Page 20 of Silent Grave

Or someone else's voice playing tricks.

Gabriel directed his flashlight at the ground, illuminating the dusty floor. Dozens of footprints crisscrossed the packed earth—the marks of search parties, investigators, and curious onlookers who'd been here since Tyler's disappearance.

"See the footprints?" Gabriel asked.

"Which ones? There are too many."

"Look closer." Gabriel crouched despite his knee, then pointed to a particular set of tracks. "See how these are laid over the others? Their tennis shoes—that roles out most of our search team, including ourselves."

"They could still belong to another tourist, maybe someone who heard about the murder and came here out of curiosity."

"That's possible, sure. But you show me a set of tracks here that looks more promising."

Sheila stared at the tracks, thinking. The tracks her father had indicated did overlap most of the others, suggesting they were more recent.

"It's worth a shot," she said, feeling the urgent need to get going. "Anything's better than standing around debating."

Gabriel nodded, and together they started forward.

They followed the tracks deeper into the mine, their lights cutting through the darkness. The tunnel had been shored up with heavy timbers, many of them rotting with age. Water dripped somewhere in the darkness, a steady plink that seemed to count down the seconds.

Gabriel's limp was becoming more pronounced, but he pressed on, his jaw set with determination. The tunnel branched ahead—one path continuing straight, the other curving to the left.

"The fresh tracks go left," he whispered.

As if in response, they heard footsteps ahead—the distinct sound of boots on stone. Sheila's beam caught movement at the far end of the left tunnel.

A figure stood there, the green glow of night-vision goggles reflecting their light. For a moment, no one moved.

"Police!" Sheila shouted, her voice thundering through the passage. "Don't move!"

The figure turned and ran.

Sheila started forward, but Gabriel's hand clamped on her arm. "Wait!"

His flashlight beam swept the ground ahead, revealing a gaping hole in the tunnel floor. She'd been two steps from plunging into it.

They approached carefully, shining their lights down. The pit dropped at least thirty feet, and at the bottom...

"Oh God," Sheila breathed.

A body lay crumpled on the rocks below. From this distance, she couldn't tell if it was Marcus, but the body seemed to match his physical description.

Sheila's stomach turned over with disgust. They had failed to save Marcus. Still, that didn't mean they couldn't catch his killer.

She edged closer to the pit, trying to measure it with her eyes and decide if she could jump across. It would be risky, but considering the stakes—

"Don't even think about it," her father said, grabbing her arm again. "It's much too far."

"We can't just let him get away!" she said, exasperated. "We have to stop him, Dad!"

"And we will!" he said sharply. Then his voice softened. "We backtrack, radio for equipment and backup, then seal off every exit within a mile. If our friend with the night-vision goggles wants out, he'll have to come through us."

She knew he was right, but leaving anyone down here—alive or dead—felt wrong. "And what if Marcus is still alive?" she asked in a quiet voice. "What if he's just injured, paralyzed?"

"We'll get a team in here to rappel down. But right now, you and I can't help him—getting ourselves killed certainly won't do him or anyone else any good."

The darkness seemed to press in around them, filled with whispers and shadows.

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