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Stephanie got out of her car and looked around. A parking lot ran behind the IT building, running the length of the long structure. Behind it, a stretch of grass led to a heavily wooded area. Blake's SUV was parked on the grass, pulled up near a break in a row of trees, and Stephanie started towards it. A uniformed police officer came toward her, holding out his hand to stop her, and she showed him her badge tiredly.
“Right through there, Agent Walker,” he said, nodding to the break in the trees.
Stephanie nodded and continued across the grass. She could see the glint of water through the trees, and a couple of geese honked as they glided overhead. Stepping past the trees, she saw a small lake nestled in the middle of the wooded area. The morning sunlight filtered through the branches and shone brightly across the water, dappling the mossy grass beside the lake with speckled bands of light. It would have been a picturesque setting had it not been for the flurry of activity taking place to the left side of the lake, near a dense copse of thickets.
Blake looked over from where he crouched beside a figure on the ground and waved her forward.
“Busy morning!” he called, standing up as she approached. “I heard you found Chou.”
“Yes. He's hanging from a tree outside the Prison,” Stephanie told him, looking down at the body stretched out on the ground. “Larry will be along as soon as he's finished there.”
“Meet Ramiero Losa, formerly of the Casa Reino Cartel,” Blake told her.
“He wasn't in the water, I see,” Stephanie murmured.
“No. Some employees found him in the thicket while they were having a cigarette,” Blake said. “They pulled him out, thinking he was just passed out, but then realized he wasn't breathing.”
“Any of them ever see him before?” Stephanie asked, glancing at Blake.
He shook his head.
“No.” Blake crouched down and turned the dead man's head so she could see the small hole near the temple. “Your ME will confirm, but it looks like the same size hole as Lorenzo.”
“Poor Larry.” Stephanie pulled on gloves and crouched down on the other side of Ramiero. “I don't think he's finished with Lorenzo yet, and now he has two more.”
“He hasn't. I already talked to him,” Blake told her. “All he could tell me was it was .22mm shell.”
Stephanie nodded and studied Ramiero. The small hole near his temple barely marred the side of his head, with only a thin line of dried blood coming from the wound.
“That would explain the small entry wounds,” she murmured.
“Nasty things, .22s. They bounce around inside the skull like a pinball,” Blake agreed. “Other than the hole in his head, there doesn't seem to be any sign of struggle.”
“You think he knew his attacker?” Stephanie glanced at him sharply.
Blake shrugged.
“Don't go putting words in my mouth,” he replied with a grin. “All I'm saying is there doesn't appear to have been a struggle. That could mean he was taken by surprise, knew the attacker, or just plain didn't expect to get shot.”
“Fair enough,” Stephanie agreed and turned her attention back to the body. “Are you still standing by your statement that this isn't Gomez?”
“I think so,” Blake said thoughtfully. “There's no reason for Jenaro to be killing off his crew, especially so far from home.”
“Who else would know where they were? Or even who they were?” Stephanie murmured more to herself than to him. Blake answered her anyway.
“Well, that's the big question,” he said. “If we knew the answer to it, we'd have a good idea who wants them dead.”
“Aside from half of Mexico, you mean?” Stephanie stood up and looked around the isolated lake. “What was he doing here?”
“Now, that I think I can answer,” Blake said, standing up and motioning her away from the body. Stephanie followed him a few feet away from the techs and police officers. “One of the guys who found Ramiero said he was pulling into work early this morning when he saw a man coming out from the trees.”
“Did he now?”
“Yes. Now, he says the man came out further down there, toward the other end of the building.” Blake pointed in the opposite direction. “Apparently, this is a fairly common area for hunting and the employees here do occasionally see hunters and fishermen early or late in the day. He didn't think anything of it until they found the body a few hours later.”
“Where is he?” Stephanie asked.
Blake nodded to the police officer on the other side of the trees.
“The officer out there has him waiting for us,” Blake told her.
Stephanie nodded and glanced back to Ramiero.
“You ok here while I go see if I can get a description?” she asked.
Blake nodded and turned back to the body.
“Absolutely.”
