The Longest Winter (3 page)

Visibility was reduced to only a few strides ahead, leaving Kara and Yuri to cover ground at a slower pace than they had hoped. “Better to take it easy and be prepared,” Yuri had said when they started out. “Claude had said the man was close behind him. It can’t be far or I would assume he would have caught him. A man against a ten-year-old boy? Not much of a race in most cases.”

Kara agreed and moved her hand to her pistol, the butt sticking up from her holster. The light of the moon was almost blocked by the thick clouds and what broke through was just enough to cast a glow on the flurries that swirled about them. Their flashlights lit the way forward, but also acted as beacons announcing their approach. They walked for several minutes, trudging through the snow.

“Do you see that?”

Kara shook her light side to side, casting shadows on a building a few metres ahead.

Yuri nodded and the pair moved forward.

Kara keyed the mike on her radio. “We’ve found a building in the field. Looks old. Mostly made of cinder blocks. How far are the other officers?”

“Detective, we’re not sure. We entered the field east of your position, but I think we’re a ways back. The nearest road was almost two kilometres over. We used the GPS and we’re walking a straight line back to where you were.”

“Okay, pick it up. We’re looking for a door now.”

Kara and Yuri moved around the south side of the building. It was about the size of a ranch house, a large square footprint with a flat roof, and simply constructed. It was built for function rather than aesthetics and Kara assumed it had been a farmer’s outbuilding, although for what purpose she wasn’t sure. Cheap and easy to build, just cinder blocks and mortar, it bore the marks of a do-it-yourself job.

They continued around to the east side and found themselves standing in front of a large steel door.

Yuri reached for the handle and hoped for the best. “Locked,” he said.

“Do you think this is it?”

“Looks like it could be. There probably isn’t much else around here where Claude could have come from.”

“So Jacques may still be inside?”

“Look around the other side for a window. I will stay at the door.”

Kara nodded and walked toward the north. She rounded the corner and was hit by a strong gust of wind and snow. She buried her face in her jacket and waited for it to die down. A few more steps along the north wall brought her beneath a small window near the roof of the building.

It was just as Claude had described.

Kara shone her light at the window and saw blood on the frame.

“Yuri, this is it. We need to get inside.”

“Wait for backup,” he said.

“Jacques may be in there, I’m coming around the front.”

Yuri knew better than to argue. He hadn’t worked with Kara long but already knew, and had heard, of her stubbornness. When she had a hunch, she acted on it.

“Think you can drop that door?”

Yuri shook his head. “It’s steel. But I’ll try.”

He stepped back and delivered three solid kicks to the deadbolt.

Nothing.

“Fuck that hurt. That thing is not going anywhere. We would need a ram to get through it.” Yuri reached for his gun.

“Seriously? That never works. You’ll just hit one of us with the ricochet. You’ve seen too many movies.” Kara shook her head. “Come around the side. You can boost me through the window.”

“You are not going in there alone.”

“If he’s in there, he knows we’re here now. We don’t have a choice.”

Yuri nodded. “Fine. But get that door open ASAP.”

“Okay.”

A minute later Kara was inside, her arms scraped from scrambling through the window. She crouched low, her gun in her right hand and the flashlight in her left. Her hands were crossed at the wrist, backs together with one hand bracing the other. Almost no light came in through the window and the inside was dark. Kara wasn’t even sure there were lights in the building.

Please don’t die on me, she thought, a silent prayer to the light she held. The beam moved across the floor and walls, revealing ropes, chains and patches of dried blood. There were two bowls on the floor, only a few grains of white rice left stuck to the sides. Empty plastic cups lay on their sides. The room smelled faintly of urine and excrement, a smell that would’ve been worse were it not for the cold.

Kara moved toward the open door, another one made of steel, and leaned out slowly, carefully, casting her light into the next room.
Empty.
There were two bowls of rice on the floor, their contents spilled. He’d been coming to feed them when he found Claude escaping.

Another door to her left. She moved toward it, the shapes of furniture becoming visible as she approached. It was Spartan in nature, a simple coffee table in the middle and a couch against the wall. An old TV set sat on a pair of upside-down milk crates and a microwave sat on the floor beside it. A half-eaten plate of pasta had been left on the table.

Not a sound came from anywhere within the building.

They’re already gone.

