She thought they had been walking less than a minute when they stopped, she wasn’t sure how long, it might have been three seconds or fifth-nine. Nina heard a lock being keyed open, a latch thrown back, and a wooden door swinging open. ‘A barn?’ she wondered.
She started forward but her foot caught on a high threshold. Before she plunged forward, the hands kept her upright. She was told to step over, which she did. The depth of the step was deeper on the inside that it had been on the outside. There were several hard stairs leading downward and then a softer floor. The hands let go of her arms. Nina stood still for a moment, unsure of what to expect, when she heard the door slam. She plucked the hood off of her own head to be met with total darkness. She whirled around and could only just make out the very faint outline of a doorway that appeared high up. It was like looking up from a basement.
She had again pictured being led out to that newly dug grave. She wasn’t by a grave, but was she in a mausoleum? She listened, but heard only the rush of her blood through her ears. “Ok, mausoleums don’t have wooden doors, do they?” Looking up at the door, she realized it was actually two doors hinged at the outer edges and fastened in the middle. She could see the night sky around the edges in the shape of a sideways “H.”
Nina edged forward slowly with her arms stretched out straight ahead of her. She shuffled her feet an inch or two at a time to prevent falling. Her toe made contact with the bottom step. Reaching down and running her hand over the surface, she could feel it was rough stone. She carefully worked her way back up to the door. It was, of course, latched and locked. It gave a little when she pushed on it, but in the darkness, she was afraid she would end up falling backwards if she tried to put a lot of force into it.
She descended the stairs again. To calm herself, she spoke out loud, “Ok, barn-style doors, stone steps, dirt floor. Cellar? Storm shelter? Let’s see what’s on the other side of the room.” She inched forward again, slowly. It took a while, but eventually she felt rough wood bump against her chin. She backed up and felt up and down. There was a shelf, more than one shelf. Her arms had gone between shelves. She followed the shelf over to the right. It turned at a right angle and led directly to another shelf. She retraced her path and went left, same thing. The room was lined with shelves on three walls, the door on the fourth side. “Root cellar.”
Nina relaxed a little because it was better than finding a plinth with a coffin on it. Her eyes were adjusting somewhat, even to the very low level of light available and she could judge the length of the room better but still couldn’t make out any details. She traveled around the room at an almost jaunty pace trying to find something to sit on. No chairs or benches. In one of the corners at the entrance end of the room, she found a crate. It wasn’t very big, but it was better than settling down in the dirt and who knew what else on the floor. She tipped it flat and sat on it, leaning into the corner. The exhaustion took over. Despite the fear, worry, shock, and apprehension, she drifted to sleep.
Chapter 28
“Are you positive that you don’t want me to drop you off at the library?” Tom asked, obviously reluctant to let Perri walk those few blocks.
“Well, if you are sure it won’t slow you down, maybe that would be best. I’d like to get started.”
“I think it is best you don’t walk alone, not right now.” Tom finished the last of the cranberry coconut muffin and coffee he had brought back from the dining room, but it may as well have been cardboard and paste for all the enjoyment he took from it today. “What is it you are going to look up?”
“I have to do something to help, I can’t just sit around. I thought that, since we know the knife was found in Alabama, I would narrow my search for it to that state. My search before was so broad that it would have taken me six months to even open each document that came up. There may be nothing there for me to find, but I want to try. There has to be a reason this particular knife is desirable, other than the simple fact that it is a Civil War knife. There isn’t an unlimited supply of them, but they aren’t exactly scarce either.”
“True. I hope you find something. I hope this photo helps Archer. My fingers are crossed that this guy’s mug is in a database somewhere. You ready to go?”
Perri nodded and gathered her satchel and purse.
“Is your phone fully charged?” Tom asked.
“Yes, and I have my charger. I’ll keep the ringer turned off but I’ll check it every fifteen minutes or so. Let me know about anything at all.”
“I’ll keep you filled in on any developments.”
Tom insisted on parking the Explorer in the garage beneath the library, escorting her into the building, and on up to the second floor before he felt comfortable leaving. “Thank you, I mean it.”
“I’m not trying to be oppressive, but this is ridiculous, I feel out of control. Don’t like it one bit.” Tom chewed on his lower lip.
“Go on now and show those photos to Archer. Let’s get this guy.” Perri patted him on the arm and turned to enter the research area. Tom returned to the Explorer and took off as fast as he dared for the State Police station.
***
Tom had talked with Archer shortly after six o’clock that morning. By the time Tom arrived at the station, Archer had already circulated a photo of Nina. It was a photo Tom kept on his phone. He had taken it of her at his parent’s twenty-fifth wedding anniversary party the summer before. Nina was wearing a sundress, sitting on the dock by the lake, a glass of white wine in her hand. The sun was glinting across the water behind her forming pinpoints of light that looked like little diamonds scattered across the surface. The photo was accompanied by a description: black hair, just above the shoulder length, blue eyes, medium build, five feet six inches tall.
“I’m going to print a few of these photos from Perri’s camera, if you don’t mind?” Archer threw a questioning look at Tom as he rose from his desk and turned the printer on.
