Do Not Go Gentle (23 page)

“Copp's Hill,” Cal asked softly. He was trying not to lead Peeper—he needed to find out what the man knew, not have him agree mindlessly with whatever Cal said.

“Yeah, that's the one. Anyway, the dude tells me that he and two others snatch this gal from Cedar Grove Cemetery, then drive her to this place across from Copp's Hill. He tells me there's a garage entrance in one of the storefronts, only it don't look like no garage door—it's got like tinted windows so you can't see inside, but he says it's right near that skinny house everyone makes such a fuss about.”

“Okay, go on.”

“So, he tells me when you pull in, there's a door that leads to this underground cavern or somethin,' and they took this gal to a big cave. Then he had to watch this voodoo priestess or whatever the hell she is, do some mumbo-jumbo and he's thinkin,' ‘Man this is seriously fucked,' when all of a sudden, this gal's body starts wrinkling up like a raisin or somethin.' So I has to tell him, ‘Yeah, man that's seriously twisted, dude.'”

Cal looked at Peeper. “So tell me in detail where this guy went.”

Once Peeper described the location to the best of his ability, he polished off the rest of his Bruichladdich and held up his glass hopefully.

“No way,” Cal replied. “You have any idea how much that whiskey you're guzzling costs?”

“It's worth every penny for what I told ya, ain't it?”

Cal took the glass and set it in the sink beside the bar with his own. “Yes, it was worth what you drank—but no more. Get out of here before I change my mind about giving you a bath in the harbor.”

Peeper stood, woozy, but still managed to object. “Izzat any way to treat a valuable asset?”

“Yes,” said Cal firmly, “and don't
ever
ambush me like that again or I'll go ahead and shoot even if I do recognize you.”

Once he had ejected Peeper and made sure the man left, Cal walked back into the
Called Shot
, and poured himself one last Bruichladdich, which he sipped while pondering the information Peeper had given him.

Cal awoke the next morning unusually fatigued. He stood for a long time under the hot water in the shower, made some strong coffee—with extra cream and sugar—and when he left, Cal felt almost human. By the time he reached the station, Cal had made up his mind. On the drive to Dorchester, he had debated with himself about giving Sully a heads up on this lead.
I don't really have anything yet,
he decided, hoping he wasn't just rationalizing.
Sully's going to want something solid before he gives me a green light to move forward, but I know in my gut that this is pay dirt.
It's always easier to ask forgiveness than to get permission.

Cal slogged through the rest of his paperwork, taking a short break for lunch. As the day wound to a close and evening fell, Cal slapped a folder down onto a large stack and said, “Praise the Lord and pass the whiskey, I am
finally
caught up.” Sully came out of his office and applauded deprecatingly, as did the two other detectives still hanging around. “Thank you, thank you. I'd like to thank all the little people who made this possible, but I sold them to a traveling circus last week.” Accompanied by groans, Cal strolled out of the station and drove home.

Cal paced around his apartment until midnight, and then changed into heavy black cotton slacks, long-sleeved black t-shirt, black socks, and shoes. He shrugged into his knee-length black leather jacket, then slid a black BPD ball cap onto his head, and donned black leather gloves. He checked his gun, loaded some additional clips into the pockets of his coat, along with some brass knuckles, lock picks, and his backup gun. Then he darkened his face and made his way down to the garage.

The streets were deserted as he drove his BMW slowly toward Copp's Hill.
I'm going to make a couple of passes first. If everything looks kosher, I'll park on the far side of the park and make my way to where Peeper's ‘dude' said the entrance was. It's got to be near the entrance we used when we visited Sedecla that day. I'd bet a month's pay on that.
Cal cruised past the place and saw no one on the streets or in Copp's Hill, on any of the three trips he made around the vicinity.

