Dead, Without a Stone to Tell It

by Jen J. Danna

  “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

  “I’m pretty sure Bradford’s been watching me.”

  “What?” When she remained silent for a fraction of a second too long, Matt pressed again. “What’s going on, Leigh? Don’t keep me in the dark on this. I’d like to think you’d tell me even if it wasn’t case-related.”

  “It’s nice to know I’ve got you standing behind me.”

  “Then tell me what happened.”

  “Remember the window? I was chalking that up to a teenage prank until I got a package at work this morning.”

  “What kind of package?”

  “A letter and a blood-stained necklace, likely from one of the victims. The letter was unsigned, but was clearly from our killer. He warned me off the case and made reference to being in my yard that night. It would certainly be consistent with his psych profile. I mean, inflicting terror is his goal, right?”

  Matt sat frozen in place, every instinct screaming that she was putting herself directly in harm’s way. “Damn it, Leigh. I don’t like this. He could have you in his sights right now and you’re just going to stroll right up to his front door?”

  “He’s not going to stop me from doing my job. That’s exactly what he wants, but it’s not going to happen. I’m taking the necessary precautions.”

  “He’s a dangerous man.”

  “I’m taking his threat seriously. We’ll be heading out just as soon as the warrant is signed,” Leigh continued. “I’m throwing the net wide and asking the judge for the warrant to cover all three-and-a-half acres of land and all of the associated outbuildings, including a detached garage and a boathouse. Considering we’re looking for the kill room as well as the weapons used on the victims, I’m confident he’ll sign it as is. If we bring Bradford in, Kepler will join me in the interview room. We want to nail this thing shut, and, truthfully, I could use his experience on this one. There’s no room for any mistakes.”

  Matt weighed his options quickly, finally going with his gut. “I’d like to come with you.”

  When Leigh finally spoke, her voice was full of resignation. “Matt, that’s not a good idea. I should never have gotten you involved at the Hershey house.” She sighed. “Is this because of Bradford’s interest in me?”

  “No, you’ve got more than enough protection if he decides to go after you today. You’ve got a whole SWAT team and an experienced cop on hand to watch your back. I’m not asking to go in with you, guns blazing. I know you can’t have me underfoot for that.”

  “You do realize you’re making my point for me,” she said wryly.

  Matt raised his fist to rap it softly against his forehead in frustration. When he finally spoke, it was calmly and with care, but he suspected he wasn’t doing a good job disguising his unraveling patience. “I’d like to be there so I can evaluate the evidence as it pertains to our victims if you find the kill room. And then there’s—”

  “Time-out.” There was a bone-deep exhaustion in her voice as she cut him off.

  The silence dragged on for several seconds, but he didn’t dare interrupt it. He knew she was wavering and he needed her to decide in his favor. He’d go crazy if he had to sit in the lab, waiting for word of the raid.

  “What about that examination with Rowe?” she finally asked. “I thought it was supposed to happen today?”

  “Already done. He said he’d send you a report, but our findings were totally in line with what we’ve seen and identified in our skeletonized victims. I’ll tell you all about it later when you’re not so squeezed for time. I’m clear for the rest of the day. I won’t even get out of the car until you give the okay.”

  A long gusty sigh came down the line, and he knew he had her. “All right, but you have to get up here. As soon as this warrant comes through, we’re moving out. If you can get to the Detective Unit before we go, then you can come with me. But you will stay in the car,” she insisted, “until I give the all clear.”

  “Done,” Matt said quickly. “I’m leaving now. I’ll call you when I get into town and you can tell me where to meet you. See you in about forty-five.” He ended the call abruptly.

  He grabbed his coffee and shot to his feet, heading for East Concord Street and the parking lot where he’d left his SUV. He’d call the lab and let them know the change in plans. But first, he had a little side trip to make. If they were going to walk up to Bradford’s front door, Matt needed to stop by his own house first.

  Monday, 3:16 P.M.

  Bradford residence

  Gloucester, Massachusetts

  Matt impatiently drummed his fingers on his knee as he sat in the passenger seat of Leigh’s Crown Vic and refrained from checking his watch for the third time in under five minutes. Looking up at the house, he scanned it for signs of movement.

  Nothing.

  The house looked innocuous—it was a traditional New England two-story clapboard, perhaps a little shabby and in need of minor repairs, but it certainly didn’t look like a place of misery and death.

  It had been over forty-five minutes since Leigh, Sergeant Kepler, and a team of eight tactical officers had swarmed the house and grounds. And still Matt waited for news.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the tactical team poured from the front door, jogging toward the van parked down the street. Leigh appeared on the front porch behind them.

  He knew immediately from the set of her shoulders that they’d failed.

  She strode down the driveway, her fists clenched and her body tight, reaching the Crown Vic just as the STOP van pulled away from the curb, leaving the scene. Opening the back door, she pulled off her bullet-proof vest, tossing it with more force than required onto the back seat.

  She ducked her head below the roof of the car to peer inside. “We’ve got nothing. Bradford’s not on scene and we didn’t even find the kill room.”

