Page 32 of The Devoted Game
“They were supposed to meet for lunch today. The sister’s been worried about Katherine’s depression, so she went to her house when several hours passed with no word. The back door had been opened by force, and there were signs of a struggle.” He lit a cigarette, took a deep drag. “Looked staged. But, however he got her out of the house, she was gone. Forensics is there now.”
“Neighbors?” Vivian asked as they entered the Sloss property.
“No one saw a thing.” He gestured to the K-9s and their handlers. “Aldridge has the blue vest Jones wore to work last night. Hopefully that will put the dogs on her scent. Worth and Talley are questioning her family. The vic’s husband was killed in an automobile accident two years ago. According to her sister, she hasn’t been herself since.”
. . . her regret . . .
Mrs. Jones had lost her husband. Had to still be grieving. Fury roared through Vivian. What was this scumbag doing? First a child, then a woman who had already lost her husband. What harm could either of these victims ever have done to the unsub? That was the one thing Vivian looked forward to in all this, putting him behind bars.
“Where do you want to start?” She refolded the brochure so that the map faced out, then surveyed the sprawling industrial complex that had the look of being trapped in time. The goliath restored furnace she remembered vividly from that elementary school field trip. The towering blast stoves and enormous smokestacks too. She had felt like a tiny speck surrounded by the massive metal giants that had somehow dragged her back a full century. Felt that way now.
“I take it you’ve been here before.”
She glanced up at McBride, some foolish part of her mind noting the five-o’clock shadow that darkened his jaw. “Sixth-grade field trip.”
He considered her a moment, for once not staring at her lips. “You know, maybe this is about you as much as it is about me.”
The statement gave her pause, made her frown for a second or two. That wasn’t possible. No one knew about her past ... She had no career reputation yet to encourage that kind of attention.
“That was a joke, Grace.”
Her frown turned into a glower. “It wasn’t funny.” She turned back to the rusting graveyard and repeated her question. “Where do you want to start?”
McBride took a moment to evaluate the situation. “I’ve already instructed the team to conduct the usual grid search.” He glanced at her. “You and I will start with anything that holds water.”
. . . before she drowns . . .
If Katherine Jones was here and the danger to her was paralleled by the clues in the email, as had been the case with Alyssa Byrne, then she would be at risk for drowning. Someplace in plain sight.
In other words—Vivian looked around once more—just about anywhere.
As they passed through the shadow of the cold, quiet blast furnace and threaded their way between the sky-high smokestacks, she had to wonder what around herewouldn’thold water. Valves, pressure gauges, and pipes that ran in every direction with vines climbing along and around the rusty metal surfaces. Steam vents and shaft openings gave the impression of a landlocked submarine.
Night was coming way too fast. Even with flashlights, the iron grate paths along the main walkways were damned gloomy. Somehow in the last century trees had pushed their way up through the sandy earth and stood like alien beings in this metal wasteland. The wind rustled through their leaves, adding another layer to the creep factor.
The search team would scour the dilapidated brick buildings, including the supposedly haunted blowing-engine rooms. A site manager had arrived to assist the search team through the maze of metal.
The gates of hell.That was what one of her classmates had called this place. He had heard his daddy talk about the hundreds of workers who had died here during the factory’s century of operation. The sound of footsteps on the catwalk high overhead jerked her attention there even as she knew a dozen or more team members and two dogs had fanned out in every direction.
Shake it off, Grace. You aren’t twelve anymore. And you don’t believe in ghosts. Between the numerous reported ghost sightings and the fact that Sloss Furnaces had been labeled as one of the most haunted placeson earth, she wasn’t exactly looking forward to the next few hours. Her freak-o-meter was set to hypersensitive.
Deep down she knew it wasn’t really this place ... it was the coming darkness and the unknown that had her rattled.
Would they be able to find Katherine Jones in time?
Applying her undivided attention where it belonged, back on what she had come here to do, she pointed to a doorway up ahead. “That leads down to the tunnel. It comes out on the other side of the mill. I don’t think there are any side tunnels or cubbyholes for hiding, just a straight path. The team may have already swept through there.”
“I’d like to check it out anyway,” McBride said, setting a course for that destination.
Vivian glanced toward a pair of uniforms up on the nearest section of catwalk, then took the plunge and descended those stairs into the tunnel. She remembered this part all too well. Nothing had changed. Long, pitch dark, spooky tunnel. No place to go but forward or backward, just like she had said. The sounds of their breathing ... of each trickle of water ... echoed in the tunnel as if time stood still and the sound stretched to compensate. Ankle-deep water splashed with every step, soaked her shoes, and chilled her feet.
When they finally reached the other end, she was more than ready to leave it behind.
“Over there.” McBride indicated a row of large tanks in the distance.
Vivian glanced at her map. “Boilers,” she pointed out.
Decrepit and rusty, they seemed pretty much past holding water, but the need to be sure wouldn’t be abated by conjecture. Making certain was necessary.