Kara moved up and pressed herself against the wall beside the open doorway. A quick lean and a pass of the light revealed most of the room. She came back behind cover then leaned out once more, this time while crouching. It was a simple tactic. Lean out once, and the bad guys can see you. Lean out again at the same height, and the bad guys can put a bullet in your head. Always change position, change the timing, change anything that will keep them guessing.

It didn’t matter though; the room was clear.

The light crossed another steel door and Kara thought about the layout and size. She keyed her mike and spoke in a soft voice. “Knock twice, Yuri.”

Two sharp knocks sounded. Kara breathed deep and turned her back to the door, her flashlight shining on an open doorway into an uncleared room. She backed up, then put the flashlight on her shoulder and held it with her chin. She reached her free hand behind her and felt for the deadbolt, then turned it and heard the click as it disengaged.

Yuri tried the handle again. Still nothing.

“There must be another lock.”

Kara turned to look at the door and saw a solid bolt near the top. She stood on her tiptoes and reached for the bar. A clattering came from the room behind her followed by the sounds of motion, sounds that were getting louder.

“Stop there!” she yelled, but the movement continued. She turned her light toward the noise and saw the light reflect from a pair of eyes low to the ground. The creature stopped and stared at Kara, then began chattering loudly. It bared its teeth and leaned back, preparing to leap. Kara fired two rounds and the animal fell to the ground.

Yuri was hammering at the door, kicking repeatedly against it trying to break it open. “I’m fine. It was a raccoon. Little bastard tried to come at me.”

She reached up and unbolted the door then opened it. Yuri stepped in from the snow, his pistol in his hands. He shone his light on the deceased animal.

“Think he was alone?”

“I hope so. Probably just getting out of the cold. And probably smelled the food that was left out.” Kara lit up the doorway across the room. “Still haven’t cleared in there yet.”

Yuri nodded and moved up, taking a position against the wall beside the open door. Kara moved up, crouched, then peered around the corner and into the room, her light illuminating the right half. She leaned back in behind cover then leaned out once more, standing this time, and cleared the other side. A dining table and chairs sat in the middle, and there was a fridge and sink against the one wall.

Kara’s hand came up, a quick signal to Yuri, then she moved in toward a closed door on the other end of the room. Yuri took position on the other side of the door. The handle was on his side and when Kara was ready, he turned the handle and threw the door open hard. The door hit the wall behind it and bounced back part way.

At least there was no one hiding behind it. Kara leaned in, lighting up a small bathroom that looked as though it had never been cleaned – or had the toilet flushed.

“That’s nasty,” she said, shining her light on the toilet. “But whomever he was, he was nice enough to leave behind some DNA.”

Chapter Seven

“W
hat exactly are we looking for, Lincoln?”

“Voids, to put it simply. There used to be buildings here before they were torn down to put this parking lot in. If they paved over the basements without filling it all in, there might be enough space down there for…”

I didn’t want to say it. He knew what I meant. The radar we were using was capable of penetrating fifteen metres into the ground, based on the assumption we were dealing with concrete and relatively loose soil. If there were any structures still standing, any open rooms left behind, it would find them.

And if it didn’t, we still had a few more areas to check.

“What’s to say that one of the houses in the area doesn’t have a hidden room or basement? I mean, just because he said she was underground…”

“We’d never get warrants to search every house in a several kilometer radius. Trust me, I considered it.”

It didn’t take long to cover the entire area and confirm what I’d feared. There was nothing under the ground; nowhere that Kat could be hidden. We moved on to the next site and were met with the same disappointment. A few hours and three more locations later we were no closer to finding Kat.

“Fuck.”

“Anywhere else, Lincoln?”

“No. That’s it. You might as well head out, Lefevre. Thanks again.”

“The whole force is pretty much on call for you, Lincoln, you know that.”

I nodded. He wasn’t kidding. They’d entertained some crazy ideas of mine, even before this. Taking a dozen officers and scouring the sewer systems and any underground service tunnels was probably the worst, but they had all readily volunteered to assist. It was nice to see the camaraderie, the brotherhood in action for good - unlike what I had seen in the past.

“I’ll run the radars back to the Gendarmerie for you. Are you heading back to Poland now?”

“No, I’ll be staying at least overnight. Maybe something else will come to me.”

