Chapter Twelve

Carly stared at the computer screen in front of her; she was with Duncan, Ian and Liz while Luke made a call to his archaeologist brother, Andrew Kendrick.

They’d gone through Blackstone’s email without any issue—as anyone might have done with his sign-in information—but the three in the computer room could trace locations and times as the average person might not do so easily.

“Carly, I wonder if we need to get you in to speak with Blackstone again,” Duncan said, sitting back. “Earlier emails seem to have come from the Galway region, others are from here in Edinburgh and a few are from the Stirling area.”

“Well, we know that until a day or so ago our Holmes Society creator was in Edinburgh,” Luke said. “Did either of you find mention of vaults in any way?”

“No, but as I’m sure you’ve read, there are some freaky emails from someone calling himself ‘BVLT’ on the server—BVLT. Could be—”

“Bloody vaults?” Carly asked.

“I’ve heard stranger,” Duncan said. “There is something here, one more place, and our man Blackstone was supposed to be involved in it. Maybe he was caught because this man—the head of it all—just doesn’t care which of his followers falls by the wayside. But Galway...”

“Galway?” Luke asked. “Galway, Scotland?”

“Oh, come, you’ve heard of Sawney Bean?”

Luke frowned. “Yes, I’ve heard of Sawney, but isn’t most of what people claim to be truth mostly legend?”

“Legend usually comes from something,” Duncan said.

“And that is true,” Luke agreed. “So—”

“Sawney Bean, born Alexander in East Lothian in the sixteenth century. He wasn’t good at any of the trades and decided to find his own manner of survival. He met Black Agnes Douglas, renowned as being a vicious creature, accused of witchcraft, and together they left home and created a place in a deep cave on the coast between Girvan and Ballantrae. The story gets very creepy in several ways. They had six daughters and eight sons and thirty-plus grandchildren, the grandchildren being the result of the children in all ways—”

“Incest, if you didn’t get that,” Liz supplied, amused.

“Got it,” Luke assured her.

“Anyway, they managed their great clan for well over twenty-five years, surviving off the land in a unique way, as in attacking unwary travelers, robbing them and—the really disturbing part—eating them. There are estimates that as many as a thousand people disappeared through the years until they attacked a man who was a warrior returning from a fair with his wife. The poor wife was sliced to ribbons by the women in the clan while the husband survived when others came upon the road. He went to the magistrate, and they believe that it was King James VI who arrived in a fury with dogs and a small army. Sawney and the clan were taken, and you can imagine that they weren’t dealt with kindly. Supposedly the women were burned at the stake and the men met a similar fate, but in addition their reproductive parts were hacked off and they were slashed almost to death, left just alive enough to feel the burn of the flames.”

“And it’s all a legend,” Liz reminded them.

“Excuse me,” Luke said, gazing at his phone. “Call I need to make,” he added, stepping out of the room.

“Legends, legends, legends,” Liz murmured, watching Luke go.

“And legends are based—” Carly began.

“Usually, on some kind of truth,” Liz agreed, grinning. “Different people tell the stories different ways, but in the end, it’s about an incestuous clan that included a witch that resided for decades on ill-gotten gains and human flesh. So far, I’ve not heard of any members of our Holmes Society being cannibals.”

“No, there was never a suggestion of cannibalism in any of the records we’ve gone through, and trust me, there were many, not to mention the research done by investigators through the years, one of those researchers who enlisted professionals being none other than a descendant,” Carly murmured. “And yet—”

“Toll-fuaraidh!”Ian suddenly announced.

The others stared at him, but, apparently, Ian knew what he was saying.

“Dungeon,”Ian said. “Gaelic.”

“Does he mention anything specific?” Carly asked. “Any basement can become a castle dungeon. Except...”

Duncan shook his head. “I’ve had many a friend who has worked at the Edinburgh Dungeon. Yes, it’s one of our rather spooky attractions and not for the fainthearted, but they do a great job with both history and entertainment. For anyone into good, clean, spooky fun with a dose of our bloodier history thrown in, it’s fantastic.”

