A Killer's Watch (13 page)

“Definitely,” Monique nodded, eager to do something
productive.

“I’ll have Nate clear it with the locals, then set the
appointments. You want to go to them, right? At their homes? Makes it seem more
social, less official.” Ethan grabbed his phone, waited for their assent, then
went into the bedroom to make the call.

“Thanks for the suggestion, Monique. Meeting with the men,
one on one, could be beneficial. Our killer is very socially adept, and
probably quite charming. Though I don’t expect the interviews to make him
nervous, or break him down, we may be able to isolate him, based on those
traits alone.”

“So what, no good cop, bad cop?” Monique asked,
disappointed.

“Not this time,” Jeri laughed. “We approach the meetings as
if we are trying to eliminate the men as suspects. We keep everything friendly,
especially as some of them may have their lawyers in tow.”

“Is our killer more or less likely to have a lawyer
present?” Chloe asked, fascinated with the psychological aspects of the case.

“Less, I think. Our killer is highly intelligent, but he’s
also confident. I’m betting that the confidence outweighs the need for an
attorney. Our killer believes he can handle anything, can outwit anyone. Two
lowly females will be no match for him,” Jeri grinned.

“Of course not,” Monique grinned back.

~~~

Thomas waited until the kitchen maid retired for the night
before he slipped out the back door, on his way to the cellar. He expected to
have at least an hour before the Grants returned, and he wanted to see for
himself that Mr. Grant was not a kidnapper, or a murderer.

He followed the tracks left by Mr. Grant’s truck, easily
visible in the moonlight. If anyone saw him, he could say that he was out for a
stroll, the night was so lovely.

“Lovely, but chilly,” Thomas noted, then picked up his step.
The sound of the river, lapping against the banks, increased as he neared the
cellar.

He’d never actually been to this part of the property. Mr.
Grant made it clear, when he hired him, that the cellar was off limits. He said
that it was unsafe, that their liability insurance did not extend to the
underground shelter.

Thomas hadn’t minded, had no desire to visit such a dreary
location. He preferred to stay above ground, whenever possible.

Now, as he rounded the trees that blocked the entrance from
view of the house, he braced himself for the unknown.

The stand of evergreens hid a small structure made from rock
and mortar, housing a doorway that reminded him of a medieval castle. The walls
stood nearly six feet, but were only three-feet wide, on any side. The
structure basically stood to create an entrance, not to contain a room of any
kind.

Grateful that it was not necessary to get on his knees to
open the door, Thomas reached for the handle, only to find a thick padlock,
attached with wrapped wire cording, protecting the entryway.

Surprised at the necessity of such an elaborate lock, Thomas
took a step back. There was no way he could breach the lock without Mr. Grant
knowing. For good measure, he looked at the hinges, briefly considered the
possibility of removing the door altogether, at another time. But the iron
hinges were built into the rock, to remove them would do considerable damage to
the building.

Pressing his ear to the door, he listened for any signs of
life, but could hear nothing. Not surprising, as the door appeared much too
thick for sounds to travel through. Still, he had to try.

With no other options, he turned to leave the sheltered
entry. Glancing down at the ground, he saw a button, glittering in the
moonlight.

Reaching down for the shiny object, he felt a cool wind blow
over him, sending goose bumps along both arms. It felt like someone had walked
over his grave.

Rhinestones twinkled on the face of the button, six small
stones winking up at him.

It took a moment for Thomas to process what he was seeing.
Rhinestones? On a button? No one in the Grant household would wear such a thing.
In fact, he could think of no one at all who would wear a rhinestone button.
Except for a showgirl of some sort.

Or a teenage girl.

The thought hit him like a ton of bricks, nearly knocking
him to his knees.

But it couldn’t’ be, what would a young girl be doing in the
Grant’s field, near the cellar door?

The obvious answer was staring him in the face, but he couldn’t
go there. Not yet. Not until every other possibility had been eliminated.

Or until he had proof.

Accusing Mr. Grant of something so horrendous, without
proof, would surely be the end of his career. But not saying something could be
even worse. And with the ladies from the FBI coming tomorrow, to interview Mr.
Grant, it would be an opportune time to mention something. Or not.

Faced with the dilemma, Thomas decided to give Graham Grant
the benefit of the doubt, until he could find further reason to suspect him of
such unthinkable crimes.

Slipping the button in his pocket, Thomas silently vowed to
search the truck Mr. Grant so often disappeared in, and to take a look at his
computer, to see if he could find anything incriminating.

Keeping his head to the ground, in case another clue
presented itself, Thomas failed to see headlights coming across the field,
until they crested the knoll and illuminated the path in front of him.

Shocked at the sudden intrusion, Thomas looked up to face
the truck, barreling directly toward him.

