the near side to accommodate a glazed door, and on the far side to accommodate the corner of the huge main chimney. Inside the structure was a large, flat-topped skylight leading via wooden ducting to the six bedrooms below. Above the structure was the peak of the main roof, with glazed skylights that corresponded to glazed areas in the peaked roof of the little house. There was little, if any, room inside the little place for anything but a narrow foot purchase for somebody who might clean the glass.
“What the hell do you call this?” I asked Hester.
She looked at it for a few seconds. “Thingy, I think,” she said.
“Nobody inside,” I said, looking through the window on my side of the structure. I could see Hester through the glass, on the other side.
“Right.”
On the opposite side of the newly identified “thingy” was a room that ran uninterrupted the full length of the house, about a hundred feet, and was some eighteen feet wide. We entered swiftly, me first this time, and Hester right behind, going left and hitting the light switch. After a moment's flickering, the fluorescent lights came to life.
It was a dance studio with a polished wooden floor, and a multiple-mirrored interior wall. A wooden rail in front of the mirrors, attached with large brass fittings, and large stereo outfit at the near end, with some folding chairs, a bench, and a clock on the wall at the far end. Suspended fluorescent lights in standard gray shades. Austere. I took it in in about two seconds. Nobody there, nor could there be without being seen immediately.
“She takes her dancing seriously,” said Hester.
The security sweep completed, we holstered our weapons and got to work looking for evidence.
“She's got to pay for those cars somehow,” I said.
Hester shook her head. “Not by dancing.”
We took our time, and did a very thorough search, beginning with photographing both rooms. Then the place was divided up among us, working in teams of two. Grothler and I got the “living area,” which was fine with us. It was all so neat and organized, and so modern in contrast to the rest of the house, there wasn't much of a place to conceal anything. Nooks and crannies were at a premium, thank God. That's why, I guess, I found myself photographing the bookshelf, and then looking behind the books. Well, you could hide things back there.
There were some interesting books, so interesting that I got my zoom lens out of my camera bag, and used it to photograph readable sections of the shelves.
Gray's Anatomy, Chaos by Gleick, and Hawking's A Brief History of Time were books I had at home, and lent a familiar aspect to the shelf. Then, though, there were several volumes that I'd never heard of. First, Treatise on Vampires and Revenants: The Phantom World, apparently translated by one Harry Christmas. I sure didn't have that one at home. Neither did I have Death, Burial, and the Individual in Early Modern England by Clare Gittings, although I have to admit it did look interesting. The Vampire: His Kith and Kin by Montague Summers, struck me as sounding like good reading for a stormy night. Reflections on Dracula and Shade and Shadow by Dr. Elizabeth Miller looked to be the sort of thing I'd pick up for myself. I was beginning to think I'd found the source for Toby's vampire tale.
There was a very nice photo volume entitled High-gate Cemetery, Victorian Valhalla, photographed by John Gay and introduced by Felix Barker. I opened it up, and thumbed through the black and white photos of the famous cemetery in London. As I did, a slip of notepaper fell out. On it was written “Beware David R. Farrant, British Occult Society,” with “Egyptian Avenue amp; the Circle of Lebanon,” written at a slant, and the whole thing had a smiley face under it with the word “Isadora.” On the open page was a smaller version of the huge photo on the wall. I checked in the list of photos in the back of the book, and discovered that the Circle of Lebanon was a wheel of crypts in Highgate Cemetery in London. Strange. I copied the note onto my log sheet, along with the name of the book, and Isadora. Just for future reference.
Beside the cemetery book was one entitled The London Nobody Knows by Geoffrey Fletcher. Next to it was London Under London, A Subterranean Guide by Trench and Hillman. Two books I thought I'd like to read.
The Oxford Dictionary of the English Language dominated a shelf all by itself. I'd heard of it, but never actually seen one. It was the really cool edition, the one that came with the magnifying glass. I thought it looked out of place in such a modern room, and should have been in the library downstairs, with the mahogany table and the five-foot wainscoting.
The last shelf contained a series of almanacs, woodworking guides, a carpenter's handbook, and The Joy of Sex. I smiled to myself, because their shelf order made me think of splinters in unusual places.
There was nothing behind the books or behind the shelf. I went back toward the center of the room, and cleared my throat. Hester turned her head toward me. “I know what that's a photo of,” I said, pointing to the wall.
“Really?”
“Highgate Cemetery, London. It's crypts. In a circle, pretty old.”
“Ah.” Not as much reaction as I'd hoped.
“Check this,” she said. She drew my attention to the built-in wardrobe closet. Lots of stuff, much of it women's clothes. Some Victorian-looking stuff, brocaded and velvety, in deep reds, blues, and greens, with lots of lace at the neck and cuff. Pretty. Some men's clothing, as well. Looked to be for somebody about six feet, slender build. Big-sleeved shirts, laced-at-the-v-neck kind of stuff. Mostly white and off white. Black trousers, and one formal set of tails. Really nice. With them on the hangers were blue jeans, sweaters, sweatshirts, and sweatpants.
On the floor of the wardrobe were several kinds of footwear, including Wellington boots, laced Victorian women's high-topped shoes, and men's and women's tennis shoes.
On a series of little pegs on the inside of the door were hanging several pairs of black velvet restraints, black velvet blindfolds, and a brown leather switch with a tasseled end.
“Little something for everybody,” said Hester.
“Not quite,” I said. “No cookies.”
Between both teams we eventually found only three groups of items of particular interest, which were photographed in place, and then taken as evidence.
The first interesting little group was discovered by Hester, in the wastebasket in the kitchen area. A fairly large pile of stripped casings from a variety of rechargeable lithium batteries, the kind that are used in cameras, video cameras, flashlights, that sort of thing. The metallic cases were split, and folded back. A bunch of packaging material, that had obviously contained the shrink-wrapped batteries. Also in the white garbage sack inside the wastebasket were about ten empty packages of Sudafed cold medications. Nothing more.
“Look at this stuff,” said Hester. “I believe we have a tweaker.”
Both Grothler and Chris Barnes were on the battery casings like a pair of hounds.
“Yep,” said Grothler. “Took the lithium strips out. You bet.”
“Nazi formula,” said Barnes. “Watch for anything that looks like ether. Needs anhydrous ammonia, too, but it's probably stored remotely.”
What they were referring to was the formula for methamphetamine developed by the Germans in WWII. Speed. The allies developed their own methods, too, but needed central manufacture. Used as a way to keep soldiers awake and alert for extended periods, the so-called Nazi method involved ephedrine, lithium, and assorted other elements, cooked using ether and anhydrous ammonia. It was quick, effective, and made small amounts that were ready for use. The Germans apparently needed their troops to be rather more self-sufficient in the face of Allied interdiction of supply lines, I guess. The mixtures were both chemically dangerous and quite explosive. No particular problem for soldiers in the ffeld. In your house, though, you could easily blow yourself up, or burn your house down.
At any rate, you sure didn't have to be a soldier to use the stuff.
Hester, who'd continued to search that area while the discussion was taking place, held up a small glass bottle. A brownish crystalline substance was inside.
“Bingo.” She held it up to the light. “I'd say meth, all right. Crystal meth.”
The question quickly came down to just who the tweaker was. This elusive Peel dude? Jessica? Or maybe Edie, who had, after all, possessed a key to the third floor?
The second item discovered was a black steel filing box containing nine VHS videotapes. They weren't labeled, but were numbered one through nine, neatly, with numerical stickers in the left corner. A glance showed
