Daddy's Girl (24 page)

N
at had no idea what happened. She sat splayed at the bottom of some sort of dark, narrow hole. She had fallen on her butt, which hurt. She looked up, shaken. The floorboards had splintered, about five feet over her head. She was ten feet underground, or more.

She scrambled to her feet, wincing in pain, and picked up a small piece of wood that had tumbled inside and landed on top of her leg. Its rough surface felt light and porous to the touch. She broke it in two with her hands; it snapped with ease. Rotten, worm-eaten, or maybe gnawed by termites. A terrifying thought struck her. Was the Neon going to fall in on her?

She flinched and covered her head reflexively, as if that would have done any good. She looked up, cringing. It was dark in the hole, and the only light came from its mouth, jagged with splintered wood, broken in the center. The Neon was parked to the right of the hole. She looked ahead and couldn’t see anything. Her back was to a wall, and she turned and felt it. Cold and wet to the touch. Dirt. She pulled her hand away and smelled it. Earth. She turned back and couldn’t see anything.

She figured out the situation. Dirt and rock covered the barn floor, but the part of the floor nearer the door was made of wood. She’d weakened the old floorboards when she drove over them, breaking them just enough so they’d give way under her weight. The Neon must have been parked on the solid dirt floor, so it wouldn’t fall in.

Great. At least I won’t get hit by a car. In a hole.

Nat put a hand out and felt the wall directly across from her. It was as if a hole had been dug in the earth, tall and skinny, but big enough for a person. She visualized it as being made by an index finger poked down into topsoil, as if to plant a seed. But she had to get out. She jumped up but couldn’t reach that high. When she came down, her feet slid a little, but didn’t touch dirt on the other side. Why?

She peered down at her feet, but it was too dark to see anything. It creeped her out. What was down there? A horror-movie image of a snake pit slithered into her mind. She tried to edge away but there was nowhere to go. Her back was literally to the wall. She jumped again but kept slipping when she landed. The floor of the hole was uneven. She couldn’t see a thing. Then she remembered something. The key ring for the Neon had tons of stuff on it, the typical keychain of a teenage girl.

She reached in her coat pocket and pulled out the keys. The key-ring held a pink plush heart, a small pink Swiss army knife, and a tiny pink penlight. Nat flicked the penlight on and aimed it at her feet. No snakes, just dirt. The penlight cast a faint, almost translucent, circle of light on the dirt wall opposite her, and she gasped. The wall on the other side of the hole didn’t go all the way down, as she had assumed. It stopped at about thigh height, and the bottom half appeared to lead to another underground hole.

“Hello?” she said, but there was no echo. She crouched down as much as she could in the narrow hole and aimed the light inside the other hole. The light didn’t reach far enough to reveal what was down there. Images of treasure chests full of gold doubloons and skeletons chained to walls popped into her head. She sat on her butt, then stuck her feet in the hole and aimed the light down her body. She could see a dirt bottom not far under her feet.

Nat let herself slip down like a kid on a muddy sliding board and tumbled into the bigger hole. She yelped, and dirt muffled the sound. She cast the light around the new hole. It was dirt on all six sides, rich brown earth veined with burnt-orange clay. Stones stuck out from the dirt. The ceiling was tall enough to stand up in, if you were as short as Nat, and like the walls, was reinforced by old wooden boards.

Could these boards break, too? If they do, will I be buried alive? And what about oxygen? I’ve grown fond of oxygen.

Nat banished the negative thoughts. She was standing in a man-made room of some kind. It seemed too elaborate for a root cellar. She cast the penlight on one of the boards in the back, then noticed some carvings. She made her way over and shone the light on the boards. Carved into it were the initials
C.J
and underneath,
T.J.
She ran her fingers over them. They had been etched by a crude knife. She cast the light elsewhere on the wooden board. There were more initials:
L.M., C.M.
Then a date:
APRIL 28, 1860.

