All the Dark Places(73)
We make our way slowly down the hill, perspiration dotting Joe’s forehead, his muscles straining. We finally reach the metal double doors of the basement. Wearing a latex glove, I remove the key ring from an evidence bag and find the basement key among several hanging together. The lock clicks open easily enough with little sound, and I swing the door open.
The musty, pungent smell hits us. It has probably been here for decades, adding a little to the stench after the years and animal carcasses had their turn. Mrs. Bradley said that no one went down here much anymore. No one has actually hunted here since Dr. Bradley’s father, more than twenty years ago. And when the doctor and Mr. Westmore came up here to fish, they usually threw back their catch. They didn’t clean the fish down here.
I flip on the overhead light, a dim, sickly fluorescent tube suspended on the low arched ceiling. It hums overhead, adding eerie background noise. The table, with its wall-mounted pegboard over it, sits just as we’d found it last time we were here. But forensics has been through, and tiny, yellow, numbered tents mark the areas where the spilled nails and box were found on the floor, as well as the drops of blood under the table.
“Creepy place,” Agent Metz says.
“Yeah. But a perfect place to . . .” Chase says, coughs.
Because of the state of the body, it was impossible to tell if Ms. Robb had been raped, but there was some reason he brought her here. Maybe just to finish what he started in the road. Maybe she started to stir from the head injury. We’ll never know unless he decides to tell us. But the important thing is that we find justice for her and her family by putting the bastard away for good.
Joe has finished looking around and rejoins us by the doors. “Let’s walk over to the burial sight.” He picks up his bundle where he’s laid it on the concrete floor next to the drain.
Outside the air is cold but fresh, and I draw a deep breath. We walk down the lawn, slipping in the snow. The footbridge is slick with a thin layer of ice, and we’ve got to hold on to the handrail to keep from falling. The river below is gray and, as it’s late January, running fast with melted snow. The sound of the current makes conversation nearly impossible, so we silently press ahead and make our way to the spot where Ms. Robb’s body spent the last six months.
Crime-scene tape marks off a rough rectangle. Agent Metz wipes the sleeve of her jacket across her mouth and nose. “Why bury her so close? Pretty sloppy, huh? Why didn’t he go farther into the woods? It didn’t take much erosion here to expose her.”
I shake my head. “He might’ve been worried about time. He needed to get back inside, clean up, and slip back into bed before anyone noticed. The whole operation was pretty risky.”
“Maybe that’s what he liked,” Chase says. “Doing this right under his friends’ noses.”
“Maybe,” Joe says.
The area has been pretty well canvassed by the forensics team, so we head back across the bridge and up the sloping lawn to our vehicle.
Joe drops his weighted tarp, takes a deep breath, and wipes his hands on his jeans. “Okay, let’s try this through the house this time.”
We head down the driveway, and I unlock the door. I pause in the mudroom and point to the peg where the key ring would usually hang.
“Convenient,” Joe says.
“Yeah. Mrs. Bradley said it was there for whoever needed it.”
“Like a serial killer?” Agent Metz chuckles. “Here you go. Take the keys, and go find a victim, and end her life in our basement. The perfect host.” We all groan. She’s young, but she’s got the gallows humor down pat.
“The first door on the right after the mudroom leads to the basement.”
“The perp wouldn’t have had to go through much of the house if he brought her through this way,” Joe says. “Let’s take a look.”
We head down the basement steps. The light switch is easily accessible on the wall at the top. I’m in the lead, so I flick it on. The staircase isn’t terribly steep or hard to maneuver. It looks like it was probably replaced in the last twenty or thirty years. Not original to the house. At the bottom, the light peters out, and we’re in darkness.
Joe drops his tarp, and the cinder blocks make a scraping sound. He points to the faint light coming from the door at the far end. “So when he had her in the house and down here,” Joe says, “I doubt anyone could’ve heard him once he got through the door to the tunnel.” We follow as he leads us deeper into the basement and through the door. That ubiquitous smell increases as we approach the table and sink area. Cobwebs line the arched ceiling, and a constant drip echoes from somewhere. We stand silently, each wondering, I suspect, about Annalise Robb’s last minutes in this dim cellar.
CHAPTER 55
Molly
IT FEELS GOOD TO BE HOME. SADIE AND I WALK THROUGH THE HOUSE, and I open curtains and let in the sunshine. The Christmas tree still stands in the corner, and I head to the laundry room, where I’ve stashed the packing bins.
Before I get started on the tree, I sit cross-legged on the floor and reach for the basket on the hearth where I’d placed Christmas cards as they came in. I sift through until I find the one I’m looking for, a white card with a red barn on the front, next to a tree with a cardinal perched in its branches. Clear glitter falls from it as I peek inside. It wishes me a peaceful Christmas, full of love and joy, and is signed simply in a shaky hand: Sincerely, John and Margaret Castleberry.