Once Shadows Fall (21 page)

J
ack returned to his desk to find Beth and another man waiting for him. She introduced Steve Jamison, a supervisor with Georgia Power.

“We’ve just been going over the video the killer sent,” Beth said. “Steve has a couple of ideas.”

“Wonderful,” Jack replied. “We can use the help.”

“The picture quality’s not great,” Jamison said, motioning to Beth’s computer. “But I think there’s a chance that yellow area over the woman’s head might be one of our conduits.”

“I thought electricity’s delivered through overhead wires,” Jack said.

“In the suburbs it is. Inside the city, the grid runs through a series of underground tunnels.”

Jack’s attention sharpened. “Georgia Power has their own tunnel system?”

“Not really. Some we put in. Some are shared with other utility companies. Gas, electric, and telephone run side by side. Cable’s been leasing space from us for a number of years. Those green dots in the picture could be their wires. And I’m thinking the gray are gas lines.”

“You can tell from the dots?” Beth asked.

“It’s more the arrangement and combination of colors and the fact that they stretch across the screen. That’s just what they remind me of.”

“I wasn’t aware utility lines ran together,” Jack said.

“Better than tearing up the city every time you need to bring new services in,” Jamison said.

“Are they always together?” Jack asked.

“Whenever it’s feasible. But sometimes it’s necessary to create new infrastructure if none exists.”

“Meaning the tunnels where the pipes or whatever run,” Beth said.

“Exactly.”

Jack said, “I take it there are access points every so often for maintenance issues.”

“Of course.”

“Is the conduit Georgia Power uses always yellow in color?” Jack said.

“Honestly, the older stuff could be anything,” Jamison said. “We’ve been using yellow exclusively since 1983, particularly with any replacement work.”

Jack inquired further, “Did you notice both the woman and boy aren’t wearing shoes or socks?”

“As a matter of fact, I did,” Jamison said. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“There appears to be water on the ground where they’re lying,” Beth said.

Jamison’s brows came together and he looked at the screen again.

“Where? I don’t see that.”

Beth backed up the disc and replayed it. She pointed at the screen. “The camera pans across them quickly. But if you look close, you can see a water mark on the woman’s clothes. It’s the same with her son.”

Jamison studied the picture again and muttered, “Damn” under his breath. “That’s not good. If a water main’s leaking down there and it comes into contact with one of our transmission lines, whoever’s in the vicinity’s going to get fried.”

“Wouldn’t the water company know if there’s a leak?” Beth asked.

“If it’s large enough. But a small one, who knows?”

“Is there a master map that shows where all the utility lines are throughout the city?” Jack asked.

“Sure. The Planning Commission maintains one. When a contractor applies for a permit, they check to see where everything is located and then notify the companies. We have crews that go out and flag the areas to prevent accidents.”

“What about the water lines?” Jack asked. “Are there tunnels where they meet the other utilities?”

“There are probably a few left,” Jamison said. “When we run across a situation like that, we have to reroute.”

Beth and Jack exchanged glances.

“I need to know where they are,” Beth said. “There’s a good chance that’s where he’s holding that woman and her son.”

I
saac Worley, the city engineer, was waiting for them in his office at City Hall. Next to his desk was a drafting table. On it was a large book showing Atlanta’s layout street by street. Worley responded to Jamison’s request for a meeting immediately.

He informed them, “There are probably a dozen or so places where the lines run together. Atlanta’s ordinances were amended in 1960 to require separate routing of water and electrical services.”

“Because of the danger of electrocution,” Beth said.

“Actually, it’s a little worse than that,” Worley said. “Did you ever hear of the old Crawford Hotel on Ponce de Leon Avenue?”

“Before my time,” Jack said.

“Mine, too,” Beth said.

“I was just a kid then, but I remember the fire clearly. It took about every emergency vehicle in Atlanta two days to put it out. People were jumping out of windows to escape the flames.”

“It sounds horrible,” Beth said.

“It was,” Worley said.

“The fire was electrical?” Beth asked.

“A burst pipe shorted out an underground junction box and caused an arc flash.”

“A what?”

“An arc flash. That’s where the electrical current running in the line jumps. Once that happens, look out. The result can be catastrophic, like a runaway train. A flash can travel along pipes or anything conductive. It’s even been known to jump across rooms.”

