The Cat Dancers

66

At noon the next day, he stood by his truck and looked across a creek at a very old house trailer and some sheds that were nestled in a fold at the base of a heavily wooded hill. He would have driven into the yard except that he didn’t think the rickety wooden bridge in front of him would hold up under his truck. He’d spent an hour finding the place once he’d left the paved road. The final mile had been little more than two ruts through the woods that paralleled the creek. The ruts kept going past this trailer, but the GPS unit on his dash said he was there.

He had come in patrol uniform, even though he had no Sheriff’s Office authority in this county. He was alone but not entirely on his own. He’d gone down to the hospital to see Bobby Lee after getting the E-mail, and he’d told the sheriff what he proposed to do. The sheriff looked somewhat better and was lobbying hard to go home. He immediately vetoed the whole idea of Cam going out there alone.

“If these were plain old kidnappers, I’d agree with that,” Cam said. “But these are cops. There’s no way I can arrange backup out there without them knowing it.”

“Then your hostage is a goner,” the sheriff said. “You go alone, they can kill you, and then her, and then they’re done with it.”

“If the hostage were a cop, I’d agree,” Cam said. “But she’s not. She doesn’t even know that much. I got her into this.”

The sheriff had heaved himself up from the bed and stared hard at Cam. “Why in the world would you trust these people?” he asked. “Just because they’re cops or agents? Just because Sergeant Cox said they’d never do another cop? Want to see the hole in my chest?”

Cam had no ready answer for that. “They made a deal” was all he could muster. The sheriff responded with a rude noise.

“Look,” Cam said. “She said if I took a dive, they’d hand Mary Ellen Goode over. Without my cooperation, the whole investigation is stymied. If I get her back alive and then go forward to the grand jury, I’ll be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life, and so will she. If I don’t testify, then we’re in a permanent Mexican standoff. They stop their shit. She’s alive. That’s a better outcome.”

“You’re being a fool about this, not to mention entirely unprofessional. I know she’s pretty, but is she really that special to you?”

“I… like her,” Cam said. “And she saved my ass out in that river. I owe her at least the effort.”

“Well, I can’t permit it,” Bobby Lee said. “In fact, if you proceed with this, I’d have to fire you. So what’s it gonna be?”

“I guess you’re going to fire me,” Cam replied.

“Okay, you’re fired. Now, you want me to call the sheriff of Carrigan County, tell him what’s going on, and ask him to go out there-wherever it is-with some deputies if you don’t call in after, say, two hours?”

“I’d appreciate that,” Cam said. “As long as they give me those couple of hours. I’ll tell them when I’m going in.” He’d paused for a moment. “I really do appreciate the shot.”

“And shot is probably what you’re going to get, Lieutenant. Now get out of here. I’m a sick man.”

Cam sized up the trailer and the yard now. It took up about a third of an acre and wasn’t trashed, unlike many of the places he’d seen along the way. There was a chicken coop, an outhouse, two closed sheds, a snowmobile up on blocks, and two canoes upside down on racks under a lean-to. A vegetable garden was rapidly going to seed at the side of the trailer. It was a bright sunny morning, and the place was obviously empty. No dogs, cats, chickens, or any other signs of life, other than a single lightbulb burning next to the trailer’s rusty screen door. There was no mailbox or any other indication of whose place this was. The electric utility poles ended with this trailer.

He locked the truck, hitched up his utility belt, and walked across the bridge, which bounced even under his weight. He went up to the trailer and knocked forcefully on the metal

wall. Then he saw the white decal taped across the door handle behind the screen door: KEEP OUT PER CARRIGAN COUNTY SHERIFF’S OFFICE EVIDENTIARY EXCLUSION ORDER.

An eviction situation? Cam wondered. Then he bent down and saw the name listed on the label under owner: J. M. Smith, aka W. E. Mitchell.

He stood back up. This was White Eye’s trailer? Well, shit, of course it would be. He tried the door, but it was locked, and if he forced it open, he would break the decal seal. He knocked again just to make sure, then went around to the back and tried the back door. Same seal arrangement, and it was also locked. There were shades pulled down over the windows, so he couldn’t see anything inside.

