Read Krewe of Hunters The Unholy Online
Authors: Heather Graham
Krewe of Hunters The Unholy (31 page)
Back at the shelf, he dug deeper. At last he found one that read Crypt
.
He took a second to look around again; he saw no stairs, and nothing that indicated a crypt.
Frustrated, he returned to the rooms with the large W and the large M.
Nothing, except that when he stood outside, he realized that the depth of the rooms didn’t match up with the distance between them.
“This place is full of false walls,” he muttered aloud. He studied the wall, tapped on it and shook his head. The crypt stairs had been covered over long ago.
He went into the women’s toilet. There was an old dressing table with a mirror behind it. He shoved aside the table and the mirror, uncovering an old pocket door. A large sign read Danger! No Entry.
Sean slid the door open.
A set of dark stairs led downward, into the darkness of the crypt.
* * *
Madison stood and smiled at Lucas Claymore. She lifted a hand in greeting, and walked slowly toward him, afraid he would disappear.
“Mr. Claymore!” she greeted him quietly. “Good morning, sir.”
Claymore didn’t run. He watched her sadly as she approached, then he looked over her shoulder at Logan Raintree. “You work at my studio,” he said to Madison. “What used to be my studio, I should say.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Something terrible has happened,” Claymore said.
“Yes, sir.” Logan nodded.
For a moment, Claymore became sheer, and almost disappeared in the breeze that moved softly around them.
“We’re trying to discover the truth, Mr. Claymore,” Madison said.
“I don’t have the truth to give you.” Claymore sounded sad, even distressed. “People come and people go. There are lights, there are noises, but…”
“Mr. Claymore, hundreds of bodies are buried in the catacombs that stretch out from the studio and the cinema,” Logan said.
“Yes, of course.”
“Of course?”
“That was long ago, so long ago,” Claymore said. “But I don’t know everything. The property was really my father’s, and he died…oh, years past. People were flocking here, you know.” He sighed. “And then the Depression came. Followed by the war. Most of the burials are very old. Back in the thirties, when there was no social security…no assistance for the poor. My father was a good man. When he could no longer help the living, he helped the dead. He wasn’t alone in what he did.”
“Who helped him?” Madison asked Claymore.
“Why, the Reverend Parker. He was over at St. Bartholomew’s. He’s been dead for years, too.”
Logan turned to Madison. “There’s where the tunnels begin,” he said. “The church.”
“Ah, well, those tunnels have been closed up forever.” Lucas Claymore sighed again. “You couldn’t have people wandering from a film noir movie into a graveyard now, could you? And Reverend Parker lived a very long life. When he felt it coming to an end, we had the crypt closed off. No one goes down there now. Trust me, I had power in my day. I saw to it that the crypts were kept closed, and that even if the church opened them, there was no access to the studio. Everyone was careful not to let the truth be known. If people had found out, they would have come in. They would’ve dragged up the dead, who might have ended up in museums, in drawers, like all the specimens they have at the Smithsonian,” he said, staring at them as if trying to make sure they understood.
“I think that someone who’s very much alive has discovered the secret of the tunnels, Mr. Claymore.”
Claymore made a strange sound that, if he’d been living, would have been a disdainful sniff. “That one!” he said, shaking his head.
“That one—who?” Madison asked.
Claymore said, “I saw Eddie Archer with you, young lady. I was glad. He’s done the studio proud. But…that one he’s married to now. She came here. She traipsed around. She lit a cigarette
in my vault
and crushed it out on the floor. She was always waiting for someone here. And she’d be on the phone, yakking away. She was up to something, you mark my words.”
“Have you ever seen her in the chapel, Mr. Claymore?” Logan asked.
Claymore shook his head. “I don’t stand around here all day, young man. I don’t watch people endlessly. Sometimes I come because it’s beautiful and peaceful, and I love this land. I can’t tell you more than that.”
Logan was already tugging at her arm. “Let’s go,” he said. He pulled his phone from his pocket and started dialing.
“Thank you, Mr. Claymore!” Madison called back.
“Thank you, yes, thank you so much!” Logan said. “Damn!” he muttered as they hurried across the cemetery.
“What’s wrong?”
