Chapter 3 #2
“Hold up.” He crouched to study a set of muddy footprints. “Recent footprints. Not from my deputies. Too small. Narrow stride. Heading away from the house.”
Abby bent down. “A woman?”
“Maybe. Or a small man.” He stood. “Could’ve been Victor, too, if he’s not as fragile as he lets on. Let’s move on. But be careful. Don’t disturb the footprints before we get them evaluated.”
She looked at him. “Another reason to decide on a forensic team before rain washes these away.”
He nodded, but still wasn’t prepared to make a decision and led the way down a path that wound upward to the main entrance.
“Keep going,” she said. “Around the corner to the next door.”
Picking his way through overgrown weeds, he reached the side of the house. He directed his light at the wall, running it back and forth, spotting the outline of a door swallowed by a thick coat of ivy. Completely inaccessible. “No one’s opened this door in many, many years.”
“It’s not even on the blueprints. Let’s move on, and we can come back if we need to.”
She led the way this time. They checked every window they passed, but all were locked and intact. Around the corner, at the back of the house, they reached a paved veranda with glass French doors. She opened them with a key on her ring.
A small office greeted them, but Burke couldn’t see much in the darkness.
He lifted his flashlight, when a crystal lamp switched on.
Dusty like nobody’d touched it in years, it threw light across a heavy-looking desk and matching chair.
All of it sat on some thick rug that probably cost more than his truck tires.
Abby stood near the edge of the room, nowhere near the lamp.
“Did you turn the lamp on?” he asked.
She shook her head.
He traced the cord. “It’s on a timer to go on and off several times a day.”
“Could be a security measure.” She crossed the room to the fireplace.
“Looks like it.” He found and hit the light switch.
An old chandelier flickered to life, dust clinging to every edge. The place looked like something straight out of an old French postcard, worn but trying to hang on to look fancy.
Abby crouched on the tiled hearth. “The grate’s still hot. Lots of fluffy ashes, and the wood’s barely charred. This was a quick burn. Paper, maybe?”
“Maybe, but it would be hard to tell if someone burned something from this room. We need Victor to look through his things.” Burke circled the room, and the floor near the mantle creaked under his feet. He bent to study the wood. “A loose floorboard.”
He pulled out a pocketknife and pried the wood free, revealing a hollow space, perfect for storing secrets.
She stood over him. “It’s empty.”
“Maybe someone took something out of here and burned it in the fireplace.” He looked up at her. “Documents? Letters?”
She glanced around the room. “Victor might’ve decided to get rid of something incriminating before we arrived.”
“Could be.” Burke pivoted to take in the firebox and agreed with her assessment of the ashes. “Couple this with him being the only one who knows about the crown, and no sign of forced entry makes his involvement more likely. Let’s grab him to check out the room.”
He didn’t want to confront the older guy. If he was indeed connected to someone high up in the county, and if Burke started lobbing accusations at him and was wrong, Burke could lose his job. But no matter the pressure his boss might put on him, he would do the right thing.
From the far end of the hall, a door closed with a sharp click.
“We’re not alone,” Abby whispered.
“Could just be Victor,” Burke said, but still reached for his gun.
“Or not. It sounded solid. Like the front door, and he said he never goes outside.” She drew her sidearm. “Besides, I didn’t hear his cane hitting the floor.”
“We won’t know until we check it out.” He rushed toward the door, leaving the blueprints behind.
Abby followed and they moved in sync, years of law enforcement training converging instinctively. They found the foyer empty, the front door still closed. No wind. No creaking floors.
And no noise from Victor when they entered the library. Except for the soft snores escaping through his open mouth. Eyes closed, he reclined back in his chair, a plaid blanket over his knees. A nearly empty snifter of brandy sat on the table beside him.
“Obviously Victor didn’t make the noise,” Abby said.
“But we both heard someone slipping out of a room or from the mansion.”
“The question is, who?”
“Let me check with my team outside to see if they spotted anyone.” Burke removed a small radio clipped to his belt, but before he could say anything it crackled in his hand.
A voice cut through the static. “Unit one, we’ve got movement near the greenhouse. Lights on inside. It’ll take us a few minutes to get over there to check it out. You’re closer and might want to investigate.”
