CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

As it turned out, Linus Diller was not at the Tin Can. Nor was the Tin Can even remotely a nice place. Faith guessed that when you only had one option, you had to make the best of it.

Not that Faith cared one way or the other about the quality of the establishment. She and Micheal headed to the bar, Turk in between them, to see if they could get any more information on Diller before trying his cabin.

The bartender was a thickly built woman of around fifty with a lined face that looked like it would have been very pretty before years of alcohol abuse robbed it of its fullness and color. She looked dispassionately at the three of them and nodded at Turk. "Dog's gonna have to wait outside. We don't allow pets in here."

"He's not a pet, he's a K9 unit," Faith corrected, "and we are FBI Special Agents investigating the murders of Tyler Stone and Clara Montpelier."

"Oh yeah," the woman said, "my daughter works for the police department. She told me they found the Montpelier girl's body."

"They did," Faith confirmed, "and we're following up a lead on her killer."

"Got it," the bartender replied. "All the same, your dog's gonna have to wait outside."

Faith bristled, but before she could reply, Michael said, "My name is Special Agent Michael Prince. This is my partner, Special Agent Faith Bold. And our K9 unit goes where we go. Unless you want us calling our friends at ATF about a possible expired liquor license."

Michael's instincts turned out to be correct. The woman frowned sourly but relented. "All right. What do you want to know?"

"Linus Diller," Faith said.

"What about him?"

She shrugged. "Tell me what he's like?"

The bartender laughed. "Well, he's a drunk, bitter middle-aged man whose wife left him for beating her fifteen years ago, seven years after his brother died in the mine collapse. That about covers everything."

"I hear he causes a lot of trouble here."

The bartender shrugged. "He picks fights sometimes. Not so much now that he's getting older. To be honest, I just let them go outside to figure it out. It's cheaper than hiring a bouncer."

"How often is he here?"

She chuckled. "I can't remember the last time he wasn't here from open to close." She cocked her head and said, "Actually, he's been here a lot less often the past two weeks or so."

Faith lifted an eyebrow. "Is that so?" she asked.

"Yeah," the bartender said. "He's only been here for an hour or two each night. He sips his drinks quickly, then heads home. Might have something to do with the mine being reopened. Linus is a mean son of a bitch, but he really loved his brother." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "Between you and me, I think he loved his sister-in-law a little more than he loved his brother. Don't know that for sure, of course, but it seemed to me he that George's boy looked an awful lot more like Linus's boy, if you know what I mean."

"Thank you for the information," Faith said. "We'll be in touch if we have any further questions."

"Sounds good," the bartender replied. "Name's Luann, by the way."

Faith smiled drily. "Nice to meet you, Luann."

On the way to Diller's cabin, Faith checked her pistol's load. Michael looked over from the driver's seat and frowned. "You're not planning to use that, are you?"

She cast him a sardonic look, and he said, "Considering your recent behavior, that's not an unreasonable question."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not planning on using it, no, but since two people have pointed out that Diller is violent, I think it pays to be prepared."

"Prepared, yes; anticipating, no."

"Like I said," she repeated patiently. "I'm not planning on using it."

"Okay. Just making sure."

They remained silent for the rest of the drive. Breaker's Ridge Road led them out of the town proper. Faith noted that while Breaker's Ridge Road led west and the mine itself was north of town, there were several dirt paths that would allow Diller to reach the mines without having to travel through town.

They reached the cabin a few miles outside of Granger. The road, as promised, turned to dirt, where it wound up into a small spur of the mountains. Diller's cabin was located a half mile before the foothills.

The lights were still on inside, which made sense since Diller would normally be awake at the bar at this time. Faith lifted a hand to her pistol but pulled it away when she saw the look on Michael's face. Turk growled low in his throat as they approached the door, and Michael looked worriedly at him too.

The tv was playing inside, and when they knocked, Faith could hear Diller swear. She lifted her hand to her pistol again and, this time, left it there.

The TV volume diminished, and Faith heard shuffling footsteps as Diller approached the door. He opened it a crack and cast filmy eyes on the two agents under the porchlight. "What the hell do you want?" he growled, his voice the rasp of a longtime alcoholic.

