Lost in Shadow (A Shadow Walkers Ghost Novel) (16 page)

It was closing time, so he wouldn’t have to worry about tourists mucking about, destroying any clues that might remain. Of course, even thinking a clue would remain after two full days of tourists traipsing about was madness.

Recalling the plaque in the museum, he headed to the dungeons, a perfect place for the killer to lie in wait. Running his hands through his hair in frustration, he was ready to call it a day when he spotted something shiny in the corner of the last cell. Under an old, tattered rag was a phone—with a pink and white monogrammed case bearing Emily’s initials. The battery was dead. Examining every square inch of the cell and hallway, he was stumped. Picking up the rag to dispose of it, he looked closer…it was dirty, grimy, with rust-colored stains. He smelled it…a faint coppery tang hit his nostrils. Blood—was it hers? The killer’s? Or simply coincidence?

He needed Shamus. His partner had an uncanny ability to track; noticing minute details Monroe might not have seen or attributed to anything suspicious. Knowing Shamus, he’d go along with not reporting Emily as missing; he knew all too well what Monroe’s theories were on this case.

Ringing him, Monroe sketched out the details. “Shamus, I need you at Edinburgh Castle. Listen, I found that American’s phone but no trace of her. Miss Emily Laurens seems to have vanished from the dungeons…brilliant, see you in thirty.” Snapping his phone shut, he decided to head upstairs to the café to grab a cup of coffee.

While he waited, he read the paper, same old shite, different day, and finished up his coffee. Looking up, Monroe spotted Shamus striding across the cafe. “Hey Monroe, where’s mine? It’s colder than a witch’s tit today.”

“Thanks for getting here so fast.” Filling Shamus in on what he’d found thus far, showing him Emily’s phone, they refilled their coffees, heading back down to the dungeon.

Giving Shamus room to do his sniff and find thing, Monroe handled calls involving his other open cases. Moving to the end of the corridor to wait, he leaned against the wall, shoulder knocking into a stone gargoyle. Next thing he knew, it got all sci-fi, creepy as a door opened in the wall. Almost falling down the steps, he swore, “This shite keeps getting stranger and stranger.”

Shining flashlights down the steps, they noticed footprints in the thick dust. A man and a woman’s. Looked like the woman was supporting the man… Why would Emily help the killer? Unless he wasn’t the killer—but then who the hell was he and how was this bloke involved?

Wouldn’t find out standing here with his thumb up his arse. Jogging down the stairs, they didn’t make it far before seeing the cave-in.

Shamus stopped Monroe with a hand on his shoulder. “The Yank could be trapped. We need to call it in, get some help down here to clear the cave-in. You know we can’t risk a civ’s life, even you aren’t that stubborn.”

“Wait a second, one of the old guys upstairs, you know, the one emptying trash…he said he’d worked here for a million years, knew everything there was to know about this place. First we check, see what he knows about secret tunnels. If he doesn’t know, then we’ll make the call.” Monroe didn’t want this turning into a circus, needed to keep it quiet, not tip off the killer.

Running up the narrow stairs, feet hitting the treads like a hammer, Monroe sprinted to catch the old geezer before he finished up and left.

“Angus, right?”

“Who are ye, why ye want to know?”

A crotchety old guy, he had to be in his late-eighties if he were a day. Stooped over, with only a couple of tufts of hair over each ear, the guy had the leathery skin of a sailor. Bright, intelligent, brown eyes, gazed out at him as Monroe resisted the urge to pump his fist in the air.

“I could use your assistance. Heard you were the go-to guy for details no one else knows about this place. That true?” he watched Angus carefully. Seeing his face light up, Monroe resisted the urge to break out in a grin.

“Aye, what ye be wantin’ to know laddie?” Smiling, the guy must have been missing half of his teeth, on his left hand, two fingers were gone. Rubbing his hands together, partly to keep warm, partly out of excitement, he told him about the secret passageway.

“Now laddie, ye shouldn’t be messin’ with that stuff, scare up a lot of old ghosts down there. But aye, there’s tunnels all over Edinburgh, some say there’s secret tunnels go all the way to Rosslyn Chapel…’tis how the Knights Templar secretly moved the Grail to hide it at Rosslyn undetected. Course ye also need to beware, one of those tunnels leads to a large cavern where all sorts of wicked dark doin’s took place. Which tunnel did ye find?”

