Nameless (7 page)

And here she’d begun to think the man had feelings. “I’m good,” she snapped.

McBride quickly surveyed the cemetery before turning his next question on Pratt. “Where’s our caretaker?”

Pratt pointed to the memorial building. “He’s waiting inside with Schaffer.”

“I want to know why the lock was missing and no one had noticed.” McBride shifted his attention back to the mausoleum and then to her. “How long will it take forensics to get here?”

“Aldridge made the call en route.” Vivian took another deep cleansing breath, wiped a loose strand of hair from her face. “They should be here soon.”

“I don’t want anyone going back in there until the techs have gone over it from top to bottom.”

“That’s the way we do things, McBride.” She shot him an irritated look. “Believe it or not, we’ve done this before.” Technically, she hadn’t, but Aldridge and Davis and the others had—plenty of times.

“I’ll be waiting here for the techs,” Pratt assured him.

McBride didn’t bother with a comeback to her smartaleck remark, which was just as well. She wasn’t in the mood. She led the way to the memorial building. The search of the grounds continued but nightfall would significantly hinder their efforts. If Alyssa wasn’t at this cemetery, what were the chances they would narrow down her location before time ran out?

Not good. And that just wasn’t acceptable.

Her gaze landed on McBride. He had to figure this out. He was all they had.
She
was counting on him.

Inside the memorial building Schaffer immediately brought them up to speed. “Holcomb double-checked the records. All tombs have been resealed except for the two in one mausoleum.”

Anticipation nudged Vivian’s faltering hope. “Which one?”

“The Wellborne mausoleum.” Holcomb indicated a place on the cemetery map that hung on the wall. “It’s the largest one. Sits next to Potter’s Field.”

McBride restrained Vivian with a hand on her arm when she would have headed for the door. “Why hasn’t that one been resealed yet?”

“The family put up a fuss. There was a big write-up in the newspaper about three weeks back. They finally reached an agreement just last week. The final two are scheduled to be resealed tomorrow.”

Another adrenaline surge blasted Vivian. The impression of a smile claimed McBride’s mouth.

“What time tomorrow?” he asked.

Holcomb checked the calendar on the desk. “Eleven A.M. sharp.”

A knowing look passed between Vivian and McBride.

“Take us there,” McBride ordered the caretaker.

“It ain’t far,” Holcomb assured. “It was the first mausoleum built on Oak Hill.”

Vivian knew the one. “Follow me,” she said to McBride, moving toward the door. This time he was ready to go.

She put in a call to Aldridge to inform the others as they rushed toward Potter’s Field.

The Wellborne mausoleum didn’t look nearly so grand as the others. Big and plain, its walls cracked and crumbling. She remembered she had never liked that one as a child, too creepy. It sat alone on the edge of the line that marked off the stretch of ground where paupers had been buried. The few forlorn headstones in that section leaned with the fatigue of time and the elements. The story had made her feel sad for the indigent and unknown folks buried away from the wealthier magnates who had made Birmingham a steel city during the late eighteen-hundreds.

The handlers and K-9s joined the progression toward the mausoleum but the animals showed no reaction. Half a dozen yards from the entrance McBride stopped.

“No one goes past this point until I’ve had a look.”

Vivian wanted to argue but she didn’t. Schaffer provided the necessary gloves since Vivian had already used those in her pocket and her purse was back in the Explorer.

Still no reaction from the K-9s. And yet, she felt charged. Psyched. This had to be it … Alyssa had to be here.

McBride tugged on the gloves and started forward. When Vivian didn’t follow he glanced back. “You coming?”

Surprised that he hadn’t included her in his edict, she quickly pulled on her gloves and hustled to catch up to him.

The door was closed, the lock secured.

“Holcomb!” McBride motioned for the caretaker to join them.

The man hurried forward with the ring of keys.

McBride held up a hand for him to stop a few feet away. “Toss me your keys.”

Holcomb readily obliged. “Won’t do you no good though.” He pointed to the door. “That ain’t one of our locks.”

“Goddammit,” McBride growled. “Somebody get me a bolt cutter!”

