Page 27 of Ruthless Riches
Henrik twisted his lips. “So you think the cops missed something in the tunnels?”
“Maybe. But we think it’s more likely that they were looking in the wrong place,” Alexis said, taking a small step forward. “We think the Butcher is using the second-level tunnels. The Penthouse.”
“Did the cops ask anyone here if they know anything about that place?” I asked.
“No, but I overheard one of them talking about it while they were heading into the tunnels over there,” Henrik replied, jerking a thumb toward the right. “They think the Penthouse is a myth. They’re never going to look for it.”
“But you think it’s real, right?”
He lifted a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “Pretty sure it is.”
“Do you know where any of the entrances are?”
“No.”
I let out a short, disappointed sigh. “Okay. Thanks for your time anyway.”
Henrik lifted his bushy brows. “Just because I don’t know where any of the entrances are doesn’t mean I don’t know anything at all,” he said. “I could probably get you close.”
“How?”
He rubbed his stubble-lined jaw. “I used to hang out with a guy. It was about ten years ago, so I wouldn’t have a clue how to get in touch with him now. I think he went over to Portland, and I never knew his real name. Just knew him as Ringo,” he said. “Anyway, one night he came here looking all freaked out. He told me he’d found an entrance to Satan’s Penthouse.”
“Where?”
“You know Central Park on Seewald Avenue?”
“Yes.”
“It was there. Ringo said he was walking through it when he tripped on some sort of root. Landed in one of the gardens and hit something hard. At first he thought it might be an old gravestone from the early settler period, or something like that, but he moved the soil and found a hatch instead. It opened up to a set of stone steps. He thought he’d just found a previously-unknown entrance to the regular tunnels, but then he headed down the steps, and they just kept going and going.”
Alexis nodded slowly. “So it was way too deep to be the regular tunnels.”
“Yup. He said he must’ve walked down the steps for five or six minutes, and the regular tunnels are only two minutes down from the entrances.”
“What did he do when he got all the way down there?”
“Just looked around. He had a flashlight in his bag, so he could see what was there, and it was the same stuff that all the old stories talked about. Tiled floor. Marble everywhere. Sconces on the walls that he swore up and down were real gold.” Henrik frowned and scratched his head. “Anyway, the battery on his flashlight started to run low after a while. Flickered on and off a few times. He got scared then. Realized how easy it would be to get lost down there. He actually almost forgot where the entrance was, but he managed to find it again and get out of there.”
“And he never told anyone where it was after that?”
“No. He was worried someone would get lost and die down there, so he covered the hatch back up with soil and leaves so no one else would see it. Then he came back to us. He only told a few of us what he’d found, but word got around, and people started harassing him to reveal the spot. So he made up some bullshit story about it being haunted. That scared most of the people away, and eventually, everyone stopped asking where it was.”
“But he told you it was in Central Park?”
“Yup. In one of the gardens. That should narrow it down for you a bit,” Henrik said. He cocked his head. “You really think the Butcher is using those tunnels?”
“Yeah. It makes sense.”
“I guess so. But you should be careful. If you find them, take plenty of flashlights and batteries. And watch your back. That guy is a real psycho.”
“We’ll be careful. Thanks for your help, man.”
Henrik grunted and turned away, dismissing us.
We left the building and headed back to the car. Brian asked us to drop him off at the hotel that I mentioned earlier. After we’d done that, we stopped at a café for some coffee and food.
When we were settled at our table, Alexis glanced at me over the rim of her cup with her brows raised. “I think you were really good back there,” she said.
