“I’m afraid it isn’t good, sir,” Grant replied. He pointed, “He’s in there.”
Townsend paled, then pushed aside some brush and walked into the thicket, his three men following. Grant and Adler stayed back.
Continuing to look at the detectives, Grant asked, “What happened to him, Joe?”
Adler made a movement with his hand. “Throat was slit; nearly took his head off. He already bled out.” He took the rucksack from Grant.
“Jesus Christ!” Grant put his head down, with pictures flashing through his mind of the times and the places he’d seen that kind of death. Too many times. Too many places. He looked at Adler and spoke softly. “I don’t know, Joe.”
“Don’t know what?” Adler asked, keeping an eye on the detectives.
“From what I know about Labeaux, this just doesn’t seem like his M.O. (modus operandi). And that had to be a helluva knife to do that kind of damage, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yeah. I agree.”
Townsend was in the lead, pushing aside branches as he and his men walked to the driveway. Grant offered their condolences. “We’re sorry, sir. It’s… it’s never easy. May I ask his name?”
“Moore. Detective Sergeant Leo Moore.”
Townsend’s eyes were red. “We don’t have time to get the M.E. out here.” He looked back at the body. “I just can’t leave him like that.”
Grant responded, “You can put him in the van, sir. Joe, check the van for something to wrap the body in.”
Adler left and within a short time came back with a folded tarp, handing it to the detectives. Once the three left, he immediately got down on a knee, opened the rucksack, and took out a throat mike, handing it to Grant. Townsend stood near, but kept his eyes on his men.
Working quickly, Grant and Adler attached small batteries to their waistbands. Each battery had a dangling antenna. Wires ran from the batteries to the throat mikes and earpieces.
Grant held onto the earpiece, then said to Townsend, “Why don’t you let us go ahead, sir? That’ll give you time to take care of Detective Sergeant Moore.” He looked at his submariner. “How far to the house?”
“Maybe another hundred meters or so.” (Three hundred feet).
“Joe will come back to get you if we find something.”
As Grant turned, Townsend grabbed his arm. “I want to find the bloody bastard who did this.”
“Understand, sir. So do we,” Grant replied, as he adjusted the earpiece.
The detectives finished covering the body, then Townsend assisted them in carrying it to the van.
Staying along the right side of the drive, Grant and Adler moved as fast as they dared. They stopped occasionally to listen for any noises that might be coming from up ahead. Noticing that the driveway made a slight curve to the right, they moved closer to the brush and trees.
The stone house of Tafton Manor finally came into view. It was situated approximately forty-five yards away, with the driveway circling around to the right, eventually disappearing around the back.
Using thicket for cover, they cautiously made their way until they were opposite the side of the house that didn’t have a single window.
As they continued forward, the greenhouse came into view. At this point they were less than ten yards from the house.
Listening for anything, and hearing nothing but the rustle of leaves and a small stream, Grant pointed Adler toward the greenhouse. Once Adler reached the structure and had taken up his position, Grant made a dash across the driveway.
He tried to see through the dirty, grime-covered paned windows. It was nearly impossible. Adler continued sliding his back along the panes of glass, edging his way nearer to the corner. He slowly leaned his head forward and scanned the yard. He stepped back. “No Rover.”
“Dammit!” Grant said softly. “Okay. Check the barn. I’ll watch your six.” He took the rucksack from Adler and slung it over his shoulder.
Checking again that it was clear, Adler took off, running across the driveway, heading for the barn. Signaling Grant that he was moving on, he stepped cautiously and disappeared behind the barn.
Grant tried to rub grime off a window, but the inside was just as dirty. Moving forward, he positioned himself close to the corner, keeping an eye out for Adler. While he waited, he continued scanning the property.
Adler spoke into his throat mike. “Clear around back. Checking inside.”
“Go.” He watched Adler cautiously stepping into the barn.
Now he started to worry. With no sign of the Rover, and if they didn’t find anybody inside the house, they were up shit creek. Labeaux could’ve gone anywhere.
He heard Adler in his earpiece, “Barn’s empty but there were tire tracks on the west side. Looks like a small vehicle was parked there.”
“Okay. See anybody looking from windows?”
“Negative.”
“How far is the door from me?”
“About twenty feet.”
“On my way.” Seeing Adler make a dash toward the house, he slid around the corner, then hustled to meet him. Standing on opposite sides of the door, they took another look around. Grant pointed to the ground in front of them. “Wide tire tracks.” Adler nodded.
As Grant reached for the doorknob, he and Adler froze. Taking aim toward the sound, they waited. Townsend and his men were coming around the greenhouse with their weapons drawn.
Lowering his weapon, Grant put a finger to his lips, then motioned for the detectives to stay back. The four men backed up against the structure.
Grant turned and reached for the doorknob again. Locked. Adler took the leather case from his jacket pocket. Within a short amount of time, the lock “clicked.” Grant waited until Adler was ready, then he turned the knob, pushing the door open slowly.
It was impossible to keep the old rusted hinges from squeaking, but he had to open it. When there was enough space to pass through, he motioned for Adler to go ahead.
He stayed close behind, walking through the dark entryway, finally stopping when they reached an open door leading to the kitchen.
Hearing a sound behind him, he turned, seeing Townsend coming around the door. The only way to stop him was to shoot him. Unfortunately, it wasn’t an option.
Motioning once again for Townsend to stay where he was, he turned back to Adler and whispered, “Ready?” Adler gave a quick nod. Grant said, “Go.”
Adler stepped into the kitchen, aiming his weapon wherever he was looking, methodically checking every space. “Clear.”
Grant came in. Spotting a door on the opposite wall, he whispered, “Did you check?” Adler shook his head. Opening it slowly, they both stared into total darkness, but noticed steps leading down. Grant pulled out a penlight from his jacket. “I’ll go down. You check in there,” he said pointing to the dining room.
The penlight didn’t illuminate much, as Grant started down the creaking wooden steps. He’d take one careful step at a time, then aim the light toward the next step. Squinting, he tried to see beyond the staircase but could only see a dirt floor. He breathed in a damp, musty, foul odor emanating from the basement. There was an eerie stillness.
Stepping off the last step, he aimed the light around the room. Small pieces of shattered glass lay scattered near an old kerosene lamp, then he spotted something in the far corner. The closer he got, he could see it was a wooden chair. What made him stop short was seeing the rope wrapped around the chair legs. “Oh, fuck!”
Adler had just started checking the bedrooms, when he heard Grant in the earpiece. He hustled down the stairs, then stood by the open door. He tried to find Grant within his penlight’s beam. “Skipper?”
“He was here, Joe.”
“Who?”
“Jack,” Grant replied. Getting closer, he aimed the light around the base of the chair, not seeing any sign of blood. Picking up the rope, he slid the light along its length, relieved he didn’t find any blood.