“Let’s go see what Grant stirred up,” MacNeice said. He and Aziz climbed out of the Chevy and walked toward Mercy’s front entrance.
Dylan thought he was in trouble when Coach Knox came out of the office and came toward him with his head down. Dylan had been shooting hoops in his first period spare, and the only broken rule that came to mind was that he was wearing a hoodie in the gym.
“Do you trust me, Dylan?” Knox came close and took the boy by the shoulders.
“Sure.”
“What I’m going to ask you to do will seem strange, but I need you to trust me—it’s important.” He turned and began to lead Dylan to the exit doors. “There’s something you need to know—I mean about your parents … and me.”
“Is this what Detective Superintendent MacNeice asked me about?”
Knox stopped for a moment, but then said, “Possibly, yes.” He threw his hip against the crash bar, opening the door. Above them, the Mercy Panthers’ championship banners fluttered in the draft.
Outside, a light rain was falling and Dylan pulled the hood over his head. His coach was wearing only sweatpants and a short-sleeved polo with the team’s logo on it. Walking the boy around the football field, he said, “I’ve got something special stored in a secret cupboard in that concrete shaft that leads to the storm sewer. It’s the only place I know where it would be safe. City workers haven’t been down there for years.”
Dylan frowned at him doubtfully, but just then the team’s equipment manager passed by; the men nodded to each other. When the equipment manager was out of earshot, Knox said, “Trust me on this, Dylan, it’ll be all right—I promise.” He dug in his sweatpants pocket and took out a key chain with a number of keys on it. He picked one out and showed it to the boy. “I removed the city lock on the cupboard a while ago and put on a lock of my own.”
He half smiled and climbed the six steps to the top of the storm sewer riser, where he lifted the overflow grate and held it up for the boy. Dylan hesitated, but then he climbed in.
“Climb down to the bottom. There’s plenty of room to stand up down there. Don’t worry, there aren’t any rats, and I’ll be right behind you.”
MacNeice opened Mercy’s massive faux Gothic door for Aziz and stepped inside behind her. They were met by Celestine Brion, who’d spotted the unmarked cars idling on the side street. She wanted to know why they were there and asked how she might help, though actually what she wanted was the drama to stop so her school could return to normal.
“We’re here to interview Coach Knox,” MacNeice said.
“Well, his first class isn’t until …,” she looked up at the caged clock on the wall, “9:45. Why don’t I bring him here and we’ll meet in my office.”
“We’d prefer to speak to him alone.”
She seemed surprised by that. “I don’t understand. Is there a problem I should know about?”
“No, ma’am, there isn’t,” MacNeice said, and stepped around her, leaving Brion to stare at their backs as they headed down the corridor.
The coach wasn’t in his office or the gym. They opened the double doors leading to the football field and looked outside. There was no sign of him, but hurrying toward the building to get out of the rain was a man struggling with two overstuffed ball bags that appeared more awkward than heavy.
“Have you seen Coach Knox?” MacNeice asked as the man drew close.
“He’s with Dylan Nicholson. I passed them on the field.”
“Where were they headed?” MacNeice asked.
“That was weird. Coach climbed up that concrete pillbox—the sewer thing—and then both of them went down. I didn’t even know the school had access to that.”
MacNeice turned to Aziz. “Call it in—all services, including the bomb squad.”
The teacher, startled, said, “What’s going … ?”
“I don’t know,” MacNeice said, “but you’d be wise to go inside and stay there.” He gently pushed the teacher in through the double doors.
MacNeice looked toward the parking lot and took out his phone. “Ryan—very quickly now—patch me through to the person responsible for the east-end storm sewers.” He started walking toward the graffiti-covered pillbox just beyond the football field, Aziz keeping pace.
“Hold on, sir.” Ryan’s voice was replaced by intermittent digital burps.
Less than a minute later, someone answered, “East Mountain Reservoir, Duane Simpson. Who’s this?”
“Detective Superintendent MacNeice, Dundurn Homicide. What’s the flow currently coming through the downtown east-end storm sewers?”
“Surges every half-hour. Why, what’s up?”