~~~

Graham couldn’t believe it. Thomas was walking in the field,
only a few hundred yards from the cellar. The look of surprise on the butler’s
face was evident, even at this distance. For an instant, Graham could swear
that he also read fear in his expression.

Thomas stopped, moving to the side as the truck drew nearer.
Pulling to a stop beside him, Graham rolled down the window. The fear he read
from a distance was still there in the man’s eyes.

“Thomas, what are you doing out here?”

“Enjoying the evening, Sir. I decided to walk down to the
river and back. I hope you don’t mind.” Thomas worked to keep his face neutral,
purposefully did not mention the cellar.

Graham didn’t like it. First, the FBI women were here
snooping around, then Thomas decided to stroll across the field, a practice
that was completely out of character. It was entirely possible that Thomas
wanted to check out the cellar, based on the FBI’s description of the girls
being held in a concrete room.

He didn’t like it. It was too much of a coincidence. If
Thomas wanted to check the cellar, unsuccessfully, what would stop him from
alerting the FBI to the fact that the cellar existed?

In a split second, Graham knew what he had to do.

“Of course not, Thomas. In fact, it’s quite fortuitous to
find you here. I could use some help with a project I’m doing in the cellar.
Would you mind?”

“Help? With a project?” Thomas’ normally cool exterior
faltered as he stammered the questions.

Graham became even more certain of his decision.

“Yes, it won’t take long. Hop in.” Smiling his most gracious
smile, Graham motioned to the passenger door.

“Yes, Sir. Certainly.” Against every instinct he possessed,
Thomas walked around the truck, opened the door, and climbed in. His thoughts
whirling, he did his best to appear completely at ease.

“It is a lovely evening, Thomas. But don’t you find it a bit
chilly?” Graham initiated small talk for the short ride to the cellar. Thomas’
footprints were evident on the pressed grass, all the way to the entrance. So
the man
was
trying to investigate the cellar, Graham thought, but did
not say.

“Yes, actually. It’s unusually chilly for this time of year.
But I do so enjoy walking in the moonlight. Your property is lovely, especially
by the river.”

“That’s funny, Thomas. I never pegged you for the outdoorsy
type,” Graham smiled at him charmingly, with no indication of malice.

“Yes, Sir. I enjoy many outdoor activities,” Thomas lied,
his skin tingling as they drew to a stop. “I’m surprised that you’ve invited me
into the cellar, you were very clear about it being off limits to employees.”

“Yes, well, this is just between us. I’m sure that you will
be safe enough, helping me move the table. As I said, you won’t be here very
long.”

“The structure is quite interesting,” Thomas tried to ignore
his apprehensions as Mr. Grant unlocked, and unwrapped, the padlock. “It
appears to be very old.”

“Yes, my twice-great-grandfather had it built. There are rumors
that it was part of the Underground Railroad, but we’ve no proof of it. Good
thing, or the biddies from the historical society would be all over us to
protect it.” Graham chuckled as he finally opened the door.

“The light switch is on your right,” Graham stood back to
let Thomas pass. “Head on down, I need to retrieve something from the truck.”

“Certainly,” Thomas felt a bit relieved that Mr. Grant was
comfortable enough to leave him alone in the cellar. Perhaps this was perfectly
innocent. Anyone could have dropped that button, kids trespassed where they
didn’t belong all the time.

