WINTERFEST ONLINE 2020 SEASON 3 ROUND ROBIN

 

Chapter 1

Janet

 

Diana was on vacation. That didn’t happen often, but she’d been forced into it this time. The Captain had said, “Use it or lose it!” and since the department wouldn’t pay her for the time, she decided she might as well use it. Or at least some of it. She had a month on the books, but she only had to take two weeks, so she’d told the Captain to put her down for the first two weeks at the beginning of the next month.

She’d only been off for two days, but God forbid that the guys at the 210 actually give her a chance to feel like she was off. She’d had almost a dozen calls on various cases during those two days. She’d gone so far as to turn the ringer on the phone off while she was reading a book she’d wanted to read for ages, and they’d gotten worried and sent a uniform over to check on her.

When Vincent showed up on her roof wanting nothing more than to talk, she’d nearly taken his head off. He’d stepped back from her as if to leave, and she’d reached out and grabbed his arm while apologizing profusely.

“I’m so sorry, Vincent!” she said as she tightened her grip. “It’s just been crazy around here.”

“I thought you were on vacation,” he said, relaxing and moving back toward her.

“I am… or at least I’m supposed to be. I made the mistake of telling everyone at the precinct that I was just taking time off, but I wasn’t going anywhere. And it’s been almost as bad as actually being there. They keep calling me to talk about this case or that case. When I decided not to answer the phone, they sent someone over to check on me.”

“Come Below,” he suggested after a moment of thought.

“Are you kidding. They’d have an APB out on me if someone came looking for me, and I wasn’t here.”

“Call your Captain and tell him that you’ve decided to go out of town and will be out of touch. Then come Below in case someone comes over.”

“You’re sure? No one would mind? I wouldn’t be in the way?”

“I’m sure,” he assured her. “The girls all admire you. The women would love to have someone new to talk to, and even if you just want to hide in the guest-chamber and read, no one will bother you.”

“When should I be there?” she asked with a grin.

“How about meeting me at Dr. Wong’s Herb Shop tomorrow morning about nine?” he suggested. “That should give you time to make some calls.”

“Thank you, Vincent,” she said as she gave him a quick hug. “You don’t know how much I appreciate this.”

 

She called her Captain first thing the next morning.

“Bennett,” he greeted her. “Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation?”

“Tell the guys that,” she retorted. “And because they keep calling me and won’t leave me alone, I’ve decided to get out of town after all.”

“Where you going?” he asked.

“I’m not really sure. I think I’m going to drive north and do some leaf-peeping, then maybe swing over to the beach for a few days.”

October is kinda chilly for the beach,” he pointed out.

“Nah, it the best time to go to the beach. All the tourists are gone,” she told him. “I don’t swim.”

“Where you going to be staying?” he asked.

“I don’t know where,” she said in exasperation. “I’m just going to drive. I’ll stop when I feel like it and drive when I feel like it. I’m not sure when I’ll be back, but it'll be in time for work on the 15th.”

“But what if there is an emergency? Where will we reach you?”

“Remember that newfangled gadget I bought a few months ago? It’s called a cellular phone. I’ll have it with me, and you’ve got the number.”

“But those things don’t work half the time,” he groused.

“Tell you what. If something comes up, call my mom. I’ll be calling her every few days just like I do when I’m home, and she can relay any messages.”

“You don’t own a car,” he pointed out.

“But I do have a license and can drive. I’ll rent a car.”

She heard a very put-upon sigh come from the other end of the line.

“Look, Cap,” she said. “You were the one who told me to take the time off, or I’d lose it, so now let me actually get a break. I’ve been working almost non-stop since I joined the 210. Now that I’m finally off, I find that I really do need the break.”

“OK, Bennett,” he said with another sigh. “You’re right. You’ve got it. Send a postcard or somethin’.”

They exchanged a few more words before she hung up. She looked around the loft. She’d told her mom she’d be out of town and would be in touch, cleaned the spoilables out of the ‘fridge, taken out the trash, asked the only other tenant in the building to get her mail and the newspaper, and she’d packed some clothes and a few toiletries in a duffle and some books in her backpack. She was ready.

She turned off the lights, locked up, and left the building. She walked a few blocks to a busier street and flagged down and cab. She gave the address in Chinatown and relaxed. She mentally ticked off her list.

Mom called… check. Captain called… check. Neighbor informed… check.

She nodded and smiled. Now that she thought about it, she was looking forward to a vacation Below.

 

Lin greeted her when she walked into the shop. “Vincent’s already here,” she said, pointing toward the curtain. “He’s waiting in the back.”

“Thanks.” Diana stopped in front of the counter. “How’s Henry? And where’s your grandfather?”

“Henry is good. He’s training a new cook at the restaurant. And Grandfather is in the back, talking to Vincent.”

Diana glanced at Lin’s ever-increasing waistline. She must be six or seven months, she thought. “I thought you were supposed to be taking it easy.”

“I am. I just came over for a visit, and when Grandfather wanted to talk to Vincent, I told him I’d sit up here and call him if a customer came in.” She pointed at the tall stool where she was seated. “And I am sitting.” She smiled at Diana. “I have to come over here at least a couple of times a week just to get away from Henry. He will barely let me do anything.”

“Well, enjoy it while it lasts,” Diana told her with a laugh. “My brother and his wife have twins, and Claire says she barely has time to sit down anymore.”

They both laughed, and Diana headed through the curtain to the back. She arrived just in time to see Dr. Wong hand Vincent a small packet that Vincent tucked into a pocket somewhere.

Vincent looked up and smiled.

“You’re ready?” he asked.

“That I am,” she answered.

“Then we should hurry,” Vincent told her, gesturing toward the tunnel threshold. 

“Father has called an emergency meeting of the council for 10am. I need to be there.”

They saw and greeted several people on their way to Father’s study, and as they passed Olivia, Diana waved and called out to her.

“I need to talk to you later,” she said when Olivia stopped, “it’s about Kanin.”

Diana had become Olivia’s point of contact about Kanin since Catherine’s death. He wrote letters to her, care of Peter, but Diana was able to get the official information.

 

Chapter 2

Mel

 

Diana heaved the duffle bag over her shoulder with a sigh. Dust soon coated her sneakers as they walked. It wasn’t the most romantic or relaxing place for a vacation, but given all the ugliness her job normally included, she found herself looking forward to a few days of peace. Even if it was in a ‘hole in the ground’ as her mother or sister would have called it. This hole in the ground had started to become a second home, even with the consistent tapping on the pipes.

Her blue eyes drifted upward at the thought. “It’s so quiet… is Pascal on vacation too?”

Vincent shook his head. “No, Pascal is rarely gone long from his duties. But most everyone is gathering for the council meeting.”

“Is it that serious?”

Vincent glanced at her bag. “May I carry that for you?”

“Thanks, I got it and no avoiding the question.”

“I’m not avoiding the question, Diana. I simply don’t know the answer. We’ve heard some whispers about those beyond the community, but nothing has truly happened. I believe Father is just being overly cautious after…”

“Could it be more Outsiders?” Diana asked. She shrugged at the look Vincent gave her. “It was brought up as a possibility when Father was missing.”

“Was it? I don’t remember.”

Diana swallowed. Why had she brought that topic up? Though the story had a happier ending than most of her cases, it was one Vincent didn’t enjoy revisiting. He never voiced it aloud, but she could recall the relief mixed with pain she had sensed within him when Father had been discovered and brought home safely. The question of why I could not have done the same for Catherine. Catherine… the spirit of lost love still hung over him… indeed the whole community. A woman’s warmth and courage had brought so much light and the idea of possibilities to Vincent’s life.

She brought us together, too, Diana admitted to herself. Though she had never met her in person, Diana had felt a connection to the brave woman who had died so soon after giving birth to a beautiful child, a child Diana had helped rescue from the clutches of an evil man and in the process had saved Vincent. It had been that case and the one following it which had solidified her role as a true Helper, rescuing the patriarch from the one the police had termed the Ash Man. A man… a scared and lost child… who had sought revenge for a crime he had believed had been committed against him and his father. And now it seemed Below was in trouble once again.

“We aren’t certain, but they seem to understand our code system,” Vincent went on to explain. “This is just a matter of defense… if anything should happen.”

“Can… I join you at the meeting?” Diana asked. The question felt heavy on her tongue. Unconsciously, she tucked a few strands of auburn hair behind her ear. It was a question she had no problem asking the guys at 210 if she had any interest in the case, and if Vincent’s suspicions were correct, Below would need any help that was offered. And she was a Helper. But somehow, it seemed to have crossed some line… like she was intruding when nothing was tied to an outside case she was working on already.

Maybe you just don’t know how to take a break, Bennett, she thought to herself.

“I thought you were on vacation?” Vincent said, as though reading her mind, a humorous glint in his blue eyes.

“But, I might be able to help…”

“Maybe we can talk about it later,” he suggested.

“D’ana!” a voice called.

The two adults turned as a toddler stumbled over to them. Undeterred by his unsteady legs, he ran to Diana.

“Hey, Jacob, how are you, my big boy?” Diana asked, scooping up the child in her arms.

Little Jacob Wells wrapped his arms around Diana’s slim neck and kept muttering her name.

Diana smiled and hugged the child closer. Little Jacob, the embodiment of the love that his parents, Catherine and Vincent, had shared at their most vulnerable.

“Can you take him to the nursery? I believe Samantha is taking care of the youngest.” Vincent’s blue gaze drifted off to the right. “I need to hurry, can you find your way?”

Diana looked around the tunnel. “I think so, if you think that’s all right.”

“If you get lost, just tap on the pipes, and someone will come and help.”

“We’ll be fine.” Diana tweaked Jacob’s nose and smiled. “Won’t we big guy?”

The child giggled, batting away her arm. His small body squirmed to get down, his feet barely touching the ground before he shot off down the tunnel.

Diana laughed and hurried after the child. “Wait up.”

“Vincent?”

Vincent turned and spotted Cullen coming down the corridor. “Are you coming?”

“Yes. I was just getting Diana settled.”

“Diana’s here?” Cullen asked.

“Yes, I invited her… she needed a break from her work.”

“Oh… I see.” Cullen’s eyes followed the path Diana and the little toddler had taken. The carpenter's hands fiddled as though seeking a piece of wood to carve. “Did you get it?”

Vincent’s clawed hand patted his pocket gently. The pouch from Mr. Wong still safe. “Yes.”

Cullen nodded. “Good, now come. Father and the others are waiting.”

The council chamber was filled with men, women, and children of all ages. Some spoke, while others grouped together casually and whispered among themselves. Vincent’s sharp blue gaze swept over the place. Their clothing resembled that of a renaissance fair, unlike the more casual attire of a shirt and jeans that Diana had arrived in. Slowly, he began to move through the crowd. Friendly faces smiled at him before resuming their conversations.

“Is Diana here, Vincent?” Rebecca asked as he passed.

Vincent nodded. “Yes, she’s visiting with Jacob at the moment, but she might join us for dinner.”

Rebecca smiled as Vincent turned. Through the crowd, he made his way to his favorite perch on the iron spiral staircase to watch the proceedings. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Father raise from his seat.

The older man clapped twice, and silence fell over the gathered assembly.

“Now we’re all here to discuss the recent events. I know we’re becoming concerned, but I assure you if we stick together, all should be well. We’ve been through worse.” A mumble of agreement passed through the crowd. “Pascal, have you heard anything recently?” Father asked.

The pipe master shifted, uncomfortable with all the eyes upon him. 

“Nothing of late, but it’s clear they know our code.”

“Oh, come on.” William, the cook, stood. “It’s Paracelsus’ followers. We should just go down and stomp them out before they can cause any real harm.”

“It’s a possibility I agree, but we need more information.”

“Has anyone seen Kipper? He’s good at getting information,” someone asked.

“He’s… in the hospital chamber,” Mary, the unofficial matriarch, said softly.

