Despite his care, the springs rattled as he brought the hatch down to its open position and locked it there. There was an aluminum folding ladder bolted on the inside surface, ready to deploy as needed.
Miles reached up and pulled the attic ladder open. He unfolded the steps until they locked into place and rested on the floor. Clicking the flashlight back on, he ascended the steps while listening for any hint of movement. The attic was as still as the rest of the house, though a wave of heat and a musky smell washed down over him as warmer air flowed out of the opening.
Wisps of blown-in insulation wafted through the beam of his flashlight as he panned it around. The smell gave him an inkling of the story, but for some reason, he needed to know for certain.
The attic was only partially finished. A good number of the beams were open, and drifts of insulation overflowed the troughs formed between the joists. In other places, someone had nailed plywood paneling on top of the joists. Cardboard boxes and totes sat on these platforms. Broad marker strokes on the sides boasted of ‘Fall Decor’ and ‘Christmas Decorations’.
He had no way of telling why the family had retreated up to the attic. Their haven on the second floor remained impenetrable, as far as he could tell. Had the first floor been so packed with the dead that they’d been unable to stand to be so close to them?
Had these people faced the same threat as Vir? Had the temporary security of their exposed staircase shattered when those seeking them climbed ever closer? He panned his flashlight across a heap of aluminum cans and empty water bottles. Dark urine filled several of the water bottles. Questing fingers and starving lips had polished the interior of the cans to a mirror shine.
There were fewer cans and bottles than he would have expected for the number of bodies he saw up here. However long they’d been up here, they hadn’t had enough food and water to sustain them.
Their story would remain untold because all that remained were bones wrapped in worn fabric. Two adults and two children. One of the children was about the same size as Trina, and a sharp pain hit him in the throat as he made that connection. The smaller skeletons lay still and unbroken. The female adult skeleton was crumpled to one side, the skull shattered in multiple places. Entry and exit wounds?
The larger, and final skeleton sat leaning against the pitch of the roof, knees drawn up. Desiccated finger bones still cradled the pistol, and a small shaft of light illuminated the entire display from the hole in the roof the final shot had wrought. Their story was untold, but Miles had a pretty good idea as to the structure of it.
You came up here to what, wait them out? But they didn’t go away, because all they have is time. You were out of food and water. So the desperation built and built until you couldn’t handle it anymore. Did you wait until the children were asleep to smother them? That would have been the kindest way of doing it, I suppose. Your wife was next, but I imagine you had to work your way up to yourself. Maybe that wasn’t the easy way to do it, though, because the longer you waited the worse the feeling got until finally, you reached your breaking point and just pulled the trigger.
Who knew when the dead had cleared out of the first floor, but it wouldn’t have been anytime soon after the suicides; the noise, if nothing else, would have had them in a frenzy, albeit an aimless one. Eventually even they can tell that a house just feels empty, I suppose, and they moved on. And here we are.
Miles stared into the eye sockets of the skeletal husband. “I’m not you,” he whispered. “I never would have stopped fighting for my family. You took the coward’s way out.” Maybe that was true, and maybe it wasn’t, but Miles had to believe it. He was in this place, at this moment, not because he’d given up, but because he had to believe that there was promise for the future. This family hadn’t had that opportunity. God willing, it was a choice that Miles and his family, and every other family left out there, would never have to face.
Beef again. This time, stew, which was just pot roast in water, right? Couldn’t the kitchen could come up with something different? Alex let congealed gravy drip off of his spoon and tried to hide his distaste. He didn’t need a lecture about being grateful for what they had. The adults loved that one. Then they’d turn around and gripe about Starbucks, or air conditioning, or one of a dozen things Alex couldn’t remember. Phonies.
A tray clattered onto the table in front of him and Twigs slid into the seat opposite Alex. To his credit, the kid wasn’t bouncing up and down in his seat as much as he had the day before. “I got all my stuff together,” he muttered. “We still on?”