Thomas reassured himself with thoughts of Grant’s innocence,
all the way down the rock staircase. Landing at the bottom, he was surprised to
find the ground covered with large, flat stones, almost as if it were tiled.
The stones fit against each other to make the flooring, the center path was
worn smooth, after centuries of use.

Part of the walls surrounding the hallway were rock, like
the outside structure, but the stones gave way to concrete as Thomas walked.
The hall was surprisingly long, with three doors leading off it. Not sure which
way to go, Thomas took the opportunity to check behind the first door, before Mr.
Grant joined him.

He was totally unprepared for what greeted him, as soon as
he found and flipped the light switch.

The long metal table was the first thing to catch his eye,
followed by the shelves of bleach on the wall behind it. A large tray of
knives, and other tools, rested on a rolling cart beside the silver table.

Taking a step inside the room, Thomas forgot about Mr. Grant
as his eyes wandered over the long hose attached to a water nozzle, hanging
from the ceiling, and the large grate in the floor, directly beneath the table.

“It’s a drain,” he whispered, moving farther into the room.

“I see you found my operating room.” Graham’s voice was
directly behind Thomas. “It’s too bad that you didn’t follow the rules, Thomas.
It’s really too bad.” As he spoke, Graham injected Thomas with ketamine, but
did not attempt to catch him as he fell to the floor.

“I’ll have to think of something to tell Mother,” Graham
sighed, as he walked to the tray and selected a large butcher knife. “She won’t
be pleased.”

Having no interest in terrorizing the man as he did the
girls who made it into this room, Graham knelt beside the unconscious butler,
tipped him on his side, and stabbed him in the heart. Quick, but not clean, the
mortal wound sent blood spurting onto the floor as Graham removed the blade.

Holding the man on his side until the blood stopped seeping,
Graham considered what he would do with the body. Thomas had nothing to do with
Aubrey, so he need not take him to Clevestone. Also, having him turn up dead
would be a problem, as Graham had already decided that Thomas would leave like
a thief in the night. Taking some of his mother’s finest silver and several of
her favorite pieces of jewelry, of course.

It was a fitting way to repay his mother for her
time-sucking meddling. It would also bring in some extra cash, once she filed
the insurance claim. Not that they needed it, but why not profit from this huge
annoyance?

When Thomas finally stopped bleeding, Graham rolled him onto
his back. Going to the shelf, he opened a bottle of bleach, then poured it over
the body, the floor, and into the drain. Letting the bleach sit for a moment
gave him time to consider his alternatives.

He could throw him in the river, but he would eventually
surface downstream, so that wouldn’t do.

He could cut him into pieces, and put him in an acid vat to
dissolve. The thought of the acid intrigued Graham, but cutting him into pieces
seemed like too much work. Besides, he would have to purchase a container, not
to mention the acid. And how was he to dispose of the resulting liquid? Could
he wash it down the drain? Possibly, if he kept the container in this room.
Then he could simply tilt it over, let the acid and what was left of Thomas run
into the river.

“I could also wrap you like a mummy in cellophane. Leave you
in the storage room to decompose. Deal with you later.”

Liking that option the most, Graham stood and dragged Thomas
to the hallway. He would not leave him in the operating room until he could make
it back with the plastic. The man would surely start to smell.

As he dragged Thomas past the doorway to the girl’s chamber,
Graham snarled. He so wanted to spend quality time with them tonight. It was
the reason he cut the evening short, claiming that he had urgent business to
attend in Asia. His mother had no clue what he did to increase the family
coffers, so a phone call to Asia seemed perfectly reasonable to her.

Now, instead of spending time with Allison, or Diana, he
would be making the nosy butler’s belongings disappear. He would also have to
wait until his mother was sleeping soundly, before going into her room, and
rifling through her jewels.

It was a good thing that Thomas had rooms separate from the
rest of the staff. Graham could have him packed up, and moved out, without
anyone being the wiser. But it would take time. Time stolen from his lovely
guests, waiting beyond that door.

“I can take a moment, pay them a little visit,” he told
Thomas as he left him in the storage room. “I’ll give them your regards.”
Laughing, Graham closed the door soundly, before moving back down the hall.