her hands and joined Hart in the interrogation room. When she burst inside the young man recoiled at her sudden aggressiveness. “How long were you seeing your girlfriend?”
The young man stuttered, his lips moving faster than his mouth. “U-Umm. Six months. Today.”
Cooper hunched over the table, leaning closer. “What does she do for a living?”
The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. “She’s a teacher. An English teacher.”
Cooper circled the table, Hart watching her as he remained quiet in his chair, writing down the man’s responses. “What about you? What’s your profession?”
“I’m studying for my doctorate in History at the University of Maryland
.”
Cooper grabbed the young man by his shoulders, and he looked bewildered and confused. “Today, six months. You were going to celebrate with her, right?”
“Y-Yes,” he stuttered in answer.
Cooper dug her fingers into the man’s shoulders tightly, and he winced. “Is there somewhere special you were going to take her?”
“Westminster Hall. We both have an affinity for Edgar Allen Poe. It’s one of the things we spoke about on our first date.”
Cooper released the young man and bolted out of the room. She found Hemsworth on the way to the parking lot and smacked him on the shoulder. By the time he looked up both she and Hart were at the door. “Tell your people to get to Westminster Hall! Now!”
Chapter 7
Cooper swayed left, then right, her shoulder slamming against the car door as Hart maneuvered through traffic that parted from the wailing siren and flashing lights. She bounced her knee up and down nervously, the adrenaline coursing through her veins eradicating the fatigue of her body. “The killer’s keeping this one alive.”
Hart kept his eyes on the road, jerking the steering wheel left and right on their way to the heart of the city. “You think he’s waiting for us at Westminster with another bomb or something?”
“No. This will be different. He wants to keep us on our toes.” Cooper balled her hands into fists, glancing out the window at the passing traffic and buildings. “Why would he try and keep one of them alive?” She retraced the letters in her mind, trying to single out anything they shared in common. “Both letters had some representation of an anniversary, a date. The killer punishes the victim by making their families suffer.” That’s why he took Beth. To make me suffer. But why?
The squad car’s engine revved as Hart floored the accelerator. The FBI sedans were close behind, but they arrived at Westminster first. What few people were at the grounds immediately started taking pictures of the massive police force that overwhelmed the property, followed quickly by the news crews that had chased them from the precinct. “Hart, get some officers over here to deal with crowd control. This place is about to turn into a mad house.”
Hart radioed for backup, and Cooper followed the signs to the main office, where she was greeted by an elderly woman sitting behind a desk. “Ma’am, I need you to call all of your employees on the premises to the front office.” She flashed her badge. “I also need to take a look at any security footage you have.”
The old woman’s jaw hung loose. “We don’t have a lot of staff here during the week, especially in the morning. But I can call our groundskeeper if you’d like.” She looked past Cooper to the widow and the growing spectators and cars outside. “Is there something wrong?”
“Everything’s fine, ma’am.” Hemsworth entered and gave an assuring nod. “Detective, I need a word.” Cooper followed him around to the side of the main administration building, out of view of the reporters. “Mind telling me what we’re dealing with here?”
Cooper retrieved the note, handing it to him. “A young woman was taken, and I think she’s buried somewhere on the grounds. And I think we have a limited amount of time to pull her out of this alive.”
Hemsworth slowly turned and examined the hundreds of headstones that lined the property until he reached the entrance of the catacombs. “Hell of a place to find someone alive.”
“Hemsworth, we can save her.” She felt the well of desperation rising in her voice, and just before he answered, the invasion of a microphone in his face disrupted his thought.
“Janet Kimmings, Channel Four News. Did the killer strike again?” The reporter shifted the microphone between Hemsworth and Cooper. “Could there be another bomb ready to blow on the premises?”
Hemsworth shoved the camera out of his face and waved his arms. “Ma’am, I’m going to need you to step back. We’re in the middle of a crime scene, and we need to secure the perimeter. Tommy!” Another agent jogged over and removed the reporter and her cameraman from their sight and back behind the police line being set up.
Cooper felt the pressure mounting. She couldn’t afford to be wrong anymore. Too much was at stake, and time was running out. Just find the girl. She’s here. I can save her. Another long exhale, and she looked back to the building, where she saw Hart speaking with the groundskeeper. The old man was rubbing the stubble along his jaw when she walked up. “We need to see where Edgar Allen Poe was buried.”
“It’s to the east of the property, but I can tell you I was just near there and didn’t see anything.” The old groundskeeper pointed a shaky finger in the general direction, and before he could finish his slow step forward Cooper had already broken into a sprint. Her hastened pace triggered Hart and a few of the FBI agents to spring into action, and they weaved through the ancient graves of Westminster Hall.
