“What the…what happened? She said aloud.
The dog let out a yelp in answer and began to whine. Percy tried to focus her eyes and saw the small brown dog sitting about fifteen feet away. He rose and started to move closer but hesitated and began to trot back and forth, uneasy and frightened.
Take a number, kiddo. I’m a little scared about what’s going on around here, myself.
Percy struggled to sit up. Sitting with one leg behind her, she was glad whoever did this to her had neglected to turn the light off on the small table.
“Well, this isn’t very comfy.” She looked at the dog. “And you don’t look any happier than me.” The dog gave out a short bark but stayed his ground.
Percy strained at the ropes on her wrists. They were tight, biting into her skin with every move.
“Where’s your master, boy? Gone off somewhere planning to come back and finish me off?” The dog whined but wagged his tail tentatively. “So you say. Well, if you were any kind of dog, you’d be like Lassie and get me out of this mess. Wait a minute, the knot feels looser, bigger than it should be. I don’t think your master did such a great job of tying me up.” She yanked her wrists apart as much as she could in several painful jerks, trying to ignore what the rough hemp was doing to her flesh.
Curious at her movements, the dog inched his way closer and sniffed the air, as if for clues on what was going on.
“If I can just get my hands free, doggy,” she muttered, pushing and pulling at the ropes behind her, “Maybe I can get at the screwdriver, which is a pretty good weapon, if he left it in my pocket. That is, if he doesn’t have a gun. He have a gun, doggy?”
She’d continued to talk to the dog. It helped to lessen the pain in her torn wrists and hands. Finally, Percy scrunched her bloodied and scraped right hand free of its bindings followed by her left hand. She withdrew a small hanky from her pocket and dabbed at the blood with shaky fingers.
The dog came up to her, half crawling, tail dragging on the floor. She reached out and stroked it on the head. “You looked more scared than me, doggy. You’re a funny looking thing, with those short legs and long body. And what’s with the scruffy hair? But I’ll bet you’re a good dog.”
The dog’s attention left her. He cocked his head upward, ears alert, as if he heard something overhead. Percy, too, though she heard a sound above, the click of a door, possibly the sound of footfall. Her eyes scanned the low ceiling and rested on the staircase in the corner. She reached inside her jacket pocket, aware of how stiff and swollen her right hand had become, and felt for the screwdriver.
What about the flashlight? She felt that, too, right where she’d put it. Fighting off the desire to lie down with the on-coming headache, Percy struggled to her feet. Trembling hands grappled at freeing the flashlight in her pocket. All the while her mind raced.
I’m amazed. If I cracked somebody over the head and tied them up, I’d make damned sure there was nothing they could use as a weapon on them. This guy must be a real amateur. Or maybe he got interrupted. Whatever, I need to get out of here before he comes back, maybe to finish the job.
Percy aimed the search light at the walls for an exit other than the staircase and found a small entrance to a tunnel in each of the three walls.
Leading to God knows where, but any place is better than here.
Percy eeny, meeny, miney, moed and chose the tunnel ‘mo’ landed on. Feeling a little more secure on her feet, she started for it. The funny looking dog made a faint move to follow her then hesitated. Percy stepped forward and faced the small creature that drew back in alarm.
“Easy, boy. Take it easy. You want to come with me?” Her voice was gentle. “Well, why not? Seems like you’ve got a raw deal down here. Come on, doggy,” she called, as she went through the narrow entrance into a low ceilinged passageway. The dog’s ears perked up and he scampered behind into the looming blackness then dashing ahead to take the lead. She listened to the pitter-patter of his feet, following its sound.
“You look like you know where you’re going, doggy. I’m glad one of us does.”
Mindful of the low ceiling, she stooped over a bit. Dampness and stagnant air assaulted her nose, far worse than the room she’d been in. Percy fought off nausea and looked back to make sure they weren’t being followed by her unknown assailant.