“That’s the plan,” Alex said under his breath. “After school, we go over the wall, then . . .”
“Over the wall?”
Alex cringed and looked up. Not only had he been overheard, he’d been overheard by Trina freaking Matthews. Awesome.
“What’d you say?” Alex replied, trying to keep his face blank. The little girl wasn’t buying it because Trina plopped down in a seat near them and gave Alex, then Twigs, a derisive look. The other boy’s face turned red and he stared at Alex with wide eyes.
“You said something about going over the wall. What were you talking about?”
“Nothing!” Twigs managed, and Alex held back the urge to groan. Way to keep it cool, buddy.
This could go one of two ways. Either Trina would rat them out, or she wouldn’t. Alex studied her. She was one of the few kids who’d been born after Z-Day, and most of the older ones ignored her more than anything. She didn’t seem to have a lot of friends, and if anything was more comfortable around the mental cases.
“Just what it sounded like,” Alex said, ignoring Twigs’ dropped jaw. “Why do you ask?”
Trina and Alex eyed one another for a moment. He could almost feel the moment when she broke. He tried to keep the smirk off of his face when she leaned over and whispered, “Why? I want to go.”
Twigs just stared. Alex waited another moment to turn the tension up, then replied, “I figured out my house is close to here. I want some pictures of my parents. I don’t remember them.” He shrugged. “No big deal.” Inside, he marveled. Holy crap, I can’t believe that worked.
Trina grinned. “I’ll help.”
Twigs snorted in disdain, but Alex held a hand out to shut him up. Don’t blow this, kid. “What can you do?” Alex said.
Trina straightened in her seat and an unchildlike expression crossed her face. For a long moment, she looked just like her mom had when Alex broke his arm jumping off the roof a few years back. “What do you need?”
He thought about it for a moment. “We’ve got Twigs’ slingshot, but that’s it. Can you get us a gun?” Lay something big like that on her, and if she can’t come up with it, she can’t complain.
“No problem,” she said immediately, and Alex raised an eyebrow. “I’ll get one of my dad’s house guns,” she explained. “It’s got a suppressor and everything.”
Twigs looked impressed and Alex thought about it. “All right,” he said, drawing out his words. “But if you rat us out, you’ll be sorry.”
Trina shrugged. “You take me with you, I won’t rat you out.”
“Alex,” another voice interjected, and the three of them jumped. When Alex turned, Cara from the Crow’s nest stood there with her own tray in her hands.
“Yeah,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t sound as strained as he thought it did.
“Captain Matthews wants you up in the nest this afternoon. Got it?”
“Right,” Alex said. Cara nodded, turned on one heel, and walked toward another table. When she was out of earshot, he muttered, “Crap, how long was she there?”
“She just walked up,” Twigs said. “It’s not like she was standing there. Do you think she heard?”
Alex watched her go and thought about it for a moment. “No. No way. If she had, she would have said something to shut us down.” He sighed. “Crap. So there goes today. We’ll try for tomorrow.”
“You better not back out,” Trina whispered
, and Twigs snorted a giggle. Alex couldn’t help himself; he laughed too.
“You’re in, kid,” Alex said. “Just play it cool.”
Chapter 21
Larry, sure enough, was at the small police station. As he stepped inside, Vir realized that it was the first time he’d actually been in the place. When Miles had begun the process of his recruitment, he’d kept things as low-key as possible. Talking to him in his ‘office’ might have elicited too much attention. Vir couldn’t help but wonder now if that decision hadn’t saved his life.
There wasn’t much to the place; it was a square, rough-framed building of perhaps four hundred square feet. A pair of counters sat on either side wall, and Vir smiled as he studied the spring-loaded half door someone had installed to bridge the gap between them. From a distance, it looked like a prop from any of a dozen police procedurals. As he got closer, he could see the slight variations in fit and finish that proclaimed that the builder had assembled the door without the benefit of luxuries such as power tools. He reached out and swung it, watching the slight play as it moved back and forth.