“Can you stop them?”
“The reservoir up here is a few inches from disaster. Short answer: no way.”
“Have you made the public aware of this?”
“Do you tell your neighbours every time you flush the toilet?” Simpson couldn’t hide his irritation. “We’re doing our job, detective—flushing till it stops raining or we get it stabilized.”
“When was the last surge?”
“Exactly thirty-six seconds ago.”
“How long will it take to reach Mercy High, near Main?”
“Twelve to fourteen minutes.”
“How much water can we expect?”
“Well … it’s a surge, so it’ll fill that sewer and last about ten minutes. What the hell’s going on down there?”
“We have two people in that sewer.”
“What the—get them the hell out of there! The water’ll hit there at thirty, thirty-five miles an hour. It’ll be like getting hammered by a train in a tunnel.”
“Emergency services are on the way,” Aziz said to MacNeice, her ear to her own phone.
MacNeice put his cell in his pocket and looked at his watch. “We’ve got roughly ten minutes before it floods.”
They ran through the rain to the concrete structure. MacNeice wasn’t sure what would happen next, but he didn’t want to be caught up in his coat and jacket, so he took them off. He could feel his heart pounding. Though his breathing had returned to normal, he still felt like there was a fifty-pound weight on his rib cage.
Glancing back, he saw that Brion and Principal Westbrooke were marching toward them, accompanied by the school’s security guard. Students and teachers were peering from classroom windows, and several teens late for class had turned to follow the administrators, willing to risk the consequences rather than miss out on something exciting.
The circular grate was closed. MacNeice lifted the cover onto its back and looked down. He could see Knox and Dylan at the bottom, standing on the sewer’s narrow walkway. Knox had glanced up at the sound, and when he spotted MacNeice, he wrapped his arm firmly around the boy’s neck. Below them, the water was running at a steady but unthreatening pace.
“Leave us alone, detective,” Knox called. “I won’t harm him … I just need time to explain.” His voice boomed off the circular wall of the shaft.
Dylan looked confused and scared, clutching a piece of paper in his right hand. “He says he’s my father,” the boy yelled. “He’s even got a letter from my mom.”
Knox said, “You don’t have to read it now, Dylan. I know it by heart: ‘Sandy, I don’t know what to do. I’ve missed two periods now. David and I are getting married next Saturday. He doesn’t want children right away. Please, please call. Jenn.’ ” The coach looked up at MacNeice. “I didn’t call her back. I’ve had to live with that.”
Knox was gripping something in his right hand like it was a baseball. MacNeice knew what it was.
He looked back at the approaching phalanx of administrators and students—there were now more than a dozen people closing in on them. He grabbed Aziz’s arm and pointed her toward them. “Get them back to the school.” He stepped on the ladder and looked down the shaft. “Put the grenade away, coach. I’m coming down.”
Dylan tried to pull away, as Knox shouted, “Don’t. I swear …”
M
acNeice took another step and then another. Beside the first rung on the ladder, MacNeice saw the foam insulated mechanical cabinet where Knox had likely stored the grenade and maybe the letter. He stopped when he heard the unmistakable sound of Knox pulling the pin.
“Coach, this sewer’s going to be hit by a storm surge in a few minutes. Put the pin back. Come on, we’ll go up together.” He started descending again.
“You think talent like Dylan’s could come from that man? In the last three years, I’ve nurtured and been more of a father to him than that twisted freak ever was.”
“Put the pin back, coach. You don’t want to harm Dylan.”
Knox shook his head. For a man fixated on control, he was quickly losing it.
Aziz appeared above them. As MacNeice took another step downward, she climbed over the edge and began to descend.
“I’m warning you both,” Knox screamed. “Don’t come any farther.”
MacNeice took another step. If he squatted, he figured he could just reach the top of Dylan’s head, though the boy was held tight in the crook of Knox’s arm.
Dylan’s panicked eyes sought MacNeice’s as Knox looked down. He seemed to be considering whether to step off the walkway and into the water. As MacNeice took another step, he jumped, pulling Dylan with him. The water was almost to their knees.
