by J K Ellem
36
The sliding door was easy to force open, the latch flimsy. There were no telltale signs of alarms or security cameras, a fact that gave Shaw some concern. He would rather know what he was dealing with so he could bypass the measures.
Annie followed Shaw over the threshold. He took a small flashlight and panned it around. He could feel Annie press up behind him.
They were in a large tiled room, leather couches, rugs, a wet bar against the far wall, the hum of a wine fridge, the tepid glow from its interior light lent some illumination to the room. It was an obvious entertainment space off the outdoor pool area. There was a corridor to one side.
Along the corridor was a formal living room and a large dining room styled with antique furniture, period pieces, dark woods and glass. An acquired taste that reflected old money and refinement.
The corridor led through to a huge modern kitchen, a stark contrast to the old fashioned living spaces they had just passed. There were rows of cabinetry, acres of polished wood, slabs of granite, and stainless steel industrial appliances with tiny digital displays that glowed green.
Shaw opened the refrigerator and a wedge of bluish light cut into the darkness. Labels and “use by” dates confirmed what, up until now, was just a theory Shaw had kept to himself. He stepped back so Annie could see inside as well. The milk was a recent purchase. Not more than a few days old. There were cheese and cold cuts sealed in plastic, bearing recent date stamps. “Someone is here,” Shaw said. “Been living here recently.”
Shaw closed the door and found a large, flip-lid trash bin next to the massive island bench. Inside he found a mound of discarded coffee filters and grinds, food wrappers, soda cans, and water bottles. “If the Ballards were going to be away for a few months, surely emptying the trash and replacing the bin with a new liner would have been be a priority,” Annie whispered.
Shaw nodded. Something caught his eye in the trash bin. He reached down, rummaged around for a moment before pulling out a pair of latex gloves. He held them up to the beam of the flashlight. “Whoever it is, they are not supposed to be here,” he said as he examined the gloves. “Just like us.”
“What do you mean?” Annie asked.
“Whoever is here now, occupying the Ballard house is an uninvited guest. They’re taking precautions, not leaving any trace. No finger prints.”
“What about the trash?”
“They’ll dispose of it before they leave. Thoroughly clean the house, too, I expect. Leave no clues that they were here once they’re finished.”
“Finished with what?” Annie asked.
“That’s what I intend to find out.” Shaw buried the gloves back under the layers of trash and closed the lid.
“But you have touched the fridge door, the glass sliding door near the pool. Your prints, and probably mine, are on everything.”
Shaw turned to Annie, keeping the glare of the flashlight pooled at her feet. “That’s why we need to find this person before they vanish. They are here only temporarily. The Ballards probably don’t have a clue their house is being used by someone while they are in Europe.”
Annie was perplexed. It was creepy to think someone could come in to your home, live in it, eat in your kitchen, use your shower and toilet, maybe even sleep in your bed, without you knowing. “What kind of person does that?”
“Someone who is cunning, resourceful and very confident that they won’t get caught.” Shaw panned the flashlight around some more. “Airbnb for voyeurs and stalkers.”
“The woman you saw? Is it her?” Annie asked. “It would make sense. No one would suspect.”
That thought had occurred to Shaw. But it would require someone with local knowledge. Someone who knew in advance that the Ballards would be away for an extended period of time. “No,” Shaw replied. “It’s the man we saw yesterday. The person posing as the caretaker. He knows the exact dates they are going to be away on vacation.”
“But wouldn’t he risk being seen?” Annie replied. “I saw him, we both did.”
“That’s why I think it’s someone the Ballards know. A family friend perhaps. Someone who said they would check on the property for them while they were away. Except they took the offer too far, decided to move in as well.”
“But why would someone want to do that?”
Shaw didn’t know the answer. But he was determined to find out. He had to admit it was a brazen act, to occupy someone’s house while they were away. It had to be for a specific short-term purpose. Something they needed the house for. Something they couldn’t do somewhere else or at their own place. Something illegal perhaps. Something that required them to leave no fingerprints, no trace.
“There is no caretaker called Steve,” Shaw continued. “The person we saw yesterday didn’t recognize me, or you, Annie.”
“I keep to myself around town. I prefer it that way.”
“I imagine you would,” Shaw replied. Given that you have stolen $10 million of someone else’s money, he felt like saying. Shaw thought better of it and continued. “That’s why the man may have used a false name with us. He didn’t know us and knew we didn’t recognize him either. I’m a stranger in town. If he had recognized us, then he would have used his real name. Nothing to hide and no reason to lie.”
“So, it’s someone from here?” Annie asked. “A local, someone who is a familiar face?”
“That’s my theory.”
“Why didn’t he just use his real name and say he was looking after the place?”
“No point in revealing yourself if you don’t have to. He thought we were tourists walking up to the lookout at the cliffs.”
“So, how did he get in the house?”
This was the part that puzzled Shaw the most. “Someone obviously gave him the key.”
“My god, he could be here right now. In the house!” Annie tried to keep her voice calm.