A swirl of commotion and voices rose at the pronouncement. A child being injured had been the start of the ordeal four years ago. From Mary’s comments, it seemed unlikely the boy had a simple scraped knee or had gotten into a childish scuffle. What did all of it mean?

Diana might be onto something, Vincent thought. The acuteness of her mind, taking tiny scraps of information and weaving them into a larger tapestry of criminal motives, still had not yet ceased to amaze him.

“Will Kipper be all right?” Rebecca asked.

“We believe so,” Mary said. “He might have seen something he wasn’t meant to.”

Once again, a wave of agreement swept through the crowd. Kipper had been increasing his risky moves of late.

“William, will you and some of the others keep an eye on any activities?” Father held up a warning hand. “Without engaging with them?”

William huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I guess, but if they try anything, I ain’t making any promises.”

“Fair enough,” Father said.

Vincent stood up. “I will help too and… Diana will as well, I’m certain.”

Father looked up at his son. “Good, thank you, Vincent.”

 

Two days later, Diana stepped out of the Central Park tunnel. She had spent a wonderful two days with Vincent, little Jacob, and the community. Given her work, she had never been one to have typical girl friendships, but the women seemed genuinely interested and interesting as they all carried out various tasks. Still, everyone seemed on edge since they had discovered the boy Kipper had been injured.

So much for vacation, she thought.

A cool breeze blew through, playing at the loose ends of her auburn ponytail. Placing her bag on the floor, she pulled out her cellular phone. It still amazed her that such a device could connect her to her family and others when not connected to anything. Even the pipe code system made more sense to her than the mechanics of the phone in her hand.

But it works. Diana thought as she dialed her mother’s number. “Hi, Mom.”

“Diana? Oh, thank god. You’re safe.” Her mother’s relief was palpable.

“Of course, I am, Mom.” Diana frowned into the phone. “I’m on vacation, remember.”

“I know… I know it’s just that…”

“Mom, what’s happened? Are Susan and Alex okay?” Diana asked.

“They are fine, Honey. Your sister and Alex went to Disney World. It’s… Chris Walker… Your captain said he spoke to you the other day.”

Diana blinked. Chris had joined 210 roughly three years ago and had been one of the last she had put off in the string of endless phone calls. 

He had barely gotten a word in before she had declined the case. 

Whatever it had been, it seemed like a simple case of a robbery gone wrong. And most of the guys had partners to help them. Except Chris’s partner has been sick with the flu the last week.

“He’s sick too,” Diana mumbled to herself.

“No… not sick, honey. He’s dead.” 

 

 

Chapter 3

cb

 

She sat in the mouth of the culvert, contemplating the park but not really seeing it.

Chris was dead. Bouncy, noisy Chris, who lived on Cheetos, sang off-key (a lot) and had such illegible handwriting that no one let him write on the whiteboards in the precinct. The guy she’d called “Tigger” once, and he never shook the nickname after that. If she’d been Chris, she’d have killed her for that. He didn’t care. Chris, who was madly in love with the new guy he was seeing. Every week. Chris, who could sit for hours teasing bits of information out of records until he found a pattern that made everyone else whistle in amazement. That bothered her little profiler heart: how could someone so very hyperactive sit and pore over things for hours? Didn’t fit. But it did.

She gave herself five minutes – by her watch – to wallow in guilt for being cross with him on the phone last week, and then gave herself a firm talking to. Fine. She’d snapped at Chris. She was going to pay handsomely for it, now, and Chris would be laughing that donkey-bray laugh of his.

She took a deep breath and called the Captain.

“Where ya been?” he demanded. “It’s a shit-show here.”

“On vacation,” she replied with exaggerated patience. “What happened?”

“Walker got shot while he was on a run in the park. At first, the Blues thought it was a mugging, but he was shot execution-style.”

“What’s he been working on?”

“There was a warehouse B&E that left a body behind. I think he tried to call you about that.”

She winced. “Who was killed?” she asked.

“The security guard.”

“And that came to the 210, why?”

“Apparently, it wasn’t the first robbery of the sort. Crews have been picking up shipments of electronics from multiple warehouses.”

“What kind of electronics?”

“Tell ya what; I’ll tell you all about it when you get here.”

“Next week?”

“Tomorrow, Diana.”

“Cap…”

“It’s all hands on deck here, Detective. One of our own has been killed. Get in here.”

“What happens to my vacation time?”

“You can carp about that at a time like this?”

“Damn right, I can.”

“Fine, we’ll talk about it.”

“No. It’s getting close to the end of the quarter, and you said it’ll disappear. I want it in writing that if I give up the time now, it will not be lost to me. It either rolls over, or I get equivalent reimbursement.”

“Look, I don’t know if I can…”

“Wow, the connection is getting really bad, boss. I can barely hear you.”

“Waylon warned me that you could be a hard-ass.”

“And you’ve been here more than a year before you reached that line. Consider it a compliment. Well?”

“Fine, it’ll be in writing…”

“See you tomorrow, not sure when,” and she cut the connection before he could say more.

Damn.

 

Vincent met her as she ambled back to the Hub. “What’s wrong?”

She snarled. “I’ve been called back in.”

“How can that happen? I thought vacation time was assured.”

“That’s not the reason for my mood. One of my colleagues was murdered. When something like that happens, everyone comes in, no matter what.”

“Murdered?”

“Shot while he was jogging.”

“I’m sorry.” They waved at a sentry. “Must you go back now?”

“Not until morning.”

“Where will you say you’ve been?”

She sighed. “I said I was renting a car and just driving. I could be in Cape Cod by now.”

“You really could, you know.”

“Nah.”

“Shall we still go to the Falls today?”

“Yeah. Please.”

 

They shared the news of Diana’s early departure at dinner. “No, no, no!!” Jacob hollered, squeezing Diana’s neck until she thought she’d turn blue.

 

“Hey, buddy,” she choked, “I was only supposed to be here for a little bit. I’ll be back.”

“I’m sorry for the loss of your colleague,” Father said.

“Thank you,” Diana said, resituating Jacob on her lap and wrapping her arms around him. “He was a good detective. It seems he got too close to something, and that will really ramp up his investigation.”

“So, whoever killed him to stop his investigation has just increased police attention to their activities,” Mary said.

“That’s about it.”

“If it’s obvious to me,” said Mary, “sitting far below them, shouldn’t they have thought of that?”

Diana smiled. “You’d think. I swear half of our cases are cracked because some perp’s arrogance leads to stupid mistakes.”

“Criminal masterminds don’t have masterly minds?” said Vincent.

“Nope.”

 

The office was full, more people than usual wandering around and sitting at desks. It should have been noisy as a circus, but the atmosphere was hushed and tense – palpably furious.

Diana knocked on the Captain’s door. “Hey.”

“You made good time,” he said.

“Yeah. So, who reads me in?”

The Captain waved at his chair and then handed over a file folder. “OK. There have been five robberies from warehouses on the Hudson, mostly cell phones and computers. It was starting to attract attention because the M.O.s were the same, but then someone shot a security guard, and that was that. It’s ours. And now, by damn, is it ours.”

“And the M.O.?”

“Pretty slick. You’d think that moving quantities like that would require a lot of people, or at least a good-sized truck. But no undue activity has been reported in any case, and businesses have really stepped up their protection. No one knows how they get in or out, or when. People just go to work in the morning, and stuff’s gone.”

An uncomfortable thought wandered through Diana’s mind. “I hate originality,” she growled.

“Me, too.”

“Any chance any of these places have security cameras?”

“Yeah, a lot of them do. Miller started collecting tapes yesterday.”

This was ironic. The boring task of watching hours of tape had usually fallen to Chris. “Who’s eating the popcorn?” she asked.

“Miller’s group is taking turns.”

“I’ll read this and then check with them.”

He handed her an envelope. “For you. Really, I’m sorry to make you come back so soon. We’ll make it up to you.”

“I really don’t mind coming back. It’s Chris. It’s us. But I also don’t want this to fall through the cracks.” She waved the envelope. “And if it’s important at all, I’d actually rather have the compensation than the time off right now.”

He gave a hollow laugh. “Get out of here.”

 

The file didn’t have much more than what she’d learned from the Captain, except for addresses of the warehouses. She’d searched out a map and was trying to imagine where there might be Tunnel entrances. If there were basement access to those buildings, would they be large enough to carry boxes through? Crates?

Kipper and Cullen had been scavenging for discarded wooden crates in one of the warehouse districts when they’d encountered some people who objected to their presence. Kipper had been shot in the arm before they could drop down a manhole. Which warehouse district was it?

Who else would know enough about the Tunnels to use them for an operation like this? Actually, probably anyone. One thing she’d learned while investigating Catherine’s case was that the tunnel network under the older parts of the City was an open secret. It would be pretty clever, actually: use a tunnel to access the basement of a warehouse. Anything that could fit through that hole could be removed at leisure, and transported to an entrance, blocks away to be loaded into a truck. 

Security cameras at the plundered warehouse would be useless. This could be just about anyone, believing that they would be utterly unobserved. But they were probably the people who’d been disturbing the Tunnel community.

They knew the pipe code. That was interesting. It narrowed down the search in ways that she could never share with anyone in the office. And it made her approach to this problem very, very tricky. It also ruled out Paracelsus’ people. Tunnel dwellers weren’t likely to have avenues to move stolen electronics. Perhaps Paracelsus might have thought it up eventually, but not likely. She couldn’t think why she’d thought of the Outsiders at all. People who lived like that were not up to this level of sophistication. She’d have to get Below and ask a lot of questions, beginning with ‘do you keep track of former Helpers?’

She sighed. It probably wasn’t anyone related to the Tunnelers at all. They were just putting them all at risk.

 

Diana wandered out to the floor to see how the video review was going. She smiled to see that the woman in front of the screen was actually eating popcorn. “Hey, Sanchez. Having fun?”

The plump brunette looked up with a pout. “I’ve been looking for Arnold Schwarzenegger for hours, and he won’t show up.”

“Who knew he was shy?”

“This was the stuff Chris used to do. Kinda hurts to sit in his chair. You wouldn’t care to take a shift, would you?”

After she put it that way, who’d want to? “Have you really been there for hours?”

“Oh, no. We limit it to thirty minutes. After that, the eyes cross. It just feels like hours.”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll pitch in.”

Sanchez hopped up and handed Diana the bag of popcorn. “Call me if Arnie shows up,” she said.

 

Sanchez was right; it was boring. The best she could come up with after 20 minutes was the appearance of the same man twice outside the same warehouse. It was daylight, and the robberies happened at night, but he wasn’t wearing a uniform shirt, and he didn’t actually enter a door.

Could be anybody, though.

A hand descended on her shoulder. “Hey, Bennet. How you been?”

She looked up. “Hughs!”

“Yeah, I’m slumming.” He shrugged unhappily. “Walker was a buddy of mine. Worked in my unit when he was still in uniform before he came to the illustrious 210.”

“Not so illustrious if you can get killed on the job in this unit like every other.”

“Nope.” He stared at the screen she had paused, the image of the unknown man in mid-stride. “What the hell?”

“What? You know him?”

“Yeah, but he shouldn’t be there.”

“Where should he be?” Please don’t tell me he should be dead, she thought. This case is getting weird enough.

“He should be in Sing-Sing.” He reached for the phone. “Lemme make a call and then I’ll tell you a story.”

 

Father removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Well, someone is still communicating with a passable version of our pipe code. But they aren’t straying into our territory. It seems Kipper and Cullen bumped into them by sheer bad luck.”

“In the warehouse district?” said Vincent. “For that matter, they could have run into anybody over there.” He contemplated propping his feet on Father’s desk, simply to watch him squawk, but ruefully decided he was too much of a grown-up to do something like that anymore. He settled for stretching his legs out and finishing his tea.

“The only connection is that the activity seems to be there, as well.”

“The false walls are almost all done,” Vincent said, and Father nodded in approval.

