by Merry Jones
‘But we missed them.’
Rivers crossed her arms, met Harper’s eyes. ‘Mrs Jennings, if what you say is true—’
‘If?’
‘—then I’m pretty sure your relic traffickers had removed the body by the time you got home.’
The two women stared at each other for a moment, Harper steaming.
‘I understand you’re frustrated and exhausted, but I need to conduct an investigation, and I’d appreciate your calm cooperation. How about you show us exactly what happened back in the house?’
Hank had stepped close, silently took Harper’s hand. Then, as a group, they went back to the cars and drove up to the house where they found two very agitated men, standing at the door.
Angus spoke first. ‘What the hell’s been going on here?’
‘We were just about to call the police. We thought someone murdered you.’ Jake glared at Harper.
She said nothing, was listening to their voices, wondering which of them was the relic thief.
‘So you called the cops? What the hell went on up there!’
‘I told you, Jake.’ Angus grumbled. ‘It’s the damned university and all their publicity. Someone fucking broke in and robbed us. The collection’s been in the news so much, we might as well have had an open house for burglars.’
‘Gentlemen,’ Rivers interrupted, ‘can we take a look inside?’
On the way upstairs, Angus went on, ‘Man, I wish I’d come by earlier. I’d have caught those sons of bitches.’
‘Why did you come by, Mr Langston?’
‘I come by every day. To check on the place.’
‘What time was did you get here?’
‘Dunno. Before six.’
‘Awfully early, isn’t it?’
‘Not for me. I’m up at sunrise.’
By the time they’d arrived on the third floor, Angus had explained that he’d seen the missing windowpane and called Jake. Together, they’d gone into the house and found mayhem upstairs. A smashed wall. Broken artifacts. And blood.
‘We thought it was your blood,’ Jake moved closer to Harper.
Hank took a step forward, stood between them.
But Harper wasn’t paying attention. She was concerned; the crates that had been stacked in the hallway were missing. Where were they? On an impulse, she peeked through the gash in the wall and in the dim light below saw a heap of mangled wood and packing boxes.
A sound – kind of a groan – escaped her belly as, oblivious to the others, she rushed to check the workroom. Thank God, the crates there remained unharmed. But there was damage there, too. Despite the stiffness of her leg, Harper knelt and carefully picked up the pieces, cradling a broken ancient bird.
It was a catastrophe.
Harper grabbed her stomach, felt the loss as physical pain. ‘Oh my God. Oh God,’ seemed to be all she could say. She stood, gently replacing the broken artifacts on the worktable and rushed back to hall where Angus and Jake were shouting, cursing, pacing in distraught concentric circles.
Hank had looked at the breakage. As had Rivers and the two officers. Harper shoved her head back through the hole, gawking at the devastation, baffled about what could have happened. Replaying the night before, her encounter with Rick.
She’d fallen through the wall and escaped into the tunnel. But she hadn’t broken the wall, had she? No, it had merely given way.
So Rick must have tried bashing the wall in. And then found out how to open the door before throwing the crates down into the passageway? Why?
Rick had had no idea what the crates held. To him, they’d merely been big wooden boxes. So he’d dropped priceless, irreplaceable objects so he could climb down the boxes that held them.
‘She was up here. She must know what happened.’ Angus came at Harper from the left, Hank half a step behind him. ‘Did you have anything do to with this?’ Angus raised his hand to grab her arm; Hank’s went up to intercept it. Angus wheeled around, swinging, his fist thudding into Hank’s jaw. Harper leapt at his back, jabbing his ribs, but the officers pounced on her, one from each side while Rivers separated Angus and Hank, cautioning Jake against moving a muscle.
‘Mother of God,’ she breathed. ‘What is wrong with you people?’ She shook her head. ‘No, don’t answer that. Don’t say a single word, anybody. Unless I ask you to.’
Harper went to Hank. His gum was bleeding. She glared at Angus, who glared back.
When the room was silent, Rivers looked at them, one after another. Then she said, ‘So. Who wants to tell me what you all are fighting about?’
