Riverwatch (7 page)

The door to the tool shed was wide open, hanging in its frame by only one hinge.

Jake grunted in surprise, and walked over with Sam at his heels. Jake had experienced robberies at other sites, had even bought a pistol he kept in his desk drawer in the trailer so that he’d feel some protection while working alone at night, but he had never expected to have one here. For a moment he was more surprised than angry. There wasn’t anything of great value in the tool shed. What would somebody want with some old shovels and a pickaxe or two? he found himself wondering.

"Why would anybody want to…" Jake began, and then stopped, his eyes widening in sudden realization. "The tunnel!" he exclaimed.

Without a word Sam turned to go, suddenly anxious that someone else had beaten him to what he considered the story of his lifetime, but Jake grabbed his arm.

"Hang on. You’ve got to help me with this stuff." He let go and turned to the shed, pushing the door aside and disappearing within. He returned a moment later with a couple of shovels, a crowbar and a pickaxe cradled in his arms. He gave a shovel to Sam, and kept the other for himself. Then he moved over to the trailer and, unlocking the door, went inside. This time he had a large ring of keys and two battery-powered lanterns in his hands when he emerged. His pistol was stuck in the waistband of his jeans.

"We’re going need these to see down there," he said, indicating the lamps. "We haven’t had a chance to string any lights yet."

They crossed the yard, headed for the front door. As they walked, Jake felt his concern growing. Very few people knew of what they’d uncovered yesterday. Unless some of the crew had shot their mouths off to friends, then it had to be one of his men that had caused the damage they’d seen. After all, they’d be the ones most likely to know just where the tools were kept and what they might need down in the cellar.

His suspicions that someone had been after whatever was hidden in the tunnel were confirmed when he and Sam mounted the steps, only to discover the front door standing half open like an invitation.

That pissed him off. Blake was going to have a fit when he told him about the break-in, and Jake fervently hoped nothing had been stolen from inside. That would make matters even worse. God help me when I find out who did this, he thought grimly.

Behind him, Sam was taking pictures. The click of the camera sent Jake over the edge.

"Will you knock that off, for Christ’s sake?" he snapped angrily.

Sam wisely lowered the camera without a word.

The same gouge marks were in the frame of this door, and on closer inspection Jake recognized them as having come from the notched end of a crowbar. Just to be sure, he hefted the one he had in his hand and laid it against one of the marks. It was a near perfect match.

Looking at the state of the aged oak that made up the doorframe, Jake ruefully shook his head. Add another item to the list of things that need to be replaced, he thought to himself.

He reached out to the door, intending on going inside, when Sam’s voice stopped him.

"Ah, Jake?"

Jake turned, a questioning look on his face.

"Don’t you think we’d better call the police?" Sam asked, nodding his head in the direction of the trailer and the phone he knew to be inside.

Jake thought about it for a minute, and then shook his head. "Not just yet. I want to have a look around first, try and get an idea of what kind of damage has been done. See if there’s anything missing." And I want to have a look at that tunnel, he added silently.

The open door beckoned to him.

He opened it the rest of the way with a gentle nudge of his foot, Sam’s request reminding him that he didn’t want to unnecessarily disturb any evidence, and stepped inside, Sam close at his heels.

The morning sun had yet to rise high enough to crest the trees surrounding the property, making the interior of the house dim and gloomy. Jake was forced to turn on one of the lanterns to see clearly.

The entryway looked undisturbed.

"Wait here a sec," he said to Sam, and stuck his nose into the rooms on either side of the foyer. Everything looked to be in its place there.

Jake didn’t bother going up the stairs directly ahead of him. They led to the second floor and there was nothing of value up there anyway. Besides, for some strange reason he was certain the intruder hadn’t gone up.

He’d gone down instead.

To the basement.

To the tunnel.

"Come on," Jake said, and crossed the foyer into the dining room and out through the kitchen to the door which opened onto the cellar steps.

Holding the light high before him, he descended.

Once down below he discovered that his suspicions were correct. The tarp covering the stairs leading deeper into the earth had been pulled aside. A crowbar lay discarded next to it.