Eric trotted down the stairs with a slip of paper in his hand.

“Note from Diana, Vincent,” he said as he passed the paper over. He didn’t wait to turn and run back out.

“No running in the Hub, Eric,” Father intoned, rolling his eyes.

“Sorry…”

Vincent unfolded the message and stared at it for a moment, clearly startled. He passed it across the desk.

Father flipped the paper over to read: “Who is Mitch Denton?”

 

 

Chapter 4

T'Mara

 

“Mitch,” Vincent closed his eyes at the sudden onslaught of memories and emotions: camaraderie during their shared childhood, hurt and disappointment over Mitch's chosen path once he had left the tunnels, and anger, immense, irrepressible anger at the memory of Catherine almost dying at Denton's hands.

He let out a low growl.

“What does that mean?”

The question was directed as much at himself as at Father.

“How could Diana possibly have come across this particular name? Shouldn't that... that monster still be locked away? As far as I remember, he was arrested a few weeks after...”

Vincent paused. Even after all these years, this was one of his most painful memories. He could not bring himself to actually say the words.

“After Catherine was injured,” Father helped him out.

“Yes.” Vincent nodded in agreement. “Then he was tried for murder, and thanks to Mr. Sweeney's eyewitness account, he was convicted and sentenced to many, many years of prison.”

How many years exactly? Vincent did not quite remember what Catherine had told him about the case back then, but definitely more than ten years, of that he was sure.

“It's been less than five years,” he continued. “Mitch should still be in prison for many years to come.”

Father's thoughts went in a different direction.

“But what if he isn't?” he asked slowly.

Vincent looked at him, bewildered.

“How could that be? Even if he were comporting himself extremely well, they would not release him that early.”

Father nodded.

“I know that,” he admitted. “But couldn't Mitch have escaped somehow?”

Vincent shook his head.

“If so, we would most definitely have heard about it,” he objected. “If a convicted murderer, a most dangerous person, escaped from prison, it would be all over the news to warn the public. Our Helpers would have informed us. Most of them know about Mitch, many of them even remember him from his time in the tunnels, met him at Winterfests then. But even the newer Helpers know about Catherine's run-in with him a few years ago.”

“You do make some valid points,” Father admitted. “But what if the fact he escaped, was not on the news?”

“How could that be?” Vincent asked, unable to imagine such a scenario.

“There are many possibilities.” Father had given this some thought. “Maybe for some reason or other he was imprisoned outside the City or even the State of New York, in which case his escape might only have been on the local news there. Or maybe they decided not to announce the jailbreak, in order to avoid panic. Or somebody at the prison where he was held had high-level connections that helped them to cover up the story...”

Vincent nodded. In any of these cases, they would not have learned of Mitch's escape.

“And if my suspicions are correct,” Father continued, “then this might also be the answer to our recent problems.”

“You think, Mitch could be behind that group that has given us troubles?”

“Don't you?” Father retorted. “It would explain many things.”

“He knows the tunnels and the access points,” Vincent agreed. “And our codes, at least some of them. He may not have remembered everything correctly after all those years, and of course, we've made some upgrades and improvements since he left, that he would not be aware of. Thus, their code is only a crude replica of ours. But you are right; it would explain a lot.”

He did not add another fact, that Mitch's involvement with their adversaries would explain: the violence. The youngster Kipper, still barely more than a child, had been shot at by this group, even though he had not done anything threatening. What kind of people would do that?

“I need to see Diana tonight,” he finally announced.

Father smiled and pointed at the scrap of paper with her message.

“She will also be waiting for an answer to her question,” he said.

 

Diana was anxiously waiting for Vincent. She absolutely needed an answer to the question she had sent him through Eric. Ever since Detective Hughs had recognized that man on the video provided by the surveillance camera of one of the warehouses that had been robbed, she knew she had come up with something important. Hughs had been able to give her a few details on Mitch Denton's criminal record, and a phone call with Joe Maxwell had confirmed her suspicion that Catherine Chandler had been instrumental in getting him sentenced for murder by securing a key witness. Thus, she was certain that Vincent would know a thing or two about the man. To her utter surprise, though, Joe had been as convinced as Hughs had been that Denton was still safely locked away.

Nervously she consulted her wristwatch yet again, trying to figure out how much longer it would take Vincent to reach her.

It is already sufficiently dark outside, so he should be here at any moment...

At last, she spied his shadow on the roof and rushed out.

“Finally!” she sighed. “I have so many questions!”

“So do I,” Vincent replied. “First of all, how and in what context did you come up with the name of Mitch Denton?”

Diana told him everything about the warehouse robberies, how nobody ever noticed any unusual movement, no undue activity like trucks or lots of people in the vicinity, that this had become her unit's case since one of these robberies had left a dead guard behind, and that the colleague who had been working on the case had been shot execution-style while jogging in the park.

“You know, when I heard that nobody could imagine how the stolen goods could possibly have been moved from the warehouses, I immediately had to think of the tunnels,” she explained. “If there were a tunnel access somewhere in the basement of these warehouses, it would be easy to get in and to get out again with the booty. The goods could then be transported to another inconspicuous access point and loaded onto a truck there. That latter might even display the name of a small electronics shop in another part of town, passing itself off as a regular delivery truck, and then they could unload the goods in front of that shop, and their contact there could sell them on their behalf.”

Vincent nodded. That seemed the most likely explanation for the mysterious disappearances of goods from the various warehouses.

“Then I watched the videos from the security cameras, and there was this man that passed by twice within a rather short time,” Diana continued. “I was a little bit suspicious, but then it could also be a coincidence. And when I was still considering how to proceed, Detective Hughs came by, and he recognized the guy in my freeze-frame, saying he should still be in prison for many years, that he had himself arrested him a couple of years ago, that the guy was a convicted murderer and that his name was Mitch Denton.”

She looked at Vincent, who had decided to hear out her story first, before asking additional questions, since everything she told him seemed to confirm Father's suspicions.

“I was certain I had heard that name before and pretty sure that it had been Below,” Diana continued. “I vaguely remembered that it had something to do with Catherine, and since I just ran into Eric during my lunch-break, I slipped him my message. Then I remembered yet another possible source of information and called Joe Maxwell. At first, he could not believe that Denton was caught by a security camera of one of the robbed warehouses since all the records showed that Denton was still in prison. But when I told him that Detective Hughs, who had arrested Denton back then, had positively identified him, he gave me access to Denton's file. So, I do know of Catherine's role in getting him convicted, which is probably what you or somebody else Below told me way back when I became a Helper. But there is more to it, isn't there?”

She faced Vincent directly.

“If my theory of how the stolen goods are moved is correct, he must know about the tunnels, right? So, my most important question is, how is Mitch Denton connected to the world Below?”

“I will tell you everything,” he promised, “but tell me first, which warehouse district are we talking about, and what warehouses specifically have been robbed?”

She gave him the names and addresses. Vincent nodded.

“You are right about how the goods are moved,” he told her. “All those places have access points to the tunnels.”

Vincent looked away from her, out into the night. “And it seems, Father has been right as well,” he added. “Mitch somehow got out, and since neither Detective Hughs nor D.A. Maxwell knows about it, it is not surprising that we haven't heard about it either. The only person who might have been able to inform us, Mitch's father, died shortly after his son was sent to prison, his sick body could not deal with this blow. But the problems we have been facing have been in the same area as those robberies. If Mitch is behind both, it explains why the thieves know about the tunnels, how they can use an approximation of our code, and... the violence. Kipper was shot by them, a guard was killed, and the death of your colleague looked like an execution.”

Vincent paused. He knew Diana was waiting for more, but the feeling of betrayal that always came with the mention of Mitch was too strong for him to continue at once. Diana patiently waited until he was ready to continue.

Finally, Vincent spoke again. He told her of Mitch's years in the tunnels, of how he had started a criminal career upon leaving, of how he was refused sanctuary by the people Below the first time he became a wanted man and as a consequence had served five years in prison.

“And then he came back,” Vincent ended his story, “worse than before. You know the rest already. And now he is back again, even though nobody has an explanation of how this is possible, and once again, he is leaving a trail of blood behind.

“Be careful, Diana,” he added. “This man is extremely dangerous, you know what happened to Catherine, all those others, Charlie Flynn, Frank De Corsia, the warehouse guard, your colleague… if something happened to you...”

He could not continue, could not bring himself to say it, could not tell her what he was not yet able to admit even to himself: that, next to little Jacob and Father, Diana had become the most important person in his life. That losing her would be the most traumatic experience in his life, maybe even more so than Catherine's loss had been since it would be the second time he would lose the woman he… why did that thought feel like a betrayal of Catherine?

Diana waited. She understood his unspoken words, understood why he could not say them – yet. As much as she hoped that one day Vincent would be able to admit to the fact that he had grown to love her as much as she loved him, she knew that he still needed time. Catherine had died only two years ago; maybe it was still too soon for him... But she would not push him to acknowledge his feelings for her, as much as she longed to hear him tell her that he loved her, she would give him all the time in the world. It would mean so much more to her if he could say those words freely one day rather than at her insistence now, and he was definitely a man worth waiting for.

“Your people Below must be careful, too,” Diana reminded Vincent after a few minutes of awkward silence between them. “Denton knows the tunnels well, it seems.”

“We are almost done putting up fake walls in the direction of his operations,” Vincent reassured her. “He should not be able to reach us once those are complete.”

“Excellent.” Diana smiled. “But there is another problem you should be aware of. I don't know yet how I will do it without revealing my knowledge about Below, but sooner rather than later, I will have to bring up my theory about the transportation of the stolen goods – that is unless anybody else discovers one of the tunnel access points soon. That investigation will, therefore, cause much interest in the tunnels. Not just Denton and his men, but also police, and eventually even journalists, news reporters might inspect those entrances. It could get pretty crowded in that area.”

“The false walls should help against police and media as well,” Vincent explained. “Though it is, of course, advisable to limit our activities in that area to the absolute minimum. It would not be good if a policeman or a reporter overheard any of us on the pipes, for instance. That would probably make them want to investigate that noise. I guess we will have to declare the sector adjacent to the one where Denton operates off-limits for the time being.”

Diana agreed with him. That would probably be the best course of action.

“It seems we have together solved part of the problem,” she summed up their conversation. “We know who is likely behind the robberies and behind your problems, we know how the robberies are done, though we still don't know exactly how they are selling the stolen goods or who they are working with, in that regard. But there are two very important questions left: The first one is connected to my colleague Chris Walker's death, not just what he knew that they felt so threatened by that they had to get rid of him in such a cruel way, but more importantly, why did they want his death to look like an execution rather than a mugging? Were they trying to show somebody else what they were capable of, to warn them not to get in their way? If so, was that meant only as a general warning for the police, or did they have somebody specific in mind that they wanted to intimidate, to warn that person not to cross them? Who could that be? And the second question is, how on earth can Mitch Denton be out of prison when according to D.A. Maxwell, the records apparently show that he is still in?”

 

 

Chapter 5

Alyssa G.

 

"I hope you're not telling me you can't handle things at the prison."

"This isn't my fault! Denton has to understand - "

"That's Mr. Denton to you, Thompson. Now, what about your inability to do your job? Do you think Mr. Denton won't be able to understand? Or is it your disloyalty that would be so incomprehensible? Or maybe you no longer appreciate or want his generosity?"

"I'm not incompetent, and I've been loyal! Mr. Denton pays me good money to falsify the prison records and keep my mouth shut, and I've been doing that for months. But now the cops are closing in. They were curious before about those robberies, but once one of their own was killed, all bets were off. They've requested prison records, security tapes, visitor logs - everything. Eventually, someone is going to take it into their heads to come up here and start looking for a missing prisoner, and that's going to lead them right back to me."

"Your personal security is your problem, not mine, and not Mr. Denton's." 