“My God,” Nat said aloud. She couldn’t believe her eyes. 1860. She knew what it had to be, because she taught it every year. She must be seeing a stop on the Underground Railroad. A series of holes, hidden trap doors, and secret hiding places for slaves escaping from Maryland and points farther south. Some of the stops were homes with hiding places, but many more were in outbuildings, to make escape easier if the slavecatchers came. Chester County was dotted with historic houses that hid runaway slaves, houses that still existed today. Nat knew the houses by heart, taking a historian’s delight in the old-fashioned names: Moses and Mary Pennock’s house. Eusebius and Sarah Barnard’s house. Mordecai and Esther Hayes’s. Isaac and Thomazine Meredith.

Nat stood, marveling. This hole must have been one that no one had found yet. One that hadn’t been discovered until now, perfectly concealed for almost a hundred years. The secret hiding place for so many poor, desperate souls. Nat had taught the History of Justice, and now she was inside it. She felt tears come to her eyes and blinked them away, running her fingertips over the boards. She wondered how many of these courageous people had made it north to freedom. How many had turned back. How many have been captured, beaten, or even killed.

This was sacred ground, and so were its boards, blanketed with initials and dates, which Nat read by penlight.
L.B., AUG 1859, M., 1862, LU, 1861.
Some of the slaves had written their names:
JANUARY GRANDY. HANNAH CLEMEN
. Some had numbers next to their names, which nat guessed were their ages:.
JED
, 19.
MARY, 9.
Many of the initials were no longer visible, but she could feel them with her fingertips. She remembered telling Angus about the Underground Railroad that day in the Beetle, on the way to the prison. She couldn’t wait to tell him about the secret hole hidden under the floor.

Nat blinked.
A secret hole hidden under the floor.
People used it to escape to freedom. She flashed for the umpteenth time on Saunders’s last words.

Tell my wife. It’s under the floor.

She thought about it, as she had thought about it so many times before. But this time she looked at it in a different light. Saunders had said, “It’s under the floor.” When he’d said that, he’d been lying in the security room, the one without the videocamera. Maybe he hadn’t meant that whatever “it” was was under the floor at his house. Nat had thought that only because the “tell my wife” part came first. But for a second, she set aside the “tell my wife” part. What if Saunders had meant that “it” was under the floor right where he lay—in the prison itself? And what would be under the floor at a prison?

A tunnel?

“Whoa,” Nat said aloud, in the dark hole. It could be true. It wasn’t crazy. Tunnels could help people escape. She was standing in one. But who would a tunnel in a prison be for? It only took a minute to come up with the answer.

Richard Williams.

Williams was the drug kingpin being held at the prison for almost a year. He’d want to escape before his trial, because with his charges, he’d go to prison for life. And he’d have the dough to get a tunnel built for him. He could have paid Graf to do it. Then Graf could have gotten his brother the contractor in on the scheme. It could easily have been disguised as part of the renovations. If Phoenix, or at least Jim Graf, had been digging at night, when his brother Joe Graf was on duty, nobody would have been the wiser. Especially if Machik were in on it, too.

Nat had an epiphany. The scam wasn’t drugs. It was something far more lucrative, and far worse. It was letting a dangerous killer escape through a tunnel under the floor. How much would Williams pay to beat a federal rap? A couple million, maybe more? No wonder Machik got rid of the rugs in that security room so fast. The rugs had covered the mouth of the tunnel, and any inspection of them would have shown dirt on the underside. No wonder they had remodeled the room when Nat and Angus started asking questions. They had to keep hiding the tunnel. No wonder there had been orders for so many two-by-fours in the construction file. The two-by-fours had reinforced the length of the tunnel. It had taken them a year to dig, and they were about to put it to use—and get away with setting a ruthless murderer free.

Nat gasped as she realized the implications. Saunders was killed because he had discovered not a drug conspiracy, but an escape conspiracy. Upchurch was still the sacrificial lamb. Then Nat realized something else. If the murders of Saunders and Upchurch had been to conceal the escape, maybe the prison riot wasn’t random at all. It had been staged at one end of the prison as a way to distract everyone from the killings at the other end. A riot in the RHU would have been the perfect way to keep everybody occupied while Saunders and Upchurch were being murdered in the security office.