Straining her eyes, she shot the beam of light into the tunnel. It was clear as far as she could see. There were several smaller tunnels off to the right of this main one, some with doors, some without. Further inside, Percy heard hollow whistles of air being pulled in and around. Drafts of cold air curled around her ankles and feet. It didn’t help the smell or the dampness, either. Percy shivered and wished, once again, she’s worn her overcoat.
You got to learn how to dress, toots.
She kept the dog under close surveillance, comforted by his seeming knowledge of where he was going. He’d obviously traversed these tunnels many times.
And lived to tell the tale. Or should I say, tail? She grimaced. I shouldn’t make puns. They’re bad for the mind.
She stopped at the first offshoot of the tunnel, a plywood door, all the while keeping a running monolog directed to the dog that pattered back to her and stayed close.
“You know about the depths of Manhattan, doggy? It’s like Swiss cheese under the sidewalks and buildings. New York City’s got more underground tunnels, subways, burrows, and who knows what beneath the streets than any other city in the world. I take that back. Maybe Paris has more, huh, doggy? I forgot about the sewers of Paris. But we got sewers here, too. You ever read Phantom of the Opera? Written by a French guy, Gaston Leroux? No, I suppose not. You don’t look like the intellectual type.”
She pushed open the door and threw a beam of light into what appeared to be a room instead of another tunnel. The room was stuffed with overturned boxes, trash and extraneous lumber. It, too, had a blacked out window.
“Seems someone’s taking the war effort to extreme.” She looked down at the dog sitting at her feet. “Or maybe someone’s hiding something from prying eyes. What do you think, doggy?” She flashed the light down on the scruffy, panting dog that eyed her with curiosity, as they both stood in the tunnel outside the strange room. “You’re not saying, eh? Well, you have to learn to keep up your end of the conversation.” She turned around and faced where she came from, shooting a beam of light into the blackness.
“I don’t see anyone coming after us yet. You bark if you hear someone, okay?” The dog, happy with this attention sneezed, wagging his tail.
“Okay, let’s keep looking for a way out. I’m not heading back, if I can help it.” Percy closed the door and pressed forward. The dog raced on ahead, almost as if he knew the way out. Percy picked up speed until she came to another door, this one larger and sturdier than the previous one. She pushed at the door, which scraped along the uneven cement floor. The room was warmer, much warmer than the tunnel. A faint, reddish glow came from the center of the room. It took Percy a split second to realize it was a large, freestanding furnace. A thick pipe shot up on an angle, into a corner of the ceiling above. The warmth felt good and Percy stepped inside. A smartly made cot sat in a corner. Several throw pillows lined the back of the cot against the wall, creating a small couch. Butting the head of the cot was a small table, piled high with neatly stacked comic books on one end and hard cover books on the other. Sandwiched in the middle was a metal lamp with a lone bulb. She turned it on. The dim light cast long shadows. At the foot of the cot, a short bookshelf was crammed with regular books, as if waiting for the next choice of the reader. Drawn to this peculiar but homey oasis, Percy picked up one of the comic books from the square, non-descript table.
“Dick Tracy?” She spread the thick stack open like a fan. “Looks like there’s every Dick Tracy comic book ever printed.” She restored the order and snatched up one of the hard cover books, which looked much used.
“The Hardy Boys, The House on the Cliff. What the…?”
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br /> Percy picked up another book from the pile, a thick Webster’s Dictionary, also worn with use. A third was a book on sailing, with many dog-eared pages. Puzzled, Percy went to the small bookshelf at the foot of the cot. A fast scan of the titles showed her more Hardy Boys and several books on different hobbies, including a ‘how to’ on learning Morse Code. But it was the top shelf that most intrigued her. Here were several smaller, thin books, some covers pliant, some not, and in a variety of colors. Each had a year written on the binding, chronologically starting at nineteen thirty-one.
Got to be diaries or journals. They look like one I had back in the sixth grade.
Drawn to the current year, Percy pulled out the soft cover, black leather book and leafed through it. As she suspected, it was a journal. What she read on only a few of the pages made her want to get out of the basement as quickly as possible. Rolling it up to fit into her pocket, she crammed the book inside. She would study it in detail later.
