Cold Sanctuary (John Decker Series Book 2) (7 page)

11

John Decker was asleep when the knock came at the door.

He opened his eyes and laid there, his head buried in the soft down pillow, the comforter pulled up to his chin, wondering if the sound was real or if he’d somehow dreamed it.

When the knock was repeated, an urgent staccato rap, he slipped from the bed, found his robe, and made his way through the living room, pulling the garment on as he went.

He drew back the latch, disengaged the deadbolt, and opened the door just enough to see into the corridor. This might be a tower block at the edge of an Alaskan glacier, but it always paid to be cautious.

When he saw Hayley Marsh standing there, a grim look upon her face, he opened the door wide.

“We have a problem.” She stepped past him into the living room. “I know it’s late, and you must be tired, but this can’t wait.”

“What’s going on?” Decker asked. He rubbed sleep from his eyes and did his best to look awake.

“There’s been an incident.” She shuffled from one foot to the other, clearly disturbed.

“What kind of incident?”

“One of our maintenance guys, Garrett Evans; he’s missing.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Pretty much. He was doing some work in the sub-basement, and he never came out.” Hayley took a deep breath. Her voice trembled. “His supervisor was talking to him on a two-way radio at the time. He said Garrett saw something down there. He screamed, then nothing. We haven’t been able to raise him since.”

“That doesn’t sound good.” Decker turned back toward the bedroom. “Give me a few minutes to throw some clothes on and I’ll be right with you.”

“Okay.” Hayley watched him walk toward the bedroom. “I’m sorry about this.”

“About what?” Decker said over his shoulder as he entered the bedroom.

“Waking you up. You’ve only been here a few hours and already I’m dragging you off to investigate.”

“That is what you brought me up here for, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Hayley replied. “But I would have preferred you get at least one good night's sleep before we throw you in at the deep end.”

“I’m used to it.” Decker exited the bedroom, wearing a pair of brown loafers, blue jeans and a sweater. He grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair. “Crimes very rarely happen on a convenient schedule.”

“Even so…”

“Come on.” Decker walked past her into the hallway. “Why don’t you show me this sub-basement?”

12

They rode down in silence. Decker felt uneasy, a fish out of water. He would have preferred Hayley to say something, anything, but she was preoccupied, no doubt thinking about her missing maintenance man.

He was also unsure what his boundaries were. He was not a police officer anymore, so he did not have the official status to call help in, should it be necessary. He also had no access to a police lab or any law enforcement databases, which made it harder to investigate. At least he still had Carol, his old dispatcher. She never agreed with the way he’d been treated, and he was sure he could count on her for a favor should it become necessary, but he would have to be tactful. He didn’t want to get her in trouble with her new boss. When Decker thought about that, about Chad being sheriff, he felt his anger rising. He was thankful when the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open.

He was about to step out when he realized that they weren’t at the sub-basement. Instead, he found himself looking at a stick thin older man dressed in a brown uniform.

“Mr. Decker, I’d like you to meet Don Wilder. He is the Shackleton town sheriff. Actually, he’s the whole police department.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Decker extended a hand. He wondered why the sheriff had not been there to meet him at the dock. If the circumstances were reversed he would have done so, if only out of professional courtesy.

Wilder hesitated, studying Decker for a moment before reciprocating. His handshake was strong, firm. “So you’re the expert the Town Council insisted on bringing in?” He stooped and picked up a black duffel bag, then stepped into the elevator.

“Something like that.” Decker felt uneasy. He sensed some hostility. Perhaps the sheriff felt his toes were being stepped upon.

“You used to be a police officer yourself, I hear?” Wilder turned and pushed the button marked B2. The elevator doors closed and the car lurched as it began its descent once more.

“Yes. A sheriff, just like you.”

“And now you’re not.”

“Nope.” Decker wondered where this was going. Everyone he’d met so far had something to say about his fall from grace, and it was getting old.

“Bet that irks you a tad.” Wilder narrowed his eyes. Decker wondered if the sheriff was summing him up, assessing the threat.