“Sean isn’t answering,” he told her. “He’s got to be out of contact. The wretched things worked in the tunnels by the studio, but…”
Fear instantly wrapped icy fingers around her heart. “He’s here—you s align="said he’s here, in the cemetery somewhere. Why haven’t we seen him, Logan? Why hasn’t he answered?”
“He’s probably in the chapel. I know he
was
here. Maybe he thought a chapel that was once a church might have a crypt. And that chapel’s a very old building. There might be something blocking cell phone reception. But don’t worry—we’ll find him. He’s a well-trained agent, and he’s going to be fine. Now, you, on the other hand, stay close to me.”
She didn’t intend to do anything foolish. Logan Raintree was tall and long-legged and he kept up with her easily as she ran through the cemetery. When she nearly tripped over a gravestone, he was there to catch her.
“Madison, I’m sure Sean’s fine,” he said.
“Yes, I am, too.”
He smiled, holding her arm. “We’ll walk quickly—but we walk, okay?”
She nodded, feeling chastised but knowing he was right.
When they got close to the chapel, she drew ahead again, calling Sean’s name as they hurried in. Entering the building, she heard the echo of her voice against the old stone walls. Sean didn’t answer.
“Come around here,” Logan said, moving past her down the aisle.
She followed him and then entered the sacristy, or staging area, for the church. “Watch it! There are lights, but it’s dangerous back here.”
“We didn’t ask Lucas where to find the crypt!” Madison said.
She walked around and saw a maintenance area. Some of the flooring had been roped off.
“I wonder what happened here, or what they’re doing.”
Logan joined her. “It doesn’t look like they’re doing anything yet. Someone who works here might have realized that the flooring is treacherous. They’ve probably asked for a structural engineer to come in.
Madison walked over to the area that had been roped off. “The ground looks damp. Maybe they had a leak,” she said.
“Maybe. I heard it was bizarrely wet last month, lots of rain. But that’s good. It’ll help keep the fires down this summer.” Logan was trying his phone. “Doesn’t work in here, either,” he muttered.
“Yes, but it doesn’t matter. Sean isn’t in here!”
“He’s here somewhere,” Logan said. “Sean!”
He walked toward the bathrooms, but Madison could see that Sean wasn’t in the men’s room—the door was gaping open.
She crossed the floor, trying to study the roped-off area.
“Madison!”
She turned around. “You found him?” she asked.
“This way.”
She took a step and tripped into the roped-off area.
“Madison!” Logan called again.
“I’m all right. I’m—”
She never finished her sentence.
The floor beneath her gave way, and she pitched straight down into a dark abyss.
15
S
ean went dead still, hearing the sound of the scream.
He wasn’t sure how he recognized a
scream,
but he did.
Madison.
He’d traveled no more than twenty feet into the crypts, straight to the rear of the structure, or so he believed. Here, marble slabs covered every entombment, except for those that had been dug into the ground and were covered with memorials, some in stone and some in brass. He hadn’t discovered where the tunnels connected with the studio, but he knew he’d eventually find what he was seeking. There was no other way for a killer to escape without leaving some clue—a drop of blood,
something.
The scream! It was close, and yet he didn’t know where it had come from.
“Madison!” he shouted.
“Sean!” she cried in return.
“Sean!” He heard Logan’s shout, too.
“What happened?” he yelled.
“I went through the floor,” Madison yelled back.
“I’m trying to get down to her,” Logan said.
“Are you all right?” Sean’s voice echoed off the cold slabs of marble in the darkness around him.
“I’m…up, I’m on my feet. I’m fine, no bones broken…but it’s dark down here!”
“Keep talking. I’m trying to get to you.”
“Okay,” Madison said. “I guess I’m going to be a bit late for work. Hey, did you find out anything about our missing Helena? Oh, wait, that would mean you answer and I quit talking. Logan was great this morning and he kept trying to make me remember if there was anything else I knew. I was sure there wasn’t, but we were looking for tunnels, and information about the property, and I don’t know why it hadn’t occurred to me that I knew the ghost of the man who’d owned the studio before Eddie—Lucas Claymore. So we went to his tomb….”