Shaw didn’t believe the person was actually living here. That would be too much of a risk. They had their own place somewhere else. But the Ballard Mansion held some strategic importance for them. Or it allowed them to do things that they couldn’t do elsewhere. Things that require privacy, secrecy, away from the prying eyes of others. Just what those things were Shaw didn’t know.
“I hope they are here right now,” Shaw replied. “Because I want to provoke them into revealing themselves.”
37
The person stood on the cusp between the darkness and the light, but remained hidden. They carefully watched the person in the cage, trapped behind the cold steel bars of confinement. This was not part of the plan. But it was a delicious deviation, and for that reason, he was going to enjoy it to the fullest.
A lot of what he had done so far was never part of the original plan. Liberties had been taken. Allowances had been made to accommodate their ever-growing needs and desires. The outcome would still be the same. But the journey to the same destination was never the same. It was a long, drawn out process of pain and suffering.
“Hello, Abigail.”
The person in the cage flinched slightly, their head turning, trying to locate the source of the voice buried in the shadows. The voice sounded vaguely familiar. It had the right balance of contempt and concern, amplified by the stone walls of the small room. Abigail Brenner lay on her side, her mind doughy, her limbs heavy. Shapes started to slowly form. Vertical rods of steel. Beyond this, a chair. A table. A video camera on a tripod. A tall lamp, its beam directed at the ground. The floor, a stretch of dusty concrete that faded into shadow. Abby could only make out two feet, from the ankles down, on the edge of the light. A person stood there, just their feet revealed, solid work boots, thick rubber soles. Her eyes tracked upwards, she could see the slight outline of their shape, a dark presence.
Abby twisted her neck further. It felt like nothing was connected.
Then the voice again. “I’ve been watching you all this time Abigail, yet you couldn’t see me. I was right in front of you, all this time.” The voic
e was smooth, oozed confidence, each syllable wrapped in just the right amount of arrogance.
“My father.” Abby’s voice was a rasp. Her tongue felt swollen, too big for her mouth. “You said you knew what happened to my father.”
The figure in the shadows tilted its head, contemplating what to say next. “Yes, your father. Don’t worry Abigail. Soon you will be joining him.” The person gave a mocking laugh. “Consider it a father and daughter reunion.”
There was a light switch on the wall at the top of the stairs. But Shaw decided against turning it on. He’d found the door next to the kitchen, down a side passageway with a set of stairs that led downwards, solid, made from smooth concrete, poured many years ago as part of the original foundations of the place.
Shaw and Annie descended into the oily blackness. The air grew colder with each step, dank and stale, trapped within the old walls.
They reached the bottom. The ceiling was high, the space expansive, not crammed. It was a wine cellar. Steel racks were set against the walls while other racks formed separate rows. Wine bottles, some skinned with dust and cobwebs, others gleaming and new, were slotted in neat rows. Thousands of bottles. Shaw and Annie walked between the rows. Wooden wine cases were stacked high against one wall. “The Ballards must be wine collectors,” Annie said as she took everything in.
“It’s the perfect spot,” Shaw muttered to himself. “Cold, dark, hidden.”
Shaw searched the walls, the floor, the ceiling as he panned the light around. His gaze settled on the far wall at the end of a row. There was no wine shelving against that particular wall, just two wooden crates. He knelt down at the base of the wall. In the beam of the flashlight he could see tracks in the dust. He pressed his palm against the wall. If felt cold, solid.
Annie crouched down next to him. Particles of dust swirled in the beam of light. “What’s the matter?”
Shaw examined the wall again and the tracks of dust on the floor. “I don’t know.” He said. “Those crates have been moved aside. You can see the marks. Recently, too.” He squinted in the light. There was the slightest outline of a shape. “Footprints,” he said.
“Could be the family moving wine crates around,” Annie said.
But Shaw was not entirely convinced. All the walls of the cellar were occupied either by racks filled with bottles or stacked almost to the ceiling with wine crates. All but this one.
Shaw stood up, took a step back and examined the wall in more detail. He passed the flashlight to Annie and then got down on his hands and knees, his fingers feeling along the base of the wall where it met the floor. “There’s a breeze coming from here, at the base.” Shaw stood up again. “There’s something behind the wall. It’s hollow.”
Despite her senses slowly returning, Abby felt helpless. The sedative she had been given was wearing off. Her cell phone had been taken. She hadn’t told anyone where she was going and there was no hope in hell anyone would find her. She was at the complete mercy of her captor. “Why are you doing this?” she moaned. “Why have you done this to me?”
Her questions were met with a brooding silence. Then the voice again, this time the hatefulness in the tone was clear. “Because you are a spoiled little rich bitch who gets everything handed to her on a plate. You wouldn’t know what it’s like to work a day in your life. To struggle. To go hungry. To starve. To have to just survive each day.”
Abby couldn’t understand. Why had this person incarcerated her? Was it out of jealousy? Envy? What did they know about her father’s disappearance? She wished the person wasn’t going to reveal themselves. Because if they did, it meant she was going to die.
She tried to sit up, and banged her head on the steel bars above and winced in pain. There was no room at all to move inside the cage. “My father,” she said. “Did you kill him?”
Again her question was met with silence. Then finally the person spoke. “Would you prefer it if he were dead, Abigail? That way you can inherit the family fortune?”