“Nicholson was a monster—I should receive a medal for what I did,” Knox yelled, as Dylan struggled. “I’m sorry, so incredibly sorry for the police officer who died. I thought he’d be unwrapped by thugs in the park … that I’d be doing Dundurn a favour.”
Knox’s hand was shaking. “Nicholson just clung to Dylan. He was rubbing it in my face.”
“He also knew about your relationship with Tirelle.”
“Nicholson didn’t have a clue. I’d had enough of the mocking and his pathetic need to …”
Dylan lunged for the ladder, but Knox yanked him back. MacNeice considered reaching for his side arm but it was on his right hip. By the time he had it aimed, the coach would release the lever on the grenade. He looked up at Aziz. She was almost even with MacNeice on the ladder on the other side of the tunnel access, and directly above Knox. She glanced at the Glock inside her jacket. She had the same problem. Reaching, drawing, flicking off the safety—all Knox had to do was open his hand. MacNeice shook his head.
“Coach, what’s the plan here?” MacNeice said.
Knox looked north along the sewer. “I have one … trust me.”
“Does it include Dylan?”
“What do you mean?”
MacNeice moved down another rung. “I can’t let you take Dylan. Let him go. Once we’re all out, we’ll close the cover and walk away.”
Knox shook his head, trying to decipher what MacNeice was trying to pull. He looked down the tunnel and back up to find Aziz level again with MacNeice.
Before they heard it, they could feel it trembling in the metal rungs.
MacNeice put his hand against the concrete wall of the shaft and felt it there too, a subtle but growing tremor followed by indistinct white noise. “Coach, that surge is coming. Put the pin back and give us Dylan. I promise we’ll leave you alone.”
But Knox was cornered and just shook his head, drawing the boy closer to him.
The white noise had become the roar of something unforgiving approaching fast, pushing everything ahead of it, including the sound, so it was impossible to determine how close it was. Dylan struggled to get free, but what had looked like a protective embrace had turned into a headlock and Dylan was choking.
“Don’t hurt your son, coach. Put the pin back before it’s too late and we’ll help you up the ladder.”
“I can’t.” The water was now above his knees, driven by what was coming. Knox turned and looked north down the tunnel, measuring perhaps how long it would take to run to the next vertical shaft. The roar grew louder by the second, the ladders were rattling and the sewer water, now above the walkway, was passing by in angry waves.
Knox may have been thinking about the humiliation of giving up, maybe about the trial, the disgrace and the media frenzy or the rest of his life in prison. The man was frozen.
MacNeice had to scream to be heard over the noise. “Put that pin back. Don’t do this.” Lowering himself on the ladder, he put a foot on the submerged walkway.
With the water slamming furiously at their legs, Knox finally made a decision. Keeping an arm around Dylan’s neck, he fumbled with the pin, trying to put it back, but he couldn’t see the hole in the grenade’s safety lever without letting go of the boy. Knox was shaking from panic; he looked up at MacNeice, who reached down and called, “I’ll do it. Give it to me, just keep the clip closed.”
“No,” Knox screamed.
On his next attempt, the pin slipped from his fingers and disappeared in the rush of water. He looked helplessly at MacNeice, his eyes filling with tears.
MacNeice yelled, “It’s okay. Just hand it to me.”
Knox let go of Dylan and lifted his arm to pass the grenade. That’s when it hit.
A wall of grey-black water slammed into them. Instinctively, Aziz reached out and grabbed Dylan’s hoodie. She had threaded one arm through the ladder rungs and held on to his hoodie with both hands. The force of the water slammed her against the wall but she hung on.
MacNeice leapt, grabbing the rung above Aziz. He edged down the ladder until he was pressed against her back, trying his best to hold her as she held the boy.
The water was boiling up toward the escape hatch, threatening to swallow them. Aziz was able to keep her head above the water only because her arm was locked around the step. Dylan’s weight and the force of the current pulled on her elbow joint and the pain was excruciating. “Mac, the hoodie’s coming away.”
MacNeice took a deep breath and disappeared below the surface, clutching the ladder with his left hand. Buffeted by the water, she could feel his body slamming against her lower legs.