“Print a million copies if you want and mail them to everyone you can think of. Just find this guy. What about Eleanor, should she have a look at these?”
“That’s one of the first things I want to do.”
“What is the first thing?” Tom was anxious and Archer was trying to keep him from getting more so.
“First, I want to print the ones that show his face the clearest. Then I want to get digital copies of the photos to the lab so they can start running it through the facial recognition database. Might not come up with anything, but we might. Be aware though, this software is relatively new and we have to be careful about the results. It isn’t always accurate. However, if something does come up, it’ll give us something to work with. After that, I’ll call Eleanor and, if she’s willing to have a look at these, go see her.”
Archer could see that Tom obviously wanted to ask, so he answered without making him wait. “If she is willing to look over the photos, I’ll take you with me. I can’t imagine the stress you are under right now.”
“It’s almost unbearable. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more helpless. I have often thought about how unimaginable it must be for parents of a child who disappears, or some other family member who vanishes, and I never wanted to know firsthand.”
Archer grimaced and turned back to his desk where Perri’s camera was plugged into his laptop. “Let’s get started printing these photos.”
***
“I think we have a selection of good, clear photos. Eleanor said she’d be more than happy to look at these. She’s staying with a friend of hers right now. We’ll visit her there.”
“Where are we heading, Richmond, somewhere else?”
“Northwest of Richmond, not too far. Let’s get moving.”
They left the police station by the back entrance, Archer pointing out the cruiser they would be taking. Tom slid into the passenger seat and fastened the seat belt, then looked in amazement at all the technology with which the vehicle was equipped. “I’d be too distracted to even drive, I think. How do you con
centrate with all this going on?”
“You get used to it. It wasn’t all added at once, either. It’s gradual. Something new comes out, they add it and you learn how to use it. Pretty soon it all seems routine.”
“Maybe so, but much more and there won’t be room for you in here.”
“I hear that, especially if I keep eating the junk I have been over the last few days.” Archer notified dispatch that he was leaving and they pulled out of the lot.
***
Their arrival was clearly observed since the door opened before Archer finished knocking. The wood door was opened with enough gusto that the screen door rattled in the frame. The woman beckoning them in appeared to be in her late sixties, maybe early seventies. She was wearing one of the over-the-head aprons Tom’s grandmother used to wear and was holding a small terrier in one arm. She gestured for them to enter and said, “Come on in, fellas. Eleanor is in the kitchen. I’m Helen McEwan. We’re having some fresh-made cinnamon rolls. Can I interest you in one?”
The scent of cinnamon mixed with brewing coffee made Tom’s mouth water in spite of having eaten a muffin before he left the hotel. Nervousness or anxiety tended to make him want to eat, particularly when there wasn’t anything else he could do. “Well, if Archer thinks…”
Archer hadn’t eaten that morning. He had finished dressing and left the house as quickly as he could after Tom’s call. “Sure, that sounds great.” They followed the woman through the small living room. The terrier craned his neck around trying to keep his wary eyes on the strangers in his home. Helen set him down in an adjoining room and closed the door.
As the trio crowded into the kitchen, Archer nodded to Eleanor, who smiled back at him as she set her coffee mug down on the table. He turned his attention back to Helen, “I’m Detective Archer Vaughn. With me is Tom Watkins. It was his wife who disappeared during the night. We think the man in the photographs may have been responsible and also may be the man Eleanor spoke with at the event last Saturday.”
Helen gave Tom a very sympathetic look, “I’m sorry about what happened. I will keep you all in my prayers.” With that, she turned to gather plates, cups, and serve the rolls and coffee.
Eleanor was seated at one of the long sides of the table. Tom and Archer each took a chair at an end. “How are you holding up?” Archer asked her.
Her smile was tired, but not forced. “I’d say I’m doing well, but we’d both know that isn’t true.” She sighed. “It’ll take some time. I think it will help a great deal to have this person caught so I can at least rest in my own house. Some people don’t want to go back to a house if their spouse is gone, but I’m not like that. I want to be there. I’m thankful that Helen is willing to let me stay here with her.” A cluck issued from Helen at this. “Having a houseguest with an unknown departure date is not the easiest thing.”
Helen placed cups of coffee and plates, the surface of which was covered with two warm, gooey, caramel-covered cinnamon rolls, in front of Archer and Tom, shaking her head at Eleanor, but not commenting. She excused herself and said to call her if they needed anything. The clock mounted on the soffit over the kitchen sink ticked softly.
Archer opened the brown envelope with the photographs. “I have some photos here that were taken in downtown Richmond yesterday. Take a good look at these, Eleanor. Tell me if this is the man you saw talking to Russell on Saturday.” He laid out six of the photos with the clearest facial view of the man and slid them across the table in front of Eleanor.
She looked at each one in succession, taking her time. She looked at them all again then looked confidently at Archer. “This is the man from the event. He is also the man who broke into my house.”
Archer nodded, “You’re certain?”
“Detective Vaughn,” Eleanor’s voice was soft but clear and determined, “I saw this man twice, and the second time it was for several minutes and up close. He has caused me constant distress and has upturned my entire life. I would not forget his face, or those eyes of his. This is the man.”
