“All right,” Lovie Bolton said when Claude was down the road and out of sight. “What’s this all about? What is it you didn’t want my boy to hear?”
Yune ignored her for the moment, turning to the others. “The Montgomery County Sheriff’s Office sent a couple of deputies out to look at the places Holly photographed. They found a pile of bloody clothes in that abandoned factory with the swastika spray-painted on the side. One of the items was an orderly’s jacket with a tag reading PROPERTY OF HMU sewn into it.”
“Heisman Memory Unit,” Howie said. “When they analyze the blood on the clothes, what do you want to bet it turns out to be from one or both of the Howard girls?”
“Plus any fingerprints they find will belong to Heath Holmes,” Alec added. “They may be blurry, if he’d started his change.”
“Or not,” Holly said. “We don’t know how long the change takes, or even if it’s the same every time.”
“The sheriff up there has questions,” Yune said. “I put him off. Considering what we might be dealing with, I hope I can put him off forever.”
“You folks need to stop talking amongst yourselves and fill me in,” Lovie said. “Please. I’m worried about my boy. He’s as innocent as those other two men, and they are both dead.”
“I understand your concern,” Ralph said. “One minute. Holly, when you were filling the Boltons in on the ride from the airport, did you tell them about the graveyards? You didn’t, did you?”
“No. Just hit the high spots, you said. So that’s what I did.”
“Oh, hold it,” Lovie said. “Just hold the phone. There was a movie I saw when I was a girl in Laredo, one of those wrestling women movies—”
“Mexican Wrestling Women Meet the Monster,” Howie said. “We saw it. Ms. Gibney brought a copy. Not Academy Award material, but interesting, just the same.”
“That was one of the ones Rosita Muñoz was in,” Lovie said. “The cholita luchadora. We all wanted to be her, me and my friends. I even dressed up like her one Halloween. My mother made my costume. That movie about the cuco was a scary one. There was a professor . . . or a scientist . . . I don’t remember which, but El Cuco took his face, and when the luchadoras finally tracked him down, he was living in a crypt or a vault in the local graveyard. Isn’t that how the story went?”
“Yes,” Holly said, “because that’s part of the legend, at least the Spanish version of it. The cuco sleeps with the dead. Like vampires are supposed to do.”
“If this thing actually exists,” Alec said, “it is a vampire, at least sort of. It needs blood to make the next link in the chain. To perpetuate itself.”
Once again Ralph thought, Do you people hear yourselves? He liked Holly Gibney a lot, but he also wished he’d never met her. Thanks to her there was a war going on in his head, and he wished mightily for a truce.
Holly turned to Lovie. “That empty factory where the Ohio police found the bloody clothes is close to the graveyard where Heath Holmes and his parents are buried. More clothes were found in a barn not far from an old graveyard where some of Terry Maitland’s ancestors are buried. So here’s the question: Is there a graveyard close to here?”
Lovie considered. They waited. At last she said, “There’s a boneyard in Plainville, but nothing in Marysville. Hell, we don’t even have a church. There used to be one, Our Lady of Forgiveness, but it burned down twenty years ago.”
“Shit,” Howie muttered.
“How about a family plot?” Holly asked. “Sometimes people bury on their property, don’t they?”
“Well, I don’t know about other folks,” the old lady said, “but we never had one. My momma and daddy are buried back in Laredo, and their momma and daddy, too. Way back it’d be Indiana, which is where my people migrated down from after the Civil War.”
“What about your husband?” Howie asked.
“George? All his people were from Austin, and that’s where he’s buried, right next to his parents. I used to take the bus once in a while to visit him, usually on his birthday, took flowers and all, but since I got this goddam COPD, I haven’t been.”
“Well, I guess that’s that,” Yune said.
Lovie seemed not to hear. “I could sing, you know, back when I still had my wind. And I played guitar. I came to Austin from Laredo after high school, because of the music. Nashville South, they call it. I got a job in the paper factory on Brazos Street while I was waitin for my big break at the Carousel or the Broken Spoke or wherever. Makin envelopes. I never did get my big break, but I married the foreman. That was George. Never regretted it until he retired.”
