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Rose drew breath to scream, her only thought to bring anyone in hearing distance running to her aid.
The big man shot up both hands, palms out, and said, “Please don’t! It’s about Jazz!”
The scream stuck in Rose’s throat like a rock and she stared, heart-racing, adrenaline making her thoughts slippery. “You stay back there, okay? Keep your distance.”
The man had started forward again, but he stopped, nodded. “Okay. I’m sorry, I’ll stay here.”
He was huge, maybe six and half feet tall, broad as a barn, with rounded shoulders belying a powerful physique. But under his mop of thick brown hair, his face was soft, kind. His eyes, even in the dim lighting of the basement corridor, were warm.
Rose found herself relaxing slightly, but remained a little on edge. The man stood awkwardly, moved a bit from side to side as if embarrassed about something. Maybe the guy was just weird, or not altogether neurotypical, but anxiety seemed to wash off him. “Why were you chasing me?” Rose asked. “Why not just call out to me?”
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure how to get your attention, and then you ran away. I’m not supposed to fraternize with the staff.” He stumbled over the word ‘fraternize’, making it into four or five syllables, and Rose thought perhaps she was right about his mental state. But was he scared or always this way?
“Okay, let’s start again then,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm and level. “What do you have to tell me?”
“Can we go somewhere private? I don’t want to be caught talking to you. And I don’t want anyone to overhear.”
Rose narrowed her eyes. “Where?”
“I’m the janitor here. My room is just back that way.” He gestured over his shoulder, right from the T-junction where Rose had turned left.
Staying alert, she nodded. “Lead the way then.”
Just a few yards along the passage, they came to a door marked JANITOR, so he wasn’t lying about that much, at least. He went in, held the door for her, then closed it quietly behind them. He had the decency to hurry past her and stand a good distance away on the far side of the room. Rose had the feeling that perhaps this guy lived his life constantly aware of his size and how just being himself maybe intimidated people. A wave of sorrow passed over her for that, but she remained nervous. Was she foolish for letting him shut her away in a room like this? Her body was wound tight, muscles tensed ready to fight or run again if she had to.
The room was like a large supply closet, with steel shelving holding all kinds of cleaning chemicals, rolls of toilet paper, hand towels, and more along two of the walls. A rack of mops and brooms filled one corner, and tiny scratched and battered desk was shoved into another corner. Beside the desk was a set of three tall metal lockers, like the kind that might be found in a gymnasium. It was dim inside, one low wattage bulb bare in a cage of wire fixed into the cement ceiling. The big man leaned against his desk.
“I’m sorry for scaring you.”
“It’s okay. I’m Rose, by the way.”
“My name is Derek.”
“And what do you know about Jazz, Derek?”
He took a long breath, then looked down at the cold cement floor. “Jazz was my friend.” He stopped there and his shoulders moved in a way that made Rose think perhaps he was crying, or at least suppressing tears. She wanted to hug him, but wasn’t feeling safe enough for that yet.
“She was my friend too,” Rose said quietly. “And we’re both going to miss her fiercely.”
Derek nodded without looking up. “She was always real nice to me. She treated me like a colleague, not like some slave or something. Or worse, like I wasn’t even there. Most folks act like I’m invisible, or as if they’re embarrassed to notice me. But not Jazz, no way. She always had a smile and took time to have a chat.”
“She was a good person.”
Derek nodded again. “Anyway, I heard you talking to her boss, and I thought maybe you’d be interested in what I know about her. You see, I know Jazz was researching witch covens, but I don’t think she’d told anyone else. She used to chat to me about stuff she wouldn’t tell other people. She said I was good for bouncing ideas off of.”
“Witch covens? Really?” Rose felt as though this small piece of information was important, that it carried weight. She had been learning about the possibility of witchcraft herself, after all, and how it might be related to the experiments, to the bodies under Washington Square Park. But why was Jazz looking into witches? Did it have anything to do with the bodies they’d found? Or with Price?
“Yep,” Derek said. “Witch covens. And the night she died, she was supposed to visit one. But I don’t know if she did.”
Rose was momentarily lost for words as she processed the information, wondering how it might be relevant to anything. The lab under the Bannerman Castle maybe? Would a coven meet there? Some people had said those experiments were somehow connected to witchcraft back in the day, but could that be ongoing? It seemed a little far-fetched, but she had recently learned that far-fetched things were rarer than a person might think.
Derek turned to his desk and pulled open its single small drawer. “This might be helpful,” he said. He moved closer and held something out at arm’s length.
Rose stepped forward to take it and saw it was a phone message pad. As she opened her mouth to thank him, there was a sudden sharp knocking at the door.
“Derek, you in there?”
Rose and Derek exchanged a surprised look, both clearly recognizing LaGuerta’s voice. “What’s she doing down here?” Rose whispered.
“I don’t know! I have more to tell you. Hide somewhere while I talk to her.”
Rose paused for a moment, wondering where in the small space she could possibly hide, then saw the lockers. She could maybe squeeze into one. Derek opened the door and slipped out as Rose quickly moved to the locker and opened it. The inside of the door was plastered with dozens of pictures, all of them various shots of Jazz.
Rose gasped, quickly put a palm over her mouth to stifle any noise she might make. The weirdness level, which had been easing, ratcheted right back up again. She moved cautiously back to the door and listened, and heard the voices of Derek and LaGuerta moving away. She’d had enough, and while the big man might have more to tell her, she felt all her trust had evaporated the moment she saw his freaky picture gallery. She slipped out and headed back to the stairs, desperate for the fresh air of the street.