"What, he's just going to leave me high and dry? After everything, I've done for him? Because if the only way to get myself out of trouble is to take him down… ”

"Do not finish that sentence, Thompson, not if you value your life."

"What?!" 

"Mr. Denton has been very kind to you, but he can be equally cruel. Your little problem is yours to solve, and frankly, it's a much smaller problem than the one you’ll have if you start talking to the wrong people. If I'm not being clear enough about that over the phone, Thompson, I can certainly send someone to your home to discuss the matter. In person. Perhaps with your wife and children?" 

"No... no... that won't be necessary. Please... please... please just tell Mr. Denton that I was only calling to let him know that he should be careful because the police are looking into him as a suspect. And that I'd be very grateful if he could come up with a way to get the police off of my back. I mean, it would be helpful to him, too, right? I mean, the longer I can convince them that he's still here, the longer he stays free. So, you see, I'm really on Mr. Denton's side. You see that, right? I just got nervous for a second, that's all. There's no need to mention a little case of nerves to him, especially when I understand things much better now, right?"

"See that you continue to understand things, Thompson."

"Of course, of course!"

"I will fill Mr. Denton in on the relevant parts of our conversation and get back to you tomorrow at the usual time."

"So, Joel, Thompson's getting cold feet."

"I wouldn't worry about that, Mitch. I gave Thompson a particularly encouraging speech." Joel Hanover smiled cruelly as he put his feet up on the coffee table next to Mitch Denton's. "The last thing he wants to do is have me mess up his picture-perfect life or his picture-perfect family."

"Picture-perfect,” Mitch snorted. "You see that bio he put out there about himself? Raised himself out of a quiet life to work in the toughest city with hardened criminals." Mitch snorted again before taking a long swig from his bottle of beer. "A quiet life. Quiet is right, dead quiet. He grew up in the Tunnels with the rest of us, not that he'd admit to that."

"Not like he could say anything, not without everyone finding out about the Tunnels." Joel shrugged, then laughed at the furious look on Mitch's face. "Hey, I know they're not your favorite people, but even you never ratted them out!" Joel handed him another beer before continuing. "Look, you have it out for Vincent, and I'm not on the best of terms with Father, but I have nothing against Mary or any of the kids down there. Hell, a lot of the people down there are from after our time. And besides, no one knowing about the Tunnels works well for us right now."

"Tell me about it." Mitch leaned back against the worn leather couch, closed his eyes, and smiled at the thought. "Turning their little safe haven into our own business enterprise, and right under their noses. Oh, the look on Father's face when he realized what we were doing must have been sweet to see."

"You know they know about it. Doesn't that worry you at all?"

"Nah," Mitch answered before sitting up to face his oldest friend with a pleased look on his face. "The only thing they've done is put up some walls and reroute some passages. If they were going to stop us, they would have done it already. But they don't know why our plan is working so well, which is why they don't dare step in."

Joel laughed along with Mitch at that pleasant thought. "Everyone on our crews already knew about the Tunnels before being pulled in for these jobs. A few grew up there, but most were Helpers once upon a time or had family members who were. They know the ways in, which paths are far enough from the main areas so as to get the least attention, plus they all know pipe code – or at least remember enough of it to get by. Father, Vincent, and the others aren't taking aggressive action against our guys because they don't want to expose the Tunnels or risk any of the Tunnel dwellers getting hurt. But none of our guys want to hurt the Tunnels or any of the people in them, which means that as long as they stay out of our way, they're perfectly safe."

"And we can keep making money." 

Joel laughed again, clinking his beer bottle against Mitch’s. “Hear, hear to that!” Joel reached for the bowl of pretzels, then passed them over to Mitch. “So, what are we going to do about Thompson? He’s right, you know. Even if he’s not a threat, a missing prisoner is going to be a problem. The only reason he’s been able to cover for this long is that he’s high enough up the chain that he can get away with basically anything. But if the police send in their own officers to do a headcount, they’re going to realize that someone is missing.”

“Well, then we are just going to have to pad that headcount, aren’t we?”

“Planning to pay someone to take your spot?” Joel shook his head. “It would cost a pretty penny, especially since whoever we put in there is going to be looking at accessory charges for everything you’re doing as soon as the cops find out about the switch.”

“Well…Thompson was complaining last week about all the paperwork he had to do for the early release prisoners.” Mitch held his bottle in his hands, turning it slowly as he watched the liquid inside move around as he thought through this new possibility. “What if one of the guys didn’t get released, but his paperwork said he was?” Mitch shrugged. “Thompson could later claim it was just a paperwork glitch, and if the guy’s lawyer fussed, he could just say that he was working on fixing it.” Mitch grinned, weighing the angles, and liking his odds more by the moment. “If we pay the guy to stay a little longer, he might figure it was worth a few more months on the inside to come out of it a rich man. And I know just the man to ask.”

“Who?”

“Why, someone from our old hometown, of course.”

“And if he refuses to play along?”

“You mean if he thinks our money isn’t worth his time? Well, I guess Thompson will just have to find a way to make sure he makes the right decision. Or we’ll just have to make it for him.”

 

Ring Ring

“Sing Sing Correctional facility. How may I direct your call?”

“I’m calling for Mr. Thompson. Could you connect me, please?”

“Certainly, sir. Whom may I say is calling?”

“Oh, this is an old friend of his, calling on a personal matter. Don’t worry; I’m sure he’ll take the call.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’ll need your name before I can connect your call.”

“Of course. Please tell him Mr. Tunnels is calling.”

“Thank you, sir. One moment please.”

 

Ring Ring

“Thompson.”

“I have a Mr. Tunnels on the line for you, sir.”

“Tunnels? You’re sure the caller said tunnels?”

“Yes, sir, I’m quite sure.”

“Fine. Please put the call right through.”

 

Ring Ring

“Hello again. I hope we are feeling calmer today.”

“Hanover! I thought you were someone from Below. What are you doing calling through the main line? You know you are only supposed to call me on my direct number. What kind of game are you playing at?”

“No game at all. I just wanted to show you how easy it would be for me to leave traces of my presence in your life for anyone to find. Especially anyone who might be coming to you with questions that shouldn’t be answered.”

“All right, all right, you made your point a few days ago. Why bring it up again now?”

“I just want to make sure you’re not feeling squeamish over what comes next. Is Evans still refusing our generosity?”

“I’m afraid so. He says he won’t get mixed up in any sort of criminal activity, no matter how much money it would bring him. I even told him he was running the risk of the Tunnels being exposed, of his wife Olivia and his kid losing their home. That at least made him think for a couple of days, but it was still a firm no. He figures that exposing the Tunnels would just expose you, too.”

“Well, we are just going to have to get a bit pushier with him then.”

“Pushier, how?”

“Maybe Evans no longer gets a choice. Is his paperwork for early release finished?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I think it’s time for Evans to become Denton, don’t you?”

“What are you talking about? They look nothing alike! It would be one thing if Evans was willing to say he was Denton, but without that piece? The first guard he talks to, the first prisoner looking for a deal – they’ll be more than happy to pass word to the police if it means capturing the infamous Mitch Denton.”

“Well, then I guess we better make sure that Evans won’t be able to speak to anyone.”

“Solitary? There are guards there, too, and not all of them can be trusted to keep quiet.”

“No, Mr. Denton has a much better idea. I think Evans needs a trip to the medical section, don’t you?”

“Now wait a minute, falsifying records is one thing, but actually hurting someone… I don’t know…”

“Don’t worry, Thompson; it’s nothing like that. I’m going to arrange for a special shipment to be delivered to you. You tell Evans that he needs to submit to a medical exam as part of the processing of his early release. Once you have him in there, have someone take a blood test and tell him he’s got to get a couple of booster shots – flu, tetanus, whatever is most believable based on his medical records. Only those injections? They won’t protect him – they’ll protect us.”

“But what will it do to him?”

“Nothing terrible, it will just knock him out for about 12 hours. Your nurse will have to wrap his face, make it look like he was in a fight, or got burned or something. Something that would require his face to be completely covered in bandages. Then you just need to make sure he gets another sedative twice a day until this is over.”

“And after that? What happens to Evans then?”

 

 

Chapter 6

Denise (Cece)

 

Her board hasn’t had as many unrelated images in quite a while, and yet the longer she studied it, the more it made sense. On one half, crime scene photos of partially empty warehouses, a hand-drawn map of marked tunnel entrances, information from Vincent. Chalk outlines of one warehouse security guard. On the other half, photos of Mitch Denton, a fuzzy still photo of a man on the street near the warehouses. No one had made much of a van at the edge of the photo of each appearance of “mystery” man.

Go ahead, Bennett, call him “Mitch.” She had read his sheet with a lot of head shaking and mental eye-rolling. It’s a wonder you haven’t been sent up for a long stretch before.

She could hear Vincent as he explained, “Mitch’s father sent him to live with us below to provide a stable influence while he worked long hours in the railyard of Grand Central Station. Father did not appreciate his defiance and daring. He resented the limitations life below sometimes created. Material possessions the children of his school above had that we could not always scavenge appeared to frustrate him. My brother Devin, a daredevil himself, would eschew his clandestine escapes where some of the other boys would go along.”

Diana had not met Vincent’s older brother, but from the few stories Vincent had shared, there was little that his daring sibling had not tried. However, he had not participated in some of Mitch’s more larcenous activities such as bullying a solitary kid in the park waiting to be picked up for change or outright stealing their cab fare. She could just imagine Father’s pique and understandable ire at the insensitivity and greed of young Mister Denton.

“Thing is you’re a loner, but you don’t act alone.” She spoke aloud to the photo on the wall.

She stalked, stocking footed to her desk, pulled out the bottom drawer, and placed the phone with deliberation on the desktop. The cord followed, which she plugged into the wall and then the phone base. It immediately began rigging.

“Yeh?” She answered.

“Diana, this is Keeghan.” Keeghan, the lieutenant in her squad, was also their tech liaison. The guy loved the latest technology toys. “I was able to track some of the stolen electronics. It seems as if the Fence was given a sales sample. This stuff is going out of the country.”

Bennett frowned. “How do you know?”

“My source says that the guy who contacted him started negotiating price and then suddenly quit. Told my source that he could keep the sample. 

Kind of insinuated that my guy should keep his mouth shut, or there would be trouble.”

“Did your guy explain how he was introduced?”

“That’s the thing, Bennett. He didn’t have to. He knew the guy from the joint; from Sing- Sing! They did a nickel together.”

Diana held the phone to her ear, tore a post-it from the pad on her end table, and scribbled a name and location on the cubed sheet. “Uh, thanks, Keeghan. I’ll be in touch.”

She hung up, then hurriedly dialed a number from memory.

“District Attorney Maxwell's office,” answered a pleasant female voice.

“Can I speak to the D.A.? This is Diana Bennett.”

“Yes, of course, detective. Hold, please!”

There was a click followed by ubiquitous music played on all government phone systems, loud and forgettable versions of some forgettable tune.

“Joe Maxwell.”

“Hey, Joe. Diana. Can you get me in to meet the administrator of Sing-Sing without going through the usual channels?”

“I‘ve been working on it. What have you come up with, Diana?”

“It's looking more and more like all roads lead to Sing Sing.”

***

Vincent took eight measured steps from one end of his chamber to young Jacob’s area and back. Generally, he didn't like to pace in front of his young son; it stimulated him, so he found it hard to settle for a nap or to sleep throughout the night. So, if Vincent had to pry something loose from his memory, he generally waited until his son was in the nursery or deeply asleep late at night.

This time he had been drafted into service. Jacob wrapped himself around his father’s tree-trunk leg, kept up the constant chant of “Up, Daddy, up!” Daddy obediently lifted his leg high like a carousel ride back and forth across their chamber, one part of his soul soothed by his son’s chortles of glee as tried to recall the names of Mitch Denton’s childhood partners in crime. Who but a former resident from Below would know pipe code, albeit an older variation?