She paused for breath.
“So did I!” Sean called. “Logan, can you see Madison?” he shouted.
“You’re so muffled I can barely hear you!” Logan shouted back. “I’m trying to give her some light…until you reach her. Then I’ll get down there, or you can get Madison back up here.”
“Madison, start talking again!” Sean said. So far, he’d been walking in one direction, which seemed to be his only choice. Except that he was moving farther away from Madison’s voice, and he needed to get closer. He retraced his steps, using his flashlight to illuminate the grave markers and the floor. Then he froze; there was blood on the ground.
Fresh blood, a trail of it.
“Madison!” He felt a prickle of fear. “Madison, keep talking!”
He followed the blood, and it seemed to lead into a wall of tombs.
“I’m here. Let me see, I’m not sure what to say. Um. It was good to be back at work yesterday. I’m looking forward to going in today. It’s—oh, God, Sean, it’s really…dark down here.”
But si, i she kept talking. He realized that following the trail of blood had made her voice seem louder. He’d taken a slight turn to the right, and might be doubling back under the center of the church sacristy.
But there was that wall….
Puzzled, he put his hand on one of the tombs. The blood trail seemed to lead to it, and then beneath it.
He pushed on the marble slab covering the tomb. Nothing.
“Madison!” Logan called. “I’m shining the light down there. Can you see anything?”
“Yes, I can see the floor…I’m in the crypt. There are walls of graves down here, and there seem to be more tunnels, like the ones by the studio, except that these are in better shape. Well, I can really only see where your light is shining— Oh!”
Her words broke off in a horrified gasp.
“Madison!” Sean screamed, pushing at the stones. He could hear her clearly, she was so close.
“There—there’s something here…in a crypt. In a broken crypt.”
“Can you see what it is?” he shouted to her.
“Logan!” she called up. “Can you twist the light around?”
Logan must have done so.
Madison let out a long and terrified shriek.
“Madison!” He banged frantically at the slabs on the tombs.
“I’m all right,” she said, but her voice was weak.
“What? What is it?” Sean demanded. “Madison…”
He’d done something right; the slabs were false. There for show, but perfectly fitted, and probably first engineered when a young pastor and the owner of the property wanted to make sure the down-and-out among L.A.’s dead weren’t thrown into nameless pits.
The marble shifted silently, sliding open. He moved his flashlight about frantically.
He saw Madison, white-faced, as she backed away from the wall of crypts.
Sean cast the light in that direction.
“We’ve found Helena LaRoux,” she said, her voice a raspy whisper.
His light fell on the body that dangled from a rope attached to a metal hook on one of the crypts. The hook had been intended to hold flower arrangements and had nearly bent with the woman’s weight.
The other end of the rope was attached to the handles on a vault. The blood he’d seen had apparently dripped from the slashes on her wrists. It appeared that Helena had come here, tried to slash her wrists but failed to do so deeply enough and then hanged herself instead.
But there was something really wrong with this picture, no matter how it appeared….
He walked to the body, reaching up to place two fingers against her throat, but he knew before he touched her that Helena was gone, cold as ice in the underground crypt. He moved away from her, not wanting to destroy any evidence.
She looked like a prop, like “Matilda” back in the conference room—victim number one or any of a number of rubber, latex and wax deceased that they’d made over the years at the studio. Except that she was real. She’d been Helena, flesh and blood, but now, she was no more alive than a mannequin in the studio.
“Logan?” he shouted up. “It’s Helena. I’m going to get Madison out of here. Can you step outside and call Knox? Tell him he’s going to need the M.E.”
* * *
An hour later, Madison was sitting at the rear of an emergency vehicle, a cup of coffee in her hand, a blanket around her shoulders. She was dirty but not hurt. It was difficult to convince them all that although she’d taken a bad fall, she must have landed right. She hadn’t broken anything. She hadn’t even cracked anything. She’d probably be sore the next day, but she was fine—just anxious to leave.
She couldn’t forget what she’d seen. When Logan’s light had first fallen on the crypts, she’d noticed the shadow, more darkness in the darkness. And then the light had focused more directly on what was there in the crypt.