I don’t know what the hell is going on but I’m not waiting for that lunatic to find me again.
Aloud she said, “Let’s keep searching, doggy, for another way out. She bent over and looked into his face. “Are you with me?” A thumping tail answered her question. On her way out of the room, she saw a large box of what looked like firecrackers against a far wall, as far away as possible from the heat of the furnace.
Is that whole box filled with firecrackers? If so, that’s a lot of celebrating, even for the Fourth of July.
A quick examination of the deep box revealed it was, indeed, stuffed with firecrackers. Another puzzler. But Percy didn’t have time to reason it out. She went back to the door and again shot a beam of light down the long tunnel from where she had just come. No one.
Where is this guy? He just knocks me out, ties me up, and takes a powder?
She touched the lump on her head, which was increasing in size.
I need some ice.
She felt the dog brush by her leg, as she stepped out into the main tunnel. The beam of her flashlight caught his rump as the dog ran ahead, happier, more of a bounce to his step.
About one-hundred feet ahead, the dog ran up a short set of steps to the left, stopped and turned to her expectantly.
A way out!
Percy ran after the dog and stopped at the bottom of the four steps, out of breath.
“What did you find, doggy? Is this a way out? Holy crap, I hope so.”
She went up the steps and looked for a handle on a thin but sturdy metal door. She found a knob but when she turned it, the locked door wouldn’t budge. The door stood between Percy and freedom. She was about to bang on it, hoping someone would hear her on the other side, when she saw words crudely painted on the wall.
“’Watch repair.’ Wait a minute. Is this the back end of Pierce’s shop? That means the cobbler’s shop should be a little bit back where we came from.”
She jumped back down to the floor and retraced her steps some twenty feet. Sure enough, there she saw another set of steps leading up to another metal door. On the wall, printed crudely in red paint, was the word ‘cobbler.’ She turned the knob and struggled with this door, but it, too, seemed to be locked firmly on the other side. Once again, she hesitated on pounding on the door until she knew more. The sound might draw her attacker to right where she is, and after reading a few pages of his journal, that didn’t appeal to her. Percy looked at her watch, difficult to read with the faint light reflecting on the crystal.
Six-thirty. I don’t know if anyone will still be in these shops, even if I do bang on the door. Okay, don’t panic. If the cobbler’s shop is here and the watch repair is further down, does that mean Waller’s jewelry shop is at the end of this tunnel? Well, why not? If not, you’re screwed, Percy. You’ll have to go back and face that Hardy Boy, yacht racing, Morse coding maniac to get out.
She focused the beam of light toward what she hoped was the path to Waller’s store and noticed the dog still at the top step of the entrance to the watch repair shop. When he saw her looking at him, he gave a wiggle and a short bark.
“Ahhh. You want to go visit your little friend, Cougat? Sorry, kiddo. It’s after closing and nobody’s there. We’ve got to go on. So come on, boy. Come down from there,” she said as she passed him. She heard the click of his nails on the wooden stairs as he descended. He scampered ahead, obviously looking on this adventure as a new game.
I’m glad someone’s enjoying himself.
Continually casting light on both sides of the tunnel, she noticed she was trodding a slight incline. Soon there was less moisture on the walls and they seemed more finished, more care going into the workmanship. Ahead a beige brick wall delineated the two buildings joined at the bowels by this common tunnel. Percy passed through a doublewide passageway where the air became cleaner and more breathable. The dog hesitated for some reason.
“Come on, doggy. We’ve come this far. Don’t crap out on me now.” Nervous, the dog circled around, reluctant to go back and unwilling to go forward.
“Come here, you.” Percy bent over and picked up the dog, who weighed more than she thought he would. “Hey, you’re a hefty fella, aren’t you? You must weight twenty, twenty-five pounds. My kinda guy.” He began to pant heavily. “What’s the matter with you? It’s all right. You’re going to be all right.”
Carrying her new pal, she juggled the flashlight with the other hand. Percy continued walking the tunnel until she came to a set of stairs that ended at a door.