“I’m not interested in the money,” she spat.
A mocking laugh floated out of the darkness. “Spoken like a true person who has money.”
“Think whatever you like, I don’t care,” she retorted.
“You are just a greedy underserving little whore.”
“I’m not a whore!” Abby screamed, deciding that the best form of defense was attack. “You’re just a pathetic little fuck who is too gutless to show themselves. You hide in the dark, too scared to step into the light.”
Silence.
“Coward,” Abby goaded. “Gutless, little coward.” Abby knew she was going to die so she decided she would fight for every breath until it was her last. “Show yourself!” she screamed. She banged on the bars with her fists. She wouldn’t allow herself to cry, to beg for her life, to curl up into a ball and give up. “I must really scare you if you have to keep me locked up,” she ranted. “You are a little pussy, a coward! Did your mother suck your cock when you were little? Is that what happened? Made you into a sniveling little coward?”
The darkness rippled and a person stepped out of it and into the light. They squatted down in front of the cage so Abby could see their face clearly.
“My god,” Annie muttered as she stared up at the person through the bars of the cage.
The person nodded, a cruel, twisted smile on their face.
“Yes, Abby,” Dylan Cobb whispered. “Now you see me. And my mother is your mother.”
38
The opening mechanism to the wall was well hidden, but it took Shaw only a few minutes to locate it. There was a pressure release panel, designed to look like part of the fascia. When depressed it released the lock and a section of the wall pivoted inwards like a door. Three heavy duty invisible hinges were recessed flush into the wall, completely concealing any edges or seams. There was a large, lit room, behind the wall.
“What is this place?” Annie whispered as she looked around. Metal shelves hugged the walls as well as forming rows at right angles. Instead of bottles of wine, the shelves were stacked with food provisions. There were cans of tin meals, packaged bottled water, freeze dried rations in vacuum sealed plastic and an assortment of dried fruit sealed in plastic bags, canned vegetables, and various soups. It reminded Shaw of what someone would stock pile for the end of the world, a doomsday prepper.
“There must be enough food down here to last someone for several years.” Annie touched a row of canned tuna. All the labels meticulously lined up, nothing out of place or alignment.
“Someone has been busy,” Shaw said as he examined the food on another shelf, noting that nothing was perishable, all packaged for long-term usage. Cans of beans, fruit, vegetables, dried meats and grains were all grouped according to food category and neatly stacked in their respective rows.
“So someone had been living here,” Annie said. “In secret.”
Shaw didn’t know what to make of the hidden room. It didn’t make sense, unless it was a panic room of some kind or a storage room used for emergency stockpiling of provisions.
Behind a row of shelves, plugged into a wall socket was a glass door refrigerator. It was filled with tiny glass bottles with red metal seals. Shaw opened the refrigerator and examined one of the small bottles. It was labeled “Humalog.”
“What is it?” Annie asked.
“Insulin,” Shaw replied. “For injecting.”
Edward Brenner had type 1 diabetes. Rudy Kerber had told Shaw.
“He is alive,” Shaw said as he placed the vial of insulin back into the refrigerator. “Edward Brenner is alive.” Shaw looked around the room. “All of this, the food, the insulin, it’s all just for him.”
“He disappeared three years ago. He’s been hiding for that long? In this house?” Annie said in disbelief. “Why?”
Shaw shook his head. “I don’t know why someone would do that. Go into hiding for all these years.” He looked at Annie. “Unless he did something pretty bad and someone is looking for him.” A
nnie’s own past and actions had mirrored what Edward Brenner was also doing now: running from someone or something.
“But he’s only gone a short distance from his own home?” Annie replied. “Almost like hiding out in your neighbor’s house.”
“Like you said Annie, you hid in plain sight. You didn’t run too far. That way you can hide right where people least expect to find you.”
“But I went a bit further than just a few hundred feet from where I lived. I changed my appearance, my look, my name. I certainly didn’t go underground like a hermit, stock pile food and live in a fallout bunker literally across the road.” Annie waved her arm around the room. “This is certainly extravagant for someone who just wants to vanish.”
Annie had a point, Shaw thought. Why go to all the trouble? Shaw turned back to Annie. “That’s because he doesn’t intend to vanish,” Shaw said. “He intends to return, to come back.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Annie made a move towards the door that was ajar. “Just call the police and let them deal with this. This is too strange for me. I’ve got my own problems to sort out.”
“Think about it, Annie,” Shaw said. “If you call the police they’re going to start asking you questions, too. They’re going to want to know who you are. Why you’re here.”
Annie stopped in her tracks at the door.
Shaw continued. “Pretty soon they’re going to be looking into your past, wondering who you really are.” Shaw paused as he watched Annie’s shoulders slump. “I certainly don’t want the police looking into me,” Shaw admitted. “I have nothing to hide. I just prefer my privacy. But you on the other hand have a lot to hide.”
Annie turned around, her face suddenly cold like stone. “You’re going to tell the police about me?”
“No,” Shaw replied. “Your secret is safe. You just need to do what I tell you to and I’ll find a way out of this. I said I would help you and I will.”
