Chapter Ten

He was only human. Listening to the threat, the venom, the hatred and the longing that came out of Clayton Moore’s mouth struck something deep inside Luke.

Most law enforcement officials were good. Some did get carried away, and anyone toeing the line knew that it was necessary to clean the ranks. Now and then an officer or agent got through who reveled in the power of wielding a weapon, who saw an abuse of power as justified.

Luke knew all that. He also knew that anger was a human emotion.

One that he needed to tamp down at that moment.

But to his surprise, Brendan Campbell, standing at his side, let loose with a string of oaths and turned to him. “Are you going to let—”

“Sir, I’m sorry—even in the United States, I’m not allowed to clock a prisoner under interrogation. Nor am I worried—Carly MacDonald is a top-notch agent who can handle herself.”

He was still going in. Just not at that moment. Sometimes, it was best when anger simmered—and allowed a bit of logic to work with it.

And he was right about one thing—Carly knew how to handle herself.

She laughed, shaking her head as she sat down, leaning slightly toward him. “Well, it’s my understanding that you may also be tried in the United States—and we do have the death penalty, and this murder conspiracy association of yours qualifies you for it. I won’t be delivering your execution, of course, but I will be behind the glass watching as they bring you in, tie you down and put those needles in your arms. I mean, we’re not supposed to be cruel and unusual, but knowing what’s happening to you, seeing all the steps...pretty grisly!”

“I will not be tried in the United States! This is Britain.”

“Yes, but we have extradition treaties, and with what we’re discovering about your relationship with the man claiming to be Holmes—”

“Holmes is dead!”

“Oh, come now! You just said he’s alive and walking around—and he’s going to get me. Your local accomplice has been telling us all about him! And he’s an American, from what I understand.”

“He is not!”

“That’s not what Ben Pratt said.”

“Pratt is an idiot!”

“You’re claiming he’s a Scot?”

“He’s a man of the world! He’s...”

He paused again, leaning toward her. “He was never just a man. He was always something different. He can’t be explained. But he’s out there.”

“So, you have been conspiring with him. You’re making it so easy for me to see that you get a lethal injection. I guess it is more humane than the electric chair. Oh! And more humane than hanging. I read that when Holmes was executed, his neck didn’t break—that he was strangled and dangled on the rope for at least fifteen minutes. But rest assured. The lethal injection will be better than that!”

“No! You’re...you’re going to die. Bloody, awful, terrible!”

“We’re all going to die one day. But...”

Carly still managed to appear to be completely amused, which was throwing Clayton Moore into a frenzy of anger, which was in turn causing him to spurt out words he might not be intending.

“You’re going to beat me to it!” she promised.

Moore strenuously shook his head. “He is out there and he knows about you and he will find you and it will be the death of you. And I don’t care what agents or officers or whatever are with you, or where they come from... He will get you!”

“Really? How does he know about me?” she asked.

“He just knows! He knows that—”

“He was there when we were in the tunnel, when Luke and Campbell and I brought you down!” Carly said.

Moore smiled, thinking he was getting the upper hand again.

“He saw you. He knew that...”

“That you intended to torture and kill me?” she asked pleasantly.

He sat back, refusing to answer.

Luke decided he should go in. He nodded to Campbell, left the observation room, then nodded to the guard, who opened the door to the interrogation room and let him enter.

“So, Carly,” he said, as if he hadn’t been listening, “did you let him know they intend to bring charges against him in the United States, and we’ve already started the ball rolling, asking about the governments coming to an agreement? And frankly, of course, I do know how civilized Britain is, but every law enforcement officer thinks that if the death warrant has ever been necessary, this is one of those times!”

Moore frowned. He was growing worried. The man enjoyed delivering death; he didn’t want to die himself.

“You’re out of your mind! That’s not British law.”

Luke smiled. “No, it’s American law. I suppose there is a way for you to stay in the United Kingdom—it won’t get you out of a life sentence, but who knows. With good behavior... I don’t know British law that well, so there might be hope. Except that you don’t seem to want to serve your sentence here in the UK. I mean, if you did—”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re threatening an American federal agent, right? And you do know this guy who created and runs the website, so...maybe you could live by telling us what you know about him.”

“No, I...uh...I’m not a rat!”