He felt a tug at his shin, looked down into his son’s puzzled expression.

“More up?” He inquired — a hopeful query.

Vincent reached down, caught the boy under the arms, a lifted him above his head, settling his slender weight upon his shoulders. “Not tonight. It is approaching dinner time. If we arrive early enough, perhaps William will agree to an extra cookie for dessert.”

Jacob wrapped his arms around his father’s head, planting a juicy smack on his ear and cooed, “Yes, please. Tank you.”

Vincent gave each chubby well-insulated leg a gentle squeeze.

***

Vincent carried his bowl and Jacob’s mug, while his son, watching every step carefully, carried his own bowl of chili (William hadn’t filled it to the rim) to his seat beside Father. His proud parent was beaming when he and his meal arrived at their destination without sloshing one drop. He lowered his bulk gently beside his son, he and Father sandwiching the boy between them.

While Jacob dug with all earnestness into his bowl, happily feeding himself, Vincent asked between bites, “Father, do you recall if any of Mitch’s friends still reside here.”

Father looked up, cocked his head, peering up at Vincent. “I have tried to recall since we heard his name in relation to what happened after the robbery and Kipper being shot. I spoke with Pascal earlier. He and your brother knew his cohorts better than I. Pascal informed me he would check his journal about dating newer pipe code. I believe we can say they would have to have been someone living here around the time Devin left us.”

He drummed his knuckles on the tabletop. “Some years, I remember faces so clearly, but the year Devin disappeared has become a blur.”

Olivia glided up their table and perched on the bench facing Vincent. 

“Vincent, have you had a chance to talk with Diana or anyone about Kanin’s release.”

“We knew it was to be soon, my dear. Were you given a release date?” Father inquired gently.

 Olivia shook her head. “I was getting letters every week but not this week. Nothing. He wrote last week like always. He did write how he was feeling; what was going on. But also wrote he was trying to stay to himself because he was too close to his release date.”

“Olivia, you know the mail delivery, especially here, can be irregular,” Father said gently, encouragingly.

The younger woman wrung her hands and then forced them to remain still in her lap. “Father, something is wrong. Isn’t it?”

Father reached across and patted a hand. Vincent placed his hand on top of both smaller hands.

“We do not know that anything is wrong with Kanin, and until we do, we will behave as if his release date will arrive soon,” Vincent said calmly, ignoring the tingling sensation in the back of his mind.

***

"Okay, tell me again why we’re wasting time playing musical cells?”

“Ours is not to… whatever. The office hands out instructions; we follow instructions.”

The guards stepped to a cell. “Stand back, turn around. Place your hands behind you.”

The individual complied, surprise apparent in his expression.

“We’ll have your cell cleaned out. You are going to a new block. Let’s go.”

Kanin walked between the guards, all the while feeling that he was getting into something deeper than he had reckoned. Marched further into the depths of the prison and away from freedom.

The trustee assigned to clean out the cell hadn’t been included in the relocation plan, so he did what he always did. He bagged everything in a large trash bag. Any written material that had a name on it was dumped inside. He marked the exterior ‘K. Evans’. He looked beneath the mattress, and in all the usual hiding places.

“Guess this guy didn’t own nothin’,” He muttered.

He tied a knot in the trash bag and slogged down the long block to the checkpoint where he was admitted into a kind of waiting area filled with small cubes in which similar bags of confiscated materials were stored. The guard, looking bored, accepted the bag and shoved it into an empty rectangle.

At the same time, Greg Hughs rang Diana’s bell looking the building over as if assessing the structure in comparison to its resident. The jury was out.

“Yeah, who is it?”

“Greg Hughs.”

“I’ll be down in a second.”

The elevator doors parted a minute later, and Diana strolled out, hardly pausing to allow for them to open, stalked across the sidewalk, and into the plain blue Chevy sedan clutching a haphazardly stuffed file folder.

“Joe talked to the administrator directly. He got the warden in on the call, so no one outside of his office knows we’re coming.”

“So, we just show up and ask for the administrator?” asked Diana.

“That’s what Joe said. When the D.A. of Manhattan calls, people, even prison wardens listen, Bennett.”

“Okay. I’m not complaining. We’re getting closer, but I can’t help feeling that there’s a piece of this puzzle is missing.”

Greg stole a glance at his colleague. “You mean, how does this connect to Chris’ death?”

“Yeah, exactly!”

***

Vincent sat cross-legged on the floor of the pipe chamber while Pascal signaled all quiet.

Temporarily, Father had asked the community to observe all quiet on the pipes from sundown to early morning. So far, at least, there had been no unauthorized communications on their system.

Pascal sat beside his friend, looking confused. “It's hard to believe that one of us, even if they don’t live Below anymore, would use our system against us.”

“Father reminded me that not everyone that lived Below considered themselves one of our community. Remember the outsiders.”

“Yes, but Vincent, they were wild, savages. They hadn’t lived among us. They weren’t our friends; or anyone’s.”

“True.”

The two men sat in silence for a while.

“I spent the evening reminiscing in my journal regarding the changes in pipe signals. The last major change was when I added the location abbreviations after my father died.” Pascal added fondly. “He didn’t like abbreviations much; said they were cheating.”

Vincent snorted in amusement, remembering Pascal, the Elder.

“I noticed the abbreviations for locations, don’t match the ones we normally use. Its as if they didn’t know our current use. This group, whoever they are, use street abbreviations from above.”

“When were the shorter codes instituted?” Asked Vincent, trying to hear over the hammering of his heart. At last, they were coming to some answers.

“It would have been about fifteen years, at the most, Vincent.”

Vincent calculated mentally, stood quickly. “Two years after Devin left. Which of Mitch’s friends remained after his father took him to live above?”

Pascal shook his head. “Couldn’t have been too many, Vincent. He didn’t really have many friends. Most of the kids were afraid of him.”

“I was one of them,” Vincent admitted.

Pascal studied the larger man carefully. “I heard you snarl at him once.” He admitted quietly.

Vincent ducked his head, chuckling. “That time I was angered more than frightened. He had seen Devin’s scars and decided against taking the chance that I would not do the same to him.”

“I remember one boy who didn’t live below for very long. He and Mitch were pretty close while he lived here. His mother found them a place out of the city. I seem to remember she got a little claustrophobic.” Pascal shrugged. That reaction happened to a few adults after living Below for a period of time.

“I do not remember the boy, her son.” Said Vincent, staring upward as if to see the image in the cavern above.

“He was older. Not by much and didn’t stay long.” Explained Pascal. “Maybe you weren’t around him enough. But he and Mitch seemed to hit off right away. Winslow and I noticed they were always laughing and poking fun at others, hiding in corners, and always scheming to get out of chores. Mitch didn’t get caught by the adults, usually, but John- no, Johnathan Sawyer, I think. He would take Mitch’s punishment and his own.”

“Would he know enough Pipe-code, I wonder,” murmured Vincent.

“He was Below long enough to learn the basics.” Replied the other man firmly.

***

Thompson was checking out from his shift when he noticed at least one cop heading for the warden’s office. As calmly as he could manage, he approached the administrator’s secretary and bent over her partition with a smile. “We got company today, Laura?”

Distracted, Laura looked up from typing, removed her headphones, and said, “What?”

He pointed to the closing door of the office and repeated his question, “Company?”

Laura shook her head in the negative. “Don’t know. I think they’re friends of the administrator.” She put her headphones back in and resumed her typing.

Thompson backed away from the office, slammed his hand against the wall, and almost ran to the employees’ locker room. With calm deliberation he did not feel, Thompson, cleared out his locker dumping everything into his duffle. Examined his frightened expression in the mirror and knew he could not go home.

Can’t call Mitch. Hell, he’d probably tell me to clean up the records. He’s on his own, he thought.

Thompson sweated through the security check at the exit. The guards checked his duffle.

“What are you doing, Thompson, moving?” asked one.

“Ha, ha. Got tired of looking at all this junk. Was stinkin’ up my locker,” he managed.

Zipping the duffle closed, he swung it over his shoulder and walked to the gate, hoping his shaking knees held until the bus arrived.

His luck held, for once. The local pulled up to the stop outside of the visitor’s entrance, and he hopped on, sitting in the back. He didn’t draw a deep breath until the bus crossed the county line. 

 

 

Chapter 7     

Stace Burroughs

 

Greg was talking with the administrator as they walked in the office, sort of catching up really. Didn’t realize it was going to be an acquaintance of Joe’s and Hugh’s from their college days. Small world and seemed to get weirdly smaller every day.
Diana heard a ruffled voice and agitated demeanor that caught her attention. Glancing around smartly, it looked like nobody else had noticed. She flipped through the file in her hands as Greg and the Warden talked inside the doorway. Shuffling through papers, she glanced over to try to get a good look, try to see who the source was. An employee was talking to the receptionist who looked like he was off shift. Something about him seemed off. The secretary seemed ambivalent. Hmmnn.

“… Mr. Greensdale… and this is Detective Bennett, “ Diana’s attention was interrupted as Hughs introduced her to the wiry prison administrator. He seemed dapper for a prison complex employee, and young for an administrator. Good for him.
She nodded and shook his hand firmly. “Sorry about the short notice.”  She adjusted her files and glanced over- whoever it was with the secretary was gone. “It seems we have a positive video identification of a prisoner that should be under wraps here for a quarter.”
“Well, if they’re carrying out a sentence here, then they are most assuredly still here. We haven’t had a bonafied prisoner escape since 1986,” insisted Greensdale, smiling matter-of-factly.
Greg Hughs shifted to face the administrator. “We were observing the surveillance video and got a positive unexpectedly from an officer walking by.”

“I’m sure you’re more than welcome to investigate.”  He straightened his shirt proudly. “But I am telling you that we have all our inmates accounted for, detective.”

“Sorry for my tardiness!” A voice called through the door as a large man stepped inside.

“You’re more than welcome to be present for the headcount yourself, detectives. Feel free to ask your questions and talk with the personnel.” Announced the burly warden as he entered from his adjoining office. “Warden Smithwick.” He stowed his hat under his arm. “All our inmates are accounted for, but we are happy to help.”

“Detectives Bennett and Hughs.”  They nodded and shook his hand. “Glad for the humoring and assistance,” affirmed Greg. 
It would remain to be seen, but so far, Diana felt like both Smithwick and Greensdale were genuine and legitimate. Granted, that didn’t mean that their suspect was actually here. So who was? Did he have a doppelgänger?

“We will be around for the headcount and I’ve got a list of personnel I need to talk to.” Diana shuffled through papers. “I also have a couple-few inmates we will need to question as well, if that could be arranged.”
“Certainly.” Greensdale stood tall and nodded. “I will start that process, if you’ll excuse me. Gentlemen. Lady.”
“Aaaaand….” Began Greg as he was handed the second folder from the short stack Bennet was glancing over. “….do you mind if we get a coffee while we go over the details with you?”

“Yes! By all means!” Exclaimed Smithwick before he hurriedly motioned them away from the door they had started walking towards. “Let’s have a chat and I’ll French press you a coffee- the coffee from the machine is horrible.”
The two detectives glanced at each other and nodded. “Sure.” 

Their decision was not one they regretted. It certainly beat robo-coffee. The coffee he made was comparable to what Diana made on the weekends. Definitely much better than station coffee. Both detectives divulged as little detail as possible between sips while they took turns chatting up Warden Smithwick about what they were looking for. They still weren’t sure who the inside man was. The devil is always in the details—but either the administrator and warden were in on it, or these two really had no idea Mitch was gone. At the very least, it’d have to be someone who had access to those offices, the computer, and opportunity.
When Greensdale came back, Smithwick instructed him to show the detectives around and assist them, within reason and regulations. He produced some hard files that Greg started to thumb through and Diana started sifting through computer records. She wished Chris was here. He was phenomenal at this kind of thing. He would already have been done with all of this. After a couple of hours of sorting through records, the logbooks and all the red tape seemed to be in order. Everything looked all covered and aligned. Although they both noticed some odd things here and there. They’d have to compare notes later. Diana was going to jot down notes for future reference and thought against it. No point prematurely tipping their hand. Mental note that the records seem very slightly inconsistent. The superficial headcount came back conflicting, but affirmative. All hands on deck. Supposedly Denton was here. They’d have to go and do their own headcount, it looked like.