Jack’s face had assumed that intense look Beth was becoming familiar with when he was concentrating. He moved to the map book on
Worley’s drafting table and said, “Show me where the electricity and water lines meet.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

Worley explained. “I mean, there’s no index that points them out. Most everything was rerouted after the 1960 ordinance, but there are still some spots we come across every now and then. Usually it’s the case of a side line running off one of the mains. When that happens, we start digging and move the utilities.”

“But this map shows where everything is, doesn’t it?” Jack said.

“Sure, but you’d have to go through it page by page.”

Jack considered the book again. It was probably two feet wide and eighteen inches high. He shook his head in dismay when he saw how many pages there were.

Worley added, “That’s just volume one. We have three more books in the map room. I was working on that one when Steve called.”

“Jeez,” Jack said.

“It’s a big city, Detective,” Worley said.

Within an hour, Beth had assembled three teams of investigators at City Hall. Stafford and Mundas made up one team. Dave Childers and Jimmy Lee Spruell made up the other, while she and Jack composed the third. Dan Pappas put out a call to Corey Harrison, the patrolman who helped them at Underground Atlanta, and headed for the Fulton County Planning Commission where yet another set of maps were maintained. Technically a separate political entity, Fulton County’s jurisdiction took up where Atlanta’s left off. The recent census put the county population at more than two million people.

The detectives began going through the street maps one by one. Sometimes the lines were clearly marked and sometimes they found notations referring them to a supplemental map book. The process was painstaking and frustrating.

It was close to seven by the time they finished. Stafford and Mundas found six streets where the electric and water lines shared a common route. Beth and Jack found six, and Childers and Spruell located four. Pappas and Harrison were more fortunate. Having identified one quickly, they eliminated it as a possibility because the only point of access was through the basement of a fire engine company. The plan was to descend into the tunnels and begin searching for Pam and Aaron Dorsey.

Beth called everyone together to let Steve Jamison address them on the safety precautions.

“It’s important to understand what you’re dealing with,” Jamison said. “The average transmission line carries over two hundred thousand volts. A hair dryer with a hundred and ten volts can kill you. Heavy-duty protection gear should be waiting for you downstairs. It’s important that you wear it at all times.”

“We all carry latex gloves for crime scene work,” Childers said. “Won’t they do?”

“I wouldn’t want to bet my life on them,” Jamison said. “The heavy-duty stuff is the way to go, but even with it, there are no guarantees.”

“Well, that’s encouraging,” Childers said.

“Dealing with that much current is like holding a rattlesnake. First rule of thumb, you don’t go near the juice if you don’t have to. In other words,
avoid all contact
. It’s dangerous and can jump without warning. If you can’t avoid contact, you’ll have to make the call. Should you locate the woman and her son, get in touch with me immediately and I’ll kill power to the area.”

Looks were exchanged around the room as the reality of what they were dealing with began to sink in. No one offered a comment.

Jamison continued, “The next rule of thumb is to stay as dry as possible. From the photographs I’ve seen, it looks like there’s water down there. Dry human skin isn’t a great conductor. Wet skin is another matter.”

“Oh mama,” Dwayne Stafford muttered.

Jamison glanced at him, then said, “Third rule of thumb, you can’t outrun the juice so don’t try. Even the most fleeting contact is enough to complete a circuit. And if part of that circuit is you, well, the results could be unpleasant.”

“Unpleasant,” Stafford echoed.

“I’ve seen an arc flash melt steel. Do not, I repeat,
do not
challenge it by thinking you can pull your hand back quickly enough. You can’t,” Jamison said.

“If you’re trying to scare us, you’re doing a good job,” Spruell said.

Jamison looked down at the floor for a moment and took a deep breath before he responded.

“I had a friend named Lou Boedner who worked as a maintenance supervisor for Florida Power and Light in West Palm Beach. About five years ago, three different hurricanes hit the area, all within a couple of weeks of each other. The place was a total mess. Trees and lines were
down everywhere. Utility companies from all over the Southeast rushed crews down there to help restore power.

“Lou and another man had just climbed out of a cherry picker. They were replacing a blown switchbox. Two blocks away, a tree came down and landed in the middle of a substation. Even though the power was off at their unit, the arc flash from the substation jumped to Lou’s line and traveled two blocks. I was ten feet away when he burst into flames. So yeah, I’m trying to scare you. It might just save your life.”