  “Nothing new at all from the search?”

  “Well, no … not exactly. There’s a boat moored down the hill on the river that Kepler is checking out right now. At least that’s something. But the house is clear and so are all the outbuildings.”

  “The motorcycle?”

  “Not here.” Her fist came down hard on the roof of the car. “Goddamn it! I was so sure this was it.” She reached in to grab her blazer off the back seat, shrugging into it. “I’ve called in Crime Scene Services to go over the house anyway.”

  “Maybe they’ll find something. Leigh, you did the best you could.”

  “Tell that to the next vic he grabs if we don’t catch him.” She tipped her head down to rest it briefly against the edge of the doorframe before looking up to meet his eyes. “I want to go through the house again, even though I don’t think those women were ever there. Want to come? Two pairs of eyes are better than one.”

  Matt was already climbing out of the car before she could change her mind. “Let’s do it.”

  Monday, 3:50 P.M.

  Bradford residence

  Gloucester, Massachusetts

  Sunlight sparkled on undulating dark blue water as Matt and Leigh trudged down the gravel path leading to the boathouse and dock at the river’s edge. In the distance, rows of boats bobbed in neat lines at the Heron Way Marina. The sound of a motor ripped through the quiet, and suddenly a white boat speared into the water, the roar of its engine rising and then fading off into the distance.

  Sergeant Kepler had left thirty minutes before and now two state troopers kept watch in Leigh’s unmarked car as they waited for Crime Scene Services to arrive. Together, Matt and Leigh had done a second sweep of the house, leaving no corner unchecked. The only new discovery was a computer in the den; Leigh had already called Rob Tucker in to go over it with a fine-toothed comb.

  “There she is.” Matt pointed to the sleek white boat moored to the short, battered plank dock. “Pretty nice. Not new, but in mint condition.”

  “A lot of people who have lived by the sea all their lives consider their boat to be more important than their
car. It’s their ticket to freedom or to life out on the water.”

  Matt glanced sideways at her. “I think you were right the first time—it’s his ticket to freedom. And his transportation for the bodies.”

  “I wonder if Bradford’s had it since the first killing.”

  “That would be my guess,” Matt said. “He had to have something to get him out there to bury his first victim. It’s easier to get to the burial site by boat than over land. From here on the Annisquam, it’s a straight shot north to go upriver and right out into open water. And did you notice the lamp?” He pointed at the silver halogen spotlight attached to the forward tip of the boat’s handrail. “To light his way in the dark.”

  Leigh nodded. “Yeah, I spotted that little feature.”

  They stepped from the path onto the wooden dock, their boots thudding against the worn, weathered wood as they moved to stand near the stern. They both peered in to scan the interior.

  Mud and bits of marsh grass smeared the deck and dirty fingerprints marked the dash.

  “Just as I thought. He hasn’t had time to clean it out.” Leigh pointed toward the bow. “Kepler said it was a cuddy with a closed cabin. If there are going to be any traces of blood, skin, or hair, I’ll bet that’s where we’ll find them. We’ll get the techs out here as soon as they arrive.” Her phone rang from inside her blazer pocket. “Sorry. Excuse me for a minute.” She stepped away to take the call.

  Matt wandered to the end of the dock to look out at the houses opposite, easily five hundred feet across the Annisquam. This really was an ideal place for a secret life: shielded by leafy trees in the summer with a driveway that curved around the back of the house, bodies could easily be moved on and off the property.

  He turned around to consider the house up the hill. If he was loading the boat at night, where was he holding and killing the girls? The house had been checked twice. The garage had been cleared. They hadn’t personally examined the boathouse yet, but STOP had reported it empty and Kepler had confirmed.

  Where was the kill room? Something simply didn’t add up.

  An exclamation from Leigh had him spinning toward her. She was standing with her back to him, talking animatedly. As soon as she hung up, she turned to him, smiling brilliantly.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “They just picked up Bradford.”

  “Whoa. What happened?”

  “We’ve got a statewide APB out on his motorcycle and a sharp-eyed trooper in an unmarked car spotted a man with that distinctive helmet on a bike going south on Highway 128 outside of Waltham. He called it in and followed at a safe distance so he wasn’t spotted. Once there was enough support, they boxed him in and pulled him over.” She grinned at him. “They’ve got him in custody and are bringing him to Salem for questioning.”

  “He was out by Waltham? Do you think he was going south, trying to leave the state?”

  “Possibly. Or maybe he was heading to Logan to get a flight out of Boston. Maybe things were getting a little too hot for him here.”

  “I guess it doesn’t matter because we’ve got him.” Relieved laughter unexpectedly burst from Matt. “Wow … could this really be the end of the case?”

  “If we’re very lucky. We’ve got him in custody. Now the crucial thing is to keep him there because he’ll be a flight risk.”

  “Then we need to find his kill room to really nail him. He’s not going to just hand it to us.”

  “No, not a chance of that,” she agreed.