What nobody here knew, is that Greg would recognize Mitch immediately, so they had that going for them. She kept sifting. Records stated he was recently in solitary for a while for fighting and then back in the general populace. According to the logbook, he was in some manner of altercation earlier today and had been taken to the hospital wing.
“Greg, look at this,” Diana pointed to the screen.
“Looks like he’s been taken to the infirmary to be patched up,” Greg smirked. “Let’s see what  Mr. Denton has to say.”
“I’m also going to see if any of our possible contacts can help us with information.
Diana got walked over to Mr. Greensdale’s office. “We’d like a word with an  inmate, Mitch Denton, over in the infirmary if that’s possible.”
“Infirmary?” Greensdale hitched up his sleeves and started typing. “Oh, I see. Yes. I’ll have my assistant, Thompson, show you over.” He motioned over, turning his head to see a dark office. “Ah. Well, I’d have my assistant help you with that.” He looked at his watch. “But apparently l lost track of the time—his shift ended a couple hours ago. No matter, I’ll take you over- I can finish reviewing this release paperwork later.”
She’d almost forgotten. Olivia wanted to talk to her about Kanin. He was supposed to be at this facility, too. She wished she’d remembered to talk to Olivia before she’d gotten sucked back into the precinct. Maybe she could check on Kanin while she was here. He wouldn’t have known Mitch, but who knows, he might have heard something.
“Also, if we could talk to a few other inmates—a Kanin Evans and a Jonathan Sawyer, for starters—that’d be great.”
“No problem. Follow me.”
After a couple hours of them talking to inmates, she didn’t feel they were much further ahead than when they started. Sawyer and some of the others turned out to be less than cooperative. Although it was apparent that Sawyer was still licking Mitch’s boots. On the other hand, Evans was released a few hours ago. So much for talking to Kanin about Mitch, but Olivia would be excited. Greensdale seemed a little surprised he hadn’t remembered reading and reviewing that paperwork in the preceding couple of days. The administrator, while friendly and helpful, was a bit distracted. Frankly, his cheerful, dandy personality and the coffee were the highlights of this trip so far.
When they finally got to the infirmary, Greensdale led them down some corridors to a secure, windowed room. He introduced them to the medic and excused himself briefly to the men’s room. There was a man whose face was entirely bandaged. They were led over to the open door where, in a smaller room, a masked nurse was giving a man intravenous fluids. He saw the detectives approaching as the administrator walked on. He quickly finished hanging up the IV, closed the door to the patient room behind him, and met them in the greater staging area.
“We’re here to speak to Denton. Is that Denton?” asked Hughs.
“Yes, it is, who’s asking?”
“Detectives Bennett and Hughs”
“One of the guards said that Denton mouthed off to the wrong guy and got his face rearranged—broken jaw, face burned, I think?” He shrugged and nodded towards the door. “Might have a concussion even. One of the interns already bandaged him, and I’m taking over now.”
“So how long ago was that?” asked Bennett as she slowly looked around.

“Couple hours ago or so?” He flipped a couple pages, looked around, and flipped back and replied. “Couple hours ago, it looks like.”

“So much for asking him any questions,” retorted Greg angrily.

“I mean, you can go look at him, but you’ll have to wait to talk to him ‘till he comes to.”  Shrugging, the nurse walked over to the computer desk and started typing. “Even if he wanted to talk—and I’m sure he doesn’t—he certainly can’t.”
Diana walked around the room, toward Denton’s window. She studied the figure there and tried to see everything there was to see. His hands and clothes were remarkably unmarred and unmarked for someone who just been fighting and got the tar beat out of them. There was no way all these things just happened to occur right before they got there. She felt Greg’s presence as he stood next to her and peered through the glass.  He pursed his lips and looked sideways at Bennett.

Good, it isn’t just me.
It was about that time that Greensdale joined them again. While still cheerful, his demeanor seemed like it had a slightly upset undercurrent in general to Diana. As though he were trying to act as if he wasn’t upset. He looked over at Denton and seemed to hold thinly veiled surprise.
“I suppose I wasn't expecting him to be this banged up,” commented Mr. Greensdale, “I am so sorry detectives, I didn’t mean to waste your time.”

“Not at all,” Bennett answered before Hughs could reply or retort. She glanced back at Denton and the nurse tending to him. “Can we use your phone before we’re shown out? Gotta let the Cap know that everything looks like it checks out.”
“Certainly. The Warden is unavailable at the moment if you have anything. But he might be able to be of assistance before you two skedaddle.” He opened the door for the three of them. Diana did notice that he kept stealing glances at her, and it seemed to happen more so now than when they first arrived. It wasn’t what she’d call obvious, but she noticed it because it’s what she did. Hmmm.

“Can we get a coffee on the way back up?” asked Greg.
“Well, the machine on the way back isn’t so bad,” the administrator sighed. “I mean, it’s not the Warden Smithwick’s, but it’s decent.”
They sipped coffee on the way back upstairs to the Warden and administrator offices. Greensdale was right, it was just decent coffee. It seemed like the longest walk back as Diana kept observing and taking mental notes and trying to sort what she’d already noticed. She looked forward to being able to jot down her notes away from what might be prying eyes. Hughs tried to make small talk with Greensdale. Current events, sports, and the like. They finally reached the offices, and Hughs started making some calls and getting things lined up for tomorrow.
Diana turned to Greensdale. “Keep it under wraps that we’ll be back tomorrow to see if we can get those bandages removed so we can talk to Mitch. He certainly didn't beat himself up.”
Lucan nodded and Diana elaborated. “Looks like we’ve just added to who we’re looking for, with all the weird admin inconsistencies and now this. I think someone is trying to pull a fast one and I don’t want to tip our hand.”
Greg walked back in the room, snickering to himself. With a wide grin, he motioned to Bennett. “HA! There’s no problem. The Cap said your mamma called, Detective Diana.” Hughs said with a chuckle. “She’s checking up on you, since this incident with Chris the other day.”
Greensdale’s mouth dropped open and he strode over and quietly shut the door to his office. He put his back to the window and faced them, eyes wide.

“Oh my god. Bennett. Diana. Bennett.”  He paused. “You’re the Diana Bennett. I’ve heard so much about—it’s such an honor to get to meet you. Even if it’s here.”
“What… what are you talking about?!” Diana puzzled. 
“My name is Lucas,” he quickly exchanged glances with both of them. His demeanor because less formal. “Lucas… I’m... Luke… Chris’… I’m Christopher Warner’s… his you know… friend.” Lucas bumbled awkwardly as his put-together demeanor sort of fractured.

Hughs and Bennett exchanged the same shocked glances.
“I—I’m worried. I haven’t heard… he hasn’t called… I… I’m sorry… I don’t know…”
Greg Hughs went pale; he also looked vaguely uncomfortable. But Lucas wasn’t looking at Greg, he was looking at Diana.
Jesus. Her eyes widened. They didn’t call him? Good god, he doesn't effing KNOW.

She could just imagine. Diana was so caught off-guard that her blue eyes misted up against her will. The look on her face said everything before she could stop it.
“No… Oh, please, no…” Lucas’ green eyes were now burning with tears. He gritted his teeth to breathe deep and stifle the shock and grief welling up in him. “I knew it. I knew something was wrong.”
Luke! Of course, they didn’t tell him. Why am I surprised? 

He’s not on their radar. He’s not the someone they tell when a person is murdered. They call guys’ girlfriends. Wives. Parents. Siblings. Family. But Chris had a boyfriend. Apparently, nobody called to tell his loved one. For Pete’s sake.
“I’m sorry, Lucas.” Diana hesitantly stepped closer to him. “I am so sorry—I didn’t know that was you,” she clenched her jaw and blinked angrily.

“Of course.” He paused, fighting a wave of angry grief. He bit his lip and paused for a moment to try again to regain his composure. Greg uneasily shifted again.
“I just got back from a family reunion, and there was no message from Chris.” He shot a look at both detectives. “We talk all the time. One way or another, Chris always calls.” Lucas’ voice cracked, fighting back tears and emotion. “I know about you because I’ve heard so much about you, Diana—he admired you so much.” His voice cracked, fumbling with what to do with his hands.
“Chris is literally why we’re here. That is what this is all about.” Diana gently grasped his hands in hers. “We will be coming back and we are *going* to get the guy that did this.”  Diana turned Lucas’ hand over put her card in it. “Please, call me if you remember anything that you think might help.”

“Okay.”  Lucas nodded. “I think for right now, I’m going home.” He walked over and opened the top drawer of his desk and handed Diana a card. “On second thought, my cousin’s. I’m not sure I want to be by myself right now. Call me if I am not here- you have my cell- and you may have whatever help I can give.”

He paused a moment. “Could you both walk out with me?”
“Yes,” volunteered Greg.
***

When they got in the confines of Greg’s car, the detectives hurriedly started chatting about what they’d independently found. They compared notes on what they had noticed that was weird at the penn: the inconsistencies in various records; weird things with the laundry; the infirmary; the chow hall. Nothing they could immediately connect the dots on. Except that some the authorizations were signed off by the administrator, when they knew he wasn’t onsite. And the timing for that debacle that landed “Mitch” in the infirmary was suspect. Neither of them thought that was Mitch. That wasn’t the look of someone who was trying to avoid a beating or one was beat and bandaged up. That was a body for passing a head count—they were both almost certain of it. But they’d need a court order to ensure everything was on the up and up on their end before moving forward.
Diana pulled out the mobile phone case from under the seat and plunked the magnetic antenna on the roof. Must have be a briefing going on, so she left a message about getting a head start of the paperwork for the court order.  For part of the way back they sat in relative silence, save for the faint tune of Top 40 radio. It felt like it was a longer drive on the way back to the precinct. They were both in their own thoughts when the silence was broken.
“That wasn’t right,” blurted Hughs.

“What wasn’t right?” replied Diana.

“I mean, I don’t know what I think about Chris and Lucas and all that, right? Lucas seems OK. Chris was a good guy. This feels—I mean, how did nobody call him? Lucas that is.”

Diana held her tongue. She could tell he was still ruminating on a train of thought.

”It’s bad enough people hear it from a complete stranger… but nothing at all, how is that okay?!” Hughs really felt like he was struggling for words.

Diana glanced over at Greg. “He didn’t have a girlfriend, or wife, nobody thought that maybe he’s got a loved one that isn’t one of those, that should be called.”

“You’d have thought that Chris’ family…?”

“Greg, what are the odds they’d have called if they did know?” Diana offered. “Maybe someone at the precinct didn’t think, or just didn’t.”
That was hard. They sat in such a heavy silence the rest of the way back. Things neither of them usually had any reason to think about. Until they did. They both felt a little guilty because they both knew—they all knew—Chris had a loved one. Didn’t they? You could hardly not know. Someone would call you—that is what usually happened. That’s just what is supposed to happen. Maybe next time they’d ask. This would be the last time there wasn’t a call.

When they got back to the precinct, and it was back to paperwork and briefings getting everyone up to speed on where they were at the moment. Everyone got the info needed to roll out the next day. The court orders would be in Hughs’ hot little hands in the morning and a few guys would be available to assist in the unexpected search of Mitch’s cell block and unwrapping of the mystery Mitch. Either it was a stooge or some poor sap who is doing it against his will. Maybe it was time for them to do a little swapping of their own.