Carly grinned. “I’ve been there. And, yes, I agree—fun place, great ‘scare actors’ when I’ve been, and, yes, they do a great job putting the ‘bloody’ into Scottish history.” She shook her head. “This man wouldn’t be using a place that was constantly in motion. What I was thinking is that this place might be between the vaults and the tourist attraction. Places that are underground. At some point in time, there might have been other tunnels and rooms—or vaults—between them.”

“Possibly. In your jargon, there’s a bit more than a mile between the two, along the Carlton Road,” Ian offered. “But I understand that you struck on something inside Blackstone and maybe he knows where—”

“I think he was expecting to receive further instructions when he left the café, but in his twisted mind, he thought Mr. MacDuff was a terrible threat to everything, and he had to do something about him. And thanks. For the conversion—I’m still horrible with kilometers!” Carly told him, smiling. “I wonder...”

“If it isn’t just possible Blackstone might give you more?” Duncan asked.

At that moment, the door opened and Luke walked in.

“I’ve got something,” he said, almost simultaneously with the four in the room saying, “We may have something!”

“Oh,” Luke said. “You first.”

“There’s the Gaelic word for dungeon in one of the emails,” Ian offered. “But, of course, we don’t believe it’s a reference to a pretty great tourist attraction—”

“But it is a reference to the underground, and the underground between a few of the tourist attractions and the Edinburgh Vaults,” Luke said.

“How—” Duncan began.

“His brother is an archaeologist,” Carly explained.

“But—” Liz began, confused.

“He’s an American, yes,” Luke said. “But he was here about seven years ago when the university sponsored a dig. There was only so much money, but they did find another street-beneath-a-street, some empty rooms down there that had artifacts dating back to the early 1700s. They stopped when they ran out of funds. The entrance was sealed off with the city council and university agreement that they’d get back to it, but funding, life and other things got in the way. According to Andy, there’s a vennel or alleyway behind a small dress shop and the entry can be found there.”

“No one watches it?” Carly asked him.

“Supposedly sealed—at the time of the dig or excavation, all three little shops that front the alley were just empty buildings, caught up in a recession, and the alley backs onto the walls of a major bank, and when I say ‘walls,’ I’m talking stone about ten feet high—Andy said that it was probably erected in the 1700s, too.”

Duncan laughed, looking around at the others. “Well, here we’ve been half the day searching desperately through emails and web connections, and Luke made one phone call.”

Luke grinned and shook his head. “Not true. My phone call might not have meant so much if it didn’t seem that, at the very least, our information appeared to agree. Carly—”

“We’re headed to the tunnels?”

“We are, and we’ll be joined by Campbell and a few members of the old excavation team from some of the institutes of higher learning in the area,” Luke told her.

“Okay, well...” Carly rose to join him, turning around to the computer trio to say, “Thank you!”

“We’ll keep at it in every way,” Duncan promised her.

“In every way!” Ian echoed, with Liz nodding her agreement in silence.

“Thanks,” Carly murmured again.

She followed Luke out and they were soon in the car.

“How long before we’re joined by the others?”

“They’re getting it all together. Probably an hour or so.”

“But we’re heading out now?”

“I thought you might want to go dress shopping,” he said, giving her a grin.

“Okay, why?”

“Because, according to Andrew, they found the entrance by doing a lot of digging. And it’s amazing how much things can change in a few years, but I think there might be more to it than that.”

“Oh?”

Luke glanced her way again. “There was construction done on all the shops recently. Really recently. Within the last year. And it seems that part of the dress shop was built out a couple of feet into the vennel.”

“Within the last year? Someone looked up ownership of the shop, right?”

He nodded. “It’s owned by Margaret Crowley. She looks great on paper. Thirty years old, college degree in design, worked for an international chain store before she bought this place herself.”

“Just this last year?” Carly asked.

“Right before the construction started,” Luke said.

“So...you think that she’s part of this?” Carly asked.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, so—”

“I had Police Scotland check it out. The police and the National Crime Agency are clear to search the vennel, but since she owns the shop it’s considered private property and, well, laws here are similar to laws in the United States when it comes to searching without a warrant.”

“Maybe she would just agree.”

“But if she didn’t, we’d have no plan B.”

“You want to break some laws?” Carly asked him. “We’re guests in this country. If there’s an angle, there’s got to be a way to work it.”