“Better a live rat than a dead goose!” Carly said.

“No, no, he’ll get you—he’ll get you and this woman.”

They had him confused, and even if they’d been lying, lying was allowed. And they didn’t know British law, so...

“I sincerely doubt it. And if he’s so immortal and so ethereal and cool, what would it hurt if you told us about him?” Luke asked.

Again, Clayton Moore seemed confused.

“He... You’re right. It doesn’t matter. He’ll kill you both.”

“He is an American, right? That’s what Pratt said.”

“Pratt is an idiot. Yes, he was born in America. But he’s lived all over the world, here, in France, in Germany...London. He...he told me that in his earlier years, he was Jack the Ripper—and that he sold the body parts that he took from the whores.” He paused to look at Carly. “Maybe he’ll sell your body parts.”

“Well, that’s one thing we won’t do,” Carly said. “After you’re dead, we’ll just bury you in a potter’s field somewhere.”

“I don’t know,” Luke said. “Maybe his body could go for use in medical science.”

“No!” Moore protested.

Carly smiled at Luke. They were definitely throwing the man off—but they needed more.

“You think you’ve gotten to me. You think that I will describe him—” Moore began.

“Oh, no, we don’t need you to describe him,” Luke said. “We have plenty of pictures of him. Oh, come to think of it, we even have his passport.”

“I guess he’s real enough since he needs that passport.”

Moore looked completely confused. “No, you don’t have his passport—”

“Oh, but we do. We have a picture of it from the last time he entered the country,” Luke told him. “And when he tries to board a ship or a plane next time—”

“Don’t count on that helping you,” Moore said. “He’s busy. He is very busy here.”

“Interesting. I thought he’d be heading to France, and we’d get him—”

Moore waved a hand in the air. “No. You will not get him through his passport. The man is very busy. And he has everything in France under control.”

“Oh, well. Thanks,” Luke told him.

“Have a nice rest of your day,” Carly said, smiling. “Well, enjoy all the days that you can!”

“No, wait—I helped you. Right? I helped you. You can’t charge me in America. I need to stay right here!”

“Did he help us?” Luke asked Carly.

“Well—”

“He’s here! He’s here. I can tell you that without being a rat because I can’t tell you exactly where he is. I know he still has business here and I told you that you were foolish to think that you’d catch him using his passport because he isn’t going anywhere.”

“I guess he did help us,” Carly said. She was at the door but turned back. “Oh, Luke, yes, he did help us, because if he was leaving the country, he might have a dozen passports under a dozen different names, so...”

“Wait, no!” Moore protested, looking down at his hands suddenly. “I am a rat, I am a rat—”

“A live rat and not a dead goose,” Carly said. “See you, Clayton.”

She was out of the room and Luke gave Clayton Moore one last smile before joining her and thanking the guard who had opened the door to let them leave.

Campbell was out in the hall, waiting for them.

“I wonder that such a being exists in human form,” he said, shaking his head. “But I applaud you. I think that you’ve drawn from the man what he knows. I’m not so sure on that American/British agreement on extradition in such a case—”

“I’m rather sure that since his crimes were committed on British soil that it would be out of the question,” Luke said, shrugging with a grimace.

“Aye. But your man fell for it!” Campbell said. “Again, my American friends, hats off to you. And now I have new orders for you.”

“Oh?” Carly said. “They’ve found—”

“Our best—and your best—tech crews are scrounging records. It seems, from what you’ve gained from this man Aaron, that our would-be Holmes does his best work on the web—finding those who need an outlet for their sick minds,” Campbell said. “This man has some means of support since he manages to travel easily enough, though I believe he most probably preys upon his followers for most of his creature comforts—whatever he may be, the man needs to eat. We have some of our best investigators from the National Crime Agency and Police Scotland crawling the streets in every city, but I believe that it’s going to be our techs who give us the next big break. They study locations, owners, managers, hotels, inns, B and Bs, anything, including retirement housing, where Duncan suggested such a man might make a financial killing—poor choice of words, but a friendly soul trying to help a lonely person who is halfway out the door...”