“Okay. Well, look, I’m off at six if you want to grab a pint or something. Maybe take the edge off a little. And you can bounce ideas off of me if you want.”

I didn’t know what to think. It wasn’t really my idea of a good time, but maybe having another person working on it would help. A sounding board was always good to have. Kara was out of ideas and I knew it was wearing on her, and Chen was never awake at the right times. Thanks to the odd hours I kept and the time difference, any time I called him was usually not a good time for him. He’d talk and help as he could, then I’d usually get a call or email several hours later once he’d really had a chance to process it.

Lefevre seemed like a bright young cop though; what was his first name again? Luc? I should have known it by then, but it was getting to the point where it was too embarrassing to ask. I’d have to ask someone else before I made a fool out of myself.

He was an easy person to work with; smart, intuitive and dedicated. And it helped that his English was solid since my French sure as hell wasn’t. He’d been on the job for about six years, he’d said, so I put him in his late twenties. I didn’t know him well, met him once or twice during the Crawford case, but he had always been one of the first to volunteer to help me out when it came time to look for Kat. He had spent the entirety of his career on the street but it was obvious he was meant for bigger and better. A position in homicide or on another detective squad couldn’t have been far off.

“So, what do you think? If I’m imposing, then just tell me.”

“Nah, you know what? Sounds like a plan. I’ve got a few ideas I wouldn’t mind someone else’s input on. Name a spot in the Ninth and I’ll meet you there, say eight?”

“I don’t know any in the Ninth. Will the Fifth work? Not far from here.”

“Yeah, close enough.”

“Alright, it’s called the Elephant and Castle. It’s on
Quai de Bondy
, right along the river.”

“Sounds good,” I said. “See you there. If you don’t mind taking those radars back, I’ve got a couple of places to go to.”

“Like I said, not a problem.”

“Thanks,” I said, as I turned and walked away. It wasn’t far from here to my apartment in the Ninth arrondissement – one of Lyon’s numbered neighbourhoods - and the weather wasn’t too bad. It was cold, but at least Lyon wasn’t getting the snow that the north was.

The walk was short and brisk in the cold air. It was late in the afternoon, the sun hung low in the sky and the wind bit into my uncovered face. Ten minutes later I walked into a different kind of cold – the barren, the emotionless, the empty.

I had found an apartment in Lyon at a price that couldn’t be beat. It gave me everything I needed for when I stayed in the city – proximity to the region I knew I would find Kat in, basic amenities, a place to sleep, and a place to think.

We had torn apart Crawford’s apartment, taken everything that stood out as evidence and sealed the place. But the investigation into his murders was over. We knew he had acted alone and he was long dead and buried, his reign over. Only one aspect of his deviant legacy lived on, and the answer to solving it had to be in his apartment somewhere.

Crawford had no family, at least none who were willing to come forward and claim his body or belongings. He was laid to rest in a small cemetery outside of Lyon, a simple stone, with name and dates was all that marked the site. When it came time to release his apartment I couldn’t do it. The paperwork was there to sign off on, a few simple forms to sign and the landlord could have the apartment back, sell everything we had left behind, and rent it to a new tenant.

Assuming he could find someone to rent the place. It was well-known in the city now and it would’ve taken a certain type of person to rent the place out – either someone with an unhealthy obsession with serial killers, or a person with a vested interest in what may have still laid within those walls.

I struck a deal with the landlord that day. The apartment was transferred into my name and all of Crawford’s belongings came with it. I had gotten rid of the majority of his furniture - after having checked it over and under, inside and out, for anything he may have stashed away. What I didn’t need or couldn’t use was sold to pay the rent. Everything else I dove into, reading through every book, digging through every box and drawer, closet and cupboard. We’d been through it all before, either myself or other detectives. But there was always the chance we had missed something.

And so I sat in the apartment at every chance I got, an old futon the only furniture I needed, going through everything I could find again and again and again in hopes something would leap out at me. So far, nothing had. I had been through everything so many times. I had pulled down the mirrors, taken out the lighting fixtures, pulled the fridge and stove from the wall, looked in the toilet tanks, examined plumbing and vents, pulled the carpet up then paid someone to put it back down.

