Panic (12 page)

“It doesn’t look like we have much of a choice,” said Mary. “We need to find this Cupid sicko as soon as possible, before anything else happens to Christina. We’ve already got one dead body.”

“Agreed,” said Leopold, “we don’t have any other options here.”

“Did you say dead body?” asked Albert, his voice shaking slightly.  “So what’s the plan?” asked Mary, ignoring the tour guide’s question.

“I have an idea,” said Leopold, turning to face the police sergeant. “But I’m going to need your help.”

Chapter 24

Marty O’Donnell, a campus security guard from Long Island, watched the throng of business and economics students milling around outside Uris Hall enjoying the impromptu break in classes and the chance to enjoy some fresh air. Marty folded his arms and glared at the crowd, watching for any sign of trouble. He knew someone had pulled the fire alarm as a prank, and he was determined to find the culprit.

Marty stood a little over five foot six and weighed upwards of two hundred and twenty pounds, none of which was muscle. He wore a pale blue short-sleeved shirt and clip-on tie, with a nightstick and set of keys clipped loosely to his belt, which was a couple of notches too small for his considerable waistline. His physical appearance hadn’t changed much since childhood, and Marty had developed a mean attitude as a way of coping with the inevitable bullying during high school. Now pushing forty, his attitude had only worsened, and he was itching for an opportunity to exercise some pent-up aggression.

He stared intently at the crowd and focused on a small group of students who had started playing Frisbee. Marty smiled. With the alarm bells still wailing behind him, he strode out toward the lawn and beckoned the students to come over.

“What do you think you’re doing?” said Marty.

“Playing Frisbee. What’s wrong with that?” said one of the students, a skinny kid with long hair.

“What’s wrong is we’re in the middle of a possible fire emergency, that’s what’s wrong,” said the security guard, pointing his finger at the skinny kid. “Do you think if the building was on fire right now that playing Frisbee would be a good idea?”

“Yeah, but the building’s
not
on fire,” said the skinny kid.

“That’s not the point, smartass,” growled Marty. “It’s my job to keep you idiots safe, and that means no goofing off when there’s a fire alarm. You know what I see when I look at you? Trouble, that’s what. And if it turns out someone pulled the fire alarm as a prank, you’re the first person I’m coming for.”

He snatched the Frisbee away, tucked it under his arm, and marched back to his vantage point just in front of the main doors and waited for the alarms to die down. After several minutes of continued racket, the alarms were showing no sign of shutting off and the noise grew even more distracting as a crescendo of sirens began to sound above the shrill clang of the alarm bells.

Marty was confused. The Uris alarm systems weren’t rigged to contact the emergency services; they were too old-fashioned for that, and it was unlikely any of the students would have made the call. Most of them wouldn’t care if the whole place burned down. He pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind as three fire trucks rolled up the campus lawns and stopped just behind the mass of students, tearing deep tracks in the manicured lawn. Marty groaned as he realized he was going to get the blame for the repair bill.

With a growl, the security guard stormed in the direction the fire trucks, pushing past the crowd of students who had all turned around to see what was going on. He shoved a couple of bewildered students to the side and collided with a particularly striking brown-haired woman, causing both of them to stagger backward. The young woman flashed an apologetic smile and pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear before glancing up at him.

“Sorry about that,” she said, “I wasn’t looking where I was going with all this commotion. I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

Marty grunted a response and waved her away. It wasn’t often beautiful women spoke to him, especially those he nearly knocked over. Shrugging, he resumed his stride and walked up to the group of firefighters who had now spilled out onto the grass.

“What the hell are you doing?” Marty shouted over the noise at the firefighter he assumed was in charge.

“Stand back, sir, this area is currently posing a fire risk.”

“What the hell do you mean? There’s no fire here.”

“We received a call a few minutes ago that there was a fire at Uris Hall, Morningside campus of Columbia University. Is this the address?”

“Well, yes.”

“And are those fire alarm bells?”

“Yes. But -”

“Then please let us do our job, sir.”

Marty fumed, but reluctantly stepped back as the fire captain directed his team to the main entrance of the building. The crowd of students parted as the firefighters passed through, each wearing a protective suit and breathing apparatus. Soon the firemen had disappeared into the building and Marty was left to keep the peace outside, a prospect that made him no less irritable than he already was.

He drew the standard-issue nightstick from the holster on his belt and flicked it toward the ground with a snap of his wrist, extending it to full length with a sharp click. He began to walk slowly through the crowd, tapping the end of the weapon against his free palm in a manner he hoped would prove menacing enough to stop anyone from causing any trouble or asking any questions.
So far, so good.

After a few minutes, Marty absent-mindedly reached to his belt with his free hand and noticed his set of keys was missing.

Chapter 25

“Got it!”

Mary ran into the corridor at full speed, nearly colliding with Albert, stopped sharply in front of Leopold, and held up a white key card attached to a set of metal keys.

“Good work. Did he see you?”

“Unfortunately, yes. He was walking around with one hand on his keychain and I could see the card attached by a lanyard. The only chance was to divert his attention, so I walked right into him.”

“Did he notice you take the keys?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Okay, but we still don’t have too much time. He’s going to notice the keys are missing any minute and track us down here.”

They all set off back in the direction of the basement, with Jerome dragging Albert by his collar amid subdued protestations that he should be allowed to go home.

