Culture Shock (28 page)

"First of all," Mike gestured to the super, "let me introduce you to Peter Sorenson. Peter is an FBI agent."

Chapter
Twenty-Six

"FBI?" Cynthia's jaw dropped open. When she recovered from the shock, a million questions spun through her mind and jockeyed for position on the tip of her tongue. "FBI agent, here? Why? How come you made everyone believe you were John Cratski? Does this have anything to do with my friend's disappearance?"

"Whoa! Slow down!" Sorenson held up his hand. "I'll tell you if you give me a chance."

Cynthia pulled a chair from beneath the kitchen table, dragged it around and sat facing him. "Okay. Tell me!"

"I was assigned to this case the moment the first body was discovered. That woman, Helga
Thorston, was in the United States on an expired visitor's visa. In investigating her whereabouts, we discovered she had become romantically involved with a certain citizen and planned to marry him to remain in the States. When her body was discovered and identified, the incident was reported to the FBI because, as a crime against a resident alien, it falls within our jurisdiction."

Cynthia stared beyond him, then refocused and tilted her head. "That still doesn't explain why you masqueraded as a building superintendent here at The Cairns."

"Your old super chose to leave at an optimal time. My suspect moved into this building, and how better to watch him than to move in, too? I applied for and got the job. Of course, I had to tell a few little white lies. I suck at fixing things. I've never been very handy."

Cynthia flashed on all the times she'd ranted about a lack of response. "That explains a lot, but go on."

"Anyhow, when I identified my suspect, I kept him under surveillance. I was trying to find something to tie him to the other murders, but couldn't until today. It wasn't until recently that I figured out how he's been getting out of the building without me seeing him."

Confusion clouded her brain. "Who are we talking about here?"

"Thomas Carpenter," Sorenson answered.

"Carpenter!" She stared at him, disbelief dragging her mouth open. She glanced from him to Mike. "He's the creep who spends so much time standing out front ogling the ladies. I never would have guessed. He seems like nothing more than an annoying fly at a picnic."

Alex had been so sure Cratski was the culprit; he didn't see the real criminal right in front of his face. He believed that Carpenter was just a harmless masher, just as she did. They couldn't have been more wrong. The news was hard to digest.

She had to find the creep, and now. "So, Peter, I'm assuming you believe Carpenter is the one who gave you the headache?"

"I'm positive. I got careless and let him get the jump on me. I went to his apartment to confront him about the stack of blue rags I discovered he'd recently purchased. I turned my back on him for just a minute to put out my cigarette."

Time was of the essence, and already too much had been wasted. Cynthia had to ask the hardest question. "Do you think he's tied to the disappearance of Cynthia Freitas?" Saying her own name sounded foreign.

"Makes sense to me." Peter rubbed his temple through his medical dressings. "The victimology fits his style: blonde hair, petite frame, and since she went missing from this building, I'd almost bet he's our man."

"Where do you suppose Carpenter is now?" Mike asked.

"Miles from here, I'd imagine. Now that he knows we're on to him, he'll hightail it as far away from here as possible."

Cynthia dipped her chin and released a loud breath. "Well, we can't just sit here, we have to put our heads together and find her, before…."

Mike thumped her on the back. "We will, Alex, we will!" He turned to Sorenson. "You said something about Carpenter leaving the building without being seen.…"

"I had to get a schematic of the building to find out how, but somewhere down in the basement, there's a door to a tunnel that leads across the street to another basement. It was devised as a fire escape plan back when this building was originally built. The route may dead-end now since the building to which it connected was torn down years ago and a new one erected in its place, but there's a hatch leading to outside. It comes up in the alley across the way."

Mike scratched his head. "I wouldn't have suspected Carpenter either. So visible. He's the one person we saw the most during the twenty-four hours we watched the building."

Cynthia, her heart pounding, scrambled to her feet. "Have you searched the basement, yet?"

Sorenson shook his head. "I haven't had time to do more than just scan the area. That was my next plan as soon as I had Carpenter in custody. The blue rags and the receipt gave me enough to hold him for twenty-four hours while I looked for more evidence to tie him to the murders."

Her eyes widened. "The basement…maybe that's where he took Cynthia! Why didn't we think of that?" She rubbed her brow. "It's because he left all his other victims in an alley, and we never thought..." She answered her own question. "Let's quit talking about it and go look. We may still have time before…."

Peter stood, holding his head and steadying himself against the chair. "Wow, I owe that son-of-a-bitch..." He took a moment to orient himself. "Let's go to my apartment and get the building diagram."

Cynthia flashed on the blueprint she'd seen and muttered a curse. The very clue she needed had been right in front of her nose.

***

Peter handed her the aged piece of paper. "Don't mind the mess; I haven't really had time to clean."

The smell hadn't improved since Cynthia had been there, but she didn't comment.

Sorenson still looked unsteady on his feet. He sat on the sofa. "If you two don't mind, I'm going to stay behind and call in my report. I want to check on the all points-bulletin that was issued and see if they've made any progress in finding our man." He reached for the pack of cigarettes on the table and lit one.

Cynthia crinkled her nose. "You should quit that nasty habit. Your apartment reeks.”

He ignored her comment and exhaled. A halo of smoke circled his bandaged head in a seeming taunt.

No use arguing with a smoker, besides she had more important things to concentrate on.

Mike took the diagram from her and opened it. "Okay, looks like our door downstairs is at the end of the building." He pointed to the west.