Well, here goes nothing.
Cal got out of the Beemer, locking it as he swiveled his head to make sure he didn't have an audience. He slid the heavy plastic keyless car starter into his pocket and left his other keys in the car. He wasn't about to give out any noise from keys jangling in his pocket. Other than that, he carried his badge in the inner pocket of his leather coat, and sticking up from the deep outer pocket on his right side was the black rubber handle of his heavy high-beam flashlight, which could serve as a billyclub as well as a light source.

Seeing no one, Cal strolled into the dense line of trees that ran down Snow Hill Street on the western side of the trapezoidal cemetery. Boston's second oldest cemetery, Copp's Hill dated back to 1659 and was the final resting place of both famous people like Cotton Mather as well as a number of unmarked graves of African-Americans. Cal hated winding his way through this section, but it offered him the most cover. He told himself that it was because he risked tripping over a half-buried grave marker, but cemeteries made him jumpy, especially on a dark night, where the moon hid its face.

Cal took his time, watching as he went for anyone who might spot him, so it took him several minutes to reach the Hull Street side of the woods. After ensuring that no one was on the street in either direction, Cal dashed down the sidewalk to the next stand of trees, a couple hundred feet to the southeast down Hull Street. Once there, Cal crouched down in a dark, concealed patch and did nothing but watch for several minutes. The last thing he wanted was for some passerby to see him and call the cops. While he wouldn't necessarily get arrested, Cal didn't want the headache of explaining what he was doing to Sully.
Let's get in, have a quick look around, and get back out. Simple reconnaissance.

Cal quickly and silently picked the lock of the door that he, Jamie, and Ramirez had entered on their visit.
Yeah, I owe you for Ramirez, bitch.
Cal shut the door as softly as possible, but the click of the lock engaging sounded like a rifle shot to his heightened hearing. He took out the flashlight and scanned the nearby walls for alarm system keypads.
I'm not sure I could disarm one quickly enough to matter, though.
Luck was with Cal. The only keypad he saw was the one by the door that Cal was certain led to the garage, which in turn, supposedly led to Sedecla's underground complex. Cal walked to the keypad and took a small toolkit from the interior pocket of his leather jacket. Cal examined the case of the keypad lock and found the way to remove the cover.
Bingo.
He was relieved to find that the keypad lock had a key slot for a bypass key.
People think these electronic keypad locks are so much more secure
—
they'd crap if they knew that most of them had a bypass key feature.
Cal picked the bypass lock, opened the door, and held it open while he replaced the cover over the keypad lock.

Cal closed the door quietly and shone his flashlight around the garage area. There were two cars, an SUV and a Maybach limo. He walked to the door at the opposite end of the room, which had another keypad lock, and, being the same as the first, it presented him with no obstacle to entry.

After closing the door, Cal clicked off his flashlight. He stood in a dim tunnel.
Must be an old smuggler's tunnel, but it has been upgraded.
The floor was spotless gray tile and red brick walls, which were old, but well maintained. The ceiling was also tiled, in off white, with dim, overhead lights marching down the passageway before him. Cal crept down the tunnel for about a hundred feet and was confronted with another keypad lock.
Damn. She's hell on security, but she really does need to upgrade her locks. Although, right now I'm glad she didn't.
After picking the lock and closing this door, Cal could see that the tunnel emptied into a much larger room.

Although this room also had only dim lighting, Cal nonetheless crouched down and surveyed the room carefully. The tunnel ended in a wide, arched doorway into the larger room. Cal guessed it to be about a thirty-by-thirty-foot room, square in shape. There were three rows of theater-style seats in front of him, so Cal slid behind these, peering over the seat top, hunkered down on his heels. The room looked empty. No one sat in the seats in front of Cal or at the conference table and chairs spread out at the far end of the room. A platform raised about two feet off the floor on the opposite wall. Looking around, Cal saw the dim lights of electronic equipment in a corner. Several monitors and computers sat in standby mode, with various green, blue, and red power lights eyeing Cal from across the room.

