by David Wood
“You’re right,” Crowley said as they followed. “I do like your friend.”
Rose laughed. “Told you!” She made sure to snap a lot of pictures as they went, though she wasn’t sure how necessary any of them might be.
The door led to a short cross passage and only a few feet along that an old brick wall was half tumbled in. Jazz nudged a couple more bricks free to make enough room to step through, and then did just that, flicking on a flashlight as she went.
“Jazz!” Rose said, aghast. “You can’t go blundering in there, surely?”
Jazz poked her head back out, grinning. “Oops. Looks like I just did. Come on!”
The room beyond was a rounded brick structure like the one they had descended into, this one coated with the same mineral deposit, but here a good half inch thick, no doubt undisturbed by even light for over two hundred years. Rose only had moments to marvel at that before she realized all the broken wood on the floor was actually the remains of about twenty coffins. Some dusty, gray bones lay scattered among them, but not many. Rose swallowed, the presence of death sudden and impossible to ignore. Everything seemed instantly much more serious. But, she had to admit, exciting too.
She snapped pictures as they went through the long space and eventually came to another doorway. “You think they even realized this was here?” she asked, gesturing at the next door.
“I doubt it,” Jazz said. “Seems they spotted this space and immediately ceased work. Clearly not as curious as us. I guess they don’t get paid enough for complications.”
The door before them was wooden with diagonal supporting slats, hanging by iron hinges. Or maybe copper, Rose mused. Unable to help herself, she gave it a gentle push. It shifted slightly, so she pushed harder. Scraping against the grit on the floor, it slowly opened and Jazz shined her flashlight inside.
There were dozens of skeletons piled up against one wall, stacked like cordwood, with bits of clothing and hair still clinging to them. Rose gasped at the sight.
“Holy hell,” Crowley breathed.
Rose quickly took more photographs, then turned to take pictures of another pile of bones, disarticulated skeletons making a confused pile of skulls, femurs, and other aged and broken bones, many crumbled to dust.
Crowley pushed the door all the way open to reveal the other side of the space and Jazz swore eloquently.
Another stack of bodies filled that side, but these weren’t ancient skeletal remains. Rose saw right away that there were distinct layers. The bottom layer was clearly the oldest, evidenced by the clothing and jewelry, a pocket watch in the dust, but even they weren’t that old. Decades more than centuries, certainly. As her eyes lifted to take in the scene, her gorge rose too. Rose let out a yelp of shock as Crowley joined Jazz in swearing. The bodies on top were obviously no more than a few weeks old, dressed in modern clothes.
“Get photos,” Jazz said.
Swallowing hard, Rose lined up the camera and took several. The two recent corpses were a red-haired young man and a blonde young woman, well-dressed. The man at least had the brown stain of dried blood on the back of his head, though the angle at which he lay made it impossible to see the wound the blood had come from without getting closer. Rose was reluctant to do that. She took more photos, the flash like lightning bolts in the dim room. She hoped her trembling wouldn’t make the images blurry.
Jazz put a hand on her arm as she lowered the camera. “We’d better get back up right away and tell Professor Putman to hurry those police along. Looks like this is a crime scene after all.”
Chapter 6
Crowley stood back while Jazz told the professor and construction worker what they’d seen. She was doing a good job of skirting around her own credentials, and Crowley could tell she was anxious to be away from the crime scene. They could all get in a lot of trouble if they were caught here, especially having moved things down there and possible contaminated evidence. Something made his skin itch, put him on edge.
“You went past the fallen wall?” the professor asked in shock.
“We just stepped in,” Jazz said. “We had to. We only had a quick look. But please, call the police. We could see further than you had before, and those bodies are fresh. This is serious.”
“Holy crap,” the construction worker said, pulling a phone from his pocket.
As they talked, Crowley scanned around. He saw a large man, broad-shouldered and thick-limbed, wearing a charcoal suit and dark sunglasses. His hair was a mop of dark brown curls, his skin pale. He held a cell phone awkwardly in his left hand, and Crowley realized it was because he was surreptitiously lining up for a creeper photograph of Rose and Jazz talking to the two men. The man checked whatever photo he’d taken, then tapped the screen to make a call.