“I think we’re drifting off the subject,” Howie said.
“Let her talk,” Ralph said. He had that little tingle, the feel of something coming. Still over the horizon, but yes, coming. “Go on, Mrs. Bolton.”
She looked doubtfully at Howie, but when Holly nodded and smiled, Lovie smiled back, lit another cigarette, and went on.
“Well, after he got his thirty in and had his pension, George moved us out here to the back of beyond. Claude was just twelve—we had him late, long after we decided God wasn’t going to give us no children. Claude never liked Marysville, missed the bright lights and his worthless friends—bad company was always my boy’s downfall—and I didn’t care for it much either at first, although I have come to enjoy the peace of it. When you get old, peace is about all you want. You folks might not believe that now, but you’ll find out. And that idea of a family plot ain’t such a bad one, now I think of it. I could do worse than going into the ground out back, but I s’pose Claude will end up dragging my meat and bones to Austin, so I can lay with my husband, like I did in life. Won’t be long now, neither.”
She coughed, looked at her cigarette with distaste, and buried it with the others in the overfilled ashtray, where it smoldered balefully.
“You know why we happened to end up in Marysville? George had the idea he was going to raise alpacas. After they died, which didn’t take long, it was going to be goldendoodles. If you don’t know, goldendoodles are a cross between golden retrievers and poodles. You think eeva-lution ever approved of a mix like that? I goddam doubt it. His brother put the notion in his head. No greater fool than Roger Bolton ever walked the earth, but George thought their fortunes was made. Roger moved down here with his family and the two of em went partners. Anyway, the goldendoodle pups died, just like the alpacas. George and me were a little tight for money after that, but we had enough to get by. Roger, though, he poured his whole savings into that damn fool scheme. So he looked around for work and . . .”
She stopped, an expression of amazement dawning on her face.
“What about Roger?” Ralph asked.
“Damn,” Lovie Bolton said. “I’m old, but that’s no excuse. It was right in front of my face.”
Ralph leaned forward and took one of her hands. “What are you talking about, Lovie?” Going to her first name, as he always eventually did in the interrogation room.
“Roger Bolton and his two sons—Claude’s cousins—are buried not four miles from here, along with four other men. Or maybe ’twas five. And those children, of course, them twins.” She shook her head slowly back and forth. “I was so mad when Claude got six months in Gatesville for stealing. And ashamed. That’s when he started using drugs, you know. But I saw later it was God’s mercy. Because if he’d been here, he would have been with them. Not his dad, by then George had already had two heart attacks and couldn’t go, but Claude . . . yes, he would have been with them.”
“Where?” Alec asked. He was leaning forward now, staring intently.
“The Marysville Hole,” she said. “That’s where those men died, and that’s where they remain.”
She told them it had been like the part in Tom Sawyer when Tom and Becky get lost in the cave, only Tom and Becky eventually got out. The Jamieson twins, just eleven years old, never did. Nor did those who tried to rescue them. The Marysville Hole took them all.
“That’s where your brother-in-law got work after the dog business failed?” Ralph asked.
She nodded. “He’d done some explorin there—not in the public part, but on the Ahiga side—so when he applied, they hired him on as a guide quick as winkin. Him and the other guides used to take tourists down in groups of a dozen or so. It’s the biggest cave in all of Texas, but the most popular part, what folks really wanted to see, was the main chamber. It was quite a place, all right. Like a cathedral. They called it the Chamber of Sound, because of the what-do-you-call-em, acoustics. One of the guides would stand at the bottom, four or five hundred feet down, and whisper the Pledge of Allegiance, and the people at the top would hear every word. Echoes seemed to go on forever. Also, the walls were covered with Indian drawings, I forget the word for em—”
“Pictographs,” Yune said.
