Holmes, Margaret and Poe, page 16
“Down, Gunner!” he commanded.
The sturdy canine crouched by Poe’s feet.
“Drug dog?” Poe asked nervously.
Marple held her breath. Who knew what Holmes was carrying.
“Cadaver,” said the handler.
The truck rounded a turn and Marple felt her stomach heave. It was like being rolled in a barrel. She glanced again at Holmes. His body was loose, his eyes now fixed on the opposite wall. She grabbed his arm and dug her nails into his forearm through his shirt. She brought her lips up to his ear and spoke softly through clenched teeth.
“Don’t blow this, Brendan,” she said. “Just … don’t!”
No reaction.
Marple realized that her partner was already on his own separate planet.
CHAPTER 69
IT WAS A bumpy five-minute ride to the target. For Holmes, the time floated by. He felt safe. Warm. Happy. He stared at the men with guns and smiled. Wondered why they didn’t smile back.
Suddenly, he felt the truck come to a jerking stop. Two seconds later, the rear doors burst open. One by one, the black-suited SWAT cops moved out and jumped down onto the street, rifles ready. Holmes could see the brick mansion on the corner, framed by the opening at the back of the truck; it reached his brain in the form of a beautiful painting.
As the SWAT team moved across the street, Holmes saw Helene Grey lean into the back of the truck. Her voice boomed in his brain. “Listen up! You three stay behind me the whole time. Got it? No stragglers.”
“You hear that, Brendan?” Marple was in his ear.
He nodded and pulled himself up by holding on to a metal handgrip. He felt like he could drift right out of the truck. And then fly over the house. And then …
“Brendan!” Poe shouted into his face. “Are you okay?”
Holmes blinked. Took a breath. Focused. Put his hand on his partner’s shoulder. “I’m fine, Auguste. Lead on.” He felt Marple beside him, her arm wrapped tightly around his. He knew she would look after him.
Grey led the way to the side of a thick hedge edging the mansion property. Holmes looked up and down the street, still wet from the weekend rain. The puddles swirled with kaleidoscope colors. He heard Poe’s voice again.
“What now?” his partner asked.
“We wait,” Grey replied. “It’s their show.”
As Holmes watched, a small group of shadows emerged from the hedge on the opposite side of the property and moved up to the front door. One of the shadows held a long, thick metal object, stockier than a rifle. It looked like a log with handles.
The figure at the head of the right-hand column pounded on the door.
“NYPD! We have a warrant!”
The cop leaned back. Holmes could see his fingers in profile against the bricks, counting down the time.
Five … four … three …
“We’re going in right behind them,” said Grey. “Stay tight and keep out of their way.”
BAM!
Holmes saw light pouring onto the porch from the place the door used to be. He heard footsteps pounding on the grass. It took him a few seconds to realize that he was alone by the hedge. Grey, Poe, and Marple were already moving across the lawn. Holmes ran to catch up, blinking beads of sweat out of his eyes. The pleasant swirls of color were gone now. He stared at the mansion. Even in his altered state, he knew Poe was right about this place. It radiated evil.
CHAPTER 70
MARPLE RAN TOWARD the porch behind Grey and Poe.
She looked back. Where the hell is Brendan?
There he was, coming out of the shadows. Marple reached back, grabbed his vest, and pulled him forward. “Keep up, Brendan! Keep it together!”
Marple stayed close behind Poe as they moved up the porch stairs. She heard the sounds of heavy boots and loud shouts from inside as the SWAT teams moved from room to room.
“Clear!” … “Clear!” … “Clear!”
As Marple stepped into the vestibule, she could hear loud footsteps and slamming doors from the floor above.
When she looked around, her two partners were off in different directions. Poe, wearing blue surgical gloves, was in the dining room to the left, nudging SWAT officers aside as he tapped his knuckles against the walls. Holmes was in the library just off the entryway, pulling books off shelves and running his gloved hands along the back panels, as if searching for some secret button. His helmet was resting upside down on a coffee table.