Her thoughts clicked away. It all made sense. She’d had to fight upstream to get help that morning. All the SWAT team guys and C.O.s were running the opposite direction, toward the RHU. It was only by chance that she’d been attacked, run the wrong way for help, and discovered the slaughter in the security room.

She felt astonished at the ambition of the conspiracy, then flashed on the newspaper that she’d seen today. Williams’s federal trial was scheduled to start this week. She remembered that the article had said that his trial would be on Tuesday. It jibed with why Graf would be meeting with Parrat today at Houlihan’s. They would have been discussing last-minute plans. Williams would be moved to Philly tomorrow.

That meant that Williams would have to escape from prison
tonight
.

And Nat was the only one who knew.

N
at stared stunned at the carved initials illuminated by the penlight, pale and thin as moonshade in the dark. She tested her theory and it sounded right. But what could she do about it? How could she tell someone? She had no cell phone, nothing. She checked her watch, the numerals glowing an eerie green, anachronistic in this historic place. It was 4:10 p.m. They’d wait until dark to let Williams escape. They’d need cover of night. She had to stop them and she didn’t have much time.

First, she had to get out of the hole. She shone the penlight on the wall leading out to the first hole. The stones that had looked random before had been wedged into the wall in an ascending pattern, makeshift stepping-stones from so long ago. She marveled at the ingenuity and heart of these benighted people. She put a foot on the first stepping-stone, and it held strong and stable, then used the others to make her way slowly to the first hole, where she figured out a way to get out. She’d dig out footholes for herself on the side of the wall. She could do it, now that she saw how it was done. She even had a penknife to scoop them out. She whispered a prayerful thanks and started digging.

Almost two hours later, she came out of the hole with a plan and no time to waste. She brushed dirt from her pants and coat, ripped the blue tarp off the Neon, and yanked open the barn door. A lone car traveled down the road, headlights coming and taillights going. Sunday night traffic would be light. She’d be more exposed, vulnerable to the cops, but she didn’t have any choice. At least it was dark out, a frigid night so piercingly clear that the stars scattered across the night sky looked like diamonds on a jeweler’s black velvet.

She jumped in the car, started the engine, and reversed out of the barn and down the driveway to the road, where she ran over the broken electric fence and drove forward. She hit the gas and tore up the road. She’d need a phone. She slowed past one house and considered asking to use theirs, but rejected the idea. She couldn’t take the risk. She kept driving and up ahead spotted the single light of a country store, but it was closed. She traveled down the road, passing houses until she finally found a gas station with a pay phone.

She pulled in, parked with her license plate away from the road, jumped out of the car, and ran into the phone booth. She left the door partway open so the light wouldn’t go on and used the penlight to call 911. The call connected, and Nat said, “I want to report that there’s going to be an escape at the Chester County Correctional Institution tonight—”

“Who’s calling?” the dispatcher asked.

“It doesn’t matter. I know for a fact that an inmate named Richard Williams is going to escape from—”

“Miss, where are you calling from?”

“Please, just listen. If you don’t, a very dangerous criminal will escape from prison.”

“Miss, I’m sorry, what is the nature of your emergency?”

“It’s at the prison.”

“You’re at the prison, Miss?”

“No, there’s about to be a crime committed at the prison. You have to send the police—”

“Are you in any danger, Miss?”

“No, but there’s going to be a crime—”

“I’m sorry. This line is for emergency services only. If you wish to report a crime, please call—”

Nat repeated the number, hung up, and fished another quarter out of her pocket, then called the State Police station. When the call connected, she disguised her voice, just in case Milroy, Mundy, or one of the other troopers happened to answer the phone. “Is Trooper Mundy there?” she asked.

“No, he’s not. Who’s calling?”

“I can’t say. There’s going to be a prison break tonight at Chester County Correctional and—”

“Ginny, honey, who are you kidding with that voice? You sound like a rookie tranny.” The trooper chuckled. “I told you, stop with the prank calls or it’s your last sleepover. Now cut it out.”