John watched as Larry drove away, Philip Chou's body in the back of the van, before he turned to head towards his motorcycle. Two techs were finishing up with the pictures, and he had all the evidence bags in their SUV, ready to go back to Matt. He glanced at his watch and sighed. It was almost ten. Another morning spent at this prison. John glanced up at the dark building and scowled. If he never saw the place again, it would be too soon.
He brought his gaze back down and glanced at a policewoman heading towards him. She was dressed in uniform, a standard issue on her hip, and her hair pulled back into a ponytail at the back of her head. Large sunglasses shaded her eyes from the bright morning sunlight and an FOP baseball cap cast shadows across her face. Smiling at him cheerfully, she headed toward the two officers at the front steps of the prison. He nodded back as he passed, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone when it started to ring.
“Yo,” he answered, walking up to his motorcycle.
“Are you almost finished there?” Stephanie asked.
“Just finishing now,” John said. “Larry is on his way over there. He said to tell you Ramiero will take up his last open table, so if any more show up, you'll have to call the city ME.”
“Ha!” Stephanie chuckled. “He should be so lucky. Did you find anything interesting after I left?”
“Not a thing.” John got on the bike. “What's the story over there?”
“Ramiero was shot in the head with what looks like the same type of weapon used on Lorenzo,” Stephanie told him. “Larry told Blake it's a .22.”
“That explains the small entry wound,” John said thoughtfully, unconsciously echoing her words. “Any leads?”
“Glad you asked,” Stephanie replied. “As a matter of fact, yes. Lowell Kwan was seen leaving the area around six-thirty this morning.”
“What?!” John exclaimed.
“I thought you'd like that,” Stephanie said with a slight chuckle. “A witness described him and when I showed him his picture, he confirmed it. As a matter of fact, as soon as I showed him the picture, he recognized him as the “crazy smart analyst” who works on the other end of the building.”
“He didn't recognize him when he saw him this morning?” John asked.
“Apparently, it was still somewhat dark and Kwan looked a mess. The witness thought he was a hunter. He was covered in leaves and brush and was favoring his right hand.” Stephanie stifled a yawn. “So, as of six-thirty this morning, Kwan was here.”
“You think he's the one knocking out Jenaro's guys?” John asked with a frown.
“I don't know,” Stephanie answered. “Why don't you head over here and bring coffee and bagels with you? I'm starving and running low on caffeine.”
“On my way,” John agreed and disconnected.
The policewoman glanced back briefly at John's retreating back before approaching the two officers at the front of the prison. She nodded to the senior officer.
“Agent Smithe wants me to check inside once more,” she told him, placing one foot on the bottom step.
“Again?” he asked, rolling his eyes. “I think the Feds are getting a little paranoid.”
“Tell me about it,” she agreed with a grin. “I heard they think a ghost is doing all this.”
“Wouldn't be surprised,” he chuckled. “Karl was busy filling their heads with ghost stories their first day here.”
“Hey, are you the rookie from Mt. Laurel?” the other officer asked, putting a hand on her arm as she started up the steps. She glanced at him.
“Yeah. Sandy Whitaker,” she replied, holding out her hand.
“Joey Miller,” he introduced himself. “And that's Donnie. Welcome to Prison.”
She pulled her hand away and chuckled.
“Thanks, I think,” she murmured. She glanced back to the motorcycle, where John had his phone pressed against his ear. “I better get in there. He looks like he's watching me.”
“If you need anything, give a yell,” Joey told her, watching her as she continued up the steps. He caught Donnie's grin and grinned back. “What?”
“Hitting on the rookie already?” Donnie demanded as she disappeared inside the prison. “She just got here!”
“So what?” Joey shrugged. “Did you see the rack on her?”
“Yeah, I saw,” Donnie retorted. “I also saw the way she carries herself. Do yourself a favor and don't piss her off.”
“What can I say? I like it rough.”
Viper slipped silently down the steps to the basement of the prison in her stolen uniform. She shook her head over how easily she had walked into the prison, then grinned. John had looked right at her and not recognized her. People only ever saw what they expected to see, and that one simple fact never failed to amaze her. John expected to see a stranger, and a stranger was what he saw.