“Imminent danger,” Luke said. “Also, I talked with Andy for a while—there are steps in the vennel leading to a higher ‘ground’ area. And as is evident in about the whole city, there might be anything just about anywhere, so many levels, so much that was topside that is now beneath the ground level as we know it.”

“You think something from the store may lead into the area beneath the old stone steps?” she asked.

He nodded.

“So, your plan is...?”

He shrugged. “You look at dresses. I’ll look around. And if I find something, I’ll hope that our shopkeeper is distracted and I’ll figure out how to get where I need to be.”

“And if you find something?”

“Then you won’t see me and you’ll know to disappear into a dressing room and find me. Underground, I’m not at all sure we can text, so it may be a little blind. Anyway, grab some clothing. And if someone has been using an entrance to the tunnels from the store for illegal activities, well, it won’t matter if Miss Crowley is missing a dress or two.”

Carly smiled.

They parked and started walking to their destination. The storefront was like any storefront—mannequins were on display. The store was small, offering only one window. Carly paused to study the clothing offered.

“Well?”

“It’s too bad our shopkeeper may be a criminal. She has good taste.”

“Oh, good. Then you won’t hate looking around too much.”

They walked in, hand in hand, but Carly let out a gasp and walked over to a handsome denim pantsuit.

The shopkeeper, presumably Miss Crowley, was behind a counter at the rear of the store. The little shop was in two sections, a half wall separating them. The dressing rooms were at the back of one side, while there appeared to be an office behind the counter.

As she studied the pantsuit, Luke walked to the counter, smiling and greeting the young woman. “Hello. Lovely place you have here.”

“Thank you,” the young woman said. “May I help you? What are you and your lady looking for today?” she asked politely.

“I’m not sure,” Luke said. “My girlfriend just fell in love with your window display. She says you have excellent taste. Oh, I’m sorry. I mean, whoever owns the store or creates the window displays—”

“That is me. I am Margaret Crowley, proprietor, and thank you very much,” she said, returning his smile.

Carly studied the woman as she pretended to hold the pantsuit up, viewing it from different angles.

Margaret Crowley was attractive with auburn hair bobbed at her neck, frothy bangs and a slim, pretty face. She was about five-seven and built nicely, slim but shapely.

She looked like someone who might be a Holmes Society victim—not a member.

But then again...

“What’s on the other side?” Luke asked. “Sports, evening wear?”

“I have some gorgeous dresses over there. Some are brand names and some are by local designers and seamstresses.”

“Nice!” Luke told her. “I’ll wander over!”

As he did, Carly approached the woman with the pantsuit, catching her attention lest she watch what Luke was doing.

“Hi. I just heard my boyfriend telling you I was in love with the display window. I was! You have the neatest stuff in here. I’m one of those people who really like the unusual. And, yes, this is a denim pantsuit, which should be ordinary, but the cut is great, the angles in the front of the jacket, the embroidery on the back... This is really lovely!”

“Ah, pantsuit—trouser suit, my dear, here in the UK. But by whatever name... Thank you! I take it you would like to try it on?”

“I’m a six in the United States and the one that I picked up would be too big. And I’m terrible at the UK sizes, I’m afraid. Would you mind helping me?”

“No, no, of course not. Let me find the equivalent of a size six for you,” Margaret Crowley said. “I love that piece myself. And it is one of our local designs. You’ll note the fabric is thin enough for comfort, but if you have a sweater on underneath, it’s quite warm as well—which we do need now and again around here.”

“I live in Virginia. We can get chilly, too,” Carly said.

The woman was heading to the front of the shop. Luke could explore in the other area all that he wanted.

Margaret Crowley seemed happy to find Carly the right size. She produced it with a flourish. “There were only five of these made, so you should enjoy it!” she told her.

“May I try it on?” she asked politely.

As she did so, the little bell at the door rang. Carly couldn’t have asked for better timing as two women, already bearing shopping bags, walked into the store.

“Of course, of course,” Margaret Crowley said. “Please, back of the store just behind the wall there, and, as I told your boyfriend, there are some lovely gowns over there, too! If you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course!” Carly said, and Margaret Crowley gave her a quick smile and moved forward to welcome the new arrivals.