“That’s it. You got a Coleman gas lamp when you went in, so you could look at em, or up at the stalactites hangin down from the ceiling. There was an iron spiral staircase that went all the way to the bottom, four hundred steps or more, around and around and around. It’s still there, I shouldn’t wonder, although I wouldn’t trust it these days. It’s damp down there, and iron rusts. Only time I took them stairs, it made me dizzy as hell, and I wasn’t even lookin up at the stalactites, like most of em. You want to believe I took the elevator back to the top. Goin down is one thing, but only a pure-d fool climbs up four hundred steps if she don’t have to.
“The bottom was two, maybe three hundred yards across. There were colored lights set up to show off all the mineral streaks in the rocks, there was a snack bar, and there were six or eight passageways to explore. They had names. Can’t recall all of them, but there was the Navajo Art Gallery—where there were more pictographs—and the Devil’s Slide, and Snake’s Belly, where you had to bend over and even crawl in places. Can you imagine?”
“Yes,” Holly said. “Oough.”
“Those were the main ones. There were even more leadin off from them, but they were closed off, because the Hole isn’t just one cave but dozens of em, goin down and down, some never explored.”
“Easy to get lost,” Alec said.
“You bet. Now here’s what happened. There were two or three openins leadin away from the Snake’s Belly passageway that weren’t boarded over or barred up, because they were considered too small to bother with.”
“Only they weren’t too small for the twins,” Ralph guessed.
“That’s the nail, sir, and you hit it on the head. Carl and Calvin Jamieson. Couple of pint-sizers lookin for trouble, and they sure found it. They were with the party that went into Snake’s Belly, right behind their ma and pa at the end of the line, but not with em when they came out. The parents . . . well, I don’t have to tell you how they took on, do I? My brother-in-law wasn’t the one leadin the group the Jamieson family was a part of, but he was in the search party that went after em. Headed it up would be my guess, although I have no way of knowin.”
“His sons were also part of it?” Howie asked. “Claude’s cousins?”
“Yessir. The boys worked part-time at the Hole themselves, and came on the run as soon as they heard. Lots of folks came, because the news spread like wildfire. At first it looked like it wasn’t going to be no problem. They could hear the boys callin from all the openins leadin off from the Snake’s Belly, and they knew exactly which one they went into, because when one of the guides shone his flashlight, they could see a little plastic Chief Ahiga Mr. Jamieson bought one of the boys in the gift shop. Musta fallen out of his pocket while he was crawlin. As I say, they could hear em yellin, but couldn’t none of the grown-ups fit in that hole. Couldn’t even reach the toy. They hollered for the boys to come to the sound of their voices, and if there wasn’t room to turn around to just back up. They shone their lights in and waved em around, and at first it sounded like the kids were gettin closer, but then their voices started to fade, and faded some more, until finally they were gone. You ask me, they were never close to begin with.”
“Tricky acoustics,” Yune said.
“Sí, señor. So then Roger said they should go around to the Ahiga side, which he knew pretty well from his explorin, what they call spee-lunkin. Once they got there, they heard those boys again, clear as day, cryin and yellin, so they got rope and lights from the equipment buildin and went in to fetch em out. Seemed like the right thing, but it was the end of em, instead.”
“What happened?” Yune asked. “Do you know? Does anybody?”
“Well, like I told you, that place is a goddam maze. They left one man behind to pay out rope and tie on more in case they needed it. That was Ev Brinkley. He left town shortly after. Went to Austin. Brokenhearted, he was . . . but at least alive, and able to walk in the sunlight. Those others . . .” Lovie sighed. “No more sunlight for them.”
Ralph thought about that—the horror of it—and saw what he felt on the faces of the others.
“Ev was down to his last hundred feet of free-rope when he heard somethin he said sounded like a cherry-bomb a kid set off in a tawlit bowl with the lid shut. What musta happened is some goddam fool fired a pistol, hopin to lead the boys to the rescue party, and there was a cave-in. It wasn’t Roger done that, I’d bet a thousand dollars it wasn’t. Old Rog was a fool about many things, especially those dogs, but never fool enough to fire a gun in a cave, where the ricochet could go anywhere.”