"Linus Diller?" Faith asked.

"Who the hell are you?"

His left hand was hidden behind the door, and Faith kept her hand on her pistol. "I'm Special Agent Faith Bold. This is Special Agent Michael Prince and our K9 Unit, Turk."

Diller looked down at Turk and frowned. "That dog pisses on my porch, I'm going to kick the shit out of him."

Michael rolled his eyes. Turk looked mildly amused at the threat.

Faith knew she should treat it with the same levity, but after what had happened with West and Turk, she couldn't. Her eyes narrowed, and she said, "You put your hands on my dog, I'll make sure that's the last time you ever use them."

Michael frowned and tried to interject. "We just need a few minutes of your time, Mr. Diller."

"Like hell you do," he said. "Come back with a warrant, then we'll talk."

He made to close the door, and Faith put her shoulder into it. Diller stumbled backward, and the door flew open. "No, we'll talk now," she said, "people are dying, and I think you know something we need to know."

When Diller stumbled back from the door, she saw that his left hand held only a half-empty bottle of whiskey, not the shotgun she expected. "What the hell are you doing?" he shouted. "Get the hell out of my house!"

Though still belligerent, his eyes held more fear than anger, and Faith pressed her advantage. "No," she said, "if you want, you can file a complaint with the Philadelphia field office after you tell us what we need to know."

"I think if we both take a step back," Michael interjected, putting a hand on Faith's shoulder, "we'll agree that it's in all of our best interests to get this conversation out of the way as quickly as possible. Mr. Diller, we can talk on your porch if you would prefer, but this really is an urgent matter or we wouldn't be here at one-thirty in the morning. I'd consider it a personal favor if you just gave us a few minutes of your time."

"Not sure what the hell I'm supposed to do with that," Diller groused, "but all right. I'll talk to you . Little Miss Psychopath can sit quietly and behave. Or can she?"

He leered at Faith, and Faith nearly struck him. Turk's low growl stopped her and also wiped the smile off of Diller's face. "Hey now, I was only joking. I'm not gonna hurt her."

"Turk will behave as long as everyone else behaves," Michael said, glaring at Faith. "We're here to talk. That's all."

Faith gritted her teeth a moment but forced herself to nod. Diller offered a nod of his own and said, "All right then. You can sit here."

He gestured to the kitchen table where two wooden chairs sat. Faith's lip curled when she saw the questionable stains on the chairs, but Michael stoically ignored them and sat, staring at Faith until she did the same.

"All right," Diller said. He lifted the bottle of whiskey to his lips and took a long draw. A trickle of whiskey dribbled down his overgrown beard, and Faith's lip curled upward again. "What do you want to know?" he asked.

"First," Michael asked. "Can you confirm your whereabouts six days and thirteen days ago?"

"You mean, did I kill those kids who went missing?"

"Did you?"

Diller chuckled. "No, they did for themselves. That mine's been dangerous since it was first built. Don't know why folks still try to explore it after two cave-ins."

"Have you been back since the cave-in that killed your brother and his wife?" Michael asked.

"Back?" he chuckled. "I never went in in the first place. My brother was the cave guy. How do you call it? Spunkler?"

"Spelunker," Michael offered.

"Right. Well, anyway, he was the guy who liked caves. That's why Carol fell in love with him. She liked caves too."

"Did you and your sister-in-law have a relationship?" Faith asked.

Diller frowned. "I thought you weren't gonna talk."

Faith lifted her hands placatingly. "I'll sit right here the whole time."

Diller scoffed but didn't protest further. "Well, to answer your question, no, I didn't screw Carol. Everyone seems to think I did because she was actually kind to me, but I didn't. I loved George. I would never hurt him like that." He frowned. "Why are you even asking about her? She's been dead twenty-two years. So has George."

"We believe that someone is murdering people who visit the mines," Michael said. "We're talking to you because you're the only remaining family of the victims of the mine's first collapse who still lives in the area."

"So I must be the killer, right?" Diller replied contemptuously.

"It's probably a good idea to avoid sarcasm," Michael advised. Faith noted the similarity between that advice and the advice he gave Tom Martle. She also noted the similarity in Diller's response.