Seeing no one, Cal rose back up into a crouch and descended past the theater seats to the conference table. He didn't see anything or anyone, so Cal stood and walked. There was another doorway on the wall across from the computers, but it was closed.
I wonder if it would safe for me to turn one of these computers on and see what I can find? She might have these computers networked and tied to the security system. If she doesn't though, I could probably find some solid evidence.
Cal was debating the best course of actionwhen he heard a soft scrape behind him. He spun around, scrambling to pull his gun. Cal saw a huge shadowy shape. He brought his gun around to fire, and raised his arm, trying to block the blow flashing toward him. Cal felt an explosion of pain inside his head. He stopped and wobbled for a moment. Then he got a fleeting, fuzzy view of his attacker, who knocked the gun out of his hand. Cal pitched forward, the tile floor rushing toward his face. Then everything splattered into darkness.

* * * *

Cal slowly became aware of two things—intense light and extreme pain. His head felt like someone had bashed it with a sledgehammer. He attempted to reach up and feel the damaged portion only to discover that he was bound hand and foot. Cal tried to clear his head and fight the blindness brought on by the light. Gradually, he realized that he was lying flat on the floor, with his hands and feet secured by zip-ties and completely immobilized by chains that led away from his body in either direction. As the pain receded, Cal turned his head to either side, and then craned his neck. He was restrained in the center of some type of pattern inset into the floor. There were alternating circles of black and red, with pictures integrated into the design. Cal's eyes were still trying to bring everything into focus against the brightness of the light when he heard a sultry contralto voice. “Ah, I see our guest has awakened.”

Cal watched groggily as Sedecla Aba walked into view, looking down on him as an entomologist might examine a specimen pinned to an exhibit card. Her face was set into hard lines, sharpening rather than diminishing her beauty. “Yeah, thanks for the great reception,” he managed to mumble.

Sedecla feigned a look of surprise. “Detective Cushing, you could hardly expect any other type of reception given that you were illegally breaking and entering. I hope Tomás did not hurt you too badly.” She held out a hand.

For a moment, Cal thought there had been a total eclipse. Instead, he got a good look at his attacker as the man blocked out the glaring light. Tomás had to be at least six-seven, six-eight, and crowded the hell out of three hundred, all of it muscle. His dark eyes burned as he glared down at Cal. “We have better security than you think,
cavalão
.”

Sedecla gave Cal a thoughtful look. “How
did
you manage to break past our keypad system?”

Cal snorted softly. “Ever hear of a bypass key, sweetheart?” He instantly regretted giving this woman any valuable information, even something as trivial as her door locks.

Cal felt a stabbing pain in his ribs as Tomás kicked him once, savagely. “You will show some respect,
caganita
.”

As he drew back his foot for another kick, Sedecla restrained Tomás. “Do not fret, Tomás. We will show Detective Cushing the error of his ways.”

An icy wave swept through Cal, but he kept his voice calm and even. “Listen, lady, right now you're ahead of the game. You can get me in a helluva lot more trouble than I can stir up for you. You've got me on B&E, and your goon here did nothing excessive in knocking me down and restraining me.” Cal pulled at his bonds. “Although this seems a little bizarre, if you quit now, I'll walk away unable to proceed against you because you have a witness to my illegal entry.”

Sedecla laughed, but cruelty tinged her laughter. “You think that I will settle for simple blackmail after you and your meddlesome partner have been prying into my affairs?”

“Leave Jamie out of this,” Cal said with a grimace. “He's no longer on the force and not involved in my current investigation.”

“I know. I have my own source for this type of information, Detective.” Sedecla sighed, “but I grow weary of this repartee. Time for you to pay the price for your interference.” She stepped forward.

“Killing a cop will get you into serious trouble,” Cal shouted.

Sedecla and Tomás laughed. “Do you truly believe that matters to me? Admittedly, the discovery of your body may cause us some temporary inconvenience as your department investigates, but that simply means we shall have to be more careful. The benefits gained by removing you and your partner will more than offset any inconvenience.”