Seeing the confusion on the policeman’s face, Angus elaborated, “Where was the opening?”

“Ah, at the far wall of the dungeon by the last solitary cell. I bumped into a stone gargoyle head and the wall opened, with stairs leading down. There’s been a recent cave-in so I was hoping you might know where it comes out? It’s important, a young American woman might be trapped down there.”

Angus motioned for Monroe to follow him. He led the way to a small room. In the corner was a makeshift desk covered with books, papers, and drawings.

“Aye, I also keep the heat on round here. Now, where is it…ah, yes.” Rifling through the papers, he pulled out a leather wrapped folio. Reverently opening it, Angus smoothed the old parchment. Seeing the look on Monroe’s face, he clarified, “I didn’t steal anything, came across this in a junk shop in the country, didn’t know what they had, likely didn’t care. Bought it for a steal. Dinna fash yourself boy, I’ll add it to the castle collection once I’m done poring over it. Now look here, it shows all the tunnels from the castle. Let’s see, that tunnel comes out by the water, at the top of Nor Loch about a mile or two thereabouts from the Black Swan. Best to start from that side if it’s caved in here. Damn shame, I’ll let folks here know about the tunnel, and they can send men out to clear it. Make a great tourist draw. Though laddie, same as on this side, you’ll need to look for a lever or some type of stone you can press to open the door, like ye did with the gargoyle.”

The old man put away his drawings and ambled down to the dungeon to have a look at the tunnel for himself. Monroe and Shamus followed. “’Twas fine craftsmanship, building these tunnels. Ye know lads, my ancestor, Angus the first, was hanged here at the Castle. Part of Black Bart’s pirate crew. He would have loved this tunnel, maybe he could’ve escaped.”

Monroe sighed as Shamus’s face lit up. The guy loved history. Especially anything to do with old ships.

“Black Bart you say? Think I could buy you a pint in exchange for telling me the tale?” Shamus asked.

“Aye, be happy to tell it. I’m here most days, come by ‘round closing and I’ll tell ye what I know.” Angus nodded at Shamus.

Monroe and Shamus bid Angus good day as the old-timer drew on his coat, walking out with them, appearing to be lost in the shadows of his thoughts.

Picking their way down the embankment, towards the Nor Loch, looking for signs, Monroe cursed, slipping in the muck. Shamus spotted it first.

“Oy, this brush is broken; there are footprints, man and woman, in the mud by the path. Might be the ones we’re looking for. The entrance should be close.”

Behind the hedge was a stone wall with broken branches on the ground, stone rosettes inlaid into the wall in a pattern. Pressing each one, Monroe could feel his excitement building. He was getting closer, he could feel it, knew he was on the right track, closing in. A click told him he’d found the lever. The door swung open. Shining their torches, heading into the darkness, they could follow the footprints all the way to the cave-in. Looking closely, Shamus noted blood on some of the rocks while Monroe picked up two broken fingernails; they looked like they’d been torn from the nail bed. Female from the color.

Good news was they’d gotten out. Not so good news, he didn’t know if she’d been harmed, who she was with, if she was with them voluntarily or not, and where the guy was taking her. Angus mentioned the Black Swan; it was an old, historic pub favored by the locals…was said it used to be a well-known pirate hangout. A dirt path followed the Nor Loch. The map he’d seen should lead them there. Would be worth checking out.

Entering the tavern, it was dark, with a thatched roof, scarred wooden tables and chairs, old oak flooring, and a cheery fire giving off warmth but doing nothing to dispel the gloom. Not many tourists, this was more a place for locals, disreputable ones from the looks of it. Looking around they spotted the proprietor.

“Can I help you boys? I’m Henry, owner of the Black Swan.” Henry looked at them, wiping his hands on his apron behind the bar.

“Hope so. I’m officer MacDonald and this is officer O’Malley.” Holding the picture of Emily out to Henry, Monroe continued, “We’re looking for this American. She may have come through here recently, have you seen her?”

“Right pretty lass. No, haven’t seen her, not that I can recollect.” Henry scratched his head.

“Are you sure? She might have been with a man? Anybody else working we could speak with?” Monroe pressed. He could swear Henry was lying.

“Well, I’m always working, have to make a living. Just me and the missus. Sally? Can ye come here a moment?”