The headstones she passed varied in size and shape, but nearly all of them had been weathered by time, some of the lettering on the stones undecipherable. Twice Cooper stumbled over the raised stones that sealed the dead in their graves. Her feet smacked the path of paved brick and grass, pushing herself closer to Poe’s monument.
“I found it here!” Hart said.
The monument stood five feet high and nearly as many feet wide. But underneath was nothing but solid brick and concrete. Cooper placed her hand on the warm stone, shaking her head. “This doesn’t make any sense.” She searched for any scrape marks along the ground, anything that would have signaled the stone had been moved.
“There’s no way this guy could have buried her under here.” Hart followed Cooper around the stone twice, grabbing her arm to force her to stop. “Cooper. She’s not here.”
A warm breeze grazed Cooper’s cheek and blew scattered leaves against her pant legs. Cooper brushed the hair out of her eyes and motioned toward the rest of the compound. “We need to search the property. Anything that feels or looks out of place, I want it turned over.” She looked back to Hart. “We’ll check the catacombs below.”
Cooper and Hart followed the groundskeeper underneath the church while Hemsworth directed the FBI on the surface. When she took the first step into the darkness she heard the barks of the K-9 units unleashed onto the property, their howls echoing into the tombs below.
A few dim lights guided their path once beneath the ground, and the air grew cold and damp. The old groundskeeper shuffled forward, the hem of his trousers scraping the dirty pavement as they passed the ancient tombs. Cooper reached for her flashlight, searching each tomb she passed, checking to see if any had been moved, but every piece of stone she examined hadn’t been touched for centuries. She pointed the light ahead, and the halls twisted farther than her light reached. “How many tombs are down here?”
The groundskeeper scratched the bottom of his chin and squinted his face in concentration. “I think we have somewhere around one hundred and eighty plots here, and, hey!” The old man shouted at Cooper as she tried to lift one of the stone lids on the nearest tomb. He hobbled over, knocking her hands away. “You’re not allowed to disturb these, lady. These things are nearly as old as I am.”
“A woman is buried under one of these. Alive. And every second we waste debating on whether or not we’re disturbing the dead is one more that ticks closer to adding her to the number buried down here.” Cooper’s voice grew louder, the musty air of the dead mocking her rage. “Now open the fucking graves!”
The old man looked past Cooper to the other officers and then slowly nodded. “Fine. But I’m not going to be the one who’s held responsible for this. In this life or the next.”
Crowbars were brought down with a dozen agents, and the race to find the woman was on. Iron scraped against ancient stone, and with every tomb overturned a musk of death filled the catacombs. But with every overturned rock only bones and tattered clothes were revealed. The skeletons smiled under the glow of flashlights, silently laughing as the sands of the woman’s hourglass slowly sifted away.
Twenty minutes had passed, and Hart jogged from the
far end of the catacombs, crowbar in hand, with three agents behind him. “She’s not down here, Cooper.” He looked behind him, pointing deeper into the darkness. “We’ve checked all of them in the back. It’s nothing but corpses.”
Cooper shone the light over the FBI agents and the exposed tombs. She paced back and forth in the same six-foot space, retracing the letter the killer had forced Beth to write. What did I miss? What was I supposed to do? She slammed the flashlight on the ground, shattering the bulb inside. “She’s supposed to be here!” Her voice echoed through the long halls of the catacombs, bouncing over the ancient walls and back in her face, flushing her cheeks red. She shut her eyes, muttering the same words to herself over and over. I have to save her.
The touch of a hand on her shoulder ended the frantic mantra, and Hart lifted her chin. “Cooper, she’s not here.”
Footsteps echoed toward the catacombs’ entrance, and Hemsworth appeared, flanked by his agents. “We’ve scanned over half the property and haven’t found anything out of place.” The tone in his voice was as hard as the ancient stones that surrounded them. “Every news crew in the city is up there, and every single one of them is spinning a tale of panic!” He thrust his hands in the air, exasperated.
“Everything the killer has done so far—”
“Everything he’s done has been one step ahead of you!” Hemsworth thrust a finger in her face, and even in the dim lighting she could tell his cheeks had flushed red. “You were wrong, Detective. This guy is playing you.”
The strength and hope Cooper had clung to slowly dripped from her fingertips, and she felt the heavy weight of uncertainty fall onto her chest. She stumbled backward, feeling lightheaded and suddenly out of breath. “The note said we could save her, which meant she was, is,” she said, correcting herself, “still alive.” She pressed her hands against the side of one of the tombs, the exposed corpse casting its judgment. Color faded from the tips of her fingers the harder she pressed against the stone. “The woman is here, and she is running out of time.”