Chapter Twenty-one
“Well, this is it, kiddo. We’re either making a bid for freedom here or we’re going back.” She set the dog down, so she’d have a free hand, but looked down and waggled a finger in his face.
“Don’t you move, doggy. Stay. Stay.” She said the last two words with emphasis then reached for the handle. The knob turned easily in her hand and the door opened inward on silent, well-oiled hinges. Her fingers felt for a possible light switch on the inside of the wall and found it. She flipped it on and was rewarded with a flood of light, blinding her until her eyes adjusted.
Another step up and she was inside an organized storage room, which held cardboard boxes filled with velvet jewelry cases of various sizes. Three glass display cases stood in the center of the room, one with a cracked top. Several tall metal lockers hugged a wall, each wearing a newish tumbler lock. At the end of the rectangular room was another set of steps leading up to a bigger door. After eye-balling the room for a second, she turned back to the dog that sat shivering on the other side of the door. Percy bent over and picked him up again.
“Okay, kiddo. I don’t know what’s got you so scared, but we’re going to find out. So be a good boy, and stick with me. I’m kind of getting used to your company.”
She closed the door to the tunnel behind her. After a pause, Percy pushed the sturdy-looking interior lock into its hold, noting the ease with which it slid in place. Had the door been locked from the inside, she would have never been able to get in.
“So why was it unlocked, kiddo?” She said to the dog in her arms. “Anybody from the tunnel can get in here.” Her companion stopped panting and cocked his head at her, as if he was as surprised as she at the oversight. “Maybe that’s the point.”
“Let’s go see if our luck’s held and the other door is unlocked, as well.”
Relieved to be out of the tunnel, she hopped up the steps and tried to the door. It was locked. This time she pounded and started to yell. The dog began to bark, as well.
“Hey! Hey! Anybody there? Let me out.”
The dog continued to yip in unison, seemingly glad to be part of a new game.
She heard movement and the sounds of a lock being turned. She held the screwdriver in her hand as a weapon, not sure who was on the other side of the door. William Waller tentatively opened the door and looked from her to the dog in her arm in alarm. Percy concealed the unnoticed screwdriver in her sleeve and winked.
“Don’t panic. It’s only me.” She bent over, de
posited the dog on the floor, and straightened up.
The jeweler looked her up and down, shocked at her general dishevelment, and the soot and dirt clinging to her clothes. His eyes settled on her scratched cheek.
“Miss Cole! What the….How did you get in there? What happened to your face?”
“I came in through the tunnel into your storage room.” She returned the screwdriver to her pocket. “As to what happened to my face, let’s talk about that later. Can I use your sink to wash up?”
Thrown, he nodded mutely and pointed in a jerky manner. “Where did you say you came from? The storage room? I don’t understand.”
Percy didn’t answer but pushed passed him, as did the dog that pranced ahead in the new game. Mr. Waller traipsed behind.
“Doesn’t that dog belong to the owner of Santa Land?”
“No.” Percy’s reply was curt, as she turned on the hot water tap on the small bathroom sink. “You got any ice?”
“Ice?”
“Yeah, ice. I’d like to put it on this knot on my head. Somebody clobbered me a little while ago in the tunnel.”
“Tunnel?”
“Yeah, tunnel. About that ice, Waller, you got any or not? I’m dying over here.”
She began to wash her face with a nearby washcloth, concentrating on the abrasions on her hands and cheek. Once she cleaned up her face, the scratch was barely noticeable. The dog sat panting at her feet, watching the proceedings with great interest.
“You look like you could use some water, doggy.” She picked up a large soap tray, clean and devoid of soap, and serviceable for her needs. She filled the tray with cool water and set it in front of the dog. He lapped loudly as he drank the water, finishing it off.
“You’re a noisy fella,” Percy observed. She refilled the tray with water and set it down again. The dog lapped again, this time leaving a small amount of water before he looked up at the woman expectantly. His eyes said, ‘Okay, on to the next game.’
Persephone Cole and the Christmas Killings Page 13
