Read Part 1
Singleton grabbed one of his techs, armed him with a work light, and led the two detectives out of the apartment and down the hall toward the stairs.
“If you knew the crime scene was in the basement, why didn’t you meet us there,” Parme rumbled as they started down the stairwell.
“Figured you’d want to be there,” Singleton replied. “Besides, not sure it’s a crime scene. Writing by candle light’s not a crime, remember. You said so yourself.”
Parme growled a reply the other men couldn’t quite make out.
“I like being first on the scene,” Gilbert said brightly. Parme just growled some more.
When they got back down to the first floor, they felt the temperature drop. Gilbert imagined the wind outside was picking up, as they exited the stair well and re-entered the vestibule at the front of the building. He started to glance out the front window to confirm his suspicion, but his view was blocked by the same young uniform guarding the front door, and someone else.
The middle-aged man was wearing a light brown jacket and a knit cap. He seemed to come to life when the detectives entered.
“Hey Wally, what’s the story?” he called out, pulling a reporter’s notebook out of his back pocket and clicking the button on the end of a ballpoint pen.
“Get him out of here,” Parme directed the uniform, without breaking stride.
Gilbert glanced back, expecting to see the disappointment on the reporter’s face. Instead, the man was smiling broadly as the uniform pushed him back out into the night. A gust of wind sent a small explosion of snow in through the open door. It fell slowly to the tile as the officer slammed the door.
Gilbert had to hurry to catch the others. They had opened a doorway a short distance down the hallway and were descending a narrow wooden staircase. Parme’s flashlight swept the walls. By the time Gilbert reached the bottom, Parme had found the light switch.
The switch made a loud click as Parme pressed it up and a row of bare bulbs strung down a narrow corridor that ran down the middle of the huge open room. It created a long line of light that cut the darkness in two. At intervals, the light bounced off the sides of square columns. The place smelled of dust and dirt.
“There are lights down here,” Gilbert said, stating the obvious. “Why didn’t he use them?”
“Maybe you don’t need light when you’re sleep walking,” Singleton said and then headed off down the concrete path that ran beneath the string of lights. The other three followed him, Gilbert and Parme together and the technician bringing up the rear.
The basement of the apartment building was the same size as the building above it. The string of lights marked out a line of light that ran roughly in the same direction and directly below the main corridor on the floors above it, effectively cutting the space in two. Instead of apartments on either side of this central line, there were simply storage alcoves, mostly unlit, with crates stacked around the large square pillars that held up the building above them. Unlike the main walkway, these alcoves seemed to have a packed dirt floor. Barn-like walls ran between the columns every 40 feet or so, perpendicular to the walkway, to create the alcoves. There were no walls along the lighted walkway.
“So, who was that guy?” Gilbert asked his partner. “He seemed to know you.”
“Just because an idiot calls me Wally doesn’t mean he knows me,” Parme rumbled.
“Oh, you mean Sean Pennscott, crime reporter extraordinaire for the Daily News,” Singleton answered without looking back. “He and Walt go way back. Went to school together, didn’t you?”
“I forget,” Parme replied.
“We have a newspaper?”
Singleton stopped and looked over his shoulder at Gilbert. “You are new, aren’t ya, kid?”
Parme’s frown deepened. “Come on, Wayne, keep moving.”
“We’re there,” he replied, and danced his light into the alcove on their right.
The light bulbs ran on another 60 feet or so, but Singleton was shining his light into an alcove that seemed to hold nothing but pillars and a pile of old broken furniture. It cast a huge shadow on the concrete wall behind it that seemed to dance as they played their flashlights over the pile.
Gilbert started to ask him how he knew this was the right place, but Singleton just shined his flashlight down onto the floor. There had been no discernable footprints on the concrete walkway, but when his light hit the dirt floor, the prints left by a pair of bare feet were clearly visible.
The technician set up the lights and plugged in a battery back. The alcove was suddently flooded with light. The stack of broken furniture came into sharp relief, its shadow shrinking away. The pile contained everything from old dressers and bed parts to bathroom vanities and tables. In the far back corner of the room, one table had been set aside and positioned up against the wall. Two chairs were next to it. On the table was a single tapered candle in a crystal holder.
Singleton handed gloves to both detectives.
“Where is the paper he was writing on?” Gilbert asked.
Egan hadn’t brought anything with him to the police station when he turned himself in. Neither did the technicians find it in his apartment upstairs, Singleton told them. “It must be here somewhere.”
It took Gilbert a few seconds to find the hidden drawer under the table.
“The kid is good,” Singleton said to Parme, who only grunted. “Don’t take it personally,” Singleton said, giving Gilbert a pat on the shoulder. “He’s this way with all of his new partners.”
Gilbert pulled open the drawer and pulled out a single book and laid it carefully on the table. Three flashlights bounced off the black leather cover and the weird symbol engraved there. The technician’s was still being used to explore the pile of furniture.
“What the hell is that?” Gilbert asked, leaning closer. An ornate symbol had been carved into the cover of the leather binder. It contained a central circle with smaller symbols around the outside, both inside and outside of the circle. It wasn’t a hastily performed mutilation, but rather bore the marks of a leather craftsman who took pride in his work.
Singleton shook his head, but Parme just turned back to the other furniture. “Who knows. Get pictures. We’ll sort it out tomorrow.”
Gilbert opened the book. Singleton held the cover down so Gilbert could turn the pages. They were a brown parchment, some sewn into the book, others just placed in between those pages. The pages were covered with scrawl that seemed to move as the flashlights played over the pages. Indecipherable. Finally, Gilbert came to a loose leaf he could read.
Parme watched the technician picking through the pile for a moment and then yawned. Without turning to the others, he headed back to the concrete walkway. “Photoraph everything. Bag the book and anything else that looks interesting. Leave the furniture. I’m going home. Call me when you find a real crime scene, Wayne.”
“Wait a second,” Gilbert said softly as he read the page. Parme ignored him. Gilbert flipped over the page and froze. “Detective!”
Parme had just reached the concrete walkway. He paused without looking back. “Yes… detective?”
“I found our victim’s name,” Gilbert said. Parme started to reply but Gilbert continued. “There are 20, maybe 25, other names on this page.”
Parme stood still for a moment. He replied without looking back. “Photograph everything, especially the cover of the book. Meet me in the morning.” Then he left.
Gilbert continued to flip pages in the book, the remainder of which were covered with the unreadable script. Finally, he stepped away from the table, leaving Singleton holding the book open with his pen. He stared at the table.
“You think these are also victims,” Singleton asked. Gilbert just stared at the table. Finally Singleton nudged him.
“What?” Gilbert replied, snapping out of his reverie.
“Do you think these are also victims?”
“I don’t know about that yet,” Gilbert replied, looking over at him. “I was just wondering. Who is the second chair for?”
Read Part 3
No comments:
Post a Comment