Gallery of the Dead

Eighty-Nine

Hunter, Garcia and both FBI agents walked as fast and as stealthily as they could, and considering that they had opted to keep their flashlights switched off so as not to give away their approach, they bridged the two hundred and forty yards between their last position and the ranch in almost no time. Their dark clothes also helped them blend into the night, in case anyone was looking.

As they got to where the old gates to the ranch would have been — about forty yards from the house — they all heard a distant sound like a car engine running in low gear.

‘What’s that noise?’ Agent Fisher asked.

‘Generator,’ Garcia replied. ‘Probably somewhere at the back of the house.’

Hunter also noticed some fresh tire tracks on the dirty road leading into the ranch. They rounded the stables and disappeared toward the back of it.

‘OK, this is where we split,’ Agent Fisher said, looking up into the sky. The wind had strengthened a few notches in the last two minutes. The smell of damp soil now seemed to be part of the night. Rain was just minutes away. She paused and looked at both detectives. ‘Stay safe.’

‘Wait,’ Garcia said, as he reached into his pocket and handed her a hairband. ‘Here, for your hair. You don’t want it flipping onto your face while you’re chasing the bad guy, do you?’

She shook her head. ‘This is my good-luck charm. Only once I chased a perp with my hair tied back. That was the only time one ever escaped me.’

‘OK.’ Garcia returned his hairband to his pocket.

Agents Fisher and Williams made their way toward the large stable building, while Hunter and Garcia carefully approached the dilapidated house on the right. Hunter used his flashlight to examine the front door. There was no lock. Its frame was old and split in places, and most of the dark-green paint that had once covered the door and the rest of the house had long ago cracked and chipped away, thanks to the elements.

‘We’ve got to find another way in,’ Hunter said.

‘Why?’

‘Check out those hinges,’ Hunter replied, flashing his light at them. ‘They’re covered in rust. We open this door and even under cover of the generator’s noise, those hinges will sound like an alarm.’

‘Great!’ Garcia looked right, then left. ‘So which way do you want to go?’

Hunter pointed right.

Once again, being as careful as they possibly could not to make any noise, they rounded the house to the right. As they made it to the side of the property they halted. A faint light showed at one of the second-floor windows.

‘The killer being upstairs isn’t necessarily a bad thing,’ Garcia said.

Hunter agreed with a nod.

‘Team A, this is team B,’ Hunter whispered into his headset. ‘What’s your location? Over.’

A second later Hunter’s earpiece cracked into life.

‘We have just entered the stables, over,’ Agent Fisher whispered back.

‘We’ve got a light on the second floor of the house,’ Hunter said. ‘You guys might be in an empty building over there, over.’

‘Not sure about that. We’ve also got a light here. Inside one of the enclosures. Can you see any movement? Over.’

‘Not from where we’re standing. We’re still outside the building. How about you guys, can you see any movement? Over.’

‘Same as you. Not from where we’re standing.’

There was a short silence.

‘I think it’s best to proceed as planned and maintain radio contact. Over.’

‘Ten four. Over and out.’

Hunter passed on the news to Garcia.

‘Oh, that’s awesome.’

The first ground-floor window on the right side of the house was completely gone. No glass, no frame, nothing. All that was left was a huge hole in the woodwork.

‘I guess we’ve found our way in,’ Garcia said.

Hunter quickly checked the floor inside the house directly under the window — no glass.

‘I’ll go first,’ Garcia said.

‘Careful with the floorboards,’ Hunter said. ‘They might crack, squeak, or both, so step lightly.’

‘Sure, Dad.’ Garcia smiled. ‘Here, hold the Twins.’ He handed his shotgun to Hunter.

‘I can’t believe you actually named your gun.’

‘You liked that, didn’t you? My pistol is called Big Baraboom.’

Hunter just shook his head.

Garcia got through the window hole without any problems. As his feet applied pressure against the floorboards they squeaked, but very lightly.

Hunter passed the Twins back to his partner.

‘The floorboards feel quite solid for such an old and uncared-for house,’ Garcia said.

Hunter handed him his H&K Mark 23 pistol and quickly cleared the window.

The room they landed in was square, with an old three-seater sofa pushed up against one of the walls. The sofa had long ago lost all its cushions and a few of its springs could be seen through the large rips in its fabric. Against the opposite wall was a tall and very wide bookcase. Out of its twelve shelves, only three remained. The floor was practically covered in old paperbacks. A tipped-over coffee table was in the center of the room, which carried a strong smell of damp, old paper and rotting wood.

Hunter hand-signaled Garcia — Cover formation. I’ll take lead.

Garcia nodded.

Hunter switched on his flashlight, held it in his left hand with an inverted grip and brought it under his right arm — wrist against wrist — creating a cross where the left wrist supported the right one, his weapon hand. He held both at chest height with his right arm extended.

Garcia held his flashlight under the barrels of the Twins. Being a shotgun, his weapon came up to shoulder height.

Hunter moved forward, taking extra-light steps.

Garcia was right — the floorboards felt a lot more solid than Hunter had expected. They did squeak, but not loud enough to alert anyone.

Hunter stepped over Moby Dick, The Three Musketeers, The Sun Also Rises and several other classics before finally reaching the door, which was flat against the floor outside the room. With his back against one of the walls, Hunter peaked around the doorframe — first right, then left. The next room also seemed absolutely still.

Hunter signaled for them to move on.

As they took their first step over the flat door, their bones practically jumped out of their bodies.

BANG, BANG.

From outside the house, coming from the direction of the stables, they heard two gunshots.

Hunter and Garcia locked eyes, fear and confusion swimming around in them. Neither had to say a word to each other.

They turned and dashed like a couple of Olympic runners toward the house’s front door.

Something had gone horribly wrong.