It was late when Diana finally got back to her loft and got her board all sorted out and updated. Seemed like forever, she was adding notes and streams of thought into her work digest while it was still fresh in her mind, for later reference. She’d sent word for Vincent and was anxious for his arrival. Bennett was just hastily putting her thoughts about Chris and Lucas into her personal journal when she heard the familiar tapping on the loft window.

“What have you found?” asked Vincent. “Pascal and I were able to determine that the criminals we seek are all probably old friends of Mitch who were tunnel dwellers or helpers at one time.
It was Pascal who brought it to my attention that the code the criminals use is a crude form of what we had when he and I were boys.” Vincent had a nostalgic gleam in his eye for a brief moment.  “The form we use now is evolved from that original stock but changed to better suit our modern needs.”
Vincent furrowed his brow. “But why would former dwellers or helpers work for Mitch? Even if they moved on, why now?”
“Desperation? Some helpers are in abject poverty. Maybe he’s blackmailing them?” Diana commented. “How were you two able to hypothesize that they were Mitch’s friends?”
“Maybe. We help as much as we can. But as long as there is great wealth, there is great

poverty. Also, some lived below of necessity and resented needing to be below.”
“Did you ever resent it?”
Vincent paused. “Sometimes.” He looked out over the city. “I’ve seen it as a blessing. I’ve seen it feel like a curse. Now, I believe it simply exists and is, the rest is you.”

Diana walked inside the security of her loft with Vincent close behind. “Well, this is certainly an inside job—I can’t prove it yet, but I’m certain that Mitch has a body double on the inside, which is why nobody knows he’s gone.”
She’d almost forgotten. Diana spun around. “Vincent! I almost forgot—how is Olivia doing? Is she relieved and excited that Kanin is finally home?”

Vincent blinked and stared. “Olivia hasn’t heard from Kanin in over a week—usually, he writes weekly and his letter never arrived.”
“What? Greg and I both saw the early release papers in the computer and hard copies in the files.” Diana’s face fell. That was one of the things that had odd discrepancies. “So, he has not been here?”

“I swear to you, we have not seen him. Olivia was worried something was wrong when she didn’t hear from him. She came to Father and me.” Vincent paced back and forth. “The last letter she received, he was trying to 'lay low’ because he was so close to being released—I meant to ask for your help when you arrived home.”

“Well, that answers my questions with more questions.” 

 

 

Chapter 8

Beth

 

Diana rode to Sing Sing with Greg early the next morning. She had a suspicion of what they’d find when “Mitch Denton” was unwrapped, but she wanted to investigate all possibilities before moving forward. Greg thankfully made little conversation on the drive over, keeping his thoughts to himself while they sat in traffic. To his credit, Lucas Greensdale was there early as well- wan and looking for exhausted than Diana thought possible in a 13-hour span of time, but present. He quietly walked them to his office and closed the door behind them.

“I just want to thank you again for telling me about Chris yesterday,” His composure wavered for a moment, and he dropped his gaze and slid a hand through his hair. When he looked back up at them, his expression was set in grim determination. “I take it you want to talk to Mitch Denton as soon as possible.”

Diana nodded, “That’s our aim here.”

“Yes, well, I’m afraid the relief nurse never showed up for his shift this morning, so it may be a few hours before I can get a medical professional skilled enough to remove those bandages without causing further harm. Denton may be a convicted criminal, but everyone here deserves humane treatment.”

Greg covered his derisive snort with a cough, and Diana resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him. It was so obvious to her that Lucas was withdrawing behind this professional veneer as a way of compartmentalizing his grief.

“Let me be frank,” she said firmly, “There’s a very high likelihood that’s not Mitch Denton in your hospital wing, no matter what your records say.” 

She raised a hand to forestall Lucas, who had opened his mouth to interrupt. “No defensive wounds on his hands, a positive ID of him several days ago in the Bronx, and a strong correlation between the robbery locations and his known childhood haunts.” She felt Greg’s confused stare but kept her own eyes on Lucas.

Lucas’ expression got darker. “You’re implying a prisoner at Sing Sing just walked out without anyone stopping him, without leaving a paperwork trail, without guards even noticing?”

Diana chose not to mention that it had happened before, that a psychotic serial killer with a penchant for killing families had walked free of Sing Sing not too far in the past. That would be a low blow for a man in grieving, whose most heinous offense was a less-than-ideal focus on paperwork. Instead, she shrugged again. “Then let’s go prove me wrong.”

Lucas stood and, with a frosty glance at both of them, walked to the hospital wing.

“So, does the relief nurse often run late?” Greg’s tone was casual, but the tension in his shoulders and clipped pace told Diana he had the same suspicions she did. The 210 attracted unusually observant detectives, and he was no exception.

Lucas let out a tight breath. “No. As far as I know, he’s always been very professional.”

As they stepped into the hospital wing, the monitor of Denton’s vital signs sent hypnotic soft pings along his heartbeat. Diana didn’t hesitate in stepping to the beside of the bandaged man, though both Lucas and Greg slowed as they got closer. For good measure, she picked up and inspected his knuckles again. No bruising, no contusions, no lacerations. She motioned at the IV drop in his arm.

“Any idea what that is?”

As Lucas bent to retrieve the patient clipboard, she swiftly slid a hunk of bandage up. The skin below was unmarred, though chapped and pale. Greg stepped to the side, more effectively blocking Lucas’ view of the bed, as Diana shoved another section of bandage up, trading gentleness with efficiency.

“Hey!” Lucas stepped forward to stop Diana. She didn’t need to remove them all for the three to see clearly that the man in the hospital bed was definitely not Mitch Denton. Greg made a small noise of triumph, no doubt relieved that his positive ID of Denton in the surveillance footage was accurate. But Diana felt her stomach sink. The man in the bed was Kanin Evans.

“On second thought, better get that medical professional in here after all, and find out what kind of induced coma this man has been put into. And how to safely bring him out of it.”

Lucas, paler than ever and twitching with shock, rage, or perhaps both, nodded curtly.

 

As they walked to the car, Greg was practically bouncing. He had a few choice words about Denton and his miraculous disappearing act, none of which any cop would say to their mother. He sounded like a kid at Christmas.

“OK, OK,” she said, just to calm him down, “So it was Denton in the footage. That explains the robberies, but what about Chris? We still don’t understand why he was murdered.”

Greg had the grace to look a little bit ashamed as he climbed into the driver’s side of his car. “Sorry, Bennet. Maybe Chris saw something he shouldn’t? Something that would’ve axed Denton’s steady little crime gig?”

Diana didn’t reply but crawled into her head as they drove back to the precinct. She wanted to stick to Occam’s Razor. Deton certainly had the means and opportunity--every Central Park jogger was a target for something. And he could’ve hidden in, and escaped through, the tunnels after shooting Chris. But the motive was still murky. And Chris was a cop--he wouldn’t have willingly gone down on his knees at the sight of a gun-waving small-time crook. No matter how small fry Denton was, he had to have known that killing a cop would bring down a hail of NYPD on him. He’d been clever in covering his escape, leaving a tangle of question marks here at Sing Sing that Lucas was going to have to unravel. Given the mysterious disappearance of his relief nurse and his assistant, Diana, was certain there’d be a trail of breadcrumbs leading straight to Denton… wherever he was.

 

Vincent tapped softly on the glass of Diana’s loft apartment. She was in soft pants and an oversized sweater, as usual, staring fixedly at a corkboard with string, tacked-up notes, and grainy video stills. She startled at his second knock, whirling to face him. With a wry smirk, she walked over and let him in.

“Sorry, Vincent--this one’s been nagging at me.”

Vincent smiled sadly at her. He supposed her brief vacation in the tunnels might be the only break from work she ever allowed herself to take. “I was coming to check on your progress with things. How can I help?”

Diana sighed. “It went as we thought. Mitch Denton isn’t in Sing Sing. In fact, he left a body double- Kanin Evans, in some kind of medical coma.”

Vincent couldn’t hide his surprise. “Kanin? Is he OK?”

“They think so. It’s been a game of telephone all day between the office and the prison. Last I heard, they’re bringing Kanin out of it slowly and safely, and he’ll be questioned about his role in all of this tomorrow. Then released by Saturday.”

“Surely you don’t think…”

“No, and I don’t think anyone else believes it, either. A man who’s been a model prisoner, about to get out, he lets himself go through that? But we’ve got to dot the i’s and all that.”

Vincent nodded. “Olivia will be relieved to hear he’s all right and coming home soon.”

Diana nodded. “I almost wish he was involved, just so we could better understand Denton.”

Vincent watched her in silence for a moment, her focus making her forehead tighten, and her lips purse ever so slightly. Her intensity could be unnerving, but he never doubted her compassion or her loyalty. Still, part of him wanted to smooth a hand over her brow and relax the muscles there, to massage that tension from her shoulders, to see her happy and entirely present in the current moment. Inwardly, he shook his head at himself. Here the tunnel community was under threat again, this time from one of their own, and he was considering fanciful moments with Diana. Maybe he needed a vacation, as well.

Oblivious to the regard of the man beside her, Diana tugged on her ponytail.

“How he’s getting the goods is obvious. In fact, we could probably narrow down his next target to one of these three areas where there are tunnel entrances near electronics storage warehouses. We could catch him in the act, except….”

“Except the officers would find the tunnels and search them, looking for further evidence of Mitch’s misdeeds. And find us.”

Diana turned her wry smile on him. “I don’t suppose you could construct any of those decoy, fake walls… or, hell, real ones… in the next 12 hours or so?”

Vincent’s chuckle rumbled like a purr. “Only if we allowed Mouse near explosives. Never again.”

“So the tunnels are out. And so is setting up an ambush inside those warehouses. There isn’t a decent place to hide in those concrete boxes, and the best we’d get him for is a B&E if we can’t catch him moving the goods off-site. Plus, Tigger, er, Chris.”

Vincent reached over and squeezed her shoulder gently. Diana’s answering smile was tinged with sadness. Normally, it was her world that was a threat to his, not a product of his world becoming a threat to hers. 

He was too wise to try to fix it—the actions of Mitch Denton were laid squarely on the shoulders of Mitch Denton—but he would’ve done much to see her smile be full of the sass and conviction he admired about her.

Diana’s gaze unfocused as she crawled inside the mind and motives of a criminal Vincent barely remembered as a boy. Softly, she started mapping his life.

“I grew up eight years in the tunnels, but I deserved better. Got into small crimes as a teenager, theft, misdemeanors, petty stuff. Got the attention of some bigger fish. I was a runner, then an enforcer, but I wanted to be more. Always trying for those connections. I killed to get what I deserved. Got hung out to dry for it. Did time, made allies. Maybe a network, inside and out of it, despite the Family washing their hands of me. I’m smarter than everyone, enough to cover my escape and start making cash again. I find a fence for electronics, use the tunnels to move the goods- they betrayed me, so now I betray them. I want them to be found, broken up. I know they won’t hurt me to stop me. I use their own system against them, clearing my path, coordinating with my allies….”

Her eyes snapped up to Vincent, nearly luminescent in their intensity.

“Who was there when you were boys together?”

Vincent sighed softly. “It was a long time ago, Diana. Me, Devin. Pascal, of course. Mitch. Rennie, Joel, and Ike. Others came and went. I’ve thought about it, but…” Vincent shrugged, helpless to provide more details. He’d led a very full life, despite it being confined underground, and he couldn’t possibly hold onto every memory.

“So, where are they these days?”

Vincent had to cast his mind back to the many conversations he’d had with Father, who always seemed to pick up news and gossip along the Helpers network. Many had left them and gone on to lead lives varying in purpose and happiness. Some came back, more broken. Some joined the Helpers network, to keep ties with loved ones below. A few never braved the world above.

“Ike passed away in his early twenties. A drunk driving accident, I believe.” Too young, he thought, far too young.

Diana was writing Rennie and Joel on her corkboard.

“Those… I’m sorry, Diana, I don’t know.”

“Would Father?”

Vincent chuckled “It seems, the older he gets, the more he knows everything. If he doesn’t know what became of them, he’ll know who to ask about it.”

