by Josh Lanyon
“Yes, it did. That one did. The other two hit me squarely in the vest.” He stopped talking as the memory flooded back. It had been like getting kicked by a horse in the chest. Twice. A couple of ribs had cracked beneath the impact—which was still a whole hell of a lot better than what could have happened.
He could feel the hard thump of his heart as it picked up speed. Better not to think about it too much. Kennedy could probably feel that telltale pulse too and was liable to start thinking again that Jason couldn’t handle field duty.
“I remember hearing about the Miami shooting,” Kennedy said slowly. “So that was you.”
“That was me.”
He said gravely, “I’m glad you made it.”
“Thanks.” Jason smiled. “Me too.”
Kennedy let go of him and reached up to turn the light out.
Jason turned onto his side and closed his eyes. Kennedy settled on his back with a deep and contented sigh. Jason smiled faintly and let sleep claim him.
He was alone when he woke up.
It took Jason a second or two to realize he was not in his own room—even in the gloom he could tell the difference between a Homer Winslow print and an Arthur Quartley—and then remember the turn of events that had led to him not being in his own room at…he peered at the clock…six thirty on a Wednesday morning.
He threw a glance at the bathroom, but the door stood open and the room was empty.
So…okay. Maybe Kennedy was making a run for coffee. That would be nice. That would be grounds for genuine affection, in fact.
Then he heard the keycard in the lock, the door swung open, and Jason saw Kennedy had been making a different kind of run.
He wore sweatpants. His navy FBI T-shirt clung to him, a sweat-dark line running centrally down to his midriff. His face was flushed and shining with exertion, pale hair dark with sweat.
“You should have—” Jason began.
Kennedy said, “Good. You’re awake. We’ve got to get down to the station. Another girl is missing.”
Chapter Fifteen
Candy Davies was twenty-two and, though she worked nights as a bartender at the Blue Mermaid, was an Olympic swimming hopeful. On Tuesday morning she had been taken from Holyoke Pond where she worked out every morning, practicing her freestyle.
“As near as we can figure, she’s been gone roughly twenty-four hours,” Chief Gervase said when they had all gathered in the command center. The chief looked bad. Gray-faced and exhausted. “Her car was sitting in the parking lot overnight. The lifeguard found her gym bag and beach towel right there on the grass where Candy left them.”
Holyoke Pond. Jason’s heart sank. Just like Honey.
Gervase said, “While we have to consider the worst case scenario, there’s always the chance Candy’s still alive. Finding her is our number one priority.”
Boxner was staring at Jason. Jason said, “I’ve got an alibi. Do you?” He shouldn’t have said it, not even in sarcasm. Trying to head off accusations before they were made was liable to lend credence to Boxner’s loony theory.
To his relief, Boxner turned his back on him.
Gervase said, “We’ll start the search at Holyoke Pond. I’ve already got a call into State, and we can always count on a strong showing of volunteers even though it’s a weekday. We’ve got storm clouds moving in, so we all need to exercise extra caution out there. If we do get rain, it’s going to turn these roads and trails into a mud bath.”
Kennedy said, “West and I will check out Rexford.”
Boxner said, “Rexford? He’s not going to leave her in the same place twice.”
“That ghost town has a lot of potential areas for concealment. He wouldn’t have to leave her in the same place. Anyway, it won’t hurt to make sure, right?”
“No, it won’t,” the chief said with a warning look at Boxner. “I think it’s as good an idea as any. We don’t know how this guy thinks.”
“He’s got to be smart enough not to hide his victims in the same place every time.” Boxner shrugged. Glanced at Kennedy. “It’s your funeral.”
“Rexford?” Jason asked when he and Kennedy were alone in their office.
“I can’t think of a better place to hide her body. Can you? It’s the last place anyone would think of searching now.”
“True.”
Kennedy shrugged into his vest. “I forgot you were heading out to Boston this morning. If you want to follow that trail, I’ll see if I can borrow a vehicle from Kingsfield PD.”
“I want to follow that trail,” Jason said, “but I’m going to Rexford with you.”
Kennedy’s smile was grim. “Even if she’s there, she’s not going to be alive, West.”
“I know that.”
Kennedy watched Jason performing his weapon check. “You’ve potentially got a good lead to follow up with those art dealers. I don’t know that you should waste time on this.”
Jason holstered his pistol. “The art dealers will wait. I’m going to Rexford.”
Kennedy looked up in surprise. He chuckled. “Do you think I can’t take care of myself?”
“I think there’s a good reason the Bureau partners agents in the field,” Jason said. “I think if I told you I was headed out to Rexford on my own, you’d have a thing or two to say about it.”
Kennedy grinned. “Maybe. You’re way too smart for a move like that, West.”
“I’m way too smart to answer that,” Jason said.
* * * * *
A lot of the undergrowth had been chopped back to allow the emergency vehicles closer access, but it was still a good hike back into Rexford.
The air was a little cooler, heavy with moisture, and Jason and Kennedy made good time, reaching the fork by the old mill by noon.