Agent Schaffer double-timed it back to the memorial building with the caretaker. Minutes ticked by, each second exploding in Vivian’s chest like a blast of supercharged adrenaline.

Even McBride looked rattled now. Did he need more aspirin or maybe coffee? He’d probably tell her what he really needed was a good stiff drink. If he found Alyssa Byrne before it was too late, she would take McBride out and buy him anything to drink he wanted.

By the time the bolt cutters were in McBride’s hand, Vivian felt certain her heart would rupture. He snapped the lock and tossed the tool aside.

Holding her breath, she watched him push the door inward then stop.

“I need shoe covers,” he said to no one in particular.

Jesus. Even Vivian had forgotten. Agent Davis rushed forward to provide the necessary protective measures.

Fully prepared now, Vivian followed McBride into the mausoleum, her hand on the butt of her weapon. The first thing that grabbed her attention was the smell. Unlike before, no blood or decomp. This odor was unmistakable. Skunk. Her stomach seized. She covered her nose with the back of her hand and wished she had some Vicks salve.

Like the other mausoleum the floor had been swept clean, and the two tombs sat atop their platforms seemingly undisturbed.

Nothing appeared out of place. No burlap bag. Just a skunk carcass stinking up the place.

“Is this more of his games?” Vivian asked as she scanned the gloomy interior a second time and still found nothing.

“The skunk scent kept the dogs from picking up on anything else.”

Damn. He was right. She should have thought of that.

McBride walked over to the first tomb and ran his fingers along the edge where the lid sat atop the sidewalls. Vivian did the same. No gap. If Alyssa was inside there … Vivian forced the thought away … didn’t want to think like that yet.

Then he moved on to the next tomb. She reached for that same edge, traced the seam. The gap between the top and the walls that held it up made her pulse jump. That much of a crevice shouldn’t be there.

McBride crouched down and examined the gap more closely. “See this?”

She eased down next to him to check out what he had found. Small metal objects had been evenly placed all the way around between the lid and the walls. The gap provided just enough space to ensure a reasonable inflow of air … maybe enough for survival.

“Grab the other end of this lid,” he ordered.

She took up a position at the foot of the tomb.

“We’re not trying to pick it up,” he clarified. “We just want to slide it down your way.”

He pushed. She pulled. The lid moved. A couple of the spacers popped out. McBride jerked his hands back in the nick of time.

“Close,” he muttered, then put his hands back into place. “A little more.”

The slow, cautious push-pull started again. Wasn’t happening nearly fast enough.

“Let’s swing it around,” Vivian suggested. Going that direction couldn’t possibly be any harder than doing it this way and would give them faster access to more of the interior. Dragging anyone else in here for assistance would only further contaminate the scene.

McBride nodded and started the tedious process of twisting the lid perpendicular to the tomb. More spacers popped loose.

When they had moved it far enough, they looked inside the gaping tomb together.

Six-year-old Alyssa Byrne, a white towel beneath her, lay atop the bones of a Wellborne ancestor. Her eyes were closed, her hands bound behind her back. Silver duct tape stretched across her mouth. The word INNOCENT had been written in black marker across her forehead.

Vivian’s hand trembled as she reached inside and touched the child’s carotid artery to check for a pulse.

Her breath caught and her gaze connected with McBride’s. “She’s alive.”

CHAPTER FIVE

7:45 P.M.

Night had fully invaded the cemetery.

McBride sat on the steps leading into the Pioneer Memorial Building. He lit a Marlboro as he watched the paramedics loading the gurney into the wagon. The Byrnes climbed in with their daughter, neither prepared to let their only child out of their sight again. Probably wouldn’t until the kid was at least twenty-five.

The girl appeared a little dehydrated but there were no visible physical injuries. Her stats were good, but since she was unconscious she’d been put on a monitor to watch her blood pressure and oxygen level, then C-collared and backboarded for transport. Additional tests and close observation would give the full story.