“Can I help you?”
Vir glanced up. A few folding tables were set up behind the counters to serve as desks. When he’d entered they’d been empty, but now a young brunette stood beside one with a look of curiosity on her face. He couldn’t help himself. He smiled, though not out of any desire to enhance his greeting. He was recalling Miles’ visible consternation when the topic of the station’s secretary had come up.
“Ah, you must be Jaid,” he said and extended a hand across the half-door. “Vir Singh. I’m here to see Larry.”
Her face flickered from bland curiosity into warmth. “Of course, Deputy, come in, come in.”
Vir shook his head. “You’re the second person that’s called me that. I’m not sure I’m accustomed to the title.”
“Well, no worries, I’m sure you’ll be fine in no time.” She stepped closer and returned his handshake. “Come on back, Larry’s doing some work in Miles’ office.” She indicated one of a pair of doors set into the back wall of the station. The door stood ajar enough to conceal much of the room beyond. Once Vir stepped behind the counter, the angle of his perspective changed. He could now see Larry sitting behind another folding table that had been shoe-horned into the small space. He glanced left at the other door, and raised an inquisitive eyebrow at Jaid. She dimpled.
“That’s the holding cell. Currently, we have a party of one in the house. Did you hear the story?” For the last part, her tone turned almost conspiratorial, and her eyes danced with hidden mirth.
“That’ll be enough, Jaid,” Larry said from his position in the doorway. “Hey, Vir.” He stepped over and shook the other man’s hand with a strong grip. “I’m a tad put out that this the first time we’ve met, but I understand why Miles did it the way he did.” He glanced at Jaid. “You get Chris his lunch?”
She nodded. “Just now.”
“All right. Vir and I are heading over to grab a bite ourselves, then we’ll be out for a bit. Send a runner or hit me up on the radio if anything comes up.”
“Will do,” she replied. She smiled at Vir. “Enjoy, Deputy.”
Larry led the way out of the office, and as the door closed behind them and he stomped down the steps, the older man shook his head and sighed.
“I swear the only reason that woman even has her job is so she can keep Norma in the loop on what we’re up to.” As Vir drew up to his side, he gave him a sidelong glance. “Miles mention her at all?”
“He did,” Vir nodded. “I’ve never spent much time in her company, but, well, I respect Miles’ opinion. I’ll watch how I conduct myself around her.”
“She’s an insufferable gossip and an irredeemable pain in my ass, but on the bright side, I’m not the man in charge. Miles gets to deal with her more than I do. I just try to stay out of the office as much as possible. Given that my son-in-law has decided to take an impromptu vacation, I no longer have that luxury.” He heaved another sigh. “Don’t get me wrong, she’s not a bad person, it’s just that there’s no there, there. She’s got the conversational depth of a golden retriever. She’s not stupid, she’d just rather talk about, I don’t know, yoga classes or the latest thing that happened to so-and-so.”
Vir wanted to ask if they still had yoga classes, but he sensed his best choice for avoiding a lengthy rant was to steer the conversation in a new direction. “So, before Miles left he told me that someone murdered Ronnie Cartwright. What’s our investigative priority, the murder, or the drug issues?”
Larry sighed. “In case anyone asks, Ronnie’s murder, but I’ll be honest with you — we’ve got nothing. No witnesses, no suspects, no clues except for that stupid poem. According to Val, there are at least half a dozen books of nursery rhymes that have it in there. Our killer may not have even gotten it from one of those.”
“Poem?” Vir said, puzzled. “I’m sorry, Miles didn’t have time to go into much detail.”
Larry waved a hand. “I’ll explain later. Let’s grab some grub and I’ll fill you in on the details as we go. I’ve been going over reports and lists all morning and I’m starving. Let me get some sustenance before you start giving me the third degree.”