“Or where the sound could bring down a piece of ceiling,” Alec said. “It must have been like firing a shotgun to start an avalanche up in the high country.”
“So they were crushed,” Ralph said.
Lovie sighed and resettled her cannula, which had come askew. “Nawp. Might’ve been better if they were. At least it woulda been quick. But people in the big cavern—the Chamber of Sound—could hear em callin for help, just like those lost lads. By then there were sixty or seventy men and women out there, eager to do whatever they could. My George had to be there—his brother and his nephews were among those trapped, after all—and finally I gave up on keepin him home. I went with him, to make sure he didn’t try to do some damn fool thing like tryin to pitch in. That would’ve killed him for sure.”
“And when this accident happened,” Ralph said, “Claude was in the reformatory?”
“Gatesville Trainin School is what I believe they called it, but yes, a reformatory’s what it was.”
Holly had produced a yellow legal pad from her carry-bag, and was bent over it, taking notes.
“By the time I got to the Hole with George, it was dark. The parkin lot’s a good size, but it was damn near full. They’d set up big lights on posts, and with all the trucks and people scurryin around, it was like they were makin a Hollywood movie. They went in through the Ahiga entrance carryin ten-cell flashlights, wearin hardhats and puffy coats like flak jackets. They followed the rope to the cave-in. A long way, some of it through standin water. The rockfall was pretty bad. Took em all that night and half the next morning to clear it enough to get past. By then, people in the big cave couldn’t hear the lost ones callin no more.”
“Your brother-in-law’s bunch wasn’t waiting for rescue on the other side, I take it,” Yune said.
“No, they were gone. Roger or one of the others might have thought he knew a way back to the big cave, or they might’ve been afraid more of the ceiling was gonna cave in. No way to tell. But they left a trail, at least to start with; marks on the walls and litter on the floor, coins and screws of paper. One man even left his bowling card from the Tippit Lanes. One more punch and he’d’ve got himself a free string. That was in the paper.”
“Like Hansel and Gretel, leaving breadcrumbs behind,” Alec mused.
“Then everything just stopped,” Lovie said. “Right in the middle of a gallery. The marks, the dropped coins, the balls of paper. Just stopped.”
Like the footprints in Bill Samuels’s story, Ralph thought.
“The second rescue party kept goin for awhile, callin and wavin their flashlights, but no one called back. The fella who wrote it up for the Austin paper interviewed a bunch of those guys from the second rescue party later on, and they all said the same thing—there were just too many paths to choose from, all of em goin down, some leadin to dead ends and some to chimneys as dark as wells. They weren’t supposed to holler for fear of starting another cave-in, but then one of them yelled anyway, and sure enough, a piece of the roof come down. That’s when they decided they better get the hell out.”
“Surely they didn’t abandon the search after one try,” Howie said.
“No, course not.” She fished another Coke out of the cooler, cracked it, and swallowed half at a go. “Not used to talkin s’much, and I’m parched.” She checked her oxygen bottle. “Almost out of this stuff, too, but there’s another one in the bathroom there, with the rest of my goddam medical supplies, if someone wants to fetch it.”
Alec Pelley took charge of this task, and Ralph was relieved when the woman didn’t attempt to light up as he swapped them out. Once the oxygen was flowing again, she resumed her story.
“There was a dozen search parties went in there over the years, right up until the ground-shaker in ’07. After that it was considered too dangerous. It was only a three or four on the Richter, but caves are fragile, you know. The Chamber of Sound stood up to it pretty well, although a bunch of the stalactites fell off the ceilin. Some of the other passages, though, collapsed. I know the one they called the Art Gallery did. Since the shaker, Marysville Hole has been closed. The main entrance is stopped up, and I believe Ahiga is, too.”
For a moment no one spoke. Ralph didn’t know about the others, but he was thinking of what it must have been like to die a slow death deep underground, in the dark. He didn’t want to think about it and couldn’t help it.
Lovie said, “You know what Roger said to me once? Couldn’t have been six months before he died. He said the Marysville Hole might go all the way down to hell. And that makes it a place where this outsider of yours would feel right at home, don’t you think?”
