When You See Me (Detective D.D. Warren #11)(97)

“Okay.” Maybe Kimberly didn’t feel comfortable answering her phone in front of Walt? Though for a taskforce leader to not take a call . . .

“We have news to report,” Childs said. “Since I can’t reach Kimberly, I felt it was best to inform you.”

“I heard you guys had discovered another possible grave?”

“We’ve found five more graves.”

The team leader’s tone was curt. Even after seeing Bonita’s drawing, even knowing there had to be more bodies in the woods, D.D. felt shocked.

“Given the number,” Childs continued now, “I need to contact HQ for reinforcements. We’re going to need multiple teams, perhaps even multiple forensic anthropologists, to work a scene of this size.”

“There may be dozens of graves,” D.D. managed to say.

A moment of silence. “Then I’m going to recommend bringing in search dogs again.”

It wasn’t really D.D.’s call, being an out-of-state cop, but she still said, “I would agree.”

“These remains, they appear more recent than the first ones we found. We’re not experts, but based on some flora, fauna, something”—Childs’s voice was dry—“Harold is thinking the past five years.”

“I have a feeling we’re going to find remains from all sorts of time periods.”

That pause again. But D.D. didn’t clarify. She was keeping Bonita’s role to herself. The girl was in enough danger. The fewer who knew about her, even among the taskforce, the better.

“I texted SSA Quincy and left a message,” Childs said now.

“But you still haven’t heard anything back? Not even a text?”

“Negative.”

“I’ll reach out.”

“I appreciate it. I’ll be in touch later this afternoon. We’re going to cordon off and secure what we’ve found thus far, while Harold and Franklin continue to search.”

More graves, thought D.D. More bodies. “Sounds good.”

“I’ll be in touch. If you do hear from Quincy—”

“I’ll be sure to let you know.” D.D. hung up the phone. She moved back into the meeting room. “Keith, when you and Flora were at Walt’s yesterday, did you have cell phone coverage?”

“Oh yeah. Wi-Fi, too. His security system depends on it.”

D.D. nodded absently. “Mind texting Flora for me?”

“Why?”

“Just . . . touch base. I’ll do the same with Kimberly.”

Keith wasn’t fooled. But he followed D.D.’s gaze to Bonita, who was standing near the table, arms wrapped tight around her waist. “Okay.”

He pulled out his phone, tapped away. D.D. sent her own message. She had a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. But whether that was the effect of this dungeon-like space or a legitimate investigative instinct, she couldn’t be sure.

Keith had put away his phone and was inspecting the walls again.

“What are you looking for?” D.D. asked finally.

“I’m not sure. But this space, it isn’t right.”

“What do you mean?”

“Old homes generally have cellars with earthen floors, and with pillars of piled rock in the middle to help support the home above. This basement, with its narrow hall, tiny room, and now this . . . This is quite elaborate.”

“Maybe the Counsels did this after the fact, so they would have extra space for their staff. I mean, at some point they clearly added plumbing and electricity.”

“To the small rooms, sure. But this space.” He moved near the fireplace. “This wall is clearly part of the original foundation.” He ran his fingers along the jagged lines of giant chunks of stone, piled tight. Clearly an engineering feat back in the day when they’d had no heavy equipment. “If only these stones could talk.”

D.D. arched a brow. “From computer analyst to stone whisperer?”

“Nah, just a nerd who read about the history of this town while we were driving up.”

“Dahlonega started the gold rush. ‘There’s gold in them thar hills.’ That’s what you told us.”

Keith nodded. “Guess what else is in these hills?”

“Well, gold mines.” D.D. paused, said more slowly, “Tunnels. These hills would be full of tunnels, where various miners searched for gold.”

“And after the gold rush, guess what else this area became known for?”

“I haven’t a clue.”

“A major hub along the Underground Railroad. Wealthy abolitionists took in escaping slaves. Where they could secret them away in their cellars, then spirit them along a vast network of underground tunnels.”

D.D. got it. “You think there’s a tunnel down here. This room, it’s a meeting point for a reason.”

“If the same people were always appearing at this inn for some clandestine meeting, people might notice. And we probably would’ve heard about it. Local gossip and such. But what if they didn’t have to ever enter the inn? What if there was another way?”

D.D. looked around. What Keith was saying made some sense. “Your wall, the fireplace wall, is original,” she noted slowly. She turned to the left. “That wall, also clearly old stone.” Behind her were the double doors, framed into drywall. Which made sense. A cellar was generally open, whereas the Counsels had clearly enclosed this space after the fact. Which left her with the wall behind the oak table, where Bonita stood.