Beth had heard the expression about the air being sucked out of a room. If this wasn’t a good example of it, she doubted she’d ever see one.

Ever since the meeting began, she knew where things were heading—back underground and into the dark. A drop of perspiration slid down the side of her forehead. Hopefully the next time they would land a killer partial to heights. She didn’t mind heights.

Jamison was finished talking. The rest of the detectives were waiting for her. It took a second to find her voice.

“Assuming the protective gear is here, we’ll divide into four teams and begin checking the intersections one by one. You all understand what we’re walking into. We need to find that woman and her son and get them the hell out of there.”

P
am Dorsey was now certain they were not in a basement as she first thought. It was far too large for that. They were someplace underground. But where? The pipes seemed to go on forever. One section looked exactly like another. Like moths to a flame, she and Aaron were drawn to them only to be disappointed.

Due to their lack of shoes and Pam’s inability to use her hands for balance, progress was slow. Mold and algae covered the floor. To make matters worse, the trickle of water that followed them after escaping from the room had turned into a stream. It was now up to their ankles. Thoughts of drowning began to gnaw at her and increased with each passing minute. She made an effort not to let it show. Aaron trudged along behind, clutching his sailboat.

If she didn’t make it out, her son would. She kept repeating that mantra over and over in her mind, praying the words would push away the fear. She’d never considered herself a brave person. Quite the opposite. Timid by nature, she avoided conflict wherever possible. Even something as simple as learning to ski this past winter had terrified her. Roger’s idea of a fun family vacation. Hers was sitting in front of the fireplace at their hotel sipping hot chocolate.

Pam spared a glance at her son and smiled. He was as stubborn as his father, lugging that silly sailboat with him. She shook her head. Children trust their parents to keep them safe. She had no idea how she would accomplish that, but try she would. Aaron chose that moment to look at her. She smiled. He smiled in return. And in that look, she found the strength to keep her legs moving to the next light.

*

Clad in knee-high rubber boots and wearing gloves that came halfway up their arms, Beth and Jack removed the access panel, ducked down low, and entered the relay junction room. It was approximately ten feet square and quite empty, save for the electrical conduit and different colored pipes overhead. Jack swept his Maglite across the floor. Dusty. Bone dry. On the wall in front of them was a black metal box with the words, “DANGER—HIGH VOLTAGE” stenciled in yellow letters. An ominous hum was coming from inside the box, reminding them there was something alive in there. Something extremely dangerous. Apart from their Maglites, the only other source of light came from a single overhead bulb surrounded by a metal safety cage. It was obvious no one had been there in quite a while. According to the map, the pipes would lead them into the tunnel system.

Beth had issued hand communicators to all the detectives. Steve Jamison thought reception would be hit and miss at best. All twenty-two locations where electrical conduit met the city’s water pipes had been circled on their maps. The plan was to eliminate them one by one.

Dan Pappas, whose location in the suburbs had been scratched off early on, was now in the mobile command van that would function as a central relay to communicate with the other detectives and the utility companies in the event services had to be cut. Ironically, the place they chose to enter the grid, as it was called, was directly below City Hall, barely a block from where Donna Camp had been rescued.

Steve Jamison elected to stay with Pappas and answer any technical questions that might come up. Roger Dorsey, after being advised of the situation, had left work and arrived a half hour earlier. It looked like the man hadn’t slept in two days.

Jack’s voice came over the van’s speakerphone.

“This is Kale. Detective Sturgis and I are in. Area One is negative. We’re heading into the tunnels now.”

“Acknowledged,” Pappas said. “Be careful.” He then turned to Jamison and asked, “How long ’til they reach the next junction?”

“Maybe fifteen minutes for Kale and Sturgis. Thirty minutes for Childers and Spruell. Stafford and his partner should be at theirs in about twenty.”

The detective sat back in his chair and began tapping a pencil against the desk. He didn’t mind Jack taking his place. The truth was he hated tunnels and confined spaces as much as Beth did. She was too competitive to admit it. So was he. He’d seen what she’d gone through at the barn as she tried to hold it together. Considering where they were,
that didn’t bode well. Still, Jack was a bright guy, and a psychologist to boot. If a problem did crop up, he was more likely to recognize it than anyone else.

But that left him sitting in a van, tapping a pencil, while they walked into who knew what.