“Keep quiet and you’ll get to go home a lot sooner,” said the bodyguard. “You’re not going anywhere until you’ve earned your two thousand dollars.”

“Earned it? I’ve watched you guys break down doors, set off alarms, call out the fire department under false pretences, and to top it all off, there’s at least one dead body nobody’s telling me about. I’d say I’ve earned my money!”

Jerome glared at the tour guide and tightened his grip. Albert took the hint and kept quiet.

A few minutes later the four of them reached the lower-level passageways for the second time, and Leopold opened the heavy mag-locked door with a quick swipe of the stolen key card. The lock released with a muffled clunk and the door opened outwards to reveal an even darker, damper passageway beyond.

Mary groaned. “You definitely owe me a new pair of shoes.”

“I’ll get you two,” replied Leopold.

The group marched in single file down the passageway, pausing only as gusts of steam sporadically erupted from cracks in the pipe work that ran along the walls at roughly head height. The tunnel was dimly lit by bare light bulbs that hung from the ceiling, humming quietly to themselves in the wet air. Leopold could just about see ten feet or so into the distance and led the way, followed by Mary, with Jerome dragging Albert at the rear, protesting in short, squeaky breaths about how he should never have left the house. The consultant held up a hand and indicated they should pause for a moment.

“Albert, what seems to be the problem?” Leopold asked, not unkindly.

Their tour guide paused before replying and tugged his sleeve out of Jerome’s grasp, “I’m not going any further until you tell me what’s going on.”

The bodyguard scowled.

“No, he’s right, Jerome. Leopold, you should tell him why he’s here,” said Mary.

“Okay, I’ll tell you the truth if you think it’ll make you feel better. Though I’m not convinced it will.”

Leopold sighed and told Albert an edited version of everything that had happened, leaving out some of the more questionable details. As he spoke, the tour guide’s eyes widened in horror, but by the time Leopold had finished the tunnels expert was grinning with excitement.

“Fantastic!” He was bouncing up and down. “A real-life tunnelers mystery! This is probably the most exciting thing to happen to me since, well, forever! Count me in!”

Leopold was a little surprised by his response, but glad he no longer needed Jerome to drag Albert along by the scruff of his neck. It certainly made getting around a lot easier. He invited their guide to join him at the head of the group.

“Can you tell where we are?” asked Leopold.

“It’s hard to tell exactly,” replied Albert, “but I’d say we’re about fifty feet or so from Pupin Hall. If they haven’t completely sealed off the basement, we should be pretty close to getting in.”

“How will you know?”

“Oh, that’s easy. The stonework down here is well over a hundred years old; any recent work to close off the tunnels would immediately be obvious from the stone itself. See here?” he ran his fingers along the wall. “The walls are extremely porous, through decades of damp and dripping water. The consistency is also completely different; modern materials use entirely different mixtures. I’ll be able to tell straight away.”

“And if they haven’t tried sealing it off?”

“If it’s anything like the others, we’ll see the pipes branch off and disappear into the ceiling once we’re under the building. Pupin has to get its gas and electricity from somewhere.”

Leopold nodded. “Lead the way.”

A few minutes later Albert pointed excitedly as the group rounded a corner, where the tightly knit pipe work forked out into a complex mess of interwoven steel and copper lines. Leopold traced the pipes with his finger and noticed where the larger gas line disappeared into the ceiling.

“We’re here,” he said, turning to the guide. “I suppose there should be some kind of hatch that allows access.”

“Exactly. This part of the tunnel network was never designed to provide pedestrian access, unlike some of the more well-known areas. The only reason people would be down here would be to repair the pipes, so we’re looking for a small hatch, nothing fancy. Should lead directly up into the lower classrooms.”

Mary and Jerome began scanning the ceiling for an entry hatch, while Leopold and Albert went ahead in case there was evidence of a way in further along the tunnel.

“Found something!” the bodyguard’s deep voice boomed through the narrow passageway.

Leopold and Albert rushed back to find him pointing up at the ceiling. The consultant followed Jerome’s finger with his eyes and settled on an area of the ceiling where he could just make out a rusted metal panel, nestled in the damp stonework. The hatch was just large enough for a fully grown adult to squeeze through, and had no handle to keep it closed; instead there was a padlock securing the hatch to its frame. Leopold shot a sideways glance at Jerome.

“Don’t worry, I’ve fit through tighter spaces,” Jerome said, noticing his employer’s quizzical look. “I’ll just have to breathe in a little, that’s all.”

The bodyguard examined the security guard’s keys that Mary had managed to snatch and found one that looked like it would fit the padlock. With a little effort, the stiff lock snapped open and he lowered the hatch door carefully, interlocking his fingers to provide a boost for the others as they climbed through. Jerome followed shortly afterwards, hoisting his heavy frame through the hatchway with a surprising lack of effort. The group stood in the dark basement, each looking around for a light switch.

“Found it!” Albert flicked on the power.

Leopold looked around the room as his eyes adjusted to the bright lights. The walls, once white, were a speckled mess of gray dust and cobwebs. Running the length of the room were long wooden benches where scientists and students must have once scribbled notes on the piles of now-disused notepads; newspaper clippings; and various manuscripts. In the center of the room were a series of thick countertops at hip height, each complete with gas lines for Bunsen burners. A multitude of cracked and dirty microscopes filled up any empty spaces.