When You See Me (Detective D.D. Warren #11)(96)

“There’s something I should show you,” Walt says. He stands up, shotgun held before him. Belatedly, Kimberly and I rise to our feet. “You know I talk about the woods. You know what I believe. About the dark. The trees. That all that moaning and shrieking ain’t just the wind ripping through the forest.”

I nod.

“People think I’m crazy, talking like that. I know. I’ve heard them. For years now.” Walt stares at me. “I didn’t save you.”

It’s not a question, so I don’t answer.

“Never saved anyone really. Just inflicted my share of violence, then fathered a boy who did even worse. That’s my legacy. Death and microgreens.”

I still don’t say anything.

“I know why the woods scream at night,” he murmurs. “And if you don’t mind going for a little hike, I can prove it.”





CHAPTER 37





D.D.





D.D. LET BONITA BE THEIR guide upon leaving the office. She expected the girl to head straight for the basement stairs, but instead she veered into the foyer, then crossed the pretty breakfast room into the kitchen. Bonita halted in front of the long, stainless steel commercial dishwasher. She pantomimed picking something up, then once again slashed at her leg.

“This is where Stacey got the knife, killed herself,” D.D. filled in.

Brisk nod.

Bonita moved to the far right, opened up a door to a utility closet, pointed at a mop sitting in a bucket.

Keith’s turn. “Someone used the mop to clean up.”

Bonita tapped her chest.

“You had to clean it up?” D.D. felt ill at the thought.

Another brisk nod, then Bonita was shambling out of the kitchen. This time, they headed for the cellar. D.D. and Keith adjusted their pace to match Bonita’s, as she worked her way slowly down the narrow staircase to the cool, dark space below.

At the bottom, D.D. found the light switch, though once again the old sconces did little to illuminate the space.

Bonita hobbled forward and they followed. This time, the girl went directly for the heavy wooden doors at the end of the hall. The intricately carved double doors remained open from yesterday, the same chemical scent from the upstairs office emitting from this stone-forged space. D.D. wouldn’t be surprised if the forensic techs had spent the night dousing the room’s floor in luminol to reveal blood patterns. Kimberly would get the official report. D.D. already bet the findings included things gory and macabre.

In this room, Bonita moved less certainly. She shifted from hobble to shuffle, her shoulders up, her chin ducked low. She had assumed a defensive position, as if the shadows might attack at any moment. She moved to one of the stone walls and pressed her hand against it. Grounding herself? Something more?

Keith found the light switch in this room. It lit up a dangling overhead light, a wooden wheel suspended by dark metal chains and topped with flickering candelabras. Again, it did little to fight off the dark.

“What is this?” Keith breathed quietly.

“I don’t know. I’m guessing a meeting space.”

“You mean worldwide headquarters of Evil Enterprise?”

“Certainly looks it.”

Bonita hobbled to the massive stone fireplace. She peered inside, ran her hand along the collection of heavy, wrought iron pokers, then wandered closer to the huge oak table, appearing pensive. Finally, she pointed at a spot on the stone floor between the table and the far wall.

She gazed up at D.D. expectantly.

“Is that the last place you saw Stacey’s body?”

Nod.

“Do you know what happened to it after that?” Because why would you bring a body to the basement?

Shrug.

D.D.’s turn to inspect the fireplace. “Did they try to burn it?” she wondered out loud. A normal fire would never get the job done. A crematorium had to burn at over a thousand degrees to reduce bone to ash. Even a large hearth such as this one, she’d be staring at a pile of blackened bones, let alone still catch the scent of cooked flesh. Work too many burn scenes in a row, and detectives had a tendency to give up barbecue.

D.D. glanced back up at Bonita.

The girl shrugged again. Apparently, this was as much as she knew. D.D. crossed to the spot on the floor. Farthest point from the double doors, let alone the trek Bonita’s demon man would have had to make from the kitchen, across the very exposed foyer, down the stairs, and through an incredibly large cellar, while carrying a body. It didn’t make sense. Criminals were lazy by nature. Why not just cart the maid’s body out the back door under the cover of night? Bringing a body here entailed so much extra effort—and risk.

D.D. didn’t like it.

Keith was walking around the room, running his hands from one wall to another and frowning intently. Geeks, D.D. thought, just as her cell phone rang.

She held up her phone, surprised she had reception in the basement. She didn’t recognize the number, but the area code matched Kimberly’s.

“Excuse me for a sec,” D.D. said, then moved from the stone room into the hall. “Sergeant Detective D. D. Warren.”

“Sergeant Warren? This is Special Agent Rachel Childs. I’m leading the ERT.”

“I remember.”

“I’ve been trying to reach SSA Quincy, but she’s not answering her cell.”