Let the Devil Sleep by John Verdon Read Free Book Online Page B

There was a second door in the right wall of this cramped space. It was to this one that the trail of blood drops led.
    Gurney glanced quickly at Kim. “What’s behind that door?”
    “Stairs. The stairs … to the basement.” Fear was creeping back into her voice.
    “When was the last time you were down there?”
    “Down … oh, God, I don’t know. Maybe … maybe a year ago? A circuit breaker cut out, and the landlord’s maintenance guy was showing me how to reset it.”
    “Is there any other access?”
    “No.”
    “Any windows?”
    “Little ones at ground level, but they have bars on them.”
    “Where’s the light switch?”
    “Right inside the door, I think.”
    There was a drop of blood in front of the door. Gurney stepped over it. Standing flat against the wall, he turned the knob and pulled the door open quickly. The smell of dead, musty air filled the little hallway. He waited, listened, then looked down the stairs. They were dimly illuminated by the flickering fixture in the hall behind him. There was a switch on the wall. He flipped it, and a faint yellowish light came on somewhere in the basement.
    He told Kim to turn off the hall fluorescent, to stop the buzzing noise.
    When it was off, he listened again for at least a minute. Silence. He looked down the stairs. On every second or third step, he saw a dark spot.
    “What is it? What do you see?” If Kim’s voice got any more brittle, it was going to crack.
    “A few more drops,” he said evenly. “I’m going to take a closer look. Stay where you are. You hear anything at all, run like hell out the front door, go to my car—”
    She cut him off. “No way! I’m staying with you!”
    Gurney had a talent for projecting a calmness that increased indirect proportion to the agitation of those around him. “Okay. But here’s the deal: You’ve got to stay at least six feet behind me.” He tightened his grip on the Beretta. “If I have to move quickly, I’ll need some room. Okay?”
    She nodded.
    He began to make his way slowly down the steps. The staircase was a creaky structure with no handrails. When he reached the bottom, he could see that the trail of dark spots continued across the dusty basement floor toward what appeared to be a long, low chest in the far corner. On one wall a furnace stood alongside two oil tanks. On the adjacent wall, there was an electrical-service breaker box, and above it, almost touching the exposed joists, there was a row of small horizontal windows. External bars on each were dimly visible through filthy glass. The low light was emanating from a single bare bulb as begrimed as the windows.
    Gurney’s attention returned to the chest.
    “I have a flashlight.” Kim’s voice came from the stairs. “Do you want it?”
    He looked up at her. She switched it on and handed it to him. It was a Mini Maglite. Its little batteries were about due for replacement, but it was better than nothing.
    “What do you see?” she asked.
    “I’m not sure. Last time you were down here, do you remember a box or a chest against the wall?”
    “Oh, God, I have no idea. He was showing me the circuit things, the switches, I don’t know what. What do you see?”
    “I’ll let you know in a minute.” He moved forward uneasily, following the trail of blood to the long, low box.
    On the one hand, it appeared to be nothing more than a very old blanket chest. On the other hand, he couldn’t get the melodramatic notion out of his head that it was about the right size for a coffin.
    “Oh, my God. What’s that?” Kim had followed him and was now standing just a few feet behind him. Her voice had dropped to a whisper.
    Gurney put the flashlight between his teeth, pointed down at the box. With the Beretta in his right hand, he lifted the lid gingerly with his left.
    For a second he thought there was nothing there.
    Then, gleaming softly in the flashlight’s little pool of yellow light, he saw the knife.
    A kitchen paring knife.