Then it happened: she lost her grip on the hoodie. Desperately, she reached into the current, but there was no boy.
She screamed and smashed the water with her fist.
MacNeice’s head appeared, his face contorted with effort. He met her eyes, trying to communicate what—did he have Dylan? Coughing, he took a breath and disappeared again.
Aziz reached down and found MacNeice’s shoulder; she took a deep breath and ducked under, following MacNeice’s arm to where his fist was clutching Dylan’s belt and jeans. She was trying to find something to grab hold of when there was a flash and deep boom from somewhere farther down the sewer.
Knox had let go of the grenade. For an instant, the black water turned pale brown. Whatever damage it had done was lost on her. When she finally caught hold of Dylan’s leg, she was out of breath.
Aziz thrust herself backwards, determined not to let go of him. She could feel MacNeice’s body pinning her to the ladder but could no longer feel her left arm wrapped around the rung. With the last of her strength, she pulled against the current, shoving herself upwards. Her face broke the surface, and suddenly a firefighter appeared above her. He reached down and clamped a large hand on Aziz’s shoulder.
“I’ve got his leg—get the boy out first,” she screamed. In seconds, the firefighter was on the ladder behind her, reaching under the roiling water for Dylan.
He groped for a second, then turned his face sharply up to hers. “There’re two people down there.”
She wiped the hair from her face and yelled, “MacNeice. He has the boy. Hurry!” She was yelling as loudly as she could but wasn’t sure he could hear her words, though he nodded. Above her, another rescue worker was quickly descending on a rope line.
The firefighter snapped a safety line to the rail, inhaled deeply and threw himself beneath the surface. He quickly had hold of Dylan and the doubled-over form of MacNeice. Pulling hard, he hoisted them both to the surface.
“I’ve got the kid,” he yelled to his partner. “I can’t hold them both. Grab the detecti
ve.”
The man on the rope line swung to where he could throw his arms around MacNeice. His partner hauled the boy up the ladder, as more hands reached in from above, ready to help.
The rescuer on the rope line yelled at Aziz, “I’ll be right back—don’t go anywhere.” He smiled at her, and she managed to smile back. She wasn’t capable of going anywhere. She had the shudders, her left arm was numb and her right, looped around the rung, was throbbing as though she’d wrenched it from its socket.
For what seemed like minutes, MacNeice’s face hung less than a foot from hers. His eyes were closed and his lips had turned purple. He was unconscious, dead weight. Then an unseen team reeled in the line and the rescuer walked him up the wall, keeping MacNeice’s legs free of the ladder.
Aziz watched the two ascending as if by magic as darts of rain fell toward her. At the top of the shaft, several arms broke the circle and the two men disappeared from view.
In seconds the rescuer was back, gesturing that he would drape her over his shoulder. Reluctant to relinquish her shaky purchase on the rung, she hesitated, and then let go, collapsing on him. As he lifted her up, she was fixated on the torrent below. It remained a deafening, menacingly indistinct blur, like standing too close as a speeding bus passes by.
At the top, he set her down on the concrete platform. Exhausted, she closed her eyes. Rain washed away the grime and, for the first time since she was a girl, Aziz prayed.
Nearby, Dylan was on his back. His eyes were closed and the rain was pelting his face. They’d bared his chest, and three paramedics worked in turns doing CPR. His skin was so pale it was almost translucent. Ten feet away, she could see MacNeice’s legs but nothing more. Firefighters and paramedics surrounded him and there were open medical kits on either side.
Aziz kept praying. My Lord, forgive me and admit us to Your mercy; You are the most Merciful of all those who show mercy.
A firefighter approached on the run. “I heard there’s someone else in the sewer.”
“Yes,” Aziz said, and then corrected herself. “No … he’s gone. That explosion … he was holding a grenade.”
The firefighter shook his head. “Okay, so let’s get you off there. Put your arms around my neck and just relax—I’ve got you.” Like a sleepy child being lifted by her father, she hung on to him and he carried her to an ambulance in the parking lot.
Raw Bone Page 29