The chill in the basement of the old prison crept into her bones and made her muscles ache for the warmth of sunshine. Viper paused at the bottom of the steps for a moment and looked down the long, narrow corridor. It was empty and the silence seemed oppressive. A chill snaked down her spine and her lips tightened as the hair on the back of her neck rose. Reaching out her gloved hand, she rested it on the stone wall lightly. The cold from the stone seeped through her black gloves and the chill spread down her arm.
“Whatever you are,” Alina murmured, her voice a mere breath, “I'm not here for you.”
The cold increased and Viper slowly pulled her hand away from the wall, trying to ignore it. The track lighting in the corridor shone brightly, casting a yellow glow over the old curved walls with their crumbling whitewash, and she sent another glance down the long hallway, searching for shadows. There was nothing, but all her senses were screaming that she was not alone.
Turning, Viper slipped around the corner and opened a storage closet, glancing inside. Boxes and tubs filled the small space, labeled neatly on the outside in black marker. There was no room for anyone to fit in the closet with the containers, so Alina silently closed the door and moved on to the next room. She quickly went through every room and closet at this end of the basement, ever conscious of the cold following her. When she finished, Alina faced the long corridor again with a sigh.
She began to move down the main corridor, glancing into the museum rooms along the way. The basement housed the kitchens and tooling rooms for the prison, and she scanned each room cursorily. What she searched for would not be found in the public display rooms of the prison, and her searching glances were focused on windows and doors, not the artifacts themselves. She moved down the hall quickly until she reached the last room in the corridor. Larger than the others, it boasted a huge fireplace and a fairly large window at ground level.
Viper's lips curved coldly in satisfaction. The window was ajar.
She entered the room, crossing swiftly to the large window. An old, large metal shelving rack on wheels stood in front of the window and Viper examined it carefully, noting the small clumps of dirt on the top shelf. She eased it away from the wall slowly, cringing at the loud screech the old wheels made in protest as they moved slowly across the worn stone floor. Slipping behind the rack, Viper scaled the brick wall easily, holding on to the window sill above her head. She pulled herself up and glanced at the narrow, stone sill. It was covered with dirt and dried leaves from outside. Reaching out, she touched one of the iron bars and it slipped sideways against the window. It had been sawed at both ends.
Viper dropped back down onto the floor and smiled.
Now she knew how he got in and out.
She just had to find where he was being hidden.
Damon stretched and yawned, glancing at the security monitor that showed him the kitchen and living room above. Still ensconced in Viper's command center, a large bottle of water sat at his elbow and a breakfast plate lay empty beside it. Viper left him there, under strict instructions to stay put until Michael and Angela were not there to see him sneak out. He had watched on the security camera as she left over two hours ago, leaving Angela settled at her dining room table with her laptop and Michael outside, tinkering with his truck.
Damon turned his attention back to the computer in front of him and looked at the hotel call logs streaming onto the screen. He raised an eyebrow as one from the penthouse suite caught his eye, and he checked the log time with a frown. Placed twenty minutes ago, the call had been outgoing to the Rittenhouse Hotel in Philadelphia. Hawk refreshed the call logs and pursed his lips when he saw another outgoing call from the same suite to a cell phone. He turned to his laptop and opened a special database, plugging in the cell number swiftly. He smiled slightly when he got a hit back on a name he recognized.
Turning back to the computer, Hawk opened another browser, pulling up the Rittenhouse Hotel main number. He picked up his cell phone and dialed, sitting back in his chair while it rang. His gaze wandered back to the security camera and he watched as Angela stretched and then hunched over her laptop again.
“Good Morning! Thank you for calling the Rittenhouse. How may I assist you?” a female answered the phone, her voice a perfect blend of efficiency and friendliness.
“Heavens! Is it morning there? Yes, I suppose it is,” Hawk's voice slipped into an effeminate tone with a crisp British accent. “Sorry. I'm calling from London. It's the middle of the night here.”
“And how can I help you, sir?”
“I'm calling to confirm a reservation for Jin Seung Moon,” Hawk told her, throwing in a yawn for good measure. “I'm told it was called in a few moments ago.”
“Hold just one moment, sir,” the woman said politely, “and I'll take a look.”
She placed him on hold and Hawk's eyes strayed to the outside camera where Michael had his head under his truck hood. As he watched, Michael pulled his head out and wiped his hands on a rag laying nearby.