They all began talking at once. But Rivers made them take turns, and finally came to understand the significance of the smashed crates, that the treasures they held were part of Professor Langston’s renowned, disputed, and controversial collection.
‘It was Rick. The dead guy who wasn’t there just now – the one who attacked me—’
‘Hold on – a dead guy who wasn’t there attacked you?’ Jake rolled his eyes.
Rivers scowled, held up her hand. It made sense to her.
‘Rick had no idea about the relics,’ Harper went on. ‘He came here for me. And when I fell through the wall, he must have smashed his way through and piled up the crates so he could come down after me.’
‘After you?’ Angus looked at Jake. ‘She was in the passageway?’
‘How’d you get in there? Actually, how did you even know about it?’ Jake’s head didn’t move, but he glanced at his brother.
Again, Rivers quieted them. ‘You guys interrupt again, I swear, I’ll arrest you.’
‘What the hell? We can talk if we want. We own this damned house and—’ Angus began. Harper thought she recognized his whiny tone.
Rivers’ gaze seared him, made him stop mid-sentence.
‘So this guy broke in downstairs,’ Rivers summarized. ‘But he didn’t know about the relics. So what did he want?’
Hank squeezed Harper’s hand a little too tightly. Letting her know he had questions, too.
‘Me.’ She couldn’t stop thinking about the broken relics. The incalculable loss Rick had caused. She heard him urging her to cooperate with Colonel Baxter, to work with them. But he’d known she wouldn’t agree, had brought a gun. ‘He came here to offer me a job.’
‘A job.’ Rivers looked skeptical.
‘Job?’ Hank echoed.
‘The same “job” he’d offered Burke. Right before Burke jumped off the bridge.’
‘Hoppa? What. Saying—’ Hank began.
‘Rick tried to bribe everyone from our special detail.’ Harper tried to explain, had trouble knowing where to start. ‘He wanted to keep us quiet about what happened in Iraq. See, turns out, Burke’s conspiracy theories weren’t totally delusional. I think he was correct that our detail unknowingly aided a superior officer in a heist – a theft of millions of dollars in cash.’
Rivers frowned. ‘That superior officer was—’
‘Yes,’ Harper interrupted. ‘Colonel James Henry Baxter. The Senate candidate.’
The frown deepened.
Harper continued. ‘Pete Murray figured it out – maybe he knew from the start. Anyhow, I think Murray threatened to expose him. Maybe even tried to blackmail him. After that, the Colonel must have assumed that everyone in the detail knew; we were all liabilities. He couldn’t afford a scandal – let alone prison – so he hired Rick . . . Rick was on the detail, too. And Rick’s job was to pay the rest of us off. To convince us to keep silent. Suddenly, soon afterwards, Pete “committed suicide”. Then Burke. Who knows? If I hadn’t fallen into the tunnel, I might have “killed myself” too.’
For a moment, nobody spoke. Hank’s nostrils flared and his breath was heavy, but he said nothing, containing himself. Angus cleared his throat, looking at his feet.
Finally, Rivers sighed, shook her head. ‘OK. Clearly, this is going to take a longer, more private interview. Right now, I don’t know what we’ve got here. The blood indicates that there might indeed
have been a homicide. And we have a burglary, an assault with intent to kill by a person unknown. Destruction of property. For now, this whole house is a crime scene. Nobody comes in; after we leave, nobody goes out.’
‘But we need to find—’ Harper began.
‘Don’t worry, Mrs Jennings. If your buddy is anywhere in the house, we’ll find him.’
Her buddy? Rick? Harper nodded and walked with Hank back to the car, not bothering to correct the detective. She hadn’t been talking about finding Rick; she’d been talking about the relics. Hoping to find some that had survived the fall.
On the way home, Rivers said nothing, just drove. Harper leaned against Hank, struggling to stay awake. Wondering how many artifacts had been destroyed. Where Rick’s body was. What the brothers knew about the stolen relics – if they had been the men with Joe. Her eyes flittered closed, and she saw the passageways again, the endless corridors of darkness, twists and angles. She saw Chloe Manning’s skull fall from her fur coat. And Rick’s dead eyes, his open chest.