Crowley was about to cross the square to confront the man when Rose pulled on his sleeve. “Come on, we need to go.”
“Why the hurry?”
Distant sirens sounded, getting quickly closer. “That’s why,” Jazz said. “It’ll be much easier for all of us if we make ourselves scarce. Otherwise, we’ll have a lot of awkward questions to answer.”
She was only voicing his own concerns of moments ago. “Okay.” Crowley glanced back to where the man had stood, but he was gone. Scanning the crowds, Crowley saw his broad back heading away from them towards West 4th Street. Frustrated, he made a mental note of the man’s appearance and then followed Rose and Jazz out of the arched gateway and back north along 5th Avenue.
MATTHEW PRICE WAS sat quietly reading, enjoying the sunshine through his apartment window when his phone shrilly interrupted the peace and quiet. He frowned at it, rude and intrusive device that it was, but then saw the name Carlo flashing on the screen.
He tapped to answer, immediately selecting speakerphone, so he didn’t have sit holding it against his head. It always made him uncomfortable to use it that way. “What have you learned?”
“Constructions workers found the vault in Washington Square Park, just like you suspected. They have it all cordoned off, and the police have just arrived.”
Price’s eyebrows rose. “The police?”
“Yeah, seems they found something down there that caused a bit of a panic. There was some people around, then a few of them went down inside. When they came back up, they looked pretty freaked out. Had a conversation and then the police came. I moved along before the police got there, but watched from a distance. They’ve established a crime scene. But interestingly, the three who checked it this morning left again pretty quick, like they didn’t want to be around for too long.”
“Who were they all? Officials of some kind? Any idea?”
“Not all of them, no. The two who stayed behind are the city works guy and some academic. They were there all along. The three who turned up and went down into the vault were a strange bunch. They were acting all official, but it looked to me like a bamboozle. And I think I’m right about that because one of them I recognized, and she’s no city official. She’s a reporter with the New York Sentinel.”
“How do you know her?”
“I read the Sentinel. They always put her picture by her stories, and I’ve always thought she was pretty hot. Her name is Jasmine Richards.”
Price pursed his lips, thinking. If a reporter had gone down there and discovered something interesting, how long before it was public knowledge? “How did a reporter know to investigate already? The hot press grapevine is rather active, I suppose. What about the other two?” he asked. “Were they press as well, do you think?”
“They were with Richards, but I got no idea why. A man and woman. The woman was acting like she was the photographer, but I saw the reporter give her the camera when they got here, which seemed kind of weird. She was Asian-looking, maybe Chinese? But she had a foreign accent. Australian maybe. Or British or something. Who the hell can tell, you know? The guy had a similar accent, tall and burly-looking fella. Not huge, but sorta capable, you know what I mean?”
Instinct struck
instantly, and Price’s eyebrows rose further. “I do know what you mean. Did you get a photo, by any chance?”
“Not of the guy, he stayed a bit to one side when they came out. But the reporter and the other woman, yeah. Hang on.”
There was scuffling as Carlo moved his phone around, then a beep and a grainy photo came up on the screen of Price’s phone. He leaned forward to see Rose Black and an African-American woman talking to a construction worker and an academic. So the man was surely Gertrude’s dear nephew, Jake Crowley. What an interesting development.
“I know which way they went,” Carlo said. “I can catch them up easily enough, and have a friendly chat if you want to know more.”
“No, thank you. Just keep an eye on the situation unfolding in the park for now, if you’d be so kind. Thank you, Carlo.”
“No problem.”
The call ended, and Price sat back, fingers tapping thoughtfully at his chin.
“What are we going to do about this?” he said quietly.
Chapter 7
“Well, I’d better get back to work.” Jazz’s face was alive with excitement, no doubt the adrenaline of their mischief and the subsequent macabre discovery.
