They reached Benjamin Turner’s place. He opened the doorwearing a silk smoking jacket, seemingly surprised to see them.
“Where is she?” Andre demanded.
“What? Who?”
“Cheyenne!”
Birmingham stepped in behind him. “Mr. Turner, we need toask you a few questions, and we need your help—”
Andre didn’t hear any more. He walked past the foyer withits reception area and desk and into the room where he had so recently sat withTurner and Cheyenne. He burst into the studio, returned to the parlor, andlooked down the hallway at the closed doors of other rooms.
Behind him, he heard Turner telling Birmingham that he wasfree to search—everywhere.
And they did. Quickly. From the basement to the attic.
Everywhere.
And it was while Andre stood in the parlor, frustrated, thatsomething struck him.
A memory. Recollection of a conversation.
He turned to Benjamin Turner.
“Do you have that footage you mentioned?”
“Of course, I was just watching it.”
“Did the architect have the original plans? Are they on thevideo at all?”
“I—I’ll bring it up and see,” Turner said.
He walked into his studio to do so. They followed.
On screen, the architect was a lean man in his thirties,eager to be interviewed on-air for one of Benjamin’s popular bits of historyand culture.
He talked about his feelings regarding the construction ofsuch a blatantly modern building in the middle of so much history.
And yet, the world moved on. Land was for the living. Still,while he shouldn’t be sharing what he was sharing…
The construction was done. And everyone knew Highgate wasspooky as all hell already.
He did have the plans. They were right there on the screen.
Andre took a step forward and pointed. “Stop! Freeze frameand print. Can you?”
“Oh, aye, easy enough!” Turner told him.
In seconds, Andre had several pages of original plans.
And blueprints of the buildings as they stood now.
His “thank you” was brief.
In a minute, he was back out the door, impatientlyremembering that Birmingham had driven, and he had to wait for him.
Thankfully, the inspector was right behind him.
“To the bloody apartments. We’re going to find her, myfriend. We’re going to find her. And have faith. She’s trained. She…”
“She’s unarmed. And she was knocked out,” Andre said, staringahead.
“We have the plans—”
“You didn’t know anything about these unauthorizedcatacombs?” Andre asked.
“Oh, good God, every damned tree in England was a hangingtree! Every parking lot covers a grave. Good Lord, man, if I’d known…”
“We’ll find her,” Andre said, determined. Then he turned toBirmingham and added, “We’ll find her, and we’ll stop him. Because I know now.”
“You know—”
“I know who the killer is.”
Chapter 12
Cheyenne remembered. She remembered it all.
Everything that had led to her being here, hanging by herwrists, her arms shooting out agonizing lightning bolts of pain, her head asheavy as an anvil.
But that was nothing.
Cheyenne had found Edith Greenbriar.
Edith Greenbriar was hanging by her ankles next to her.
Drip. Drip.
And yet…
She strained to see in the poor light that filtered throughthe catacombs. Somewhere, someone had a lantern set up, or a powerfulflashlight turned on. Not in the immediate area, but somewhere near.
The catacombs must stretch on. England had a long history. Alot of people had died throughout the centuries, most without even the smallamount needed for a decent burial or interment when Highgate first opened.
Think!
Yes, she had found Edith Greenbriar. And while the woman’slifeblood was drip, drip, dripping from her body, there was a slim chance thatshe was still alive.
And in need of saving.
Cheyenne needed to be saved herself.
Andre would figure it out—as she had figured itout. She had faith in him, as he had in her.
That night…
She had been a little too late. And she might be wrong.
But she wasn’t.
Inspector Birmingham had played a trick on them when theyfirst arrived. He’d pretended to be a tour guide so he could observe them.
But he surely hadn’t made that public knowledge.
Michael Adair had known. He had been part of the prank.
But Clark Brighton shouldn’t have had any reason to know.And, that night, he had laughed at the table about Inspector Birmingham being agreat tour guide.
He knew…because he had followed them.
He’d been so helpful…
Telling them about the way the earth was moaning, knowing thatmost people would think him a madman, a so-called wiseman, a New Age priest!
He’d followed them back, and he’d known they’d be searching.And then he’d stayed behind and bided his time. Until now…
Cheyenne looked up. The ties holding her were rope. If shecould just get one hand free…
She would rip the hell out of her wrist.
Better that than being hung up like a stuck pig.
She began working at the knots, remembering the littlependant William Smith, good Father Faith, had given her.
It hung around her neck.
Concentrate, concentrate, concentrate…
The pain was almost unbearable, but finally…
The blood helped. She slipped her right wrist free andripped the pendant from around her throat.
Then she used the tiny, razor-sharp blade to free her leftwrist.
She felt herself falling to the floor. Her breath caught,but she moved quickly to right herself, lest the fall alert her captor to thefact that she was free.
Maybe he was already gone. She doubted it. He’d be back tosee if Edith Greenbriar was dead yet and ready to be set out somewhere on thelane, possibly near a jack-o-lantern or some other Halloween decoration.
A macabre display encouraging the legend of the Highgatevampire.
It wasn’t going to happen. She wouldn’t let it happen.
Edith was strung high by her ankles, causing the blood todrip, drip, drip slowly from the puncture wounds—the fang marks—on her neck.She was unconscious, but she seemed to be alive.
Barely.
Cheyenne had to get her down swiftly.
The hook that held Edith’s bindings was high. Cheyennewouldn’t be able to reach the ropes without help.
She winced, seeing the edge of a broken coffin on a lowshelf, halfway lying on the floor.
She hurried to it and, with painstaking care, edged it overto where she could stand on it.
The lid was partly rotted, and she could see the cadaverousface of the coffin’s occupant inside, skin stretched tight over bone in agrisly mask.
She looked away and carefully tested her weight.
The edges seemed mostly solid.
