The manager led her through a catacomb maze of stone and damp, crumbling mortar. In the final room she discovered a wall where bricks had been removed, then replaced.
"Here-" She handed the cat to him and began digging at the loose bricks, dislodging several, causing them to tumble at her feet.
She straightened, pulled the two sections of map from her vest, and unfolded them.
It was a poor image, and the basement was dim, but she finally located Mary of the Angels.
She ran her finger along the line indicating the tunnel. From where she stood, she could get almost anywhere if the tunnels weren't blocked. To the Hartzell, Tate, and Hartzell Funeral Home, to Strata Luna's, and to Laurel Grove Cemetery.
She put in a call to dispatch and requested that they reroute the officers heading for Strata Luna's and send them to Mary of the Angels instead. Then she called Starsky and gave him the new location.
Officers at every possible exit would have been the ideal situation, but they didn't have that kind of manpower. And if David was unconscious, Strata Luna couldn't be moving very quickly…
She checked her watch. "Wait upstairs for the patrol unit and the detectives," she told the manager. "When they arrive, show them down here."
"You think the person who killed that woman got in through there?" the manager asked, all of his earlier impatience gone, replaced by fear and a sudden reluctant respect.
Elise dislodged more bricks until the hole was large enough for her to pass through. She pulled out her flashlight and handgun.
In the broad beam of light, red dust particles curled toward the ceiling. She directed the beam to the ground inside the tunnel and immediately spotted parallel tracks and footprints.
Holding the gun and the light together with both hands, she paused. "Feed the cat," she said over her shoulder, then ducked through the opening.
Chapter 43
They always lost weight.
I touched his bare arm.
Cold as marble.
From somewhere behind us, cockroaches scuttled.
I have to admit they used to bother me. But then I started thinking of them as extensions of myself and pretty soon I began to actually like them.
I held the lantern to his face.
His closed eyes were cast in deep shadow. His lips were blue.
Skin like paste.
He looked dead.
I swung the gurney to the left, toward the cemetery.
I had a special place there. A secret place. A place where we could both play dead.
The tunnel smelled like mildew and sewage. Five minutes in and Elise's shoes were saturated, her pants soaked to the knees. Along with the odor of sewer was another smell. Something herbal and slightly medicinal, a mixture of ingredients a conjurer might use.
Elise had done a quick mental calculation, and she estimated it was a mile, maybe more, to Strata Luna's house. The indirect route of public streets would have been over two.
The powerful flashlight created extreme contrasts. There was the bleached area where the beam fell; outside that beam was absolute blackness.
Pascal had been right-the tunnel system was badly deteriorated, the curved brick of the ceiling having crumbled in numerous places, now lying in jagged piles.
As she walked, she kept her head bowed.
If David had been given a high dosage of TTX, it would be crucial for him to get medical attention as quickly as possible. And Elise doubted Strata Luna would mess around with the "recreational" amount LaRue and his buddies experimented with.
The other possibility was that David was already dead, his throat cut in the MO used on Enrique and Flora. Which would make more sense. But Elise couldn't think about that. She had to believe he was still alive.
She reached a T and pulled out a map. To turn left would take her to the cemetery, to the right, Strata Luna's.
She directed the flashlight to the ground. Two to three inches of sludge over a pathway of cement. No tracks to follow.
It seemed to make sense that David would be taken to the house. It was a huge place, and would have secret rooms where he could be kept. But even if Strata Luna hadn't expected a search warrant, she would have to know that the police would be watching her house.
Elise turned in the direction of the cemetery.
David was forced to listen to her prattle as she pushed the gurney, her feet sloshing through water and sewage.
The floor of the tunnel wasn't smooth, and sometimes the wheels would catch, almost sending him flying. Whenever that happened, she would grab him with a "Whoops!" Then, after some maneuvering, they would be on their way until the next time.
He could now actually understand how some people found TTX addicting. It was almost an out-of-body experience, because you lost all sensation. The only thing functioning was the brain.
But then, maybe this was death. Maybe he was dead and this was hell. Maybe he was going to spend eternity being wheeled around through an underground tunnel by a crazy woman.
She found another pit in the floor.
They crashed to a halt.
David's body slid forward, and he heard a loud smack-his head hitting the stone wall.
She cooed over him, dabbing at his temple with the sleeve of her dress. "You're bleeding."
That meant his heart was still beating. A good sign.
Maybe.
They'd had no proof, but David had always surmised that the TTX victims had been sexually assaulted. He could admit that he had a history of having sex with strangers, but what she had in her agenda book was something he was fairly certain he didn't want anything to do with.
David knew he was going to die; he just wasn't sure how.
Best case scenario?
Tetrodotoxin.
It could eventually shut down his system and that would be that. Or she might grow tired of him and dump him someplace where he wouldn't be found.
Death, again.
Or, since the last two killings had been pretty bloody, she might go for the slit throat.
All nice choices.
Chapter 44
"Stop!"
A familiar voice, coming from the tunnel behind us.
I swung around, lantern high.
"I knew you were back," she said. "I could feel you."
She was dressed in one of her long black gowns, a flashlight in her hand. "You always loved these tunnels. Especially this stretch. I couldn't keep you away from them."
It was true.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded. "You promised to never walk the streets-or tunnels-of Savannah again."
She sounded confused, speaking in that exaggerated accent I'd always hated. The woman had lived in the United States her entire life. Why did she try to sound like some hoodoo priestess?
Four years ago, she'd paid me to leave. She paid me to leave and never come back so she could pretend I was dead. So she could wear her black clothes and pray over my grave. So people would feel sorry for her.
"I missed Savannah," I told her. "I missed the tunnels."
"How long…?"
"I returned almost two years ago."
Strata Luna let out a strangled sob, then pressed a hand to her mouth to smother the sound.
Oh, she always pretended to be so strong, but she was just as weak as the rest of them.
"Where did you stay?"
"Sometimes in the tunnels. Sometimes on the street."
A chameleon, dressing like a man or a woman. Whatever struck me. Of course I hadn't done it all on my own. Enrique had helped. He'd brought food and clothing. Money. Whatever I needed. Whatever I wanted. He'd even purchased the CDs I took to Gary Turello's funeral.
I'd always suspected Enrique had been a little in love with me. Either that or he simply felt sorry for someone whose own mother had turned her back on her.
"I knew it was you, but didn't want to believe it," Strata Luna wailed, suddenly transformed from regal priestess to whimpering, frightened old lady. "Tell me I'm wrong! Tell me you aren't the one doing all this killing."