Thank God Mike could make sense of the schematic. She knew she couldn't. "Let's get started." She led the way down the corridor.

Mike opened the door and loped down the basement stairs. Cynthia followed on unsteady legs, anxious to search, but fearful of what they might find.

The only illumination consisted of small bulbs in wire cages adhered to the walls, reminiscent of those she'd seen in mining movies where darkness prevailed deep in the shafts. The ambiance and lighting in the basement wasn't that much different but felt eerie!

"I can't see anything," she complained. "We need flashlights."

He handed her the diagram. "I'll run back to the car and grab one and the lantern we keep there, too."

"Hurry."

Mike skipped the top two stairs in one long-legged leap.

Cynthia shuddered at being left alone in the dank, mustiness. Given the muted light, she scanned as much as she could of her surroundings. Clearly, the signature odor that lingered in the hallways and closets originated here in the basement. Not able to see beyond her nose, she dared not stick her hand out to touch anything. But there was nothing wrong with her voice.

"Alex!" she called as loudly as she could.

She cocked her ear, hoping to hear something
; anything. There was no response.

Something scampered across her foot. A shiver ran up her back, and she stifled the need to scream. She imagined what Mike would think if she bolted upstairs like a sissy. "Man up," she mumbled, but grimaced at the thought of creepy critters rushing around her feet.

Mike returned within a few minutes with the lantern lit and fully illuminating the room. He handed her the flashlight. "Wow, this is better." He held up the light and looked around. "Maybe not. This place looks better in the dark."

"I agree, but I prefer to be able to see where I'm walking. I was afraid to move for fear I'd break my neck…and I think there are rats down here." The mention of vermin raised the hair on the back of Alex's thick neck.

"They don't bite…unless they're hungry."

"Great, I feel so much better." Maybe Alex would be fearless, but she hated anything that scurried around. "Where should we start?"

The small storage area in which they stood was filled with cardboard boxes of various sizes and shapes. Beyond, a long corridor stretched the length of the building, most likely the escape route Sorenson mentioned.

Mike set the lantern on a large box, took the diagram back from her, and spread it out beneath the light. Cynthia leaned in closer, watching as he ran his finger along the drawing.

"I think I've got my bearings." With one finger on the schematic, he pointed another down the corridor. "This has to be that hallway, and it looks like there are several doors that lead into other small rooms."

She sighed. "Oh, great. We're in a maze." She wanted to run from door-to-door, but having a plan seemed a more logical way to find Alex.

Mike pointed behind them. "There's nothing in that direction except the electrical room."

Cynthia moaned. "I'm sure if we looked in there we'd find the original kite that Benjamin Franklin flew to discover electricity. He probably did the wiring here." Adrenaline pumped into her system and fueled the need to search. She fisted her hands and blew out a loud breath. "We're wasting time."

Mike picked up the lantern and held it high. "Right! Let's stagger our efforts. You take one door, I'll take another."

The idea of rats crossed her mind, but she couldn't give into the squeamish female side. She opened the first door and discovered nothing more than a cleaning closet. Mops and brooms leaned against the walls, a stack of buckets nested in the corner. She backed out and shut the door. "I don't believe anyone has used these things in the last twenty years."

Mike stepped inside the next room. She peered around the door jamb, praying to see Alex. Instead, stacks of yellowed newspapers had been piled against one wall, while cardboard boxes lined another. A spider had woven a work of art to cover the antique washing machine in the corner. Mike raised the lantern and did a quick, but thorough search. "Nothing in here," he said and pulled the scarred wooden portal closed.

At the end of the hallway, Mike turned to her and shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing but rooms full of the same stuff. Hell, the people that stored them are either dead or long gone from this joint." He looked forlorn as he wiped his furrowed brow. "Looks like we've reached the end."

She followed him back to their starting point, silently praying Alex would leap from behind a pile and shout surprise. Her heart ached. This was supposed to be where the story had a happy ending.

She aimed her flashlight and scanned the room one last time. "What now?" she asked Mike. "Please tell me we aren't too late."

She wanted to cry and throw herself into Mike's big strong arms and tell him the whole story. Even in her sadness, she pictured what would happen if she did. Most likely he'd flee before giving her a chance to fully explain.

"There's nothing more we can do here." He turned back to the stairs. "Let's check in with Sorenson and see if he had any luck."

With Mike halfway upstairs, she stood on the bottom step and took a long last look around. The beam from her flashlight crept along the walls and ceiling, and when she turned to go upstairs, reflected on the electrical room door.

"You go on up, Mike," she called. "It's probably a waste of time, but I'm going to check the electrical closet." 

Chapter
Twenty-Seven

Cynthia pushed aside a rickety, wooden crate to get to the electrical closet. Negative thoughts dictated her mind. If she had to move something to get to the door, then probably no one had passed through it recently. Still, determination and hope drove her to check out the interior.

She inched open the creaking door, and immediately sensed a difference in smell. Something sweet wafted past her nose
, a familiar aroma. She knew the scent well.

Her favorite perfume. She recalled how Alex had protested when she spritzed him with the sweet Jasmine fragrance.  Why would it smell so strongly in this room?

Her heart pounded in anticipation as she scanned the interior of the small dusty room with the beam from her flashlight. The floor, in dire need of sweeping, showed only traces of old tile beneath the powdery dirt, and the circuit board on the far wall was a mesh of new and older wiring leading to various toggle switches and fuses. The entire thing was covered with a veil of dust. She thought back to the electric glitches and recognized the reason.