Damn. She couldn’t let herself sleep. Had to stay awake and tell Rivers about the men who’d been stealing the relics. About Digger, who’d killed Carla. About her certainty that Angus or Jake was involved. And about Joe, who seemed to be the leader. And she had to talk about the Colonel – who needed to be stopped.
But the steady rhythm of the car relaxed her, and a day and a half without sleep took over. When Harper woke up, she was in her bed, and the sky out the window was black. Night time again.
She bolted up, sank back, dizzy. Sat again, more slowly. ‘Hank?’ Her throat was dry. She got out of bed, started for the stairs.
Hank called from the kitchen. ‘Awake?’
The aroma of roasted chicken wafted upwards. Lord, she was hungry. When had she eaten last? What time was it? How long had she slept?
Harper held the banister, descending slowly. Still off balance.
‘Slept thirteen hours.’ Hank answered her unasked questions. ‘Now. Eight o’clock. Made dinner.’ He reached for her hand, helped her down. ‘First, something. Else.’
What? Hank led her down the hall to the bathroom. A bubble bath was steaming there, ready for her.
A bubble bath?
Since the war, Harper had taken only combat showers. Ninety seconds long, exactly. Divided into precise divisions for soaping and rinsing. But Hank had prepared this. How had he known when she’d wake up?
‘Third one I made. You. Kept sleeping.’
Oh. He hadn’t known. Had refreshed the bath again and again. How dear. Harper’s eyes misted.
‘Need wash, Hoppa.’
She glanced in the mirror, saw a clotted cut on her temple, lumps and bloody smudges, clumps of sooty hair.
Hank was undressing her, helping her into the water. Harper sank back, raw skin stinging, then soothed by the heat. She listened to bubbles popping. Felt warm water sway with her breath. Ninety seconds passed; she knew the duration. But she hadn’t even begun to wash yet. Hank sat on the edge of the tub, reached into the water and retrieved one of her feet. He began to scrub her, tenderly, part by part.
When she stepped out of the tub twenty minutes later, Harper was shiny clean and refreshed. Not tired, but ready to go back to bed.
They didn’t make it upstairs, only to Hank’s office across the hall. Their love-making was spontaneous, wordless. Both desperate and tender. Full of apologies, of promises conveyed through touching.
Afterwards, Hank set out comfort food – roast chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, apple crisp. He spoke little, made no allusions to their conflicts, the Langston relics or the deaths. Harper was relieved. She was ravenously hungry, didn’t want to do anything but eat. She was almost through her second helping of apple crisp when the doorbell rang.
‘Rivers.’ Hank glanced at the clock, started for the door.
Rivers?
‘Coming now. Tell.’
What? Had she made an appointment? Why hadn’t Hank warned her? Harper wiped her mouth, started to get up. But Hank was already back, leading Detective Rivers into the kitchen.
‘Coffee?’ he offered. ‘Crisp?’
‘Coffee would be great. I seem to be eating here a lot these days.’ Rivers took a seat across from Harper. ‘You look better.’
Harper smirked. She was cleaner, but hadn’t as much as combed her hair. ‘I slept.’
‘That’s the best medicine.’ Rivers thanked Hank as he handed her a steaming mug. ‘I’ve had guys going through that passageway. Mrs Jennings, I got to tell you, that thing snakes all over. Hither and yon and back again.’
Harper nodded. She’d seen that for herself.
‘I’d heard about the secret passages. Everybody’s heard about them. That house has a hundred stories about it. But I never imagined anything this complex. It seems like every single room has a passageway wrapped around it. Separating it from the next room and the hall, sometimes from the room above. I see how you’d have gotten lost. You might have been looping around the same circuit, zigzagging, retracing your steps for hours.’
Harper’s hand stiffened around her coffee mug. She recalled the darkness, the never-ending angles, divides, dead ends and turns.
‘You’re lucky you didn’t get seriously hurt. Sections of the floors are rotted; you could have fallen right through.’
Actually, she had.
‘But other sections are in good repair. In fact, they seem to have been maintained carefully. New floors, even ramps leading to the lower levels. Which indicates that they’ve been in recent use.’