Kennedy took his binoculars out, studying the rooftops and chimneys behind the trees. The heavy cloud cover threw an eerie silver-green light over the wild terrain—did they call that witch light?—but so far the precipitation didn’t amount to more than a few drops.
“What do you think?” Jason asked. He took a drink from his water bottle.
“Looks quiet. There are some birds circling to the south.”
Jason nodded.
They moved on, their boots scraping rock and dirt. The only other sign of life was a fox trotting across the trail some distance ahead. The breeze blew in the opposite direction today, and even the sounds of the highway were hushed.
The rain began to pepper down harder when they reached Rexford. Fat drops pattered in the dust and darkened the peeling paint on the old buildings.
“North or south?” Kennedy asked. “Take your pick.”
Jason said tersely, “North.” He would prefer they did not split up, but that was impractical. They needed to split up in order to have even a chance of covering this much territory in an afternoon. Which didn’t change the fact that something about Rexford made him uneasy. Really uneasy. In fact, he was probably going to have nightmares about this town for years to come.
“You just want to see your girlfriend the mermaid again,” Kennedy said.
“Yeah, baby,” Jason replied. “I gots to get me some of that tail.”
Kennedy laughed. “Watch yourself.” He turned away and started down the street in the opposite direction.
Jason watched him, sighed inwardly, and started off.
As before, it was slow going, moving through each building, shining his flashlight beam into every nook or cranny large enough to conceal an adult female.
At least this time he had the advantage of having explored these buildings before. That was more of an edge than Kennedy had.
Jason came at last to the Lyceum of the Aquatic.
Jokes aside, he’d have been delighted to never see the inside of that place again, let alone his girlfriend the mermaid. Following Kennedy’s logic, the lyceum was the ideal place to conceal Davies’s body given it was the last place a sane person would hide her.
He went through the faux entrance, pas
t the ticket kiosk and the pedestal with the old-fashioned diving helmet. As he reached the entrance to the main hall the assorted weird smells of the place hit him. The rotting taxidermy, the mildew and mold, the general air of swamp gas and malaise, all magnified by the rain.
He paused, pulled his Glock, ejected the magazine, squeezed the trigger, and racked the slide. He let the trigger out slowly, listening for the click of the trigger reset.
Click.
There was no problem with his pistol. There had been no problem four hours earlier when he’d last checked it. There had been no problem in Miami. The problem was not—and had never been—with his weapon.
And in any case, they were not dealing with a shooter.
Just do your fucking job.
He slapped the magazine back in, holstered his weapon, and entered the hall.
Floorboards creaked noisily with every step. Shining drops of rain fell through the ceiling.
He stopped, staring around the long center hall. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom. The imprint of dozens of footsteps coming and going could be seen in the dust and dirt, a reminder of three days earlier.
Changeable light from the broken slats in the roof wavered over the bleached squares of wooden floor. Something glittered in one of the diorama cases, catching the fitful rays, and Jason moved to check it out.
A glass eye.
A souvenir from one of the long gone taxidermy creations. The single eye seemed to glare at him.
Jason turned away, holding his flashlight aloft. Thanks to the lousy weather, there was even less visibility than the last time.
The rain dripped from the ceiling, whispered outside the entrance. Jason’s heart began to thud as the uneasy—and unmistakable—sense he was not alone stole over him.
He threw a quick look over his shoulder.
Nothing. There was no one there. Of course there’s no one there. With two FBI agents canvassing the town?
For Christ’s sake. He was not going to be able to do his job if he couldn’t stop jumping at every shadow.
He deliberately turned his back on the entrance, scanning the room, probing the shadows with the ray of bright, white light from his flashlight.
His gaze fell on what looked like…something blue. Something…human. He started forward and a floorboard groaned ominously.
Jason froze.
Not a floorboard. The floor. The whole rotten expanse of floor. In fact, it sounded like the entire building was about to go.
He held his breath, waiting. He took a cautious step backward.
A loud and unpleasant squeak, but nothing like the other sound.
A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. He took another step back. Another startling squeak like he’d stepped on a mouse’s tail.
But still. So far so good.
He threw a worried look at the body of the girl which lay tumbled a few feet away. If the floor went, they would lose their crime scene.
Wait.
Did she—?
Had she—?
Jason stared. Her eyes were closed. Her face lifeless. No. Not possible. Was she breathing? He couldn’t tell. For a second he’d thought… No.
Right? He could detect no rise and fall of her chest.
What if she was alive?
Shit. He couldn’t tell. Not from this distance.
He needed to get closer without killing them both.
Jason took another careful step backward.
Again.
Again.
His flashlight beam picked out something pale lying a few inches from her body. Maybe a twig. Maybe a leaf. Maybe…who knew what the hell.
The floor felt more solid—that was probably wishful thinking—or at least had stopped that alarming splintering noise. Jason tried a tentative step to the side. Nothing happened. He stepped closer to the wall. Yes, the floor felt sturdier here.
Cautious step by step he traveled the length of the room along the wall to where Candy lay. Her body did not appear to be bruised and battered like Rebecca’s. She still wore her one piece swimsuit.