Monroe watched the woman approach. She looked tired and wouldn’t meet his eyes

“These officers are looking for an American woman. Think she might have passed through. I told them we hadn’t seen her. Do you remember anyone looking like this lass?” Henry pointed to the picture Monroe was holding.

“Ma’am. Have you seen this woman?” He repeated the question, showing her the photo.

“No, officer, not that I recall. We’ve been terribly busy, but I think I’d remember a Yank. We mostly get local folk coming through here, not many tourists. Sorry I can’t help.” Sally told him.

“I’ll leave my card in case either of you remember anything or she happens to wander in. Thank you for your time.” Monroe handed them his card and motioned Shamus over from the bar.

“Damn it, I know that old buzzard knows something about Emily. He’s seen her or heard of her.” Frustrated, Monroe hadn’t slept well the past night, dreaming of Alice. His nerves were frayed, his temper at the boiling point.

No one else in the tavern could help or would help. Outside, Monroe looked around to regroup. If Emily and her captor had even stopped in the tavern, there was no telling where he was taking her or what he might have planned.

Shamus interrupted his thoughts. “If the bastard has your Yank in his car, we’ll never find them without reporting it. Why don’t I call it in, start the official investigation?”

“Not yet. Call the rental car companies, see if anyone fitting their description rented a car. The docks are close, let’s ask around and if we’re at a dead end, then I’ll call it in myself. Deal?”

His partner didn’t like it by the look on his face but he agreed. “Fine. Let’s get moving before the skies piss on us.”

It was gloomy, the sky leaden gray, sun straining to break through. Cold, the wind ripped, chilling him to the bone. While Shamus called the rental car companies, Monroe rang the hotel to see if Emily had returned. The hotel confirmed her bed hadn’t been slept in, though her room was paid until the end of the week. The front desk clerk assured him it wasn’t unusual. Tourists frequently kept their room at the Balmoral while exploring for a day or two around the countryside.

Striking out with the rental cars, Shamus stopped, buying a couple of hand pies to eat while they walked. Making their way to the docks to ask around, Monroe sensed they were getting closer.

No one had seen the travelers or was saying if they had, so he and Shamus found out which ships had set sail recently and checked each one out. A name caught Shamus’s eye.

“Oy, over here. Remember me telling you I was researching what happened to that old pirate ship, the
Fortune
?”

Monroe looked at his partner. Shamus had a gleam in his eye. He was a fanatic about old ships. Spent every moment researching them, building models, reading every piece of history he could get his hands on. Was his partner’s favorite hobby.

“What of it?” Monroe groaned, hoping he wasn’t going to have to listen to a long drawn out tale.

“Don’t you think it’s a strange coincidence that Angus’s ancestor was hanged as part of Black Bart’s pirate crew and now I’m looking at a ship called the
Fortune II
…and the owner is listed as one Robert Bartholomew, which was the real name of Black Bart? His ship was known for trading in illegal goods.”

Rolling his eyes, Monroe wasn’t convinced. “Probably some old ship fanatic like you. Doesn’t mean anything.”

“Come on, this unofficial investigation has been nothing but strange. Listen—a ship built and named after an infamous pirate ship sets sail in the right timeframe. The ship is listed as carrying goods, sailing up the coast, making several stops.”

“I’m listening.” Monroe leaned against the counter in the clerk’s office.

“Right. Out of the listed ports, two stand out based on what we know thus far. Inverness and Invergordon.” Shamus trailed off.

“Which means the killer could be headed to Ravensmore Castle.” If Emily’s story were true, and there was some crazy immortal ghost warrior running around Edinburgh…the plaque at the museum said it was his castle so that seemed a likely place to look.

Monroe hadn’t told Shamus they could be looking for a ghost. Shamus might have his back, but a ghost—he’d hound Monroe to see a shrink for sure. Instead he told Shamus the killer might be a crazy re-enactor who deluded himself into thinking he was a baron from the 1600s.

Doubtful the killer or ghost or whatever he was, would go to the brother’s ancestral castle, what with the brother murdering him, unless he was also alive? Fuuuuck, it was too much for his tired brain to process. They were behind a day but could make up the time driving, might even catch them as they disembarked.

“See, I told you it was important to know all the old ships and their history. This may break our case wide open, go ahead, thank me now, better yet, buy me a couple of pints. A-n-n-n-d a whisky or two—you might be the brilliant one but you don’t know shite about ships.” Shamus clapped him on the back.