Jake moved over to the steps with Sam right behind him. A hand gesture told Sam to extinguish his light, which he did, and the two of them stood there in the darkness.

No lights shone up the stairs from below.

No sound reached their ears.

Jake drew his gun and leaned close to his friend. "Looks like we’re alone but let’s not take any chances. Keep your voice down and follow me. If we come upon an intruder, I’ll hold him at bay while you go back to the trailer and call for help."

Sam gripped the shovel in his hands a bit tighter and nodded his agreement.

Turning on their lights and moving carefully so as to make as little noise as possible, the two started down the steps in pursuit of the intruder.

They moved down the length of the tunnel and turned the corner to find a large hole excavated in the center of the wall that had previously blocked the way further. Jake stopped before the hole, his light shining inside, gazing through it at the scene on the other side.

Sam stepped up to his side and added his light to his friend’s.

After a moment, he lowered the flashlight and raised his camera.

Several shots later he turned to Jake and asked, "Now can we call the police?"

Jake nodded without saying a word.

On the other side of the wall, the corpse of Kyle Halloran gazed back at them with wide, staring eyes.

Chapter Seven: Sheriff Wilson

Damon Wilson was on duty in Harrington Falls when the call came in. As Sheriff of Algonquin County, he was responsible for the safety of the inhabitants of not only Glendale, but also Harrington Falls and the other similar mountain communities within the county limits. He had two men out sick, so he was covering their shifts himself, patrolling in his Bronco.

"I’ll take it, base. I’m in the vicinity."

"That’s a roger, Sheriff. See Jake Caruso at the site."

"10-4."

Damon replaced the microphone and headed for the Stonemoor estate.

Back when he was on the force in Chicago, calls like this had been a fairly commonplace occurrence. They were called into abandoned buildings and derelict lots all the time, especially during the summer months when the stench of decomposing corpses would disturb the denizens of even the roughest neighborhoods. The winters weren’t so bad; a body could lie in the dark for weeks without being discovered. He’d seen his fair share; that was certain.

But here in Harrington Falls? He couldn’t remember the last time there was a violent crime up here. Glendale was a bit different; a little more modern, more bad apples. Harrington Falls seemed to have missed all of that, nestled as it was in the mountains. The people were quiet folk. They kept to themselves and generally obeyed the laws. Aside from the occasional loud drunk or teenage shoplifter, the patrol in Harrington Falls was considered incident-free.

Which made the call even more interesting.

As Damon pulled up in front of the house, he saw two men sitting on the top step of the porch, obviously waiting for him.

*** ***

Jake watched as a large, heavy-set man got out of the Bronco. Roughly six-foot two, he had to weigh a good two-fifty. His hair was salt and pepper, right down to his beard and mustache. Both were carefully groomed and short in length. The man was dressed in the brown uniform of the Sheriff’s department, with a pistol clearly visible on his belt.

Jake and Sam rose to greet him.

"One of you Jake Caruso?" Damon asked.

Jake said, "I am," and extended his hand in greeting.

"Damon Wilson, Sheriff’s Department." The Sheriff shook Sam’s hand also. Turning back to Jake, he asked, "I understand you’ve found a body?"

Jake nodded. "Down in the cellar."

"Mind telling me what you were doing out here in the first place?"

Jake explained to the Sheriff how he came to be there that morning, going back to the events of the day before. The Sheriff listened closely, made notes every few minutes, but otherwise left Jake to tell the story without interruption. When Jake was finished, the Sheriff turned to Sam and asked him if he could remember any other details.

The Sheriff then suggested that Sam wait outside to direct the coroner to the scene, before asking Jake to lead him to the body.

The two climbed the steps to the house, passing through the foyer and the kitchen, until they reached the stairway to the basement. The smell of mildew and decay from below reached Damon. For just a moment, he had a vivid picture of bodies lying for days in forgotten Chicago tenements, the memory of another time, another place. He quickly slammed the lid closed on that particular memory before it could escape the Pandora’s box of his mind. Chicago was a long time ago and Damon definitely wanted to keep it that way.