“Kudos to Duncan!” Carly murmured. “So—”

“Jackson Crow has suggested you get rest with what remains of the day. In his exact words, you are to ‘shake it off’ before it gets worse,” Campbell said. “Take time to breathe. Field Director Crow has suggested that this is going to get worse before it gets better.”

Luke nodded and turned to Carly. “He’s right. Let’s go breathe.”

Carly nodded but turned to Campbell. “If anything is discovered—”

“You will be alerted immediately,” Campbell assured her.

He gave them a salute and turned away.

Outside and in the car, Luke noted that it was three in the afternoon.

“What do you want to do?” he asked Carly.

“I don’t know,” she murmured.

“I have suggestions,” he said.

She turned to him, laughing. “Okay...I get your drift, but there is a lot of the day left! Maybe we should stop by the café—”

“There’s not actually a lot of the day left, and we’ve been told to ‘shake it off,’ but we can stop by the café, see what we see, maybe just wander the Royal Mall or head—”

“We’ve both been here. We know the sights.”

“Ah, but we don’t know them together.”

She smiled. “That’s true. But the café—”

“What part of ‘breathe a little’ didn’t you get?” he teased. “Not to worry. I’ll get us parked again at the hotel first—we’ll walk to the café and see the sights on the way back, or go somewhere or don’t go somewhere, okay?”

“Wow, you are accommodating,” she said.

“I try! Except...”

“Except?”

“I think we need to see how Mason and Della are doing.”

“Oh, we agree on that! I’ll get a text off to the two—I don’t want to put them in a bad position if they’re...”

“In one hotel or another run by a heinous killer who could be chatting with them?” Luke asked her.

“Exactly.”

She had her phone out and put the text through.

Her phone rang almost immediately after she had sent the message and she flashed Luke a smile, answering the phone.

“Mason, we know we’re in touch all way round, but—Oh, I’m with Luke and I’m putting you on speaker.”

Luke nodded his thanks to her.

“Heading to our fourth little hotel in the wine region,” Mason told them. “Della is with me—we’re all on speaker.”

“Good work, guys,” Della said.

“Hey, Della, and thanks. But on your end—nothing so far?” Luke asked.

“We know that something is going on down here,” Mason said. “A young couple from New Zealand has disappeared in the area, as well as two young women from Paris and an older gentleman from Milan. And so far, since Luke first discovered the Society, we’ve been to a charming B and B, a larger hotel and a manor from before the French Revolution—we’ve been to the basements, searched for tunnels, worked with local undercovers, and...”

“But nothing?” Luke asked.

“I can’t say nothing. We’ve had some great wine, wonderful French cuisine and seen a lot of beautiful countryside,” Mason said dryly. “You two have brought down several members, and thanks to you on the ground and our scientific data folk, we’re briefed on everything going on. We’d be up there in a flash if we weren’t hoping—”

“To find people alive, we know!” Carly said softly, glancing over at Luke.

“Yeah. We know the investigation called us to the area, but it’s popular for all those who are touring the wine region. Some folks like to come in groups, and others are either French speaking or learned enough through classes or online to manage romantic tours on their own,” Mason said.

“Like the two of you?” Luke asked lightly.

“Hey, what says romance like a sweet little room in wine country?” Della asked. “Hmm. Maybe not worrying about cameras in the room or gas being piped in?”

“You got a point,” Luke said.

“The site is down now but we don’t know for how long,” Mason said. “And neither do we know just how far this has gone. I understand that Campbell is on your speed dial and that cooperation in Scotland with the local police and with the National Crime Agency has been like clockwork.”

“Yes. I thought Campbell might be a stoic jerk at first—” Luke began.

“But he’s pretty cool!” Carly said.

“Hopefully, we’re on to it here. And if so, we’ll be up there before the last ink dries on the paperwork here,” Mason told them.

“Well, if you get in trouble there, I think we’re a short plane ride to Paris from Edinburgh and we can drive out to that Champagne region pretty fast.”

“Luke, we have the two of you looking for the head of the snake—we know he’s there. We don’t know how many idiots around the world have joined this society. Get the head of the snake. We’re good, and Jackson and Angela are covering it all at the top, information central.”

“Well, enjoy the wine,” Luke said.

“And you have yourselves a good Scot’s whiskey,” Della said.

“Or enjoy some haggis,” Mason suggested.