I had taken care to repair everything I damaged, put back together everything I had taken apart, but I still was pretty certain the security deposit was out the window. The only thing left was the walls… and the urge to tear down every one was becoming too strong. I had scoured every square inch of every surface for any evidence of a repair job. Either Crawford hadn’t hidden anything behind the walls, or he was unbelievably talented at drywall repairs.

But maybe… maybe there was something there.

My plotting was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Lincoln?”

The voice was familiar, the accent unmistakable. It was the landlord, Guillaume Tavernier, but I had no idea what he was there for. I’d paid the rent in advance for another three months. The guy was a little odd; he took his job very seriously and spent most of his days watching the security feed from the building’s camera. That must have been how he knew I was at the apartment.

“Ê
tes-vous là
?”

“
Oui, un moment.
”

I walked to the door and unlocked the deadbolt then unhooked the chain.

“
Bonjour,
” he said. “I need show something at you.”

His English was as bad as my French.

“Okay,
qu’est que c’est?
”

“Come.”

He motioned for me to follow him. I took my keys out of my pocket and locked the door behind me. He walked to the elevator and hit the down arrow.

“
Te rappelles-tu la salle de stockage?
”

I stopped for a second. “The storage room? Downstairs?” I pointed down at the floor.

“
Oui.”

“I don’t need one.
Je ne…
”

“
Non, non
,” he said, shaking his head. “
Monsieur Crawford
.” I hated to hear Crawford’s name, and for some reason the accent made it sound worse.

“He didn’t have any storage.”

Guillaume just shook his head again. I knew he had more to say, but it was probably easier to just show me. The elevator doors opened and we stepped in for the ride to the basement. When the elevator doors opened again he led the way, taking me to the storage room at the one end of the building.

It wasn’t a large room, but there were about two dozen lockers neatly arranged against the walls. They were stacked two high, each with a door on the front that was about two feet by three feet. I wasn’t sure how deep they were, but by the looks of the size of the room, I guessed they went back at least six feet.

My first thought wasn’t a good one. We were underground, technically, and the locker looked to be large enough to hold a body. It had been months though, unless he had sealed it extremely well, we would have smelled the decay.

The thought made my stomach churn and for a moment I thought I was going to vomit. I steadied myself against the wall with my left hand.

“You said Crawford didn’t have one?
Ne pas avoir…
”

“
Oui. Mais personne ne loue que.
” He pointed at unit number seven.

“Nobody?” I didn’t know if I had understood him.

He shook his head.

Of course it was number seven. One of Crawford’s numbers present throughout the Book of Revelation.

“So where’s the key?
La clé?
”

He took out a key from his pocket, slipped it into the padlock and tried to turn it. Nothing happened.

“Shit, he must have changed it.”

I reached into my coat pocket and took out a small zippered leather pouch. Once it was open I selected a tension wrench and my favourite pick then set them on the ground beside the lockers. My hands were shaking. Even on a good day, picking locks was not my strength. Of course, it all depended on the type of lock and the circumstances.

And if anyone was watching, I had a tendency to get a little performance anxiety. You whip out a lock pick set and people assume it’s going to be like it is in the movies: insert picks, move picks, open lock. I was certain there were people who could do it that fast I just wasn’t one of them.

I’d had a fair bit of practice though in the last few months. Regardless of the legality of it, I had been spending the nights I was in Lyon breaking into and searching through abandoned buildings. I’d had a couple of close calls with night watchmen and security alarms, but hadn’t gotten myself into trouble. Although the word ‘yet’ always came to mind whenever I considered what I had been doing.

I slipped the tension wrench in, applied a little bit of torque and began raking at the pins within the padlock. I had a tendency to hold my breath while working on something small and tedious and it left me catching my breath every so often when my brain finally interrupted my work to tell me to breathe.

I have no idea how long it took me, my mind was focused only on the task at hand. When the final pin set into place the cylinder spun and the lock released and I was struck with fear. I had no idea what was behind that door, no idea if it even had been Crawford who changed the locks on it. My mind was full of possibilities and the shaking of my hands became worse.

There was only one way to find out. I took the padlock off of the door and opened the unit. A large metal container sat in front of me, the watertight kind you’d see on a boat. It was wrapped in plastic wrap and tape, sealed tightly.

I dropped to my knees and the vomiting feeling I had held back earlier returned with a vengeance I was powerless to resist. My heart felt heavy in my chest as I dialed the police.