Crowley shared that joy, but he also harbored darker thoughts, uncertain about Jazz and Rose spending time together. There was clearly a spark between them that he doubted would ever be extinguished. He also told himself not to be a jealous fool, Rose was with him, after all. But still, the nagging doubts persisted. It was one thing to recognize you were being a jealous fool, but entirely another to not feel it any longer.
“Thanks for that unusual sightseeing detour,” Rose said. “A New York City experience most people would never get.”
Jazz made a sarcastic curtsy. “You’re welcome. I hope I get to follow this up, it could become quite the juicy exposé.” She gestured with the camera she’d retrieved from Rose. “Especially as we got photographs of the bodies in situ. You want me to credit you as the photographer if I get a feature piece, get you an official New York Sentinel byline?”
“No, thanks! I’m happy to be photographer incognito,” Rose said with a grin.
“I expect there’ll be a lot of red tape before you’re allowed your fun in the paper,” Crowley said, and he heard the gruffness in his voice.
Rose glanced at him, frowning slightly.
“Sure, there always is.” Jazz seemed unfazed by his attitude, and he was thankful for that. “But I have the best chance here to get something going. We’ll see. LaGuerta, that’s my editor, she can be a hardass, but I’ll try to talk her around.” She moved to Rose and hugged her. “See you more before you leave town, I hope?”
“Oh, most definitely.”
They kissed each other’s cheeks, then Jazz reached out a hand to shake. Crowley took it, wondering if the scowl he wore looked as obvious as it felt. He resented his feelings, didn’t like to be jealous, but he resented the closeness of the women too. This wasn’t how he had hoped their excursion to New York would play out.
“Really good to meet you, Jake,” Jazz said. “You look after Rose, you hear?”
“I will. You can count on it.”
“See you guys.”
Jazz turned and strode away. Rose turned to Crowley.
“You okay?” Her brows were knitted, but more in concern than annoyance he thought.
“Sure, why?”
“You’re a little grumpy, is all.”
Crowley took her hand and squeezed it, kissed her lightly on the lips. “I’m sorry. A little out of sorts, I guess. But you’re right, I’ll try to shake it off. Let’s get a coffee and go to Times Square. Be tourists again.”
They continued north up 5th Avenue, and soon enough the road opened up into the large, long triangular precinct that for some reason was called a Square. Crowley loved this part of New York, so intense, so vibrant with colors, neon, noise, people. The digital billboards scrolled a riot of colors advertising all kinds of technology, movies, shows, cars, the full gamut of human achievement and excess.
Crowley pointed to a freestanding shop in the center of the pedestrianized precinct. It said wafels & dinges in bright yellow lettering. “I have no idea what either of those things are, but they sell coffee too, so let’s go.”
A few minutes later, oversized cups in hand, they moved to the red steps in the middle of Times Square designed as a kind of viewing platform for tourists. Glass sides surrounded the bright red plastic stairway, people swarming all over to get the best selfies at the top, the brilliance of Times Square framed just right behind them. Crowley and Rose sat on one side, only a few steps up.
Rose hefted the cup. “Everything in America is unnecessarily big.”
Crowley grinned. “Yeah, that’s their brand, I think. Excess in all things. Kind of exhausting, isn’t it? A bit grotesque.”
“It is, but invigorating too.” She spoke without looking at him, her gaze roving the mad brightness all around them.
Crowley nodded. He had to admit, it was mesmerizing. He joined her in looking around, as fascinated by the huge array of people as well as the city itself. “I love to visit, but I could never live here.”
“Too much for you?”
“I think so. It would be overwhelming. Then again, if I lived in New York, I wouldn’t be in Times Square all the time, so perhaps the perspective is off. Other parts of the city, even parts of Manhattan, are entirely more relaxed. More so than here, at least.”
“It’s certainly not England,” Rose said. “Not even London.”
Crowley smiled. “Old Londinium has its own charms and bustles. But we’re used to those.”
“I guess. What do you think about what we saw with Jazz?” Rose asked.