Carly hurried to the second section, looking for Luke.

She frowned, not seeing him anywhere.

“Psst! Carly. Here!”

She swung around. He was in the last of the fitting rooms. She arched a brow but he was reaching out to her. She headed in.

The little dressing room was crowded with the two of them in it. There was a hook for hangers, a small chair in the corner and a mirror.

“What are we doing in here?” Carly whispered.

Luke smiled at her and turned to the mirror, gripping it by the right side and leaning against the wall to pull at it.

The mirror opened and exposed raw wooden steps leading down to darkness.

“Okay!” Carly whispered.

She dropped the pantsuit on the chair and, as Luke held the mirror/door for her, started down the steps.

Into darkness.

But he was right behind her, drawing out his penlight and throwing its light over the steps—to the stone level beneath them.

“Was this where your brother came with his excavation team?” she asked, still whispering.

“I don’t know.” He trained the light on the long tunnel stretching before them, one that appeared to have been carved out of rock, with nothing there but darkness stretching ahead for what seemed like forever. But then Luke’s light fell on an opening leading off toward the left, and another, one that led to the right.

“Left, right?” he queried.

“I’ll take right...leading toward the street,” she murmured.

“Left—might take me to an excavated area,” he said.

Carly drew out her own light and cast the glow to the right, following her path into what seemed to be a side room, vestibule...

Or vault.

It was perhaps twelve feet by fifteen feet or so. Toward the rear of the room there was a large set of drawers, the kind that might be found in an office.

They weren’t historic pieces but might have been found in an office shop that offered specialized sizes for different businesses.

She walked toward the drawers curiously, wondering what might be found inside. She opened the first and frowned, gritted her teeth and shook her head.

It was filled with different sizes of knives.

The second offered rope and tape.

She opened the third and froze.

There had been a smell in the tunnels, naturally. Beneath street level, no fresh air circulating...but...

The third drawer offered a body.

It had been there a long time. Wrapped in white sheeting, it appeared to be partially mummified and partially rotted. Swallowing hard, Carly moved the sheet from the face.

The flesh was sunken. Stretched too tightly over the bones. But an abundance of rich auburn hair surrounded the remains of the face and skull, making Carly think that the body had belonged to that of a woman, a young woman.

A perfect Holmes Society victim.

She turned to call out to Luke.

But she never let out a sound.

Margaret Crowley was standing there, pointing a gun at Carly’s head.

“Where’s the boy toy?” she demanded.

“I—I don’t know,” Carly said. Her reply was honest to a point. She knew he had gone in the opposite direction; she just didn’t know where he might be right then.

She could draw quickly. She knew that she could.

But before this woman could fire her piece?

“I thought there was something about you two!” Margaret Crowley said. She shook her head. “But you did look like a loving couple out to shop and what man doesn’t want to see his woman in nice clothing—before she takes it off, of course. Who are you? Police Scotland?”

“I swear to you. I am not Police Scotland.”

“And I thought you were. I thought you were using an atrocious American accent to throw me off!”

“Sorry, it’s the only accent I have.”

“So, why are Americans delving into places where they shouldn’t be?”

“I, uh, just tripped when I was putting my bag on the chair,” Carly said. “I grabbed the mirror to steady myself and...well, it opened, and who could resist a staircase that leads underground? Listen, I didn’t see anything—”

“Are you blind?”

“No!”

“Then that’s obviously a body. Too bad you just had to trip and too bad you’re so curious! I’m afraid I can’t let you back up the steps now.”

“Wait, wait, wait—we wanted to be part of it!” Carly claimed.

“Part of what?” the woman asked suspiciously.

Carly stood tall and stared at her. “What you’re obviously part of. The H. H. Holmes Society!”

“What?” she demanded furiously. “No, no, I’m the only woman in this thing and I am so sorry—”

“You will be sorry! I spoke with him myself. I just didn’t know that you were part of it when we came into the store.”

“Sorry, I don’t believe a word you’re saying!”

Margaret Crowley was going to shoot. Carly had no recourse but to draw her own weapon and duck, hoping Crowley didn’t really know what she was doing.

But she never had to fire herself.