The picture in the E-mail had been taken in a cave of some kind, not in a trailer. He looked at his watch. He had less than two hours before he had to make contact with the Carrigan County Sheriff’s Office. He decided to forget about the trailer and concentrate on those sheds across the yard. He resisted the temptation to look up into the hills to see who or what might be watching him. If they just wanted to shoot him, they’d have done it by now.

Neither shed was locked. The first shed contained a great deal of camping and trekking equipment, some of it commercial, like the climbing ropes, and some of it obviously homemade, like the makeshift travois. This shed was freestanding; the other one backed up to the hill itself. That’s where the entrance to a cave would be, he thought, assuming this was the right spot. The second shed contained boxes of camping supplies, a stack of firewood, and enough canned food to get through a winter. He banged on the back wall but found no secret doors or cave entrances. He tried the floorboards, but they were all solid.

He went back out and looked around. The only sounds came from the creek and from birds in the nearby woods. If other people lived along this track, they were all staying home. The only other outbuilding besides the tilting outhouse was the chicken coop, which was fifty feet behind the trailer but not near the face of the hill. It was about twelve feet square, built up on a low platform. Its wire and wood sides could be taken down for cleaning, and there was a slanted ramp from the ground up to the entrance hole. There was a fence around the coop, but the gate was open and the chickens were apparently long gone. He went through the gate and poked around, finding only some old feathers and evidence of a lot of scratching. He kicked the four-by-four holding up one corner, and a dog barked. Then two dogs barked.

Cam recognized those barks, but he couldn’t figure out where they were coming from. Then he realized they were coming from under the chicken coop. No, wrong, from underground, under the coop. He stooped down to look. He should have had a clear shot all the way under the platform, but there was a square cinder-block structure about the size of a well house under there. He stepped back and lifted one of the walls of the coop and found that he could latch it upright. More barking from underground. He called to them, and they got even more excited. He climbed into the chicken coop, sneezing because of all the feathers, dust, and straw on the ledges, and pulled up a wooden frame on the clothcovered floor, creating a flurry of chicken feathers. Under that was a hinged wooden hatch with two big handles.

He lifted the heavy hatch and found a ladder going down ten feet into the ground. An orange plug from an extension cord hung on one side of the ladder, and a garden hose was coiled at the bottom of the ladder. There was a crudely wired receptacle and a hose bib just under the hatch coaming. He plugged the cord in and a lone lightbulb came on down below. Suddenly, he saw Frick and Frack circling at the foot of the ladder, whimpering with joy at being found. He pushed the hatch all the way over so that it rested back on its hinges and went down the ladder, his first thoughts on how he would be able to get the dogs up that ladder. Once he reached the bottom, he realized he was in a small cave. The dogs were all over him, and he bent to pet their heads and reassure them. They were thin but apparently unharmed.

He looked around the cave, but there was nothing in there other than the ladder. A second orange extension cord was plugged into the light fixture and was taped along a wall leading down into a narrow passage. The air was cold but not wet, and there was a strange smell, which grew stronger as he stepped into the passage. It looked like it went down slightly and to the left. There were no lights overhead, but there was a dim glow in the distance, so, bending his head, he stepped down onto the smooth rock and followed the passage’s twisting course. The dogs followed him, although reluctantly.

The closer he got to the light, the stronger the smell, which he recognized now as spoiled meat, overlaid with a an odor of dung and straw, similar to smells he’d encountered in a zoo. The dogs were plastered to his knees now, obviously frightened. Cam was pretty sure he knew what this place had been used for, and then he rounded a sharp-angled turn and saw the cavern from the E-mail picture opening in front of him. The three cages were directly in front of him. There was a large open area right in front of the cages. The stone floor in front of him was covered in soiled straw, and a single bare lightbulb illuminated the entire cavern. The animal stench was strong as he unholstered his. 45 and checked the action. The dogs lay flat on the floor when he stopped. They were both staring intently at the three cages.

