With a safecracker’s touch, Sanchez gently tried the doorknob to the bottom apartment. It was unlocked. This alone made him start to sweat. It would only be unlocked if someone left it that way…if Miranda wanted it that way. He slid his weapon from his waist and using his free hand, edged the door open with the slightest pressure. Being an old home it was hard to distinguish between age and a set-up when it came to the ease of antique wood. Although there was tension in the movement, he didn’t feel any type of hitch that made the choice seem wrong. Opening it just enough to see the light inside, his eyes searched everywhere he could see for any type of trip wire or trap in the vicinity. Feeling as secure as possible, he entered the apartment.
He stood in a large open room, a room that was probably once dedicated as the grand ballroom in this once exquisite mansion. From where he stood, Sanchez saw a light coming from the back of the apartment. He methodically made his way toward it.
Stepping carefully into the kitchen, he found an envelope sitting on a chair situated below a lone light bulb. Opening it, he slid out the linen stationary and read what was written.
I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen:
A chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.
Sanchez shook his head in confusion, pocketed the note, and checked out the rest of the apartment before heading up to the second floor.
65
As Fletcher made his way to the second floor, he went through a similar process as Sanchez, checking the apartment door. His was locked, but proved not to be an issue as he picked it quickly. Opening the door, the entire apartment was lit up as if the old-time residents were expecting party guests to arrive. The area looked far more like an art gallery than an apartment. Lined up on easels in the main room were 14x17 photos of Miranda’s wedding to Vincent Ash.
Each photo had been altered. Red streaks had been painted running down Miranda’s face, and what looked like a bullet hole was painted smack dab in the middle of Vincent’s forehead. If that wasn’t macabre enough, Miranda had glued a picture of one Midwest Mauler victim to each one of the photos. She staged the girls so they were standing on the opposite side of Vincent, giving the impression that the three of them were entering wedded bliss.
She is crazier than I thought possible.
Fletcher moved on and checked every room in the apartment. When he reached the bedroom, he found an envelope propped up against the pillow. Opening it, he read its contents.
And the gates of this chapel were shut,
And “Thou shalt not” writ over the door;
So I turned to the Garden of Love,
That so many sweet flowers bore.
“Every time I think this case can’t get any stranger, it does,” he mouthed.
He opened his mic and spoke to Sin, “She definitely knows we’re coming. She left some sort of clue, a poem it looks like, in this apartment. But I have no idea what the fuck she’s saying.”
“She did the same thing on the first floor,” Sanchez added.
Sin had cased the third floor apartment and had already discovered an envelope by the time she received Fletcher’s message. She re-read the note and pocketed it, knowing exactly what the other two had found.
“Nothing has changed,” she said. “We follow our plan. Our primary goal is to save the girl. As far as Miranda goes, we play the hand we’re dealt.”
She exited the apartment and soon teamed up with Sanchez and Fletcher. Using hand signals, she gave the final orders.
She would enter first, Sanchez would flank her, and Fletcher would have her back.
With a simple nod, she pulled back the hammer on her pearl-handled .45, and began the short walk to the fourth floor. On the top floor, she found two doors. One on the left, which would have faced the front of the house; and one on the right, the one where they assumed Miranda would be.
She motioned Fletcher to the left. He would clear the room before she entered the apartment. He quickly disposed of the locked door, entered, and was back in minutes. A simple shaking of his head told Sin the room was clear.
Sin thought about knocking and announcing their presence, as official protocol required, but she remembered what happened when Charlie had done the same thing forty-three years earlier. Instead, she tried the door.
Unlocked.
She eased it open, hugging the doorframe as she ducked low behind the adjacent wall. Sanchez hugged the other side of the doorframe and Fletcher hung back, a couple steps down.
“The place just went dark,” Garcia radioed.
Sin motioned for cover.
“Don’t just stand there,” came a shrill shout. “Come in and join the party.”
Sin pulled her twin revolver and stepped into the apartment double fisted. Thanks to Charlie’s photos of the house, Sin knew the entire layout of the apartment. She would step through a three-foot entryway. A wall would separate the two rooms of the efficiency. On her left would be the small kitchen; on her right would be the living area. She stepped into the foyer and ran her hand along the inside of the open doorframe until she found the light switch. With a flick of her finger, the entire den lit up.
Laughter came from the now bright interior.
Sin entered, moving toward the voice, Sanchez went left to clear the kitchen.
Sitting in a Victorian-styled chair was an elegant woman, yet the dilated, flickering eyes and tightened smile definitely labeled her as maniacal.
Miranda had been found.
At her feet was a terrified young girl; tied up, she was painted in gaudy makeup with a noose wrapped tightly around her neck. The other end of the rope was clenched in Miranda’s hand after being wrapped around her wrist.
“It’s about time we met face to face, Agent O’Malley.”
Sin entered, guns pointed