“I think Carly turned into a pescatarian when we got here,” Luke joked. “Well, we are headed back to the café off Royal—”

“Cops are covering it,” Mason reminded him.

“Yeah, but we’re, um, ‘breathing’ until the cyber folks get back to us,” Luke said. “Except that Carly thinks that if we try the tourist stuff on the Mile we might—”

“See H. H. Holmes walking down the street?” Mason asked.

“He won’t be H. H. Holmes, Herman Mudgett or any of the aliases we know,” Carly said. “The thing is, I did see him, so...”

“Got it. You won’t be happy if you don’t do something proactive,” Mason said. “All right, then, make Campbell and Jackson your first calls—make me the third.”

“Got it,” Carly assured him.

They reached the hotel and Luke parked the car. “So, you want coffee that badly?” he asked her.

“Maybe I’ll have tea. And a scone. They do have delicious scones,” Carly said.

“You know, we should be looking for a good restaurant. We’re really messing up the sleeping-and-eating thing here—dinner is the next meal on the plate,” Luke said.

“You don’t want to go to the café?” she asked.

He smiled and shrugged. “Actually, I do. They have sandwiches, too, so...”

They headed to the café. Luke walked to the counter to order. Carly found a seat at the long table where computers were set up for use. He waited for their tray while she slid a credit card into the computer and began working on it. He watched curiously; she was online, but she seemed to be giving her attention to the table.

He found a little dining table and set their tray down and walked over to her. He placed a hand on her shoulder.

No one in the café remotely resembled the man who might have created the H. H. Holmes Society.

But you never knew who might be one of his Society members.

“Hey, got the food,” he told her. “You never said tea or coffee, so I went with tea, have milk and sugar on the side.”

The middle-aged man at the next computer looked up at him.

Luke smiled broadly. “We’re engaged, but it was all so fast—I’m just now learning how she takes her tea!” he said.

The man grinned at him. “Aye, laddie, important to know!”

“You okay?” He leaned closer to Carly, feeling her hair brush his face.

“Yeah, got it, ready for food!” she said. “Wait, why don’t you sit down and read this page, too?” she suggested.

She, too, turned to the man at her side. “We’re tourists—I guess that’s obvious.”

“And great to have you to our beautiful and fair city,” the man said. “You must start with the castle—”

“Oh, we’ve done the castle and it is wonderful. And the whole city is as you said. It is beautiful!” Carly agreed. “It’s often considered to be the prettiest capital in all Europe—maybe in all the world!”

She stood so that Luke could take the chair.

“We’ve done so much here and we love it all and could do it all, but I was just reading about the vaults—it all sounds fascinating!” Carly said.

She was on a web page that offered tours—including tours of the Edinburgh vaults.

He read the page, though he already knew most of what it could tell him. Ghost-tour enthusiasts loved the vaults—Scotland was really good at ghostly, ghastly, history. So many wars through so many years. Clans banding together, clans at odds. Of course, the tunnels came comparatively late in Edinburgh history, but they offered myriad stories about criminal empires. Then entered the modern world...

And perhaps offered a place where monsters slipped in.

He carefully erased their work on the computer—although knowing that anything on a computer lasted forever in the ethernet somewhere—and smiled at the gentleman who was seated next to him.

“Now, you can’t possibly ha’ done all that there is to do in our beautiful city without going underground. There’s the Surgeons’ Hall Museum, Parliament House, The Writers’ Museum, the National War Museum of Scotland and so, so much more!” the man suggested.

Luke smiled again. The man was probably about fifty with graying auburn hair, deep blue eyes and a kindly smile. As outgoing and friendly as he seemed to be, Luke thought that he was a little nervous.

He decided to keep an eye on the man.

“Thank you! We’ll look into it all,” he said, and headed over to the table to find Carly.

“Making friends wherever we go?” she teased.

“Hey, he was your friend. I think he was much happier with you, and I don’t think that he’s keen on the vaults. So, what caused your fascination with them?” he asked her quietly.