Diana was already slipping on her tennis shoes and an oversized coat. “Vincent, I know it’s late, but will you take me Below tonight? The sooner we catch Denton, the safer everyone’ll be.”

“Of course.”

Chapter 9

Rusty Hough Bader

 

Diana locked up her apartment and followed Vincent to the Tunnels. As their feet moved in perfect time together, Diana had another one of those thoughts about couples. The phone call she received that Kanin snapped out of the induced haze with the right amount of medical attention was a source of satisfaction. He was stiff and sore, but once the prison cameras confirmed the misdeed, he was carried by ambulance to St. Vincent Medical Center and registered under ‘Keith Chandler.’  

What a comfort to know that whatever peril overwhelmed them, that Kanin and Olivia were loved and supported by their community. That’s what the Tunnels were all about.

As moisture dripped from pipes and mice scurried in the shadows, Vincent reached out to Diana’s shoulder and stopped. “You are thinking loudly tonight. Perhaps when we get this next task out of the way, you’ll catch your remaining vacation and truly come down for more than forty-eight hours?”

The way Vincent ‘planted’ ideas in her hard head was priceless. Did he do this to everyone? “That’s a whale of an idea. I could bring down the fabric ends, and the ladies could help be perforate my fingertips while we quilt.” She waited for his reply, he knew she was a horrible seamstress and a worse quilter.

He tilted his head closer to her and shook it, his indigo eyes shining with good humor. “Or, you bring another crate of fresh fruit and vegetables, a case of lemons for lemonade and you can make the lemonade while Mary and her quilting circle complete the job.” His booted foot stepped out to resume their walk when Mouse skirted the wall and came up in front of Vincent, his finger to his lips.

Mouse produced a rolled note. “Mitch has gathered a crew from the men’s shelter. The trucks are leaving from 30th street and First Avenue, near the men’s shelter one in the morning. Jamie has gone above to leave a message on Joe’s answering machine.”

Diana’s stricken look registered with Vincent. With this current ‘all hands on deck,’ Jamie was going to get Joe on the phone. Diana shook her head, withdrew her pen, and wrote. ‘Get me to Jamie.’

With an athletic sprint, Diana got above to find Jamie slinking back sadly toward the Tunnel opening. Diana ran to her and caught Jamie’s face in both hands. “Did Joe grill you?”

Jamie shrugged and shook her head. “When he answered his phone, I froze.”

“And?” Diana shuffled from foot to foot, waving to speed up Jamie’s response.

“When I breathed a little too much, Mr. Maxwell asked me if I was one of Catherine’s friends. I didn’t say yes or no, but then he asked, ‘Do you know anything about the murder case I’m working on with Diana Bennett?’ I mumbled, didn’t really give him an answer.” Diana wiped anxiously at her face. “But I said, Mitch… trucks loading at 30th street and First Avenue, by one in the morning.” Jamie’s face blushed bright red. “I don’t think he traced the call, I used the phone near the Metropolitan Museum.” Jamie looked around the park and caught Diana’s hand to run them toward the access at Belvedere Castle.

Before Jamie could drag Diana below, she raised a halting hand. “Jamie, let Vincent know, I’ve had to stay up top. Please have him talk to Olivia. I’ll be below as soon as possible.”

Diana took the subway stairs two at a time, wary of every pair of eyes on her. By the time she came up the steps and around the corner, Greg stood at a cruiser strapping on gear. “Bennett, when I think of you, I think of a Dali painting. You’re here, you’re there, you just pop up. We got the word…The men’s shelter.”

“The men’s shelter….” The two of them spoke at the same time.

Joe Maxwell assembled the plainclothes officers dressed like produce deliverymen. “We’re advancing on Denton dressed as the food pantry delivery at midnight. Intel has them bringing goods up and out through the shelter loading dock. DeRosa and Sons Produce has loaned us a truck. We’ll back up, block them in, and let the party commence.”

Hiding her wealth of red hair under a chunky rib knit hat, Diana layered a flannel shirt over her vest. She made every attempt to bulk up and look as masculine as possible. Mitch was ruthless, just ruthless enough to hold a gun to her head and force her brothers in blue to bargain with him. Mitch could pound sand.

Diana checked her weapon, added additional clips to her belt, and climbed into the truck. If only cell phones were smaller. If only Vincent had one. If only, if only, if only.

As the produce truck hunkered in traffic, an uncommon sound overshadowed their tense breathing. Joe looked up and out the driver’s side window. “Helicopter, imagine that at this hour.”

Greg rolled down his window and gawked at the Bell Helicopter, gliding over them. “Awe, just what we need – they’ll get antsy thinking we’re after them.” Greg shook his head at their fourth member as Diana sat in the truck's jump seat moving her pocket rosary as she said her prayers. She prayer for Kanin and Olivia, Vincent and his subterranean family, and mostly, that Mitch would be handled with force necessary to keep him incarcerated.  

Before Joe turned the corner, a second helicopter approached from the other direction. They appeared to hover and then one broke out ahead, in the direction of the men’s shelter.

With the loading dock in sight, Joe pulled over and turned out the headlights as both helicopters hovered. Six black Chevy Tahoes screamed around the corners and converged on Mitch’s crew. It could have been a broadway production with all the coordinated lights and sounds. “This is the FBI Joint Task Force on interstate crime. Drop your weapons. Hands up. Lay on the ground.”

One of the smaller thieves shoved a handgun deeper into his jeans and bolted back into the shelter. Within seconds two combat suited FBI Agents escorted the man down to the street.

Mitch glowered as he wrapped an arm around one of his crew. The kid was barely eighteen from the scruffy hair on the boy’s chin. “These guys can do time, but I’m not rolling over.” He dragged the boy back into the shelter offices, and a throng of agents followed.

“How did this happen?” Joe threw up a hand. “I thought I had four people… and it’s suddenly training day.” The four climbed out of the produce truck and crept toward agents. As the swarm of criminals got rounded up by the mass of agents, Joe flashed his credentials at the agent in charge. Diana smiled at the athletic, dark-haired woman nodding and talking with Joe as she issued hand gestures as directions to her team.

***

Mitch tossed the kid to the sidewalk as he kicked open the hatch and dropped into the Tunnels. Leave it to the damn Helpers Catherine gathered. Vincent’s ‘Catherine’ may be gone, but all those do-gooders still kept their eyes open for him. Like he was their special project. He knew he was close to the East River Esplanade. All he had to do was run along the scaffolding over the water pipes. With this weather this season, the current beneath him was fierce. Stay on the grates. And when he got to his destination, there would be some rowboats there, he could cut and run and hide in Brooklyn.

As Mitch wrestled the latch on the metal door, he felt he was not alone. The echo was familiar. The rustling of a leather cloak, the near silence of soft leather-soled boots and the gentle vibration of his greatest adversary’s breathing.

Vincent's velvet fog of a voice implored. “Mitch.”

The criminal walked to the intersection of two scaffolds, the better to escape. “Don’t you have a kid to take care of? Why do you always have to butt into everyone else’s business?” Mitch’s brows drew to an affronted frown.

Vincent’s cape brushing the scaffolding as he took slow strides toward Mitch. “Don’t you believe that as a parent, I owe my son the example of being a law-abiding citizen?”

Mitch hunkered, goading Vincent to charge him in the hopes he could get his weight under Vincent to toss him over the scaffolding railings into the rushing waters emptying into the East River.

“Oh, Jeeze. Give it up. What’s it to you if I leave town?”

“Fortunately, Kanin will have a full recovery and be home within the week. However, there have been deaths surrounding your escapades. You need to be handed over to the authorities.”

Mitch audaciously stepped right outside of Vincent’s reach and postured. “So now, you’re too good to be the enforcer. Are you going to be the one to escort me back to Jose Maxwell?” Mitch broke into posturing and pumping his fists at Vincent, looking for his leonine friend’s switch.

“Mitch, As long as people use violence to combat violence, we will always have violence. I’m going to step aside, I will follow you back to where Joe and Diana are waiting.” Vincent held out his clawed hand and moved to give Mitch space to pass.

Mitch built a head of steam and head down charged Vincent. With his customary grace, Vincent leapt to the railing and pulled himself up to the next level of scaffolding. Jumping and swinging at Vincent’s cape, Mitch’s foot rolled, and gravity did its job.

Holding on to the tail of Vincent’s cape, Mitch bellowed. “Are you gonna let me die, pull me up!”

Vincent peered down as Mitch grabbed for the scaffolding. The combined weight of the two men caused the scaffolding to sway. Vincent bent at the knees and steadied himself. The new from his vantage point was damning. The water rushed over coarse boulders as it undulated on its circuitous route to the East River. “Stay still, but hold on, we have to stop the platform’s swaying.”

“That’s easy for you, cat man.” The stress and strain in Mitch’s bravado showed.

“I’m going to step down to the platform, can you grab anything solid?” Vincent asked as he prepared to lower himself. “When I drop down, you will be too far to grab something. Find something, Mitch. Help me help you.”

There was cussing, and curses and Vincent watched as Mitch’s cramping fingers slipped from his cape. In the quiet silent seconds before Mitch’s screams echoed, Vincent closed his eyes, and every interaction with Mitch played in double time. Vincent stood paralyzed between the railing and the platform. If he could turn off the switch on that projector, he would. All Vincent could do was close his eyes as he dropped to the platform. Mitch was gone.

***

The diner around the corner from the shelter was shoulder to shoulder, tight with agents and NYPD. Diana sat in a booth with two other agents, going through the motions of the blue line comradery. Tonight was different. She knew Mitch’s ruthlessness. She knew the Tunnel’s vulnerability.

The agent in charge of the raid swirled sugar into her china mug. “My Cousin Chris was livid about this Mitch character. Once we pulled the crimes, we saw this was a job for us. I feel like such a failure, getting everyone but him.” Diana nodded mutely as she saw Mouse standing outside the diner, raising his brows and jerking his head around the corner.

“Would you excuse me for just a second?” Diana peeled two dollars out of her pocket and left the packed diner before anyone could miss her.

Mouse scooted around the corner and cautiously looked around before he spoke. “Vincent is home. He sent me. William is making him tea and even a brownie. Vincent is upset about Mitch and the water.”

“Mitch and the water? What happened?” Diana held out a buttered biscuit in a paper napkin.

“For Arthur or Mouse?” The young man’s eyes lit up at the warm flaky treat.

“You tell me what happened, and I’ll bring a sack of them back to you.” Diana leaned against the building wall.

“Mitch came after Vincent. Vincent jumped. Mitch fell. Lots of sharp rocks and angry current. Mitch is gone.”

Diana sought Mouse’s gaze. “Dead gone?”

Mouse nodded silently as he pinched off the first bite of biscuit. “If you bring more of these.” He held up the biscuit. “Bring more butter, please?”

Diana covered her face with both hands for a second. She promised she’d be down by tomorrow evening and returned to her brothers and sisters in blue.

***

Before Vincent could make his way to Diana’s roof, she unplugged her telephone, set the lights on timers, and hefted her backpack over her shoulder. She was taking three days to absolutely nothing but let Vincent read to her under the falls. Temptation nearly had the best of her as she walked to Lin’s Asian restaurant for three orders of steamed dumplings, pork spareribs and shrimp toast.  If she bribed the right people, they would keep it a secret for the first day and she’d get to play chess with Father without distractions.

Carefully climbing down the ladder to the Tunnel world Diana’s breath hitched when two strong hands caught her around the waist and dropped her several ladder rungs to the packed earth.

“Do I smell a victory dinner?” Vincent gestured to carry the shopping bag of delicacies.

“Yes, you do. In exchange for three days of peace and quiet.” His smile was sublime as his lips curled, and his blue eyes joined in the celebration.

Walking beside him. Talking about things as simple as the fattest steamed dumplings. This was exactly what she needed.

 

*****