envision the whole structure from the exposed fragment. The rubble they’d cleared appeared to be confined to a circular area ten feet in diameter. ‘I gotta check something.’
He climbed out of the hole and walked over to the site trailer that served as his local office. He flipped through a set of drawings he had for the project until he found the campus master site plan. Vesper located the area they were working in, and there, next to a dashed circle, read a note: STACK REMOVED 1948.
‘It’s a fucking smokestack,’ Vesper growled.
Shaking his head in disgust, he picked up the phone and called Murrow.
‘Hey, Fred, it’s Bud. How’s that contingency fund holding up?’
‘What is it now?’ Murrow sounded as though he could use an aspirin.
‘Nothing much, just the foundation of a goddamn smokestack that was yanked out back in ’forty-eight.’
‘How bad?’
‘The architect wants to put a column right smack on top of the goddamn thing. Looks like there’s a cleanout tunnel coming out of one side. Sounds hollow, so it won’t bear the weight. The whole thing’s gotta come out.’
‘Okay, Bud, but take it easy on me. At the rate we’re going, the contingency money will be shot before we even get the foundation in.’
‘I’ll be gentle. See ya, Fred.’
Vesper clipped the phone to his hip and returned to the latest discovery.
‘What’s the story, Bud?’ Jones asked.
‘Once upon a time, there was a big old smokestack right here.’ Vesper pointed at the ring of shattered masonry. He then walked about ten paces west. ‘The stack was connected to the boiler house, which sat right about there. When they demolished the stack, they chopped the tree down but left the stump. I talked with Murrow, and he gave the okay to rip it out.’
‘Then let’s rip.’
Vesper climbed back into the cab of his excavator and carefully began digging out the edges around the stack’s foundation. It took almost two hours to expose the base of the demolished smokestack. Vesper widened the trench he’d dug around the stack on the side opposite the presumed access tunnel.
Vesper rammed the bucket into the bricks; a fissure opened in the brittle mortar joints, and two more hits widened the crack that ran top to bottom. Vesper then dug the teeth of the bucket into the upper lip of the cylinder and drove it downward, peeling away the masonry shell. Broken bricks spilled out of the fractured vessel amid a cloud of dust and ancient ash.
Jones signaled for Vesper to wait while he took a look inside – with their recent luck, he was afraid of what they might find. He switched on his flashlight and pointed it into the tunnel. The dust was still swirling but slowly settling.
‘No steam pipes, no wires. So far, so good,’ Jones muttered to himself. ‘Nothing but broken bricks on the-’
Jones dropped his flashlight and jumped back from the darkened opening, cursing.
Vesper leaned out of the excavator. ‘Hey, Jones, what did ya see?’
‘Sweet mother of Jesus! I just do not fucking believe this. I’m working in a goddamn graveyard! I don’t need this shit, I really don’t!’
Jones was pacing in a circle. Vesper could see panic in the man’s eyes. He leapt from the Caterpillar and ran over to the tunnel.
‘Darrell, you okay, man?’
‘I thought you told me all the dead people were gone! You said we weren’t going to find any more! You fuckin’ promised me, Bud!’
‘I swear, man, I thought we got ’em all.’
‘You know how I feel about this shit,’ Jones said, slowly recovering his composure while his heart was still trying to pound its way out of his chest.
Vesper nodded, then turned to investigate the latest discovery. He crouched down and peered into the dark tunnel and saw Jones’s flashlight lying on a pile of shattered bricks, its beam pointing down. Vesper picked up the flashlight, rotated the bezel for a wide beam, and aimed the light down into the darkened space.
About six feet ahead he saw a body lying prone on the floor of the tunnel. The fully clothed figure of a man looked as if it had been cast aside, like a rag doll, the arms and legs unnaturally askew. Off to one side lay a dust- covered leather briefcase and a rumpled hat.
Somehow, Vesper thought, I don’t think the med school put this guy down here.
22
Dexter, Michigan
‘Kilkenny residence,’ Audrey said, answering the phone.
‘Ma’am, this is Detective Brian Ptashnik of the Ann Arbor Police Department. Is Martin Kilkenny there?’
‘No, he’s out running some errands with our grandson. This is his wife, Audrey. Is there something I can help you with, Detective?’
‘I’m afraid not, Mrs Kilkenny. We just need to speak with your husband. Could you have him contact me as soon as he returns?’
‘Certainly, or if you like, I could call my grandson on his cell phone.’
‘I’d appreciate that, ma’am.’
As Nolan and his grandfather walked out of the Dexter Mill with some supplies, the phone clipped to the waist of his jeans purred. He set the large bag of dog food down and answered the call.
‘Nolan, is Martin with you?’ Audrey asked abruptly.
‘Yeah, Grandma, he’s right here. Did he forget something?’
‘No, dear. I just need to speak with him.’
Realizing that something was wrong, Nolan took the bags from his grandfather’s arms and handed him the phone.
‘Hello, Audrey.’
‘Martin, I just received a call from the Ann Arbor police – a Detective Brian Ptashnik. He needs to speak with you.’
‘A detective? I wonder whatever for. Did he say what about?’
‘No. He just said that you might be able to help them out with something and that he’d appreciate a call from you.’
‘Looks like I’ll just have to call him and find out. What’s his number?’
‘What was that all about, Grandpa?’ Nolan asked after Martin ended the call.
Martin momentarily ignored the question as he quickly dialed the number before forgetting it.
‘It appears the police in Ann Arbor want to have a word with me. Why don’t you finish loading the stuff in your truck while I give this detective a call and see what he wants.’
As Nolan opened the back of his SUV, Martin waited for his call to be answered.
‘Major Crimes Unit. Detective Ptashnik speaking.’
‘Detective, this is Martin Kilkenny. I’m returning your call. What can I do for you?’
‘Well, sir, first off, are you the Martin Kilkenny who worked for the University of Michigan back in ’forty- eight?’
‘None other. Why do you ask?’
‘Frankly, given the age of this report, I wasn’t sure you’d even be alive, much less still residing locally. Something has come up on a very old case and, well, your name was in the file. I can’t believe I’m even working on a case that’s older than I am.’
‘And what case might that be, Detective?’
‘In December of 1948 you filed a missing-person report on Johann Wolff. Do you recall that?’
