disappeared?”
“According to Sandra’s brother, they went into Atlanta Thursday night to meet Betsy’s new boyfriend, Jerome Haffner, the gentleman we found in the field.”
“Who is he?” Pappas asked.
“Was,” Blaylock said. “Some bigwig with a brokerage firm. That’s all we know so far.”
“Any ransom demand yet?” Pappas asked.
“Nothing,” Blaylock said. “The families haven’t heard a word.”
Beth made a note of that in a little book she carried and then looked over to where Avilles was standing nearby. The deputy was a tall, skinny young man with close-cropped brown hair and an overbite.
“Good work finding that trap door.”
“Appreciate it, ma’am.”
Without looking up, she added, “It’s Beth or Detective Sturgis. I’m not that much older than you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Any idea where the tunnel comes out?” Pappas asked.
“Not yet,” Blaylock said. “Avilles and I walked the tracks some but didn’t see anything.”
“Guess we’re about to find out,” Beth said. “Show me the door.”
Avilles led them to the corner of the barn where the workbench had sat the day before. It was now pushed off to one side.
“I used gloves when I moved it,” he said. “Same for the door handle.”
“You did right,” Beth said, feeling a little tick of excitement growing inside her. She glanced down and saw the floor had been swept. Hay was spread over it to disguise the broom marks. The straw on top was clearly fresher.
“Prick cleaned up after himself,” Pappas observed.
The detective placed the crime scene kit on one of the hay bales and removed a digital camera from the box. He took a few pictures while Beth ran the Polilight over the workbench and the trap door handle.
“Got a partial print here, Dan,” she said. “Looks like a good one.”
“Is your tech coming out?” the sheriff asked.
“He’ll be here. We’re just doing the preliminaries.”
Near the bench was a window covered with an elaborate spider web, where a white moth was struggling to free itself. Making its way slowly along one of the diagonal strands was a white spider about the size of a quarter. Transfixed, Beth stared at it. After a moment, she snapped out of her trance and used the end of her Maglite to destroy the web. The moth fluttered off.
“Wasn’t in the way,” Avilles observed.
“I don’t like predators,” Beth muttered slowly and turned her attention to the trap door.
The deputy and Pappas exchanged glances. Pappas snapped a picture of the handle as Beth held her pen next to the print to mark its location and provide some perspective. He then dusted the area while she kept the Polilight in place. Once that was done, he lifted the print off with tape and attached it to a card.
“Slender,” Pappas observed. “Could belong to a woman.”
He deposited the card with the print in a plastic bag and sealed it. They then returned to the trap door and shined their Maglites into the hole while the sheriff and his deputy looked on. A black beetle skittered across the top rung of the ladder and disappeared into a crack in theshaft. Conscious the men were watching her, Beth clenched her jaw. She’d never cared for tight places, and the thought of going down there made her stomach clench. A queasy stomach, however, was better than dying of embarrassment because she froze and couldn’t do her job. Being a woman in a men’s club only made matters worse.
Lesser of two evils, her inner voice whispered.
After what seemed like an eternity, she forced herself to move, dropped down into a crouch, and examined the first few rungs of the ladder closely. There were markings in the dust. Someone had clearly been there.
Pappas saw them as well and asked, “How do you want to play this?”
Beth pulled the poncho over her head and tossed it onto the hay. “We’ll never find that girl standing here,” she said, drawing her weapon. “Me first. You follow.”
“I’ll come, too,”
“According to Sandra’s brother, they went into Atlanta Thursday night to meet Betsy’s new boyfriend, Jerome Haffner, the gentleman we found in the field.”
“Who is he?” Pappas asked.
“Was,” Blaylock said. “Some bigwig with a brokerage firm. That’s all we know so far.”
“Any ransom demand yet?” Pappas asked.
“Nothing,” Blaylock said. “The families haven’t heard a word.”
Beth made a note of that in a little book she carried and then looked over to where Avilles was standing nearby. The deputy was a tall, skinny young man with close-cropped brown hair and an overbite.
“Good work finding that trap door.”
“Appreciate it, ma’am.”
Without looking up, she added, “It’s Beth or Detective Sturgis. I’m not that much older than you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Any idea where the tunnel comes out?” Pappas asked.
“Not yet,” Blaylock said. “Avilles and I walked the tracks some but didn’t see anything.”
“Guess we’re about to find out,” Beth said. “Show me the door.”
Avilles led them to the corner of the barn where the workbench had sat the day before. It was now pushed off to one side.
“I used gloves when I moved it,” he said. “Same for the door handle.”
“You did right,” Beth said, feeling a little tick of excitement growing inside her. She glanced down and saw the floor had been swept. Hay was spread over it to disguise the broom marks. The straw on top was clearly fresher.
“Prick cleaned up after himself,” Pappas observed.
The detective placed the crime scene kit on one of the hay bales and removed a digital camera from the box. He took a few pictures while Beth ran the Polilight over the workbench and the trap door handle.
“Got a partial print here, Dan,” she said. “Looks like a good one.”
“Is your tech coming out?” the sheriff asked.
“He’ll be here. We’re just doing the preliminaries.”
Near the bench was a window covered with an elaborate spider web, where a white moth was struggling to free itself. Making its way slowly along one of the diagonal strands was a white spider about the size of a quarter. Transfixed, Beth stared at it. After a moment, she snapped out of her trance and used the end of her Maglite to destroy the web. The moth fluttered off.
“Wasn’t in the way,” Avilles observed.
“I don’t like predators,” Beth muttered slowly and turned her attention to the trap door.
The deputy and Pappas exchanged glances. Pappas snapped a picture of the handle as Beth held her pen next to the print to mark its location and provide some perspective. He then dusted the area while she kept the Polilight in place. Once that was done, he lifted the print off with tape and attached it to a card.
“Slender,” Pappas observed. “Could belong to a woman.”
He deposited the card with the print in a plastic bag and sealed it. They then returned to the trap door and shined their Maglites into the hole while the sheriff and his deputy looked on. A black beetle skittered across the top rung of the ladder and disappeared into a crack in theshaft. Conscious the men were watching her, Beth clenched her jaw. She’d never cared for tight places, and the thought of going down there made her stomach clench. A queasy stomach, however, was better than dying of embarrassment because she froze and couldn’t do her job. Being a woman in a men’s club only made matters worse.
Lesser of two evils, her inner voice whispered.
After what seemed like an eternity, she forced herself to move, dropped down into a crouch, and examined the first few rungs of the ladder closely. There were markings in the dust. Someone had clearly been there.
Pappas saw them as well and asked, “How do you want to play this?”
Beth pulled the poncho over her head and tossed it onto the hay. “We’ll never find that girl standing here,” she said, drawing her weapon. “Me first. You follow.”
“I’ll come, too,”
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