“Fair enough,” Vir agreed, and he followed the other man into the cafeteria and through the serving line. The women dishing up lunch were apologetic. The stew was last night’s leftovers spruced up with some filler. The nice thing about stew, Vir reflected, you could just keep throwing stuff in it and warming it up. At some point, you could even argue it wasn’t the same stew it had been before, especially if the pot was never completely emptied. He assured the harried-looking woman working the serving line that he’d not been there for dinner the night before, and it looked just fine to him. When they got out of the line and headed for an empty table in the corner of the cafeteria, Larry had a smirk on his face.
“The famed British politeness. That stick around on the subcontinent?”
Vir chuckled. “In some regard, but I also spent much of my childhood in the UK.”
“Worked with a few Sikhs over in the Gulf. Good people. Good troops.”
“I never served,” Vir said. “I hope that isn’t a problem.”
Larry laughed. “No worries. These days, it doesn’t matter. Everyone knows you can take care of yourself. I got no issue with you, trust me on that.” He settled into silence and made a considerable dent in the food on his plate.
Vir took a few bites of his own stew and decided enough time had passed to comment. “So. You want to prioritize the drug case if I’m not mistaken. We have a dearth of suspects in Ronnie’s murder, whereas, with our meth problem, we’ve at least identified one leg of the stool.”
“Right. I’ve got Jenny and Brian watching Buck’s place now. We’ll toss it here in a bit to see if we can find anything. We already did a discrete check of Joey’s apartment while you were gone.” Larry shrugged. “Didn’t find anything, of course. Which makes all the more sense given that he wasn’t involved.”
“Buck doesn’t strike me as the type to leave things lying around, but I could be wrong. It’s not like there’s anywhere else he could keep any proceeds. Wealth is not exactly portable, these days.”
Larry nodded. “Still got to check. One thing you’ll learn, people will do a lot of stupid-ass things when they think they can get away with it. Assuming someone will or won’t do something because it’s reasonable or logical will trip you up, every time.”
“Perhaps so. I guess in the end I don’t understand the . . .” Vir trailed off, searching for the right word. “The logistics of it. It’s a complicated chemical process, yes? Not something that one could do in the close proximities we live in.”
“So I’m given to understand,” Larry agreed.
“So they have to have enough stock to sell, or trade, or whatever. So what do they do with it?”
“Miles and I have been bouncing that back and forth for a while now. As best we fi
gure, they’ve got to have a place outside of the wall where they’re cooking and stashing their loot. It’s not like we’re conducting door to door searches or anything nutty like that, but like you said, it’s close quarters, and people notice stuff.” He stirred his stew, then commented, “You’ve seen it from both sides. On the wall and outside the wall. How would you do it?”
Vir worked it over in his head for a bit then said, “They could not ditch it outside to retrieve it later, even if they’re cooking it out there.”
“Why not?”
“Well, look at Buck’s crew. For sure Donny and Buck were in on it, but not Joey. Would they risk someone not in the know seeing something they shouldn’t if they threw a bag in a ditch before coming back in through the gates?” He paused, remembering the way the two men had spoken to him in the warehouse, before. Damn shame, he missed one step and fell the whole way down. “What was the turnover on Buck’s team? Any accidents?”
Larry thought about it, then shook his head. “Tim Halverson quit because he wanted to farm instead. That’s the spot Joey took. Harry Nevins started working with Jim in the warehouse, which was your slot. Buck was one of the best.” His voice got bitter. “Hell, I trained him.”
“You should not blame yourself for that.” Vir shuddered as he recalled the flat look on Buck’s face as he’d discussed Vir’s impending accident. “There was just something lacking in the man’s spirit. To be honest, when I confronted him it sounded like he was doing it out of boredom.”
Larry nodded and took a drink of water. “Lot of that going around. You’ll see, the longer you work with us. Petty theft, fighting in the bar. I don’t know, maybe we got stuck in survival mode for so long we don’t know what to do when we’re faced with the future.”
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