“Ten-four, unit two.” Burke warned Deputy Ewing about the potential suspect who they believed exited the house.
“Will keep an eye out as we head toward the greenhouse,” Ewing responded.
“We’re on our way.” Burke shot a look at Abby. “Greenhouse? Where is it?”
“Don’t know, but the blueprints are in the office.
” She holstered her weapon and raced to the office, halting by the desk.
She ran her finger over the top page, then tapped the faded paper.
“East side of the property. There’s a warning note here.
It says locked and condemned. Too dangerous to enter. ”
Burke met her gaze. “You might as well leave a red flag telling us to check it out.”
She gave him an excited nod. “Fastest way to get there is through the French doors.”
They exited through the veranda, their flashlights sweeping across the overgrown garden paths. In the distance, the greenhouse took shape in the shadows, large and imposing against the backdrop of night. The moon broke through the clouds, and the light silvered against the glass walls.
Inside, a light flickered, then went out.
Burke whipped out his sidearm. Abby too. After a quick glance, they eased down the path, picking their way through greenery that had already been disturbed.
They reached the door.
“Wait here.” He held up his hand and inched forward. Surprisingly, she stayed behind. He pulled on the handle of an aged wooden door with glass panels. The hinges rasped open.
Inside, the air was thick with heat and rotting vegetation. Overgrown vines curled across the dirt floor. A broken bench lay beneath a tangle of weeds, faded blossoms gray with dust.
And in the center of the floor?
A single shoe print similar in size to the prints located outside the dungeon exit. Had the person started here and gone to the mansion or vice versa? Seemed likely.
Next to it lay a piece of torn velvet, deep purple, embroidered with a decorative pattern using antique gold thread.
A noise sounded behind him. He spun to find Abby standing at the doorway.
Of course she didn’t stay put, but he wouldn’t take time now to argue about it. He held up the scrap of velvet. “Could be part of the crown’s case.”
She showed no interest in the velvet, but stared over his shoulder.
He swiveled, seeing nothing unusual. “What is it? What do you see?”
“Look at the overturned planter.”
He squinted and made out an item barely poking out beneath the rim.
Abby picked her way through weeds to drop to the ground. She pried the pot free and tipped it over, then pawed through the weeds and soil like a frantic dog. Suddenly, she stopped and glanced back, her face alive with excitement.
He crept closer. Closer. Until he caught a faint hint of her sweet perfume.
She snatched an item up and held it to a shaft of moonlight, illuminating a small brass locket.
She examined the necklace front and back. “What could this possibly be doing here?”
“Look inside,” he said, catching her excitement. “A picture might help explain it.”
She wiped the dirt from her hand on her knee and dangled the chain over her palm, then maneuvered the locket between her fingers.
Neither of them spoke, the suspense keeping them both waiting.
He lifted the bright beam of his flashlight to the locket, the light revealing cracks and a burnished finish that could only come with age. She pinched the edges, and the top flipped open.
One side of the frame held a faded, water-stained image of a woman. The other, a picture of a much younger Victor.
Burke shifted his light to better illuminate the locket. “See the frayed paper edges behind her picture? There’s something back there. Can you take it out?”
She picked at it with a fingernail, releasing the photo. She turned it over and gasped.
“It’s a name etched in script.” He bent closer to make out the name. “Estelle Lemoine. Likely some relation to Victor, right?”
“His wife.” Abby’s voice trembled. “I saw her picture in a story and it looked just like this one.”
Not the reaction he expected. “Why is that upsetting you?”
“I read in an article that she vanished forty years ago. No hint of where she’s been.”
Burke stood slowly, the implication settling in.
Sure, the locket could simply have been dropped here years ago and accidentally buried, but couple that with her disappearance, and it would be too coincidental.
He didn’t believe in coincidences. If a woman lost such a sentimental piece of jewelry, surely she would go looking for it.
No, it looked more like someone had come to dig it up tonight, but they’d been interrupted.
Abby’s expression mirrored his thoughts.
“This just became more than a theft,” he said, but wished he didn’t have to. “We could be dealing with Estelle’s murder, and Victor might know something about that too.”