Cam made sure there weren’t any creatures lurking in the deep muck, then stood still just to listen. The only sounds were a low hum from the lightbulb and the drip of water in one of the passageways leading out the back of the cavern.

“The lady or the tiger,” Jay-Kay’s E-mail had said. He remembered the story, only here there were three doors instead of two. Her meaning was clear: This was White Eye’s very private little zoo. Open the wrong door and you’d get the American version of the tiger. By implication, he should find Mary Ellen behind one of the doors. He called her name, quietly at first, then louder. To his surprise, his voice didn’t echo at all, and for a moment he imagined the roof of the cavern pressing down on him. He took the dogs into the first cage on the left and brought them right up to the heavy wooden door, hoping they could tell which door was safe. The door had four iron T-hinges and the boards were rough-cut oak, reinforced with steel straps. One long steel strap was hinged on one side of the door and wedged into a hasp on the other. The dogs would not approach the door, and they scampered back out of the cage as soon as he let go of their collars.

He banged on the door and called again. No response. He tried the same thing with the other two doors and got the same reaction. The dogs were useless. The animal smell in the cages was probably overwhelming to their sensitive noses, so he decided to get them out of there. They’d be equally useless if a mountain lion did appear, especially in a confined space. Slap, slap, chow time. He called them back to the ladder and then hauled them one by one up the ladder and released them outside the chicken coop. He checked his surroundings for watchers and took them to the truck. Then he went back down into the main cavern.

He squatted down on his heels and considered the wooden doors. Lady or the tiger? he thought. Decision time. But unfortunately, here there was no princess in the stands, twitching her hand to tell him which door to open. This place was probably where White Eye had kept and raised Night-Night, although, he told himself reluctantly, that shouldn’t have required three cages. But as best he could tell, none of the mess down here was fresh, and with White Eye in the ground, any other cats would have decamped a long time ago, assuming there were tunnels or passageways behind those doors that led outside somehow. The cages themselves were made of hog panels. They didn’t seem strong enough to contain a determined mountain lion, even though there were sides and tops to all three. But then if the cats had been tame, it might not have mattered. There were three bolts on each door, though-top, middle, and bottom-so maybe tame was a relative term.

He decided on the right-hand door, since that’s where he had ended up. He walked in and levered the big strap out of its hasp and swung it up and over behind the hinges. Then, his. 45 ready, he pulled the door open. It was very heavy, but it moved silently on well-greased iron hinges. The door was at least eight inches thick, which would certainly have muffled any response to his calls. Inside, there was another passageway, but this one was narrower and much lower than the one he’d walked down to get here. He might fit through there on hands and knees, but he wouldn’t want to try it. The air in the passage smelled infinitely better than in the cage room, and it blew toward him in a gentle breeze. The dangling lightbulb swayed imperceptibly on the ceiling, throwing some shadows around the walls. He decided to leave this door open while he checked the other doors, if only to improve the air.

Which one next? He looked down at the floor of the cages to see if he could determine whether the muck was any fresher in one or than in the other. The straw was such a mess, he couldn’t tell. The left one, then. He opened it and found yet another passageway, this one a little higher but just as narrow. This time, he bent down and looked at the mud on the other side of the doorjamb. Were those prints? Yes, they were. Fresh? Who the hell knows, he thought. My tracking skills haven’t improved since the last time I saw some of these. No fresh air moved out of this passageway, however, so he pushed the door shut, not bothering to reset the locking bar. He wondered how far back those tunnels went, and he wished the dogs had been braver. On the other hand, everyone always said they were smart dogs.

Okay, Jay-Kay, wherever you are, this time it’d better be the lady, he thought. You promised. With a grunt, he opened the center door and saw a shallow rock cavity about six feet deep. It was stacked with cardboard boxes. Hunched in the middle of the stacks was Mary Ellen Goode. She was strapped into what looked like a stripped-down clone of the steel chair in the trailer. Adhesive tape covered her mouth, and a damned cell phone lay in her lap. He started to say something but then saw that she was staring at him with a look of pure terror on her face. Actually, he realized, she was looking behind him.