He lifted his hands, and much of his attitude faded away. "All right," he said, "Fair enough. Look, I don't know exactly what I can tell you. The mine wasn't shored up properly, so when they dug too deep, it caused a cave-in. Some people made it out. George and Carol didn't."

"I'm more interested in the two people who have been murdered in the caves over the past two weeks," Faith said, "What can you tell me about that?"

"Other than that they're damned fools? Nothing. I knew the Stone Boy by reputation. He was a deadbeat loser. Spent all day playing video games or screwing around in the caves."

"So he visited the caves before?" Faith asked.

"All the time. He and the Grant boy would go in there looking for buried treasure or whatever boys do when they're up to mischief. Brought a few girls back there in high school."

"Was Clara Montpelier one of those girls?" Michael asked.

"No," Diller asked. "She showed up a couple years back when Trevor Hart came back from college. Sweet kid, from what I could tell. She liked to run around the caves, too, but as far as I know, she never ran into the Stone kid. Not that I paid much attention. The point is, no, I don't think the two of them were involved."

"You still haven't confirmed your whereabouts," Faith pointed out.

"I was here," he said. "Couple hours at the Tin Can, but…" his anger faded, replaced by a grief so deep and palpable that Faith almost felt sorry for him. "Well, I guess when they dug up the mine, all the memories came back. I might be a washed-up old drunk, but I still don't like crying in front of people."

Faith looked again at his filmy, bloodshot eyes. She had assumed he was just drunk, but now it occurred to her that he had been weeping as well.

"How do you feel about people visiting the mine again?" Faith asked.

He chuckled. "They're fools. Like I said, that mine's been dangerous since it opened. Would you go exploring a mine that had twice caved in and killed a dozen people? To say nothing of the folks that wander in and end up getting found at the bottom of a shaft?"

"We're going to be looking for evidence of the murders there as soon as a team of specialists gets here," Faith informed him.

He showed none of the fear he might have shown if he were guilty. Instead, he shook his head contemptuously and said, "then you're a fool too."

Michael and Faith shared a look. Turk seemed calmer now. Like Faith, he seemed to have decided that Diller was likely not their killer, but just a bitter old drunk who had never overcome the loss of his loved ones.

"Is there anyone else you think might have a problem with people going into the mine?" Michael asked

"To the point that they'd follow them in there just to kill them? No. I don't think anyone's that stupid."

"Not even your nephew?" Faith asked.

Once more, there was no shock of guilt or fear. Instead, Diller laughed. "Benny? Are people saying Benny did this?"

He threw his head back and laughed again, potbelly heaving with the force of it. Michael and Faith exchanged another look, and when Diller's laughter quieted enough that she could be heard, she said, "Why do you find that funny?"

"Because Benny ran off twenty-two years ago," Diller explained. "Hasn't been seen since."

"What happened?" Michael asked.

"Well, he didn't like my brand of discipline, I suppose. George and Carol were too soft on him, let him get away with anything. When he moved in with me, I told him I wasn't going to allow that. He was going to do what he was told, or he was going to feel the end of my belt. I guess he didn't like that. He stuck around a few months before he ran off. I never heard from him again. My guess is he's somewhere out California way where everyone thinks it's all peace and love and rainbows."

"You don't think he might have gone into the mines, do you?"

"If he did, then he's nothing more than bones now," Diller replied. "I don't truck with none of that ghost nonsense, but people are right to be afraid. I guess I made that clear enough. I won't say it again."

"So you don't think it's possible he could still be alive and living in the mines?"

Diller looked at her in amazement. "That what they teach you in FBI school?"

"Just answer the question, please."

"Is the answer not obvious? Come on, agent. How would he survive? Even assuming he didn't fall face-first down the nearest mine shaft, how would he eat? How would he find fresh water? How would he do anything? And how would people not have seen him in twenty-two years?"

"A lot of the mine is unexplored since the collapse," Faith replied, "and there are nearly twenty miles of natural caves not mapped."