Suddenly, he turned to grab on to a large wing-backed chair, then slumped heavily into the seat. His face was pale, his eyes hollow.
No! thought Marple. Not here. Not now.
Holmes sat up abruptly. Then his head started to nod. The weight of the armored vest seemed to pull him forward. Suddenly, he was tipping, unstoppable, toward the floor.
“Brendan!”
Marple lunged toward him. Too late. Holmes landed hard. His head bounced from the impact. Out of the corner of her eye, Marple saw Grey spin and sprint across the room. In seconds, they were both kneeling next to Holmes, rolling him onto his back. Grey shook him by the shoulders. “Holmes! Holmes!”
His body was limp, his pupils as small as pinholes. There was a reddish bruise forming on his forehead.
Grey shouted toward the entryway. “Medic!”
“It’s okay,” Marple said firmly. “I’ve got it.”
She reached into the cross-body bag she wore and pulled out a bottle of Narcan.
CHAPTER 71
“CAN YOU TELL me your name?”
“Brendan.”
“Your full name.”
“Holmes. Brendan Mark Holmes.”
“Do you know where you are?”
“On a very expensive Persian carpet.”
“Do you know what happened to you?”
Holmes was looking up at a woman in blue. His senses were mostly numb, but he could make out the tactical medic patch on her sleeve. Three other faces were leaning over him, coming slowly into focus. Poe. Marple. Grey.
“I appear to have overmedicated,” said Holmes.
Holmes felt the medic detach the BP cuff from his arm. She was now talking to Grey. “He’s oriented times four, Detective Lieutenant. We can run him in for observation, but he’s probably fine.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Holmes said firmly.
“Your call,” said the medic, leaning into his face. She nodded toward Marple. “You should thank your friend here. She saved your life.”
Holmes blinked. His senses were muted. Faces and figures were blurry. He watched as the medic stuffed the BP cuff back into her kit and headed off toward the foyer. Grey followed her. He was alone in the living room with Marple and Poe.
Marple leaned down and stared him in the face. He could see her features clearly now. Her jaw was set and her eyes were steely. She reached into his jacket and removed his pistol.
“Sorry, Margaret,” Holmes whispered. “I owe you. Again.”
“We’ll talk about this later,” said Marple, slipping the gun into her bag. “Unless I kill you first.”
CHAPTER 72
AS MARPLE STALKED off toward the foyer, Poe helped Holmes to his feet.
“How long was I gone?” asked Holmes.
“Four minutes, thirty-two seconds,” said Poe. “A new record.”
As Holmes looked around, he could see that the search was winding down. The only energy seemed to be from the cadaver dog, who was sniffing his way around the dining room baseboards.
“Did they find anything?” asked Holmes. “Anything at all?”
Poe shook his head. “No drugs. No weapons. No bodies. No brothers.”
“What about the basement?” Holmes asked.
“Wine cellar, just like the plans said.”
“There’s something here. I can feel it,” said Holmes.
He was still a bit unsteady as he walked through a cluster of cops and into the enormous kitchen. It was a complete gourmet setup. Viking range. Pricey espresso machine. The refrigerator was the size of a self-contained pantry, with heavy brass latches. Holmes ran his hand over the wood-paneled front as Marple came in from the dining room.
She walked right past him.
When he looked across the room, Poe was locked in a tense discussion with Helene Grey on the far side of the enormous kitchen. He was sure they were talking about him. Marple was opening cupboards one at a time and poking through the contents.
Holmes walked across the room and slumped against the kitchen island. Maybe the best thing he could do now was stay out of the way. Shut up. Not make things worse.
The island was massive, with storage cabinets underneath and a thick slab of richly veined marble on top. A basket of oranges sat in the middle.
Holmes stared at the oranges, then realized that he couldn’t smell them. Another scent was making its way into his chemosensory system. Far more powerful. He jumped back from the kitchen island like it was a hot stove.
