“Problem is, they don’t got enough uniforms in this town to do anything around the clock,” Marino said sourly as he walked off.
“The damn bastard’s just wiped out half the police department.” Katz looked up and spoke, his Magna brush poised midair.
“Seems like you’re pretty certain who you’re looking for.”
“Nothing’s certain,” Wesley said.
“Thomas, I’m going to have to ask for another favor,” I said to my dedicated colleague.
“I need you and Dr. Shade to run an experiment for me at The Farm.”
“Dr. Shade?” Wesley said.
“Lyall Shade is an anthropologist at the University of Tennessee,” I explained.
“When do we start?” Katz loaded a new roll of film into his camera.
“Immediately, if possible. It will take a week.”
“Fresh bodies or old?”
“Fresh.”
“That really is the guy’s name?” Wesley went on.
It was Katz who answered as he took a photograph.
“Sure is. Spelled L-Y-A-L-L. Goes all the way back to his great-grandfather, a surgeon in the Civil War.”
5
Max Ferguson’s basement was accessible by concrete steps in back of his house, and I could tell by dead leaves drifted against them that no one had been here for a while. But I could be no more exact than that, for fall had peaked in the mountains. Even as Wesley tried the door, leaves spiraled down without a sound as if the stars were shedding ashes.
“I’m going to have to break the glass,” he said, jiggling the knob some more as I held a flashlight. Reaching inside his jacket, he withdrew the Sig Sauer nine-millimeter pistol from its shoulder holster and sharply tapped the butt against a large pane in the center of the door. The noise of glass shattering startled me even though I was prepared for it, and I half expected police to rapidly materialize from the dark. But no footfall or human voice was carried on the wind, and I imagined the existentialist terror Emily Steiner must have felt before she died. No matter where that might have been, no one had heard her smallest cry, no one had come to save her.
Tiny glass teeth left in the mullion sparkled as Wesley carefully put his arm through the opening and found the inside knob.
“Damn,” he said, pushing against the door.
“The latch bolt must be rusted.” Working his arm in farther to get a better grip, he was straining against the stubborn lock when suddenly it gave. The door flew open with such force that Wesley spilled into the opening, knocking the flashlight out of my hand. It bounced, rolled, and was extinguished by concrete as I was hit by a wall of cold, foul air. In complete darkness, I heard broken glass scrape as Wesley moved.
“Are you all right?” I blindly inched forward, hands held out in front of me.
“Benton?”
“Jesus.” He sounded shaky as he got to his feet.
“Are you okay?”
“Damn, I can’t believe this.” His voice moved farther away from me. Glass crunched as he groped along the wall, and what sounded like an empty paint bucket clanged dully as he knocked it with his foot. I squinted when a naked bulb went on overhead, my eyes adjusting to a vision of Benton Wesley dirty and dripping blood.
“Let me see.” I gently took hold of his left wrist as he scanned our surroundings, rather dazed.
“Benton, we need to get you to a hospital,” I said as I examined multiple lacerations on his palm.
“You’ve got glass embedded in several of these cuts, and you’re going to need stitches.”
“You’re a doctor.” The handkerchief he wrapped around his hand instantly turned red.
“You need a hospital,” I repeated as I noticed blood spreading darkly through the torn fabric of his left trouser leg.
“I hate hospitals.” Behind his stoicism, pain smoldered in his eyes like fever.
“Let’s look around and get out of this hole. I promise not to bleed to death in the meantime.”
I wondered where the hell Marino was. It did not appear that SBI Agent Ferguson had entered his basement in years. Nor did I see any reason why he should have unless he had a penchant for dust, cobwebs, rusting garden tools, and rotting carpet. Water stained the concrete floor and cinderblock walls, and body parts of crickets told me that legions had lived and died down here. As we wandered corner to corner, we saw nothing to make us suspicious that Emily Steiner had ever been a visitor.