“I don’t know. Pretty bizarre to visit a vault supposedly undisturbed for two hundred years only to find fresh bodies in it.”
“Yeah, exactly. So it obviously wasn’t undiscovered. Someone knew about it and was making good use of it. That’s just so creepy. You think we disturbed the lair of a serial killer?”
“Sounds like one of your horror movies.” Crowley cast his mind back, picturing the gloomy crypt. “Did you notice how the bodies stacked up there were in layers? The two on top were fresh, but beneath they were kind of representing different time periods as they went down. Not by much, but the stack must have covered several decades, and that was only the one pile. Other piles seemed even older.”
“I did. And you know, we were shocked by fresh ones, but the next couple of layers down weren’t that old either. There was some relatively modern clothing rotting away down there.”
“I saw that too,” Crowley said. “But towards the bottom of the next pile over, the corpses were ancient. Little more than bone and rags.”
“You think someone found that old vault and decided it was a good place to stash the more recently deceased.”
Crowley laughed, but without much humor. “I guess so. Not a bad place in a city like this. I mean, you can lose a body in the wilderness easily enough, but a place like New York?” He gestured around, encompassing all of Times Square and the massive city beyond.
They sat quietly for a moment, sipping coffee. Then Crowley said, “You notice anything else about the bodies?”
“Like what?”
“Any... uniformities?”
Rose frowned. “I’m not following.”
“Each one, at least all that I could see, had a hole in the skull. Same size and location every time.”
Rose looked up, eyebrows raised. “Really? I saw blood on the back of that fresh guy’s head but didn’t see a hole. Even the older ones had it?”
“Yep, so far as I could see anyway. We only had a moment, but that’s significant, don’t you think?”
“It is. I wonder if Jazz noticed that? I should tell her.”
Crowley sighed. Jazz again. “Already gone off the idea of ghost hunting?” There was a level of snark in his tone he hadn’t intended, but he wasn’t about to apologize for it.
/> “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, I just–” He was interrupted by his phone ringing. Feeling like a fool, he was thankful for the distraction. “Hang on.” He thumbed to answer the unrecognized number. “Hello?”
“Jake, is that you?”
The voice was male, familiar, but Crowley couldn’t place it for a moment. “Yes, this is Jake Crowley. Who’s this?”
“Dear boy, it’s Matthew Price. Your aunt was kind enough to give me your number.”
“Matt Price! What can I do for you?” Crowley saw Rose’s sour look from the corner of his eye and enjoyed a moment of juvenile pleasure from her disapproval. Give her something to worry about too. He wasn’t sure why she was supposed critical of Price, the man seemed decent enough to him.
“Matthew Price, if you don’t mind. I wondered if you’d like to have lunch tomorrow? I thought perhaps we ought to get to know each other a little better now we’re both such a large part of Gertrude’s life.”
“Sure thing, sounds good. Where and when?”
“Let’s say twelve noon at Riko on 8th Avenue? It’s a wonderful little Peruvian place I’ve grown rather fond of.”
“Sure thing, I’ll see you then.” Crowley hung up and grinned at Rose. “Aunt Gertie’s loverboy wants to have lunch. Get to know me better.”
One side of Rose’s mouth twisted slightly. “I really don’t care for Price.”
“I know, but I like the guy. And hey, at least my friend doesn’t want to shag me.” He could tell by the sudden tightness in her face that he was pushing the teasing too far. “Only joking. I guess you can have lunch with Jazz then?”
Chapter 8
Price arrived at Riko early. The restaurant was small, a narrow frontage on 8th Avenue between a Jessie’s Express Café and a place that served Thai and Japanese food. Riko was cozy on the inside, with dark wood tables and chairs and deep red painted walls. The whole place was as narrow as the street front, only eight or nine tables in two rows, four seats at each one, and a cramped bar and service counter at the far end. Beside the bar, a door led into the brightly lit kitchen. Immediately Price was assailed by the smells of grilling chicken and South American spices. The place was renowned for its wide selection of craft beers too, something Price had developed a taste for over recent years.