Beside her outstretched hand, as though it had fallen from her lifeless fingers, was a pale, round marble.
No. Not a marble. A mermaid.
Jason picked it up—the irregular surface guaranteed no fingerprints would be possible—rolling it gently between his thumb and fingers. It was uncannily familiar to the one Honey had. It even felt familiar to his fingertips.
He glanced at the girl’s body and nearly got the shock of his life. Candy’s eyes were open. Her lips moved soundlessly.
She’s alive.
He dropped the charm in his jeans pocket, bending over her. “Candy? Can you hear me? You’re okay now. You’re safe now. You’re going to be fine.”
He swiftly checked her vitals. Not good. Not good at all. She was dehydrated and in deep shock. On the other hand, she should be dead, so compared to that…
No visible wounds. No bruising around her throat. Her swimsuit was intact. How was it even possible they had got this lucky? That she had got this lucky?
He brushed her hair back from her face. “Candy, can you hear me? Can you tell me who did this to you? Did you get a look at him?”
Her eyes closed again.
“Damn it. Hang on, Candy. We’re going to get you out of here.” Jason jumped to his feet and raised his radio. “West to Kennedy. Come in.”
Kennedy answered at once. “Kennedy. What have you got?”
“She’s here. At the lyceum.”
“Roger. I’ll be there in f—”
“She’s alive,” Jason broke in.
There was a metallic pause. Kennedy said, “Say again, West?”
“She’s alive. I’m radioing for medical assist—”
A floorboard cracked behind him. Jason reached for his pistol. Too late he realized that the danger did not come from an intruder. The danger was the floor itself—it was giving way beneath his feet.
“…can you hear me?”
Wet.
Reeking, slimy wet.
What. The. Fuck.
“God damn this day. Jason?”
What was he lying in? What was he lying on?
Soft but not a good soft. A mushy, wet sponge.
Wait…
“Jason? West? Jason, can you hear me?”
Where was he? Jason blinked up at…a hole in the roof…and a white face hard with anxiety…and a hole in the roof over that white face…and the white face of the sun…
Even as he stared, the pallid sun slipped into shadow. Darkness fell across him.
Jason closed his eyes. He did not feel very well. He did not think moving would be a good idea.
The voice overhead was swearing quietly. “I’m coming down,” it said.
Coming down.
Jason’s eyes flew open.
No.
A still worse idea.
Enough things had already come down.
“Wait,” he got out.
“Jason?”
Kennedy.
That’s who that was.
His heart lifted. He liked Kennedy.
“Goddamn it, you scared the hell out of me,” Kennedy yelled. He did sound a little scared, but mostly he sounded angry.
“Here,” Jason croaked. “I’m right here.”
“I know where the hell you are,” Kennedy shouted. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah.” Or not. Maybe not so much. Jason tried to sit up, and he thought maybe if he took it slowly he might not throw up or keel over or otherwise embarrass himself. He was confused about where he was and why he was wherever he was. He was pretty sure he’d hit his head—but he couldn’t tell if that stickiness was blood or something worse. He was lying—now sitting—in about an inch of worse. He’d lost his flashlight and his radio. He had his pistol. That was something. He could always kill himself if the situation went downhill from here.
“What happened?” he called.
The sun slunk out from behind
the rafters and feeble rays illuminated what appeared to be patches of muddy fur floating in the muck around him. Jesus Christ. Had he landed on…what had he landed on? Were these bits of rotting upholstery or rotting taxidermy? He looked up, and his stomach gave another queasy roll at the sight of the rusty and twisted nails sticking out of the boards a few inches above his head.
Kennedy was still talking to him. “You fell through the floor. I’ve radioed for help. Are you sure you’re not injured?”
“What the hell did I land on?”
Good question. It had probably saved his life. Or at least his spine.
Jason tried to stand up—taking care not to brain himself on the nail-studded overhanging boards. He stepped down with a splash into water that reached his shins. The water was shockingly cold. Like melted ice.
The hole in the ceiling above him—the floor above him—the whatever-it-was above him—was about twenty feet up. He was not going to be able to jump or climb out that way—even assuming the remaining floor would support such an effort.
“What are you doing?” Kennedy sounded alarmed again.
“I’m just going to…”
“You’re out of visual range. Come back to where I can see you. Don’t move around down there. The basement is flooded. This entire structure is compromised.”
Ya think?
He peered at what he could see of his surroundings and made the discovery that he was sloshing around what had probably been some kind of a storage room. No windows. One wall was lined with shelves crowded with grimy jars containing murky substances. Wooden crates were stacked against the opposite wall. Then more shelves, these stocked with…skulls. Animal skulls, but skulls.
As Jason stared, he noticed a snake crawling its way through the eye of one of the skulls.
Yes. An actual live snake. Not a natural history exhibit.
“Is the girl okay?” he called, never taking his gaze from the snake. He was relieved that he sounded pretty normal. For a guy trapped in a flooded basement full of skulls and snakes.
“She’s alive. Jason, move back to where I can see you.”