“Not a word about this when Claude comes back,” Holly said.
“Oh, he knows,” Lovie said. “Those were his people. He didn’t care for his cousins much—they were older and used to bullyrag him something awful—but they were still his people.”
Holly smiled, but not the radiant one; it didn’t touch her eyes. “I’m sure he does, but he doesn’t know we know. And that’s the way it has to stay.”
Lovie, now looking tired going on exhausted, said the kitchen was too small for seven people to eat in comfortably, so they’d have to take their meal out back, in what she called the gaze-bo. She told them (proudly) that Claude had built it for her himself, with a kit he got at the Home Depot.
“It might be a little hot at first, but a breeze usually sets in this time of day, and it’s screened against the bugs.”
Holly suggested that the old lady should take a lie-down, and let the company set up for supper outside.
“But you won’t know where anything is!”
“Don’t worry about that,” Holly said. “Finding things is what I do for a living, you know. And these gentlemen will help out, I’m sure.”
Lovie gave in and wheeled along to her bedroom, where they heard her grunting effortfully, followed by the squall of bedsprings.
Ralph stepped out on the front porch to call Jeannie, who answered on the first ring. “E.T. phone home,” she said cheerfully.
“Everything quiet there?”
“Except for the TV. Officers Ramage and Yates have been watching NASCAR. I only surmise bets were made, but know for sure they ate all the brownies.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Oh, and Betsy Riggins came by to show off her new baby. I’d never say this to her, but he looks quite a bit like Winston Churchill.”
“Uh-huh. Listen, I think either Troy or Tom should stay the night.”
“I was thinking both. In with me. We can cuddle. Perhaps even canoodle.”
“What a good idea. Be sure to take some pictures.” A car was approaching; Claude Bolton, back from Tippit with their chicken dinners. “Don’t forget to lock up and set the burglar alarm.”
“The locks and alarm didn’t help the other night.”
“Humor me and do it anyway.” The man who looked exactly like his wife’s nighttime visitor was at that moment getting out of his car, and seeing him gave Ralph a queer feeling of double vision.
“All right. Have you found anything out?”
“Hard to tell.” This was skirting the truth; Ralph thought they had found out a great deal, none of it good. “I’ll try to call you later on, but right now I have to go.”
“Okay. Stay safe.”
“I will. Love you.”
“Love you, too. And I mean it: stay safe.”
He went down the porch steps to help Claude with half a dozen plastic bags from Highway Heaven.
“Food’s cold, just like I said. But does she listen? Never did, never will.”
“We’ll be fine.”
“Reheated chicken’s always tough. I got the mashed potatoes, because reheated French fries, forget it.”
They started toward the house. Claude stopped at the foot of the porch steps.
“Did you guys have a good talk with my ma?”
“We did,” Ralph said, wondering exactly how to handle this. As it turned out, Claude handled it for him.
“Don’t tell me. That guy might be able to read my mind.”
“So you believe in him?” Ralph was honestly curious.
“I believe that gal believes. That Holly. And I believe there might have been someone around last night. So whatever you talked about, I don’t want to hear.”
“Maybe that’s for the best. But Claude? I think one of us should stay here with you and your mother tonight. I was thinking Lieutenant Sablo could do that.”
“You expecting trouble? Because I don’t feel anything just now except hungry.”
“Not trouble, exactly,” Ralph said. “I was just thinking that if something bad happened around here, and if there happened to be a witness who said the person who did it looked a lot like Claude Bolton, you might like to have a cop handy who could testify that you never left your momma’s house.”
Claude considered. “That might not be such a bad idea. Only we don’t have a guest room, or anything. The couch makes into a bed, but sometimes Ma gets up when she can’t get back to sleep and goes out to the living room to watch TV. She likes those worthless preachers that are always yelling for love-offerins.” He brightened. “But there’s a spare mattress out in the back entry, and it’s gonna be a warm night. I guess he could camp out.”
“In the gaze-bo?”
Claude grinned. “Right! I built that sucker myself.”