Jake headed down the steps and Damon followed.

"Sorry about the stench. When we began renovations this entire level was flooded. My men pumped out the fetid water the other night but the smell will probably linger for a while."

"That’s how you found this tunnel?" Damon asked.

"Yeah. There was a big stone slab in the middle of a small trench dug into the floor. The tunnel was underneath it."

Jake had left the lanterns behind when he and Sam had gone to the trailer to call the police. By their illumination Damon could see the trench where the men had been working. When they moved closer he could see the opening to the passage itself.

Jake stopped and picked up his lantern from where he had left it besides the opening. He nodded at the heavy flashlight the Sheriff was carrying. "You’d better turn that on."

The Sheriff was surprised at the tunnel. It appeared to be man-made, carved from solid rock sometime long ago. The effort that went into such an undertaking had to have been incredible.

Why would someone go to all this trouble? he wondered.

He didn’t have much time to think about it, however, since they were rapidly approaching their destination. Ahead of them, Damon could see the remains of a brick wall that had once blocked the tunnel. Jake stopped a few feet away, allowing Damon to pass him.

Damon stood just outside the chamber and gazed in at the body. He could see it was that of a white male, in his mid-to-late twenties, lying face-up and partially on his right side. The man’s face was twisted into an expression of horror. One arm was trapped beneath the body, the other hanging limply across the base of the statue. In the dim light, Damon could not make out any signs of injury.

"This the way you found him?"

Jake nodded. "I went inside the room and checked his pulse, but I didn’t touch or move anything."

Damon shined the light around the rest of the room. The only objects were a lantern similar to the one in Jake’s hand, lying against the opposite wall, and a pickaxe, the handle of which was tangled up in the feet of the corpse. The room was otherwise empty.

Damon next turned his light on the statue. A good seven feet in height, it was carved entirely from some kind of shining black stone that gleamed like black oil in the beam of his light. It appeared to represent a demon, or maybe a gargoyle. Two long, curling horns jutted from its forehead. Its strikingly reptilian mouth was open wide, revealing a double row of razor-sharp teeth. The creature’s torso was humanoid in appearance, but covered with thousands of tiny scales like the flesh of a miniature dragon. Wicked looking talons jutted from its four-fingered hands and feet. Bat-like wings swept outward from the center of its back. The craftsmanship was superb, giving the creature a sense of life. To Damon it seemed as if at any moment it might leap off the small pedestal on which it stood.

"It’s certainly ugly," Damon said. Jake didn’t answer. The statue might have been easy enough to handle if that’s all it was, ugly. But there was something more, something near indefinable about it that instantly put Damon on guard. It was more a gut feeling than anything else, a sense of wrongness about the thing that disturbed him on some deep, primitive level.

Damon felt the short hairs on the back of his neck start to rise and quickly turned his attention to the body on the floor. It took him a moment, but he finally recognized it as that of Kyle Halloran. Kyle had been one of the bad ones, constantly getting into fights at the bars down in Glendale. More than once Damon had to toss him in a cell for the night on charges of drunk and disorderly. He’d been the type to stay out of trouble for a month, maybe two, and then end up back in a cell on similar charges.

Aside from the expression on his face, there were no obvious signs of violence. Damon could not detect any evidence of a disturbance in the dirt around him, either. Drugs were the first thing that came to mind. That would explain the lack of injury. The theory might also explain the man’s expression. Who knew what one might encounter in their own drug-induced hallucinations?

"Recognize him?" the Sheriff asked.

Jake nodded. "Kyle Halloran. Hired him last week as a temp. Bit of a loud mouth. My foreman said he was slacking on the job so I let him go yesterday."

"Any idea what he might have been doing down here?"

"I couldn’t even tell you how he found out about it. He wasn’t on the detail that was working down here."

The Sheriff nodded his head. It seemed pretty obvious to him. Halloran heard about it from another worker, figured there might be something valuable hidden in the tunnel, and decided to check it out for himself. He’d probably been pumped to the gills with whatever he’d been on that week and had taken more than he could handle.