  “Let’s take a look at the boathouse then,” Matt suggested. “There has to be a place where he’s holding and killing these women. It’s not in the house. It’s not in the garage. By process of elimination, it has to be in the boathouse. It makes sense. He could bring the boat right into the boathouse to load the women on board.”

  “Fine with me. It’s been cleared, but I won’t believe it until I’ve checked it out for myself.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got about half an hour before I need to be on the road back to Salem for the interview with Bradford.”

  They stepped off the dock and started toward the boathouse at the edge of the water.

  “I think—” Matt froze as a faint, high-pitched squeak reached his ears. He reached out to grab Leigh’s arm. “What was that?” he whispered.

  They both looked around wildly—from the boathouse, to the boat, and back around to the house behind them.

  No movement. No sound.

  But what drew their attention hadn’t come from the boathouse, the boat, or the house up the hill. It had come from their left.

  They both swung around to face the sound, but all they could see was a grassy hilltop.

  The sound had definitely been metallic and man-made.

  They glanced at each other before moving forward in unison, climbing the hill in search of the source of the sound.

  Then they saw it—the trench cut into the side of the hill. It was narrow, only a few feet across, and the sides and the back were grass covered.

  Leigh went first, stepping into a short passageway behind a false front wall cut into the hill. The path angled steeply downwards, the walls of the passageway quickly rising above their heads with open sky still bright above them. Six feet in, the path abruptly veered right and Matt suddenly realized what they were looking at.

  A doorway was carved into the side of the hill, with a weathered, scarred metal door hanging on ancient, rusty hinges. The metal sign riveted to it was still legible, even if faded. He’d never seen one in real life, but he remembered hearing about structures like this in school during history lessons about the Cold War.

  The three yellow triangles arranged like fan blades on a black circle. Bright yellow block letters on a black background: “FALLOUT SHELTER.”

  It was an old underground fallout shelter from the 1950s, built when Americans feared the Soviets would attack them with nuclear weapons. When those along the East Coast were convinced they would be the first to die.

  The door was slightly ajar.

  Darkness beckoned from within.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: CRAB BURROW

  Crab Burrow: A sand-covered burrow, usually found at the border of tidal creeks; it contains an air bubble that allows the crab to breathe while submerged at high tide.

  Monday, 4:02 P.M.

  Bradford residence

  Gloucester, Massachusetts

  Leigh’s hand clamped over Matt’s wrist, squeezing tight. “They didn’t find this when they searched the property,” she breathed. “The way it’s built into the side of the hill with the grass growing over the entrance, you wouldn’t see it unless you were literally standing right in front of it. You could walk right past it and never see the entrance because it blends into the hillside. And it certainly wasn’t on any of the maps.”

  “This thing was probably built in the nineteen-fifties. I bet there was no need for a permit back then, so there’s no record of it. Leigh, think about how soundproof a structure like this would be.” Matt pointed at a series of horizontal wooden slats just to the left of the door. “Except for ventilation so the occupants don’t die of oxygen deprivation, this place was built to be able to withstand a nuclear holocaust. The walls could easily be several feet thick.” Grasping her left hand tightly, he started to pull her forward. “Let’s take a look.”

  “Wait.” She tugged him back. “We need to do this by the book. We can’t risk contaminating anything. Our entire case could rest on what we find in this room. I go first.” Matt gathered himself to argue. “I go first,” she repeated insistently, “and we only go in a few feet. I know you’re anxious to get in and start matching tools, but you need to be patient.” She poked his chest with an index finger for emphasis. “We do this right.” She pulled her gun from its holster, the familiar weight comforting in her grip.

  “You think we need that? Bradford’s already in custody.”

  “In this case I’m going to go with ‘better safe than sorry.’ I don’t trust anythin
g when it comes to this case.”

  “Fair enough.” He held out his hand for her to precede him. “Ladies … uh … officers first.”

  She gave him a pointed look, but moved past to stand in front of the door. Bracing her free hand against the cool, weathered metal, she gave it a hard push. It gave way with a low grind of disused steel hinges. The door swung wide to clang against something metallic behind it before bouncing back slightly.

  Light flooded into the darkness inside.

  They stood motionless for several heartbeats, waiting for some sign of movement from within the room. But there was only the sound of the wind blowing through the treetops around the house and the mournful cry of a seagull out over the open water.

  Leaning forward slightly, Leigh peered into the space, now illuminated slightly by daylight spilling through the doorway.

  In the shadows, she could see part of the top of a metal table and a single leg. A dark metal chain dangled from the table to the floor. She squinted, trying to see it better. Was that rust?

  Her mouth went dry.

  Not rust. Blood.

  They’d found the kill room.

  Taking a deep breath, Leigh stepped into the dim space slowly, cautiously, her eyes adjusting to the low light. The main area of the shelter appeared to be a single large room. The metal table sat in the middle, the top dark with dried blood. A wooden worktable covered with bloody rags and weapons stood against the far wall near a tall roll of plastic sheeting that leaned into the corner. There was a blood-splattered sink in the opposite corner beside shelves stacked with canned goods and wooden crates. One wall held a collage of newspaper clippings. Two doorways to the right opened into darkness.