Ghouls

“What’s his last call?”

More plunking. “10-6 to Belleau Wood, access number 4. Time, 15:58.”

Over three hours? Now Kurt’s worry transposed to alarm. It was not uncommon for an officer to forget to radio in 10-8 after a call—Kurt had done it several times himself—nor was it terribly unheard of for routine police business to consume several hours. What Kurt didn’t like was Belleau Wood sitting in the middle of it all.

“Want me to start a missing unit call?”

“Let me check it out first,” Kurt said. “I’ll get back to you if there’s trouble,” but just at that moment, Higgins’s voice broke over the air—“Two-zero-seven.”

Kurt relaxed, sighing into the phone. The dispatcher answered, “Two-zero-seven, we’ve been unable to raise. Are you in need of assistance?”

“No, no, I went into low ground without realizing it.”

“Your station’s on line.”

“Good. Have him go to 3.”

“10-4,” the dispatcher acknowledged. Then, back to Kurt on the phone, he said, “Did you get that?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Kurt hurried. He hung up and turned the radio knob to Channel 3, which police referred to as the “jabber freek.” This was the commo zone’s free, unmonitored frequency, operating to keep the main county band clear when two or more separated units needed to transmit back and forth for extended periods. Kurt quickly cut down the offending blare of squelch, waiting for Higgins to break.

“You there, Kurt?”

“Yeah. I called dispatch when you didn’t show at six. He gave me your twenty. What’s going on out there?”

Higgins’s voice was fading in and out. The static sounded like a violent, pounding surf. “About four I noticed the last chain down, the fourth one. So I decided to cruise in for the hell of it—I’d never seen that side of Belleau Wood before…” There was a long, crackling pause. Then: “This could be something big.”

“What, Mark?”

“Just come out and see for yourself. I need some help anyway.”

“Shouldn’t we call the county?”

Higgins’s voice rose to near-panic. “No, Christ no. I don’t want those dough-heads scarfing my find. Don’t even call Bard, not till after we check it out.”

“Okay,” Kurt went along, though Higgins’s refusal to specify left him mildly peeved. “How do I find you?”

“Just go to the fourth entrance and follow it all the way back till you see the cruiser. I’ll be waiting for you. But before you come out… I’ll need you to bring some things.”

“What things?”

“See if you can find those dick walkie-talkies Bard bought a couple summers ago. You know what I’m talking about?”

“Yeah,” Kurt droned. Bard had purchased the radios for T/A and open-building checks. To Kurt’s knowledge, though, they’d never been used more than once or twice. “They’re around here someplace,” Kurt answered. “I’ll find them.”

“Good. And pick up some batteries on the way. We’ll also need some heavy gloves, a couple of good flashlights, and about a hundred feet of good, thick rope.”

Kurt frowned into the radio set. “What do you have in mind, a safari?”

“Just bring the stuff. We’ll need it.”

“Where am I gonna find a hundred feet of rope?”

“I don’t know,” Higgins said. He seemed confident that Kurt could conjure it up by magic. “Try tying a bunch of cordons together. Hell, buy it if you have to; I’ll pay you back. And it wouldn’t hurt to bring along a third person, extra muscle in case we have to haul something up.”

Haul something…up? Kurt decided not to even ask. “That all?”

“Yeah. See you in a few.”

Kurt turned off the set, more annoyed than confused. What nonsense was this? But he admitted to himself that his curiosity was growing acute. He found the walkie-talkies in the bottom drawer of the file cabinet. There were three of them, still packed neatly in their box. The nylon cordons—stowed in the same drawer with a fingerprint template, some Peerless leg irons, and other junk they never used—were frayed and even if knotted together would not amount to anything close to a hundred feet.

He kicked the drawer closed, leaving a black mark on the paint. What does he want so much rope for? he asked himself.

I went into low ground without realizing it, Higgins had said. And:

…in case we have to haul something up.

The answer came like a good, hard jolt.

— | — | —

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Vicky sat on the passenger side. She was remarkably staunch considering that his request for her to come along had caused her to miss the end of Dynasty (which Kurt, in his loathing for television, preferred to think of as Vaginasty). Vicky was all the “extra muscle” he could drum up on such short notice. She would have to do.

He’d picked up three 9-volt batteries at the Jiffy, for the walkie-talkies; and at the house, he’d scrounged some old gardening gloves and several working flashlights. Lastly, a quick stop at Worden’s Hardware for one hundred feet of half-inch sisal rope, at eighteen cents per foot.

Vicky opened the new batteries for the G.E. walkie-talkies. She glanced up at him now and again, her lips turned to the suggestion of a smile. “How come you’re not saying anything?” she asked.

“Thinking. I’m not sure I like this.”

She popped in another battery, deftly snapped on the plastic cover. “What exactly are we going to do?”

“I don’t know for sure. I think he found something in one of the mines at Belleau Wood.”

“That would explain the rope. What do you suppose he found?”

Probably a body, Kurt thought, minding the wheel. “Who knows? But whatever it is, he sounded pretty keyed up about it.”

“Gee, an adventure,” she said. “This could be fun.”

Kurt didn’t comment. His mind assembled a vivid picture of Harley Fitzwater’s broken, scalpless body lying disjointedly at the bottom of some dank shaft.

Without signaling, he guided the car left, past the sentinel-like posts at the entrance lane. Instinct urged him to keep the speed down. Tightly risen trees on either side goaded the image of being siphoned through a long, dark tunnel. The road narrowed, progressing, roughening. Several stones kicked up into the fender wells; dust followed the Ford like a vaporous banner.

The cruiser appeared round the next bend. It was parked cockeyed, as if abandoned, and Higgins rushed forward as they pulled to a halt. He greeted Vicky without even looking at her, and was right on top of Kurt the instant he stepped from the Ford.

“Did you get the rope?”

“Yeah, I got it,” Kurt said, and dropped the heavy coil into his partner’s arms. “You owe me eighteen bucks.”

“Kurt says you found something in the mine,” Vicky volunteered.

Higgins looked puzzled. “How’d you know?”

“It wasn’t hard to guess,” Kurt said. “I didn’t think you wanted all this to swing from trees.” He threw the third walkie-talkie into the cruiser; then he and Vicky collected the rest of their things and followed Higgins toward