Page 22 of Roma King
“Six days ago.” Sarah picks up the photo and slips it into her purse. “We have reason to think he might be around here somewhere in Rochester Park.”
“Why?” She’s blunt as you like. No frills with this one.
Sarah answers, “Anonymous tip.”
Meanwhile, at the same time, I answer, “None of your business.”
I shoot Sarah a dark look, which she patently ignores. “We were given the name Rochester Park. So here we are, knocking on doors.”
“Hmm. I’d be careful if I were you. People don’t take too well to folks sticking their noses into others’ business. You’re better off hiring one of the local boys to ask your questions for you. They won’t trust a face they don’t recognize.”
Hiring a local to ask around? That’s actually good advice, not that I’ll be thanking Lea any time soon. I drink deep from my coffee cup, waiting for the woman to leave, but she doesn’t. The intrigue of a missing little boy must have piqued her interest, because she rests a hand against the back of the cushioned booth and shifts her weight, making herself comfortable.
“Why’d they take him, anyway?”
“We don’t know. They just did,” I tell her.
“Must have been a reason. Are the parents rich?”
Sarah laughs. “Most definitely.”
“There’s one motive, then. Ransom.”
“They would have asked for money by now. And if the guy who took Corey did his research well enough to know his mom and dad were loaded, they would have known not to fuck with this particular family,” Sarah continues.
“Sarah.” She’s approaching dangerous territory. No one’s supposed to know the Petrov’s youngest son has been kidnapped. There still hasn’t been anything in the news, which means the family and the cops are keeping their cards close to their chest on this one. If the newsdoesget out before it’s meant to, Detective Holmes will no doubt blame me. Sarah huffs down her nose. “Do you know of any bars around here, maybe a restaurant or a halfway house that goes by the name of The End of the Line?” We’ve already googled to see if we could find any businesses going by that name in the area, but we found nothing.
Lea tucks a pen behind her ear, shaking her head. “Nope. I don’t. Sorry.”
“Thanks for your help anyway, then.” Sarah gives her a tight smile that clearly says,‘You’re of no further use to us. Please go the fuck away now.’Lea doesn’t seem to be getting the memo, though.
“If you’re looking for something called The End of the Line, maybe you should check the disused subway tunnels. That’s how a lot of people refer to them around here—the end of the line.”
I set my coffee cup down, turning my full attention to the woman. “I’m sorry? Disused tunnels? We checked on the old train line that used to run through here. It was an over-ground line. They built a parking lot where the station used to be back in ninety-nine.”
Lea snorts, her eyes rolling up toward the ceiling. “Sweetheart, I’m talking about theoriginaltrain line. The one they built in the forties. They started here in Rochester, were gonna run the thing all the way into the city and then onto Seattle, to connect with the subway there, but they ran out of money after a few months. The project was never completed. They just stuck a gate over the entrance, slapped a padlock on it, and that was that. It’s been abandoned ever since.”
My heart has all but stopped. Excitement flickers in Sarah’s eyes, while concern wars with determination in Garrett’s. I swallow, trying to make sure my voice doesn’t shake when I say, “If it’s gated and padlocked, then how do we get down there?”
“How the fuck should I know? I’ve never been dumb enough to go down there myself. Place must be infested with rats and god knows what else. And they call it the end of the line for a reason. That line never wentanywhere,honey. And when peopledogo down there, a lot of ’em don’t come back up.”
9
ZARA
TROUBLESHOOTING
It doesn’t take long to find the old subway system. The corner of Cross and De Longpre is dark, seedy and smells like cat piss. There’s no sign over the grate that covers the dark, yawning hole in the ground. Nothing to inform people who might be looking for it thatthiswas once the entry way into a subway station. The city council probably didn’t want to advertise the fact that there’s an abandoned network of tunnels down there, just begging for a crowd of drug addicts and homeless people to set up camp. Garrett spies it from a block away, though, his dark eyes flashing as he points at the iron grate. To a passerby, busy, going about their daily lives, it looks like nothing more than that: a wide grate in the sidewalk. It’s unlikely anyone has ever considered what the grate might be covering, just so long as it prevents anyone from falling down the hole and hurting themselves.
“Thereisa padlock on it,” Sarah sighs as we reach the barricaded entrance. “I figured there’d be some way in, after that waitress said people went down there all the time. And I didn’t bring my bolt cutters.”
I spin on her. “You ownbolt cutters?” Weird. Very weird. I can’t imagine Sarah wielding bolt cutters. There’s nearly a one hundred per cent chance of her breaking a nail if she picked up such a tool, let alone tried to use it, and Sarah freaks when she even knocks one of her precious nails.
“Yes, Zara. I own all kinds of things you don’t know about. A moving dolly. A car jack. A tire iron. A band saw. I know how to use all of them.”
Nope. Can’t picture it. I’m just going to have to take her word for it. Sighing, I scuff the toe of my shoe against the grate. “I’ll call Detective Holmes one more time when we get back. I can at least tell him what we’ve figured out. He can probably get authorization to come down here with a team of cops, so they can investigate properly.”
“Nonsense. We just have to find another way in,” Sarah says. Garrett, who I’ve been expecting to drag us both back to the car at the first sign of trouble or failure, whichever comes first, actually straightens up and nods his head. The damned traitor. Sarah smiles up at him approvingly. “We could go and buy something to cut through that chain,” she says.