Of course they had. The traffickers had snuck through them to pilfer relics, probably even while the professor was still alive.
Detective Rivers poured two per cent into her coffee. ‘So. If you have a few minutes, I have some more questions for you about—’
‘No, wait. Tell me, did you find Rick?’
Rivers swallowed coffee. ‘No sign of him. Other than the blood.’
Harper nodded. Where had they put Rick? And why had they moved him?
‘Apple. Crisp.’ Hank put a dish in front of Detective Rivers, handed her a fork.
‘Looks delicious.’
‘I’m good. Cook.’
‘What about Chloe Manning?’
Rivers hesitated, chewing. She glanced at Hank, then back at Harper. ‘They followed your X marks and found some remains. Yes. Initially, they seem consistent with Chloe Manning – the fur coat has her initials in the lining.’
Harper played with her spoon. Saw a skull rolling, hair falling free.
Rivers was ready for Harper’s statement, and Harper began, repeating much of what she’d already told them. In one non-stop burst, she repeated Burke’s assertions about the theft in Iraq that had funded the Colonel’s rise to power. She described how the Colonel had tried to buy off everyone who could threaten him. How he’d sent Rick to deal with her and Burke. Harper skipped over her time in the tunnel, didn’t mention her terror or doubts about ever getting out. But she talked about finding the missing actress. And Rick’s body. And hearing the men with the stolen relics, their discussion of the long-ago murder of Carla Prentiss.
Finally, she stopped, certain there was more to tell, not sure what it was. Rivers was making notes. Hank frowned and took her hand. ‘Now?’
Now? What did he mean, ‘now’? Now. Harper fudged. ‘I don’t know. I guess there will be consternation about the collection. And the police will try to find Rick’s body.’
‘No. You. Now. Danger still.’
What?
Rivers looked at Hank. Swallowed the last of her apple crisp.
‘Colonel. Still.’
Oh. The Colonel.
‘The allegations against this man need to be substantiated, Mr Jennings. Remember, he’s a prominent figure, a leading candidate for the Senate, and the election is just a day away.’
Hank took a breath. ‘Rick didn’t. On his own. Come. See Hoppa.’
He was right. And if the Colonel thought she pose
d a threat, he’d send someone else to deal with her.
‘What are you suggesting, Mr Jennings?’
‘Wife my. Not safe.’ He moved close, took her arm. ‘Famous man. Crap. Stop him. Need to.’
Rivers responded with warnings about making premature conclusions and false accusations. She talked about suspicion versus proof, the importance of procedure and evidence. Harper wasn’t listening. She didn’t know how or exactly when it had happened. But the problems she and Hank had been having seemed unimportant, insignificant. At least for now, they’d disappeared. She and Hank were solid again.
Rivers didn’t seem to think that Harper was in imminent danger. She packed up her notebook, getting ready to leave.
‘A few more things before I go.’ She folded her hands. ‘I took statements from the Langston brothers today.’
Harper pursed her lips, wondered if she should mention her suspicions. But she had no proof that Angus and Jake were stealing the relics. No evidence at all.
‘Those guys are pretty upset about their inheritance. They insist that the collection should be theirs. In fact, Jake’s so opposed to the will that he said he’d rather see the pieces stolen by traffickers than taken by the university.’
Especially if he was one of the traffickers, Harper thought.
‘He also said that, as boys, he and Angus used to play in the passageways. That they know how to get around in them, how to avoid the dead ends like the one where Ms Manning got lost. But he said, as far as he knows, he and Angus are the only ones who know how to get in and out of the passageways. So he doesn’t buy the idea that traffickers have been using them.’
Harper met Rivers’ eyes. Didn’t the detective see what she was saying?
Hank finally said it. ‘So. Maybe traff. Ickers. Are brothers.’
Rivers smirked. ‘Again, Mr Jennings. That’s an interesting theory. But we need evidence. We have none.’
‘Find.’ Hank suggested.
Rivers looked at him directly, then at Harper. ‘And there’s this.’ She reached into her satchel, pulled out a plastic evidence bag containing a cell phone. ‘We found this in the hall near your workroom. Recognize it?’