"So he just hangs out in the dark eating bats and drinking from underground pools? No, he's not there, and neither is anyone else. Not for any length of time anyway. If you got a killer in there, then all you gotta do is wait. He'll come out eventually. Or he'll never come out, and the mountains will have taken care of him for you."

"I'd rather not wait for that," Faith said. "Not while people are still at risk."

"You want to end the risk? Close the damned thing. If there's one thing all people have in common, it's that they're stupid. The only way to keep people from dying in those caves is to seal the entrances so they can't get in in the first place. Otherwise, you won't need a serial killer to account for their dead bodies."

Faith and Michael shared another look. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Diller," Michael said, standing and handing him a card. "We'd appreciate it if you stayed in town for a while."

"Where the hell else am I gonna go?" he said. "Ain't nothing out there for me."

***

They made it just back to town when the call came. "We have two more missing," Jones said, "a couple of kids from Brightwater. The sheriff there just called me."

"Shit," Faith said. She put the phone on speaker and said, "Go ahead, Jones."

"Francis Cole and Shawna Leavenworth. Both twenty-four. They run a video blog about haunted places. I guess they were planning to do a bit on the mines. They were supposed to check in with a friend of theirs last night, and they never did. Aren't answering their phones either."

"When were they last seen?"

"Well, the last time anyone saw them, they were on their way here. That was last night around ten o'clock or so. They were supposed to check in with their friend at eleven, but they didn't. I'm on route to the mine entrance with a few officers."

"We'll meet you there," Faith said.

She hung up and said, "Well, that rules out Diller."

"You think we have a chance to reach these ones alive?" Michael asked. "Maybe the killer hasn't found them yet."

Faith thought it just as likely that they had eloped to Canada, but she didn't reply. Michael turned down one of the dirt paths that branched off from Breaker's Ridge Road and headed for the mountain. The old Bronco jumped and bounced along the washboard road, and Michael swore a few times when a particularly large bump caused his head to bump into the roof of the SUV.

Faith kept her eye on the looming shape of the mountains as they approached. They looked bleak and forbidding, and in the light of the thin crescent moon, they seemed like enormous shadows. She could understand now why so many cultures associated deities both benevolent and malevolent with mountains.

And why other cultures associated devils with what lay underground.

They reached the mine just before three o'clock. Jones and three uniformed officers stood next to an old Ford pickup parked just outside of the mine. When the three agents reached them, Jones pointed at the front of the truck at two strands of fishing line tied to the truck's tow hooks.

"Looks like they tied themselves to the truck so they could find their way back, but—" he pulled on one of the lines, and it moved easily. "Something cut the line."

"Have you sent anyone inside yet?" Faith asked.

He shook his head. "We were going to suggest following the lines, but that might just lead us to whatever pit they fell into."

"Or it will lead us to their killer," Faith said. "I'm done waiting. That rescue team won't be here until tomorrow. It might be too late then."

"You think they're still alive?" Jones asked.

"I don't know," Faith admitted, "but they might be. Either way, the sooner we find out what happened, the more likely we are to find our killer. Leave the fishing line where it is. We'll follow it into the mine and see where the girls were when they were taken."

"You two shouldn't go in alone," Jones said.

Faith had had enough of cowardice. "Stay here if you want," she said, "We're going in."

"So are we," Jones said.

Faith turned to him in amazement. "We're going in too," he repeated. "Me and Horace." One of the officers nodded. "Gina and Deke are going to wait up top in case they see anything out here."

Faith nodded in appreciation. "All right. Well, in that case, I suggest splitting up. We're what, two miles from the cave where the bodies were found?"

"About that."

"Perfect. I have maps of the mine tunnels." She handed copies to Jones. "I circled the areas where the mines join the cave network. I want you and Horace to start on that end while we follow the fishing line."

"All right," Jones said. "That works for me."

"Wonderful," Faith said.

The officers left, and the two lucky enough to remain aboveground busied themselves, setting up a base camp. Faith, Michael and Turk approached the mine, their flashlights casting twin beams of light into darkness so thick it was almost opaque.

"You ready for this?" Faith asked.

"The way I see it," Michael said, "you're going to get me killed one day no matter what. At least if I die here, Ellie won't have to worry about burying me."