“Not really.” Decker lied. “I resigned.”

“Right.” Wilder stared straight ahead, his unblinking eyes fixed on the elevator doors. “Got out while you still could, huh? Wanted to avoid the proverbial firing squad?”

“I left the job for personal reasons.” Decker clenched his teeth and took a deep breath. He’d only met the man moments before but already he could tell they were not going to make a great team. The last thing he needed was an annoyed rent-a-cop in a sheriff’s uniform making his life hell. After all, if Wilder were so experienced, the town wouldn’t have needed to bring in outside help.

“Of course you did.” Wilder turned and studied Decker with cold detachment. As he did so the elevator came to a halt and the doors slid open.

“Looks like our stop.” Decker returned the man’s stare.

Wilder held his gaze for a moment longer, and then turned to the open doors. He cleared his throat and spoke, “From here on in, I’m in charge. You both do what I say, when I say it. We don’t know what’s waiting for us out there, so let’s be careful.” He unclipped his holster and drew his gun, clicking the safety off. “Comprende?”

Decker groaned inwardly.

“Can we just cut the action hero crap and get on with it?” Hayley rolled her eyes. “I swear to God, Wilder, if there was anyone else who wanted your job I’d let them have it.”

“You ought to show a little more respect, Miss Marsh.” Wilder peered through the open door, his gun held in both hands. “I am the elected sheriff of this town.”

“You were the only name on the ballot. No one else wanted the lousy job. Hell, you only wanted it so you could get your hands on bigger guns.”

“Now, Hayley…”

“Wilder, just do your damn job and find my maintenance man, will you?” Hayley said. “You are, after all, the only one with a gun.”

“And don’t you forget it.” Wilder took a step out of the elevator. He turned back for a moment. “You two stay close.”

“We’re wasting time.” Decker stepped past the sheriff and looked around, summing up his surroundings.

The sub-basement was dark and gloomy. A strange smell clung to the air, a mix of rotten eggs and machine oil. From somewhere off to his right he could hear water dripping, while somewhere else machinery thrummed.

Decker turned to Hayley. “What was your man doing down here?”

“Just general maintenance, nothing out of the ordinary.” She shrugged. “One of the habitation floors lost power. He was resetting a tripped breaker.”

“Where are the breakers located?” Decker asked.

“The other side of the basement, I believe, the far wall.” Hayley’s eyes wandered around the basement. She shuffled her feet, nervous. “But he had already made it back to the elevator. He was on the two-way with Artie Simms, the head of maintenance, when he went missing. He must have been right here where we are now.” She looked uncomfortable.

“So where is Mr. Simms at this moment?”

“The infirmary.” Wilder chimed in. “He was in a bad way, nerves were shot, so I sent him there for something to calm him down.”

“I see.” Decker studied the immediate surroundings, the walls, the floor, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. “I’m assuming you took the time to interview him while you were waiting for us?”

“Are you trying to tell me how to do my job?”

“Not at all.” Decker took a secret delight in Wilder’s defensiveness. He’d only spent a few minutes in the company of the man, but already he could see that the sheriff was a power junkie with an attitude. “I’m asking a question so that I can assess the situation at hand.”

“If there’s going to be any assessing done, I’ll be the one to do it.” Wilder kept his voice low. “I’m the guy with the badge, remember?”

“Damn it, Wilder,” Hayley said. “Just tell the man what he wants to know.”

“Hayley…”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Hayley cut him off. ”You may have a gun, but I’m still your boss.”

“Fine.” Wilder looked sullen. When he spoke again his voice was stiff, clipped. “Simms told me that Garrett t
t
hought something was chasing him, some kind of animal. He heard a scream and then a weird sound over the radio.”

“Weird sound?” Decker asked.

“He said it was like nothing he’d ever heard before, a strange wailing. He also said that according to Garrett there was a cat in the basement,” Wilder replied. “However, I think we can rule out a cat, unless little Felix overpowered and dragged off a two hundred pound man.”