Because Luke had appeared silently behind Margaret Crowley and set the barrel of his Glock hard against her temple.

“I really suggest you drop your weapon,” he told her.

“No!” the woman screamed, her hand shaking, but her grip still strong. “No, no, I can’t, I can’t, I will not, I...”

Looking at Luke, and at the gun still pointed at her, the way that the woman’s hand still shook, Carly didn’t dare take a chance.

Dropping low, she took careful aim, making sure she avoided Luke and catching the woman in the hand with which she held the gun.

With a horrific scream, the woman dropped her weapon, grasping at her shattered hand and staggering back. She would have fallen to the floor had Luke not caught her and lowered her gently.

She sat there screaming vindictively, promising they would still die.

Luke had his gun still trained on her, but with his free hand, he had his phone out.

“You have to see what’s in the drawer,” Carly said, kicking the woman’s weapon from her and stooping to retrieve it.

“You need to see what’s in the rest of the place,” he returned dryly before speaking to the receiver of his phone call. “We need a medic—” he began.

But a second man walked up behind him. Brendan Campbell.

“What is it with you Americans?” he demanded. “So much gunfire!”

“Well, I am sorry!” Carly said. “But I couldn’t help but feel it was better I shoot her hand than she put a hole in my gut!”

Campbell was grinning. “All right. I’ll let it go. Ambulance on the way. But, Miss Crowley! I am with the National Crime Agency and you are under arrest.”

In between her screeches of pain, the woman began to laugh.

“I don’t know what you’re laughing about,” Campbell said. “This place is riddled with bodies and you’re—”

“Oh, you idiots!” she said.

“I don’t think so. There are bodies down here,” Luke said politely.

“A body in a drawer right here,” Carly said.

“Miss!” Campbell said politely. “Lass, you’re the one on the floor. My dear Miss Crowley, you’re under arrest—”

He was interrupted by the violence of her laughter and then her words. “Miss Crowley? You go right ahead and arrest Margaret Crowley and have fun while you do it! She’s the one in the drawer over there!” the woman announced.

She started to laugh again, and then to sob in pain.

Carly walked over to stand above her. Even below the earth, they could hear the blare of sirens. And other footsteps.

Campbell, of course, hadn’t come alone.

“We’re good here. We need a forensic team and an ME down here—several discoveries have been made. We need the medic here for this harpy as soon as possible,” he told the two men who had come to the arched stone doorway of the cubicle or vault.

“Witch, ugly witch!” the woman on the floor screamed to Carly. “You’d look like a true pile of shite in that pantsuit.”

Carly shrugged and walked over to her.

“I didn’t really like it that much anyway,” she told the woman. “But if that’s Margaret Crowley in the drawer, just who are you?”

The woman laughed and laughed.

And then she managed to smile at them all, though tears ran down her face.

“Who am I? You haven’t figured that out yet?” she demanded.

“Well, an impostor, obviously,” Luke said.

“Who the bloody hell are you?” Campbell demanded, his tone impatient and angry.

“It’s obvious!”

“Who?” Campbell roared.

“Why, sir, I am none other than H. H. Holmes himself!” she announced proudly.

Campbell stared at her with disgust, stepped by her and left the vault.

His foot caught her leg and she screamed again in agony.

“I am H. H. Holmes!” she screamed again.

“No, no, no, you’re not,” Luke said. He glanced over at Carly, indicating she should join him.

She did so. They walked out of the vault with her screaming after them.

“I am H. H. Holmes! I am! I am H. H. Holmes in the flesh!”

The woman was carrying on so loudly that for a minute, Carly thought the other sound she heard was an echo...

But it wasn’t.

There was someone, somewhere in the underground, who was screaming as well...

Screaming desperately for help.

She looked at Luke.

“Get the troops searching!” he shouted.

Carly turned, stepping back into the vault. She ducked down by the still crying and shouting woman who had claimed to be the victim in the drawer.

“Where is she? Who do you have down here? Where is she?”

The woman began to laugh again.

“Where is she?”

“In the dungeon!” the woman said, sobbing and laughing. “She? Just she? Dear, dear. She’s obviously in the dungeon! Dying, and she will die, trust me, before you can find her!”