Chapter 4 #3
McBride came out behind her, peeled off the gloves. “If you need to puke, don’t hold back on my account,” he encouraged. “Just find a spot away from the crime scene.”
And here she’d begun to think the man had feelings. “I’m good,” she snapped.
McBride quickly surveyed the cemetery before turning his next question on Pratt. “Where’s our caretaker?”
Pratt pointed to the memorial building. “He’s waiting inside with Schaffer.”
“I want to know why the lock was missing and no one had noticed.” McBride shifted his attention back to the mausoleum and then to her. “How long will it take forensics to get here?”
“Aldridge made the call en route.” Vivian took another deep cleansing breath, wiped a loose strand of hair from her face. “They should be here soon.”
“I don’t want anyone going back in there until the techs have gone over it from top to bottom.”
“That’s the way we do things, McBride.” She shot him an irritated look. “Believe it or not, we’ve done this before.” Technically, she hadn’t, but Aldridge and Davis and the others had—plenty of times.
“I’ll be waiting here for the techs,” Pratt assured him.
McBride didn’t bother with a comeback to her impertinent remark, which was just as well.
She wasn’t in the mood. She led the way to the memorial building.
The search of the grounds continued, but nightfall would significantly hinder their efforts.
If Alyssa wasn’t at this cemetery, what were the chances they would narrow down her location before time ran out?
Not good. And that just wasn’t acceptable.
Her gaze landed on McBride. He had to figure this out. He was all they had. She was counting on him.
Inside the memorial building, Schaffer immediately brought them up to speed. “Holcomb double-checked the records. All tombs have been resealed except for the two in one mausoleum.”
Anticipation nudged Vivian’s faltering hope. “Which one?”
“The Wellborne mausoleum.” Holcomb indicated a place on the cemetery map that hung on the wall. “It’s the largest one. Sits next to Potter’s Field.”
McBride restrained Vivian with a hand on her arm when she would have headed for the door. “Why hasn’t that one been resealed yet?”
“The family put up a fuss. There was a big write-up in the newspaper about three weeks back. They finally reached an agreement just last week. The final two are scheduled to be resealed tomorrow.”
Another adrenaline surge blasted Vivian. The impression of a smile claimed McBride’s mouth.
“What time tomorrow?” he asked.
Holcomb checked the calendar on the desk. “Eleven a.m. sharp.”
A knowing look passed between Vivian and McBride.
“Take us there,” McBride ordered the caretaker.
“It’s not far,” Holcomb assured. “It was the first mausoleum built on Oak Hill.”
Vivian knew the one. “Follow me,” she said to McBride, moving toward the door. This time he was ready to go.
She put in a call to Aldridge to inform the others as they rushed toward Potter’s Field.
The Wellborne mausoleum didn’t look nearly so grand as the others.
Big and plain, its walls cracked and crumbling.
She remembered she had never liked that one as a child, too creepy.
It sat alone on the edge of the line that marked off the stretch of ground where paupers had been buried.
The few forlorn headstones in that section leaned with the fatigue of time and the elements.
The story had made her feel sad for the indigent and unknown folks buried away from the wealthier magnates who had made Birmingham a steel city during the late 1800s.
The handlers and K-9s joined the progression toward the mausoleum, but the animals showed no reaction. Half a dozen yards from the entrance, McBride stopped.
“No one goes past this point until I’ve had a look.”
Vivian wanted to argue but she didn’t. Schaffer provided the necessary gloves since Vivian had already used those in her pocket and her purse was back in her SUV.
Still no reaction from the K-9s. And yet, she felt charged. Psyched. This had to be it . . . Alyssa had to be here.
McBride tugged on the gloves and started forward. When Vivian didn’t follow, he glanced back. “You coming?”
Surprised that he hadn’t included her in his edict, she quickly pulled on her gloves and hustled to catch up to him.
The door was closed, the lock secured.
“Holcomb!” McBride motioned for the caretaker to join them.
The man hurried forward with the ring of keys.
McBride held up a hand for him to stop a few feet away. “Toss me your keys.”
Holcomb readily obliged. “Won’t do you no good, though.” He pointed to the door. “That’s not one of our locks.”
“Damn it,” McBride growled. “Somebody get me a bolt cutter!”
Agent Schaffer double-timed it back to the memorial building with the caretaker. Minutes ticked by, each second exploding in Vivian’s chest like a blast of supercharged epinephrine.
Even McBride looked rattled now. Did he need more aspirin or maybe coffee? He’d probably tell her what he really needed was a good stiff drink. If he found Alyssa Byrne before it was too late, she would take McBride out and buy him anything to drink he wanted.
By the time the bolt cutter was in McBride’s hand, Vivian felt certain her heart would rupture. He snapped the lock and tossed the tool aside.
Holding her breath, she watched him push the door inward and then stop.
“I need shoe covers,” he said to no one in particular.
Agent Davis rushed forward to provide the necessary protective measures.
Fully prepared now, Vivian followed McBride into the mausoleum, her hand on the butt of her weapon.
The first thing that grabbed her attention was the smell.
Unlike before, no blood or decomp. This odor was unmistakable.
Skunk. Her stomach seized. She covered her nose with the back of her hand and wished she had some salve to help block the odor.
Like the other mausoleum, the floor had been swept clean, and the two tombs sat atop their platforms seemingly undisturbed.
Nothing appeared out of place. No burlap bag. Just a skunk carcass stinking up the place.
“Is this more of his games?” Vivian asked as she scanned the gloomy interior a second time and still found nothing.
“The skunk scent kept the dogs from picking up on anything else.”
Damn. He was right. She should have thought of that.
McBride walked over to the first tomb and ran his fingers along the edge where the lid sat atop the sidewalls. Vivian did the same. No gap. If Alyssa was inside there . . . Vivian forced the thought away . . . didn’t want to think like that yet.
Then he moved on to the next tomb. She reached for that same edge, traced the seam. The gap between the top and the walls that held it up made her pulse jump. That much of a crevice shouldn’t be there.
McBride crouched down and examined the gap more closely. “See this?”
She eased down next to him to check out what he had found. Small metal objects had been evenly placed all the way around between the lid and the walls. The gap provided just enough space to ensure a reasonable inflow of air . . . maybe enough for survival.
“Grab the other end of this lid,” he ordered.
She took up a position at the foot of the tomb.
“We’re not trying to pick it up,” he clarified. “We just want to slide it down your way.”
He pushed. She pulled. The lid moved. A couple of the spacers popped out. McBride jerked his hands back in the nick of time.
“Close,” he muttered, then put his hands back into place. “A little more.”
The slow, cautious push-pull started again. Vivian’s heart pounded faster and faster. This wasn’t working nearly fast enough.
“Let’s swing it around,” Vivian suggested. Going that direction couldn’t possibly be any harder than doing it this way and would give them faster access to more of the interior. Dragging anyone else in here for assistance would only further contaminate the scene.
McBride nodded and started the tedious process of twisting the lid perpendicular to the tomb. More spacers popped loose.
When they had moved it far enough, they looked inside the gaping tomb together.
Six-year-old Alyssa Byrne, a white towel beneath her, lay atop the bones of a Wellborne ancestor. Her eyes were closed, her hands bound behind her back. Silver duct tape stretched across her mouth. The word innocent had been written in black marker across her forehead.
Vivian’s hand trembled as she reached inside and touched the child’s carotid artery to check for a pulse.
Her breath caught and her gaze connected with McBride’s. “She’s alive.”