“We can indeed.” Decker agreed. But that left the question, what exactly had happened to the maintenance worker?

“We’ll need these.” Wilder placed his duffel bag on the floor and unzipped it, pulling out three flashlights. He handed one to Hayley, another to Decker, and kept the third for himself.

“Thanks.” Decker nodded, clicking his light on. “I don’t suppose you have a gun in there too, just in case we run into anything untoward?”

“The breakers are this way,” Wilder said, ignoring Decker. He took a step forward into the narrow walkway that ran between the huge generators that kept the lights on upstairs. “We should retrace Garrett’s steps, see what we can see. Keep close, people.”

“Lead the way.” Decker glanced toward Hayley, wondering if she was as bemused by Wilder’s over the top bravado as he was, but he could not read her face in the darkness. When she stepped past him and followed the sheriff, Decker fell in and did the same.

13

Adam Hunt watched Hayley and Decker leave the apartment. He waited for a moment to make sure they were gone and then slipped out of the empty apartment next door, the key to which he’d appropriated earlier that day and copied before placing it back where it belonged.

Hunt knew exactly where Hayley and Decker were going. Even though the latest disappearance wasn’t common knowledge, he was tapped in to most things that went on in the Tower. If he didn’t know about it, it wasn’t worth knowing. Which was precisely why he was about to sneak into 10F and stack the odds a little.

He had suffered a rare flash of indecision. For a moment he’d considered following the pair down to the sub-basement instead of jumping on a golden opportunity to gain entry to Decker’s apartment. In the end, he’d decided not to tail the town administrator and the ex-cop. What was the point really? They wouldn’t find anything of any significance down there, of that he was sure, and certainly nothing that would give them a clue about what was really going on. It was actually quite amusing, watching people run around in circles like panicked chickens when a fox got into the coop. Not to mention that idiot of a sheriff who would be meeting them there, no doubt. The man couldn't catch a cold, let alone a cold-blooded killer. In the end the slight risk posed by not knowing what they found in the basement was outweighed by this chance to get into 10F unnoticed.

Hunt didn’t have a key for this lock, so instead he would have to rely on a more unorthodox method of entry. He pulled a small black leather case from his pocket and opened it to reveal a row of picks. He took a tension wrench and inserted it into the bottom of the keyhole, then took a pick and pushed it into the top of the lock. He worked quickly, and before long he heard the gratifying click as the lock’s last pin set. The technique was called raking, and while it was a little down and dirty, it got the job done.

Having gained access to the apartment, Hunt went to work. He set down a small toolbox and opened it. Inside was an array of small devices – bugs – that sent a signal to a laptop set up in the next apartment. Once a few of these were in place he would be able to hear everything that went on inside 10F.

He scoured the suite of rooms for the best locations to hide the minute microphones. He put one behind a mirror in the bathroom, another in the bedroom attached to the rear of the nightstand. In the living room he deposited two: one behind a picture hanging near the sofa – a classic place to plant a bug – and another under the table in the adjoining dining area. Finally he took a miniature camera, barely larger than a bottle top, and stood on a chair to reach the air conditioning vent. He made short work of unscrewing the vent and then attached the camera to the inside of the duct with its fisheye lens angled down into the room. He replaced the vent, stepped down, and returned the chair to the dining area, making sure to brush it off and flatten out the shoe print left in the soft vinyl padding.

When he was done he took one last tour around the place to make sure everything was just as he’d found it, packed up his gear, and slipped back into the corridor, closing the door and waiting for the click that told him the lock had engaged. No one would ever know he had been there, and the whole thing had taken less than ten minutes.

Hunt smiled and whistled as he walked down the corridor toward the elevators, and his real accommodation several floors below. There was no need to go back into the lair he’d created in the apartment next door, at least not right now. The laptop would record any audio and the motion-triggered camera would wirelessly relay video whenever it detected anything bigger than a small cat moving around. All of that data would be at his disposal whenever he returned, and as long as he checked the recordings at regular intervals he would know if John Decker would become a problem.