Helena, dangling from the rope, her eyes open, her skin white, just hanging there, the red around her wrists, blood congealing where it had dripped down the marble of the tombs behind her, and onto the marble slab she’d used to jump off in order to take her own life.
Madison wondered if she’d ever forget the sight of her open eyes.
Sean was in deep conversation with Knox and Logan as more and more techs arrived, suited up and looking as if they’d come to contain a biohazard. The manager of the cemetery had joined them with members of his staff, and they seemed to be in shock.
Sean broke away from the group and came over to her.
“Does Eddie know yet?” Madison asked.
“Mike Greenwood is on his way to Eddie’s. He’s going to give him the news.”
“Was she guilty, Sean?” Madison whispered. “Is that why she killed herself? We saw Lucas Claymore. He said she’d been in the cemetery, talking on the phone, waiting—as if she was going to meet someone here.”
“Logan told me. And that adds to my feeling—I just don’t believe she killed herself. It doesn’t seem like Helena. But her car is parked outside the wall, so she did drive herself here.”
“We were sure she wasn’t bright enough to carry this off,” Madison said.
“I still don’t think she was bright enough to carry
any
of this off,” Sean remarked. “But the forensic experts will know more than I do. First, I don’t see Helena crawling down into a basement tomb to kill herself. She’d do it dramatically—if she was going to do it at all. Secondly, I don’t see her slashing her wrists or hanging herself. She would’ve arranged a grand finale, beautifully decked out, and she would’ve taken some kind of overdose. I don’t believe this at all.”
“You think her conspirator killed her?” Madison asked. “And that she was in on Jenny’s murder?”
“Oh, she was in on it—that’s how she came to be here,” Sean replied. “I’m sure she’s the one who knew that Alistair would be here watching the movie, and that she’s the one who knew Jenny was coming. I think she stole Eddie’s elevator key and had a copy made. I don’t think she committed the murder.”
“You mean, she was in on Jenny’s murder, but then her partner…decided she was a liability?”
Sean nodded. “Maybe she was getting nervous because she found out we were going to question her down at the station, and she met with her partner to find out what to say. Or maybe her partner was nervous about
her
—that’s easy to believe. I don’t think she was intended to be a victim at the beginning. Or maybe the killer figured he’d get her, too, when he was ready. I can’t help feeling she was involved. Why else do you drive to a cemetery and sneak in? But who knows—we’re still missing a piece of the puzzle. When this began, I suspect the intent was just to make Alistair go to prison for the rest of his life. But I think we’re close to the truth now th I suspe.”
“You’re saying you know who the real killer is—whoever actually carried out the murders?”
“No. I don’t know who else is involved. Obviously, with Helena dead, we won’t be able to question her at the station and throw her off. But we’ve found it—the tunnel,” Sean said grimly. “I haven’t taken it all the way through yet. I will once the tech people are finished down there. I’m sure that tunnel goes to the studio. And I’m sure that’s how the killer escaped.”
“Why did he leave Helena down there?” Madison asked.
“I’m assuming it’s because he didn’t want Helena found right away—in case we didn’t believe it was a suicide. But now that Helena
has
been found, Alistair could be released soon.” He was thoughtful for a minute. “I also assume the killer didn’t think we’d ever find the tunnels. He probably figured we’d go crazy trying to trace the tunnels through the studio, that it wouldn’t occur to us to backtrack.”
“Can you or Logan speak to the D.A. or the A.D.A. on the case? Alistair should be released now. I don’t really understand the legal chain, but all they have to do is drop the charges against him, right?”
“It has to be done before the judge,” Sean said. “If they were to release Alistair—or even announce that they were releasing him—it could force the killer’s hand.”
Logan walked over to join them. “Knox just told me they opened her car. She left a suicide note on the driver’s seat.”
Sean’s eyebrows shot up. “There’s a suicide note?” he asked incredulously.
“So I’ve been told. They’ll test it forensically.”
“I’m willing to bet it was typed,” Sean said.
“Oh, yeah.” Logan nodded. “Forensics can try to match it to a printer—and we’ll start with the computers at the studio and Eddie’s house.”
“I need to see that note,” Sean insisted. “I need to know exactly what it said.”
