Page 16 of The Devoted Game

“What time tomorrow?” he asked.

Holcomb checked the calendar on the desk. “Eleven a.m. sharp.”

A knowing look passed between Vivian and McBride.

“Take us there,” McBride ordered the caretaker.

“It’s not far,” Holcomb assured. “It was the first mausoleum built on Oak Hill.”

Vivian knew the one. “Follow me,” she said to McBride, moving toward the door. This time he was ready to go.

She put in a call to Aldridge to inform the others as they rushed toward Potter’s Field.

The Wellborne mausoleum didn’t look nearly so grand as the others. Big and plain, its walls cracked and crumbling. She remembered she had never liked that one as a child, too creepy. It sat alone on the edge of the line that marked off the stretch of ground where paupers had been buried. The few forlorn headstones in that section leaned with the fatigue of time and the elements. The story had made her feel sad for the indigent and unknown folks buried away from the wealthier magnates who had made Birmingham a steel city during the late 1800s.

The handlers and K-9s joined the progression toward the mausoleum, but the animals showed no reaction. Half a dozen yards from the entrance, McBride stopped.

“No one goes past this point until I’ve had a look.”

Vivian wanted to argue but she didn’t. Schaffer provided the necessary gloves since Vivian had already used those in her pocket and her purse was back in her SUV.

Still no reaction from the K-9s. And yet, she felt charged. Psyched. This had to be it ... Alyssa had to be here.

McBride tugged on the gloves and started forward. When Vivian didn’t follow, he glanced back. “You coming?”

Surprised that he hadn’t included her in his edict, she quickly pulled on her gloves and hustled to catch up to him.

The door was closed, the lock secured.

“Holcomb!” McBride motioned for the caretaker to join them.

The man hurried forward with the ring of keys.

McBride held up a hand for him to stop a few feet away. “Toss me your keys.”

Holcomb readily obliged. “Won’t do you no good, though.” He pointed to the door. “That’s not one of our locks.”

“Damn it,” McBride growled. “Somebody get me a bolt cutter!”

Agent Schaffer double-timed it back to the memorial building with the caretaker. Minutes ticked by, each second exploding in Vivian’s chest like a blast of supercharged epinephrine.

Even McBride looked rattled now. Did he need more aspirin or maybe coffee? He’d probably tell her what he really needed was a good stiff drink. If he found Alyssa Byrne before it was too late, she would take McBride out and buy him anything to drink he wanted.

By the time the bolt cutter was in McBride’s hand, Vivian felt certain her heart would rupture. He snapped the lock and tossed the tool aside.

Holding her breath, she watched him push the door inward and then stop.

“I need shoe covers,” he said to no one in particular.

Agent Davis rushed forward to provide the necessary protective measures.

Fully prepared now, Vivian followed McBride into the mausoleum, her hand on the butt of her weapon. The first thing that grabbed her attention was the smell. Unlike before, no blood or decomp. This odor was unmistakable. Skunk. Her stomach seized. She covered her nose with the back of her hand and wished she had some salve to help block the odor.

Like the other mausoleum, the floor had been swept clean, and the two tombs sat atop their platforms seemingly undisturbed.

Nothing appeared out of place. No burlap bag. Just a skunk carcass stinking up the place.

“Is this more of his games?” Vivian asked as she scanned the gloomy interior a second time and still found nothing.