“No, please listen. I’m not Ginny. It’s the truth.”

“Who are you then, if you’re not Ginny?”

“It doesn’t matter, just listen to me. Send a car over to the prison right away.”

“Ginny, I told you to stay off. Cut it out.” He hung up.

Nat held the dead phone, desperate. Who else could she call? She watched the road nervously. A minivan went by. She dialed information for the number, fished another quarter out of her pocket, then placed a call to the federal marshals in Philly. When the call connected, she said, “I’m not sure whom I should be speaking with, but I have information that there’s going to be a prison break—”

“Excuse me, who is this?” the marshal asked.

“I can’t say. Please, you have to believe me. You have a car guarding Richard Williams at Chester County Correctional, right?”

“Who wants to know?”

“Okay. There’s going to be a prison break there tonight. There’s a conspiracy between a C.O., the assistant warden, and a drug dealer to get Williams out—”

“A conspiracy, huh?” The marshal sighed. “How do you know about this conspiracy?”

“I figured it out. I was in a hole from the Underground Railroad and—”

“I’m very sorry, Miss, but we’re busy here. I urge you to seek professional help.”

“No, I’m not crazy! Please, listen, Richard Williams—”

“Please, seek help.” The line went dead.

Nat hung up the phone. She didn’t know what to do. She aimed the penlight and read the inky cell phone number she’d written on her hand, fainter since her shower, and called Angus. She watched another car going down the road as the phone rang, feeling her emotions well up. The call connected, and she was about to speak, but his voicemail came on. She bit back her feelings and waited for the beep.

“Angus, I don’t know where you are or when you’ll get this.” Nat paused. She considered telling him about the tunnel, but she didn’t know what he’d do. “Bye.”

She hung up, emotionally shaky. Something made her want to call her father, which was palpably insane. But she couldn’t go backward, so she had to go forward. She had to stop the escape and if she couldn’t get anyone to help, she’d have to do it herself. But she didn’t feel brave enough to go into the belly of the beast. It wasn’t like her, and she knew it. They were right, when they said that, all of them. She was a scholar, a historian at heart. This wasn’t just bleaching your hair and wearing dumb hats. This could get dangerous.

Her thoughts strayed to the hidden room under the ground and all those carved initials, each one a person who had summoned extraordinary courage. They fought for justice, in far worse circumstances. If they could do it, she could do it. She’d been teaching the History of Justice for three years, and she had never understood why before. It was for history to repeat itself. Right now.

She set her jaw, left the phone booth, and hurried back to the car. She drove with an eye on the rearview mirror and slowed when she turned the curve and spotted the prison, set in the middle of a field of melting snow. She drew closer and saw the razorwire and the lights, and near the entrance door, the dark sedan of the federal marshals. She couldn’t get to them without going past the guardhouse, but she couldn’t do that. She had no idea which C.O.s were in the conspiracy, and Graf might have one of his guys on lookout, since tonight was the night of the escape.

Nat eyeballed the prison layout as she drove past at a reasonable speed, not wanting to draw undue attention. The building was located far from the road and she couldn’t sneak up to it on foot. The prison’s design ensured that anyone who tried to break out of prison would be exposed; of course, any idiot who tried to break
into
the prison would be exposed as well. She figured that the tunnel had to run from the prison to the road, or at least near enough to it. Digging the tunnel would have been doable in a year’s time, or less. She had to assume Parrat would be here tonight to make the pickup, wherever the tunnel ended. Graf and Machik would be on duty, too, and they’d undoubtedly make up some story in the morning about how Williams had escaped. And overnight, they’d become rich men.

She drove by the entrance to the prison, looking for any sign of a tunnel’s exit. She followed the curve of the road around a grove of evergreen trees, then traveled uphill, using the blue water tower as her guide. The grade steepened, and she drove around the back of the water tower, then slowed when she got to the back of the prison. She looked through the trees.

She didn’t see the tunnel’s exit, but in the next minute, she saw another way to execute Plan B.