“Someone was on that computer earlier today looking up the history of the vault, and then witchcraft in Scotland, geography and more,” Carly said, speaking softly as well. “Luke, I’ve been down there before and it is a fascinating history. The vaults were created in the nineteen arches of South Bridge around 1788, and at first, supposedly, it was great. They were used for shops and all kinds of aboveboard enterprises—there were taverns, tradespeople—but it was also an enclosed space, and in time, you probably had air so rank it was just about impossible to breathe. Anyway—”

“After about thirty years, the homeless found a place there, criminals found a place there, and it was all...not good. Water came in—it was never properly sealed. All in all, there are about one hundred and twenty arches and—”

“Hey! You do know that Mason and Della went down to the arches—in search of the last serial killer assigned to the Blackbird division of the Krewe?”

“I read their briefs before I was officially transferred to the Blackbird division,” Luke said. “But why your fascination? We were talking about a stroll down the Mile and—”

“Luke, someone wasn’t just looking up information about the vaults. There’s an impression in the table—someone was writing it down.”

“The word vaults?”

Carly shook her head. “I don’t know if it’s important or not, and you can go look—but it’s as if they were writing on a piece of paper, something they needed to know or remember or pass on, and they pressed so hard that it etched into the wood.”

“Okay. There are ghost tours down there every night of the week and possibly every day—I just know that they’re offered by every tour company in the city.”

“But only some of the vaults are open for tours—we can call Mason and Della and find out what they found out. There are rumors—”

“Right. Rumors that Burke and Hare used the vaults for some of their murderous activity, but no scholars say that there’s any evidence that points in that direction,” Luke reminded her.

“You don’t think it’s possible that a would-be H. H. Holmes is using the vaults?” Carly asked him.

“Oh, I didn’t say that at all,” he replied. “I’m just playing the devil’s advocate. I came here with a college buddy, Peter, just before we both enlisted in the military. He was a major sports guy and was big on the vaults because one of his rugby heroes had something to do with the excavation, and we spent a couple of nights there. The vaults were closed, if I remember right, between about 1835 and 1875. Here’s why my friend Peter knew so much. A tunnel was found leading to them in the 1980s by a rugby player, Norrie Rowan, and it’s a cool story because he used the tunnel he had discovered to help a Romanian player escape the Romanian Secret Police before their revolution in 1989. Rowan pressed forward with an excavation and tons of rubble were removed, along with all manner of fascinating artifacts, a door to the past—and, of course, the vaults were open again and became big business.”

“And now the tunnels are used for tours, parties and whatever else the city decides they should be used for. Luke! They were rediscovered because someone found a tunnel. They know of about one hundred and twenty vaults. Someone here, in this café—”

“Might have been a tourist really intrigued and wanting a ghost tour of the tunnels,” Luke warned her.

She gave him a serious frown and he smiled, saying softly, “I told you, I’m just playing devil’s advocate. But, with everything that goes on down there, it’s hard to imagine that someone has created their own little dungeon in the vaults when the vaults are in use, not always, but known to the city, known to the police...”

“I know that.”

“And still?”

She nodded. “I know. But if we could understand the vaults—”

“We might get a better understanding of what’s around them. Carly, there’s no real reason to suspect that this man is using the vaults in any way. Remember, they were excavated over thirty years ago,” Luke reminded her.

“I do know that. But the violence of geography in the past is half of the reason why this city—and this country—is so beautiful. The rising cliffs, the dipping green valleys, the rugged rock, the rich forests. All right, Arthur’s Seat in Holyrood Park is the highest point, by the extinct volcano, but it’s all rugged and up and down and mountains and...”

“And there’s plenty of room for all manner of things going on below the ground,” Luke agreed.

“Which makes it all so hard,” Carly said. “We can’t dig up the entire city. But! Like the natural tunnel was something that Clayton could use—creating a man-made tunnel from his house to join it—it’s hardly shocking when you do think of the terrain,” Carly explained.

“Well, our H. H. Holmes Society creator does need a real base,” Luke said.

“Maybe we could take a ghost tour anyway! We are tourists,” Carly reminded him before looking up, smiling and falling silent.

The man who had been next to her at the computer table was walking over to them.