“Good enough then.” Archer scooped the photographs into a pile and slipped them back into the envelope. “We don’t know his name yet, but we will. We’re getting there.”
“I hope so.” She spoke slowly, thoughtfully. “He’ll only cause the same kind of grief to another family somewhere. And all over…what? A knife? Killing a man for a knife? Attacking me and kidnapping another woman for a knife? It doesn’t make sense.”
Archer swallowed the last of his coffee and wiped his mouth with a napkin he took from a stack on the lazy Susan in the middle of the table. “No, it doesn’t make sense.” He stood, “Thank you for your time today. This helps me a great deal. I’ll let you know when we get any information about him.”
Eleanor started to scoot her chair back, “No, don’t get up. We’ll see ourselves out. I’ll be in touch.”
Archer and Tom left the kitchen. They found Helen sitting at the end of the couch watching a talk show. She rose quickly, “Are you finished? I hope Elly was able to recognize the man.”
“She did. Thank you very much for the delicious rolls and the coffee. I haven’t had cinnamon rolls like that for a long time.”
Tom thanked Helen as well and they walked back down the curving path of stepping stones to the sidewalk. The sky was gray and as dark as though it was dusk. Rain was coming, Tom could smell it in the air. It smelled like damp concrete, as though it had already rained a little bit.
Archer waited for a passing car before walking around to the door of his cruiser. His phone vibrated. He waved at the driver as the car passed and pulled his phone out of its case. “Vaughn here.” He got into the driver’s seat and shut the door. “Yep. Good deal. Headed back, be there shortly.”
“What now?” Tom asked? “I mean, anything yet?”
“Amazingly, we have an ID on Stalker Man from the photos.”
Tom’s pulse quickened at the news. Any news meant at least a little progress. “Who is he?”
“Name’s Roger Morris. That fits with the information on the data sheet from Felix Tyndall’s client database. The record for the knife indicated the Locator as ‘Morris.’ We didn’t know if Morris was a last name or a first name. Searches on the name turned up thousands. This narrows it down to one guy. Roger Morris from Alabama. Let’s get back to the station and I’ll go over his record. We’ll see what we have.”
Chapter 29
Perri closed her eyes and pressed her fingers lightly over her lids. She wished she could put a drop of tears in her eyes to help the dryness but she was in the records research room and couldn’t have her purse in here much less liquid in a bottle. She had been searching through documents for anything that might help the investigation, anything about a knife that sounded like the one Nina bought.
She was currently sifting through a group of documents submitted by a descendent of a Confederate Army Captain. It had resulted in her search because Captain Weatherbee had been a prolific diarist who wrote frequent references to, and descriptions of, unique weapons the author had encountered during his time in the Civil War. It was easy enough to scan over the paragraphs about cannons and the difficulties of transporting them over frozen ground or muddy tracks, or the detailed explanations of muskets and their care. She was now into a series of what seemed like essays about different knives Captain Weatherbee had seen and/or handled.
Perri hadn’t slept well at all, just dozing and waking numerous times, always met with the crush of realization that Nina was missing. It made her want to cry. But crying wouldn’t help right now. She stood up and flexed her legs a few times, stretched her arms, twisted at the waist, and sat down to tackle the plethora of information about various pointy instruments as described by the illustrious Captain.
The long-winded rhetoric lulled her into inattentiveness every now and then and she had to consciously refocus. What had she just read? She looked at the last paragraph she had finished, but realized she didn’t know what came before it. She ca
refully turned the page back and reread the latter half of the previous page.
As she read, her focus sharpened and she read faster, more alert and absorbing what the text was saying. Captain Weatherbee was describing a weapon in the possession of his First Lieutenant in the 36th Alabama Regiment. It sounded very much like the knife that Nina had purchased at the re-enactment. Perri didn’t know the measurements of the knife, but it was described as being seventeen and a half inches overall, a wire-wrapped leather grip, with a custom crossguard and pommel. Maddeningly, while the Captain gave an exhaustive description of the knife, he neglected to name his Lieutenant, although he did mention that the man had later become Captain of another, smaller regiment and had done very well.
A name would make it significantly easier to search for an inventory or appraisement for the Lieutenant at his death and possibly find a path to follow forward. But she didn’t have a name, so Perri scanned the rest of the Captain’s notes, making sure he didn’t revisit the Lieutenant’s weapon. He did not.
She returned the documents to the desk and requested another set from the list of possibilities. While waiting for them to come up, she took a quick bathroom break and returned. She read through her own notes. Starting a new page, she drew a box at the top and wrote ‘1st Lieutenant/Captain Unknown’ inside it. She drew a little icon of a knife, which looked more like a toothpick, but it would do. She drew another box at the bottom of the page. Inside it, she wrote ‘Nina Watkins.’ Her chest filled with dread and the emotion threatened to bring tears. She concentrated on the paper but wasn’t sure how to proceed. The arrival of her requested documents at the desk rescued her from her thoughts.
Buried Roots Page 16