“I have it here, sir.” The efficient woman was back on the phone, drawing Damon's attention from the security cameras. “One of our Parkview Suites for two nights, checking in tomorrow. Is there a problem?”
“Problem? No, not at all. Mr. Moon simply likes to be assured that everything will be as he requested,” Hawk told her cheerfully. “We've learned to confirm and re-confirm everything before he arrives.”
“I understand, sir,” the woman said, allowing a smile into her voice now that the threat of losing the reservation was laid to rest. “We'll be ready for his arrival at five-thirty.”
“Wonderful! Then I can go back to sleep in peace for a few hours,” Hawk announced. “Thank you so much.”
“Not at all.”
Hawk disconnected the call and set the phone down, smiling slowly.
“Gotcha,” he whispered.
Viper straightened up from where she crouched in front of the window outside and glanced around her. All the bars had been sawed, then placed back in position as if nothing was out of the ordinary. The ground around the window was disturbed and Alina fingered the scrap of white teeshirt she pulled off a jagged piece of stone in the corner of the window frame. Frowning thoughtfully, she tucked the fabric into one of her pockets and turned to move along the path of the haunted maze.
Her gut told her that Jenaro was hiding the boy close-by, and her bet was on the prison grounds. She was pretty sure the guide had been kidnapped to take care of the boy, and when Karl disappeared, Viper gathered the two were becoming a handful. She had already checked the inside of the prison, so that just left the exercise yard and the Warden's House. Too many people were coming and going from the Warden's House. The FBI were using it as a work center, causing Viper to bet heavily on the odds of the exercise yard.
Somewhere out here, a small boy was being held captive.
Rounding a bend in the path, she paused as she passed a flight of steps that led to a locked door in the prison. Alina glanced at it, recognizing it from when she walked through the haunted maze as a paying spectator. She pursed her lips and turned to continue walking, following the maze through a section of corrugated metal walls housing mock hospital rooms and cells. Halfway through the section, Viper stopped and swung around as an icy chill ran down her spine. Her eyes narrowed and she cast a searching glance up to the forbidding prison looming over the maze.
Without knowing why, she began walking back toward the steps leading up to the locked door. The chill on her back remained, growing stronger as she drew closer to the steps. Viper ignored the cold, her eyes fixed on the small window high above her: the window she now knew belonged to the Dungeon.
She reached the steps and put her foot on the bottom one, intending to go up to the door, but as soon as Alina set her hand on the railing, the icy chill disappeared. Frowning, she glanced up the sheer wall to the dark window. The feeling of awareness was gone.
Viper turned around to step off the step and glanced up, looking straight-ahead. Her breath stilled. Up ahead, where the path veered into the hospital ward section of the walk, ten-foot tall pieces of plywood lined the left-hand side of the walkway. Alina had assumed the pieces of wood were leaning directly against the prison. However, looking straight from the steps, she could see a narrow opening between the wood and the wall creating another walkway behind the maze.
Viper stared at the opening for a beat, then glanced back up at the Dungeon window. With a slight nod of her head, she turned and strode forward into the narrow walkway, following it behind the maze. It ran parallel with the prison, but when the maze turned inward, the outer walkway got wider, turning into a “backstage” section for the actors in the haunted maze.
Alina stepped over an upside-down metal barrel and followed the path around the outer wall. About halfway around, she stopped and her lips curved into a smile. Straight-ahead in the corner, up against the wall of the prison yard, stood a large, 2-story shed. It looked as if it was a temporary garden shed, probably rented to help house all the extra paraphernalia the haunted walk required. A padlock hung on the door and black paper covered the inside of the windows on the ground level.
Viper glanced around, listening to the silence around her before turning to her left and moving over to the wall. She quickly and silently scaled the wall, pulling herself onto the top a few moments later. She paused, taking a moment to catch her breath, and looked down on the other side. The wall over-looked a small parking lot and half a dozen cars were parked below her. Viper shook her head slightly, wondering why on earth she risked exposing herself like this for a small boy, before moving swiftly along the wall toward the shed. No sooner had the thought entered her head then she knew the answer.
She did it because there was no one else.
And men like Jenaro Gomez couldn't be allowed to win all the time.