“This isn’t rightly my place, but you seem like a decent couple and...there was a lad sitting at that computer before you came in. He was getting angry, looking for a site he couldn’t seem to find. Then he got a message in his email and he seemed happy again and he pulled up everything that he could find on the vaults, just like you were doing. And he was whispering under his breath, ‘Bloody vaults, bloody vaults!’ and he seemed so happy I thought that he was going to crow like a rooster. I called the cops before you came in. But I don’t know if they understood... The kid could have meant nothing. The kid could have meant something. I had a feeling that he was looking for that site on what they call the dark web and couldn’t find it, but...”

He lifted his hands.

“I’m sorry. I mean, you’re a couple, but...I watch the news. I think you should be careful.”

“Sir, thank you.”

They both stood and Carly said softly, “Sir, could we have your name and information? I’m sure that the police do deal with young people being young people and chatter on the web that might not mean anything. But...”

She broke off, glancing at Luke.

“We know the right people for you to talk to, sir,” Luke said, looking at Carly.

“My family is from here—we’ve been in the States awhile, but my grandparents still have friends and family here,” she said.

“And one that we know is with the National Crime Agency,” Luke offered.

“We can give him a call.”

The man looked around nervously. “I don’t know—”

“He’ll keep you out of it, sir, I promise, but he may want to speak with you.”

Carly was looking at him.

They’d also want the security footage from the café, and fast.

Carly had her phone out. When it was answered at the other end, she played it perfectly.

“Uncle Brendan! Met a friend at the café and I think you might want a word with him. Can you come and, you know, act like a normal human being greeting friends?”

On the other end, Brendan Campbell apparently agreed.

Carly ended the call. The Brit crew at headquarters had kept their link with the café cameras so they could easily find whoever had been next to the older gentleman earlier.

There would also be a tech in shortly to go through the computer again.

“May I get you some coffee, sir, tea?” Luke asked him, offering him a hand. “Luke Kendrick, sir, and this is my girlfriend, Carly MacDonald.”

“Pleased,” the gentleman said. “Michael MacDuff, and...yes, lad, I may as well have me a cup of coffee and sit.”

There were four chairs at the table and Luke indicated that MacDuff should take his seat while he went to purchase the coffee.

Carly gave him a smile and he sat. He was evidently nervous. Buying more coffee, Luke kept an eye on the table. Carly was doing her best to put him at ease—without mentioning the fact that they were American law enforcement.

As Luke returned to the table, MacDuff was speaking nervously to Carly.

“I don’t... I mean, I don’t suppose that this man is a danger in the world when we’re surrounded by others, but I have seen the news and we’re on the nervous side. I believe that the media everywhere in the world can seek out the sensational, but in this... Police spokesmen and women have been on the air, warning everyone just about everywhere about the website. Maybe the very warnings put those with sick and evil minds on the hunt for the dark web, but the warnings are taken to heart by others. Of course, we all have that thing wherein we think, aye! Sad, tragic, but though it happens to others, it wouldnae happen to me. But this. Even the young lads and lasses, they’ve taken this to heart, not slipping off to quiet places for their naughtiness.”

“Sir, I believe you’ll be fine.”

“And I may have been talking out of line, but...” The man hesitated. “I may be maligning a youth who is just excited about the vaults or...”

“How do you know he was looking for a site on the dark web?” Luke asked.

“He kept muttering beneath his breath, but I could hear him. He kept saying he knew what the hell he was doing and how he could get anywhere he wanted to go, there had to be something wrong with the site and that it had to go back up. Then, like I said, he got an email that pleased him, he stopped his angry muttering and banging on the keys!

“And still...” MacDuff said miserably.

“It’s all right, really. I know that my uncle Brendan is going to be grateful for any lead,” Carly assured him.

She had barely spoken when MacDuff sat back in his seat. He was facing the door, which opened.

He stared at the man who entered.

Who was staring at him.

It wasn’t the would-be Holmes. It was a man in his early twenties, barely past his teenage years. He was wearing a band T-shirt and jeans and a denim jacket.

He smiled at MacDuff and pulled a weapon from a holster beneath his denim jacket and took aim at the older man.

“Nosy old bloody bastard!” he cried.

MacDuff just stared.

“Down!” Carly shouted.

Screams echoed throughout the café.

MacDuff hadn’t moved; Carly jumped on him, bringing him to the floor.

And Luke drew his Glock and fired. There was simply no choice.

The sound of the bullet exploding sounded like thunder in the small confines of the charming café.