“Over here!” he shouted.
Four huge SWAT guys moved across the kitchen like an NFL front line. They braced themselves against one side of the island and pushed. The basket tipped over. A dozen oranges bounced onto the floor and rolled in every direction.
The SWAT team kept shoving and grunting. Suddenly, there was a loud metallic snap from the base of the island, like a latch breaking. The whole unit swung aside to reveal the floor underneath.
“Holy shit,” said one of the SWAT guys. The crowd in the kitchen leaned forward. Holmes moved in first. There in the floor, set flush with the footprint of the island, was a neat rectangular hatch.
Holmes went clammy. He glanced over at Poe, then at Grey, then at Marple. He put his hand over his mouth, stifling his gag reflex. The smell was coming from beneath the hatch.
“There are people down here!” Holmes shouted.
The dog was in the kitchen now, sitting on his haunches.
“Why isn’t the dog alerting?” asked Poe.
“He’s a cadaver dog,” said Holmes. “Whoever’s down there is still alive.”
CHAPTER 73
HOLMES STOOD CLOSE as the SWAT team lifted the hatch cover—two inches of wood backed with another inch of solid steel. One of the biggest SWAT guys held it open while a squad of four stood around the opening, rifles aimed into the darkness underneath.
“There’s a ladder!” one of the cops shouted, shining a flashlight into the hole.
Holmes lunged forward and swung his feet onto the third rung, knocking a gun barrel out of the way. The flashlight beams hit his face as he dropped into the hole, two steps at a time.
“Hey! Asshole! Stop!”
His feet touched ground. He stepped away from the ladder and heard the bang of boots following him down.
Holmes plunged ahead, hands against the walls, toward the horrible smell. He could feel the cops behind him. The beams from their flashlights shot past him into the tunnel ahead.
Holmes kept the lead, pacing the distance as he went. Ten yards. Now twenty.
He rounded a corner and stopped. He could see the end of the tunnel.
It ended at a huge metal door.
Holmes felt a hand grip his shoulder as one of the SWAT guys yanked him back and shoved him against the wall, face-first. He heard the rustle of gear and then a shout.
“Breach!”
There was a flash of sparks and a loud boom. Holmes felt the shock wave against his eardrums, and for a second, all he could hear was a loud hum.
When he looked back, the massive door was blown off its hinges. Through the haze of smoke, Holmes got a glimpse into the opening and the dark space beyond. As the hum in his head receded, he heard a wild mix of voices, male and female. Screaming. Sobbing. Wailing. The smell was now like a thick vapor. One of the cops pulled off his helmet and vomited into it. Another shouted into his shoulder mic.
“Medical! We need medical!”
Holmes pushed his way through to the opening as the cops waved their flashlight beams across the interior.
It was like staring into the pit of hell.
CHAPTER 74
IN THE NARROW shafts of light, Holmes could make out shapes below. Voices rose from the shadows, cracking and desperate.
“Help us! Please!”
One female voice rose above the others. “Get us out! Hurry! Before they come back.”
Holmes heard footsteps behind him. A second later, he felt Marple and Poe over his shoulder. Helene Grey pushed through the SWAT guys and raked her flashlight across the space. “Jesus Christ,” she muttered.
Holmes could make out a huddle of figures against a far wall, pulling against some kind of restraints.
“Don’t be afraid!” Grey shouted into the pit. “We’re here to help you!”
Holmes felt his repulsion being overwhelmed by rage. As he blinked, the horror came to him in quick, grisly snapshots.
He saw a large rectangular sunken space, a pit lined with thick metal walls. In the center was a cluster of men and women. Each prisoner had a metal band around one ankle. The bands were attached to cables looped through thick eyes in the wall.
There was a hole in the floor, rimmed with human waste. The prisoners were all dressed in identical blue PPI gowns, torn and soiled, with patches of raw skin showing through.