Between the cops, the febbies, and the press, there was a regular circus going on around the cemetery entrance, complete with spotlights scattered about. Forensics techs had arrived and were going through the steps in both mausoleums as best they could with their spotlights. A second sweep would be conducted tomorrow to ensure nothing was missed. Yellow tape decorated the two known locations where the unsub had been. Holcomb and the other caretaker, Greene, were being questioned by Birmingham PD and Aldridge.

SAC Worth had arrived and taken over once the child was located. Fine by McBride. He had done what he’d come to do. He was ready to get the hell out of here. He refused to consider the significance of the tagged rat or his former superior’s name being listed there. That was the Bureau’s problem, not his.

He scanned the crowd for Grace. Located her off to the side of the media/cop cluster fuck. Judging by their body language, SAC Worth was reading her the riot act and she was taking it like a good little soldier. Worth’s movements looked strangely disconnected with the backlighting barrage of blue lights and spotlights.

Annoyance furrowed McBride’s brow, which reminded him a headache was brewing from lack of caffeine. He couldn’t figure out the deal with Grace. She had come to Key West all fired up to get him here. His first impression had been that she was tough and determined. But there was a hypersensitive spot when it came to her sexuality or men or both. An ice princess, he’d thought. Considering the facts, her sensitivity to being female was not so surprising. For the most part the Bureau was still a major boys’ club. Having that body and those lips likely hadn’t helped her in the respect department with her male peers.

Then there was Worth. He either had a thing for the lady or for some reason he felt overprotective of her. Maybe because he disliked McBride so much and didn’t want his newest agent being corrupted by him. He watched her like a hawk.

Too complicated.

McBride took another drag from his smoke. He could do without complicated. Waking up every morning and getting through the day was problematic enough.

He’d found the kid. It was time to go.

“There you are.”

McBride looked from the hot-pink boots to the smiling agent. “What’s up, Schaffer?”

“Everyone’s been a little busy.” She glanced over at where Worth was still chewing out Grace. “I just wanted to make sure someone mentioned what a good job you did here today.”

“Thanks, Schaffer.” He tried to work up the enthusiasm for a smile but it didn’t happen.

She gave him a thumbs-up and headed back into the fray.

A good job. Yeah, right. One of the actors from CSI could have figured out this one.

The idea that there was something way, way off with this whole Devoted Fan scenario tugged at him. The clues for finding the kid had been a freaking joke. He’d expected someone to jump out of the bushes any second with a camera and the punch line from some new twisted reality show.

Fake … not real. That was how it felt, even now.

But the missing child had been real. The possibility of her being sealed off from life-giving oxygen and dying had been real. If she had awakened and made sounds someone could have heard her before the tomb was sealed, that was true. But she’d been heavily sedated so the risk had definitely been valid.

Why kidnap a child from a wealthy family, secure her in a public place with all the risks to exposure involved, then give her back with scarcely a contest? Why no ransom? If playing the game got this guy off, why not make it more challenging? Draw it out?

“Your Devoted Fan.”
Didn’t add up. Except for the rat with Quinn’s name on it.

If McBride had any sense he’d forget the whole damned thing.

“You ready to make a run for it?”

He glanced up as Grace approached. Even in the mesager light that reached this far, she looked as exhausted as he felt.

“Past ready.” He tamped out his cigarette on the step and stuffed the butt into his pocket as he stood up. “You have a plan?” The circus act around the gate had barely parted to allow the ambulance passage. Birmingham PD was having a hell of a time keeping the media behind the temporary barricade. Going out that way was the express lane for making front-page news. If anyone recognized him or if one of Grace’s colleagues leaked his participation, it would be three years ago all over again.

No, thanks.

Grace pushed a smile into place that he couldn’t say looked genuine, but the opportunity to watch those lips in action made him glad she did.

“There’s a car waiting for us on Seventeenth. We’re going over the wall behind the caretaker’s cottage.”

“Over the wall?”

“This way,” she said, heading into the darkness without further explanation.

Following her wouldn’t really be a chore, but he figured if he wanted that ride out of here he’d better keep that comment to himself. So he fell into step with her without any more questions. She led the way across the dark cemetery, rarely bothering with the flashlight.