Holmes saw a cop moving along the wall, stepping through the filth to slice the cables with a bolt cutter. The freed prisoners surged forward, zombielike, moaning and weeping.
As Holmes reached the bottom step, a tall woman fell into his arms like a child. Her blond hair was matted, her expression feral and crazed.
In seconds, the whole crowd of prisoners pushed toward the door, almost engulfing the rescuers. “Stay back!” Grey shouted, hands raised. “Please! Stay back!”
Holmes turned to see Poe reaching down to pick up a young man too frail to stand. Then he saw Marple working her way into the dark shadows of the pit, tears streaming down her face.
“Zozi?” she called out. “Zozi Turner? Zozi and Eton Charles? Are you here? Can you hear me?”
There was no reply.
A woman’s voice rose from the pack, weak and raspy.
“Save it,” she said. “If they were ever here, they’re dead.”
CHAPTER 75
BACK ABOVE IN the kitchen, Poe watched as the wasted men and women made their way up the ladder from the tunnel. EMTs and paramedics reached down to help them to the top.
Poe walked over to the other side of the kitchen, where Grey was standing with Holmes and Marple. A young woman with huge eyes sat shivering on a stool. Grey had wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. The woman’s knees were bruised and filthy. The metal cuff was still on her ankle, with purplish bruises all around it.
“I’m Detective Lieutenant Helene Grey. These people are private investigators—Mr. Holmes, Mr. Poe, and Ms. Marple.”
The woman’s eyes darted back and forth from one face to another. She looked dazed and disoriented.
“I’m Davina,” the woman said. “Davina Kane.”
Poe felt a jolt. He recognized the name: the missing hotel maid.
“Davina,” Grey said gently. “How did you get here? Can you tell us what happened?”
The young woman closed her eyes and took a couple of quick breaths. Her answers came in short bursts.
“They took me,” she said. “On the street. At night. I was on my way home from work …”
“The Clairmont Hotel,” said Poe.
Davina nodded. “Part time. Housekeeping.”
“Who took you?” asked Marple. “When? From where?”
“Two men. They asked for directions to a theater. I didn’t know the name. I felt something sharp in my arm. That’s all I remember.”
“And when did you realize you were here?”
“The next morning, I think. I was”—she nodded toward the hatch—“down there. I screamed and yelled at first. But I think they put something in the water. I think we were all drugged. After a while, everybody just got weak and quiet. Numb. They fed us just enough to keep us alive.”
Holmes leaned forward. He held up his cell phone with an image of the Sigliks. “Are these the men?”
Davina twisted away. “Oh, Jesus! Yes!”
“Enough!” said Grey, pushing the phone down. She touched Davina’s arm gently. “And what did they do when they came? These two men.”
Davina took another deep breath. She looked up at the ceiling, then back down to meet Grey’s eyes. “They came down together. They looked us over. Poked us. Groped us. Like we were animals. Sometimes they brought down somebody new. Sometimes they took somebody away. Out the door and through the tunnel. The way you came in.”
“Davina,” asked Marple, “did any of the people who left with the men ever come back?”
Davina started sobbing softly. She wiped her nose on the blanket. “No,” she said. “Never. Nobody came back.”
A paramedic rolled a gurney up. “I need to take her now,” he said.
“Right. Of course,” said Grey. She stood up and rested her hand lightly on the young woman’s bony shoulder. “Thank you, Davina. We’ll find these men. I promise.”
Poe looked at Grey as the gurney rolled away. This was darker than anything he had imagined.
“Hey! Detective!”
One of the SWAT cops was standing on the ladder, his upper body poking out of the hatch.
“What’s up?” asked Grey.
“If you’ve got the belly for it, you need to follow me.”
“Where?”
“There’s another room.”
CHAPTER 76
THE BRANCH OFF the main tunnel had been invisible in the dark. But now the whole underground was lit up by NYPD scene lights. Bright as day. The cop led the way to the hidden chamber, about ten yards off to the side.
