Code 61 - Donald Harstad [164]
“There. That's it.”
“That?”
“Yeah. The door's in the wall on this side.”
I moved around the foundation. Sure enough, standing on the bluff side of the rock-lined excavation, I could make out an old, wooden door frame, with a half dozen vertical slats and an angled crosspiece forming a door. The wood had faded to gray, and the edges were rotting, but it was a functional door, nonetheless.
I looked at Sally. She and I had just missed it last night.
“How do you get in?” I asked, as I gingerly lowered myself into the wet leaves on the floor.
“Move the rock at the bottom of the door,” he said, from above me.
I looked. There was a scraped path discernible in the leaves. There was a large, limestone block that looked as if it made that track, but it was several feet from the door.
“You mean this one?” I asked, as I bent over and pointed to it.
Toby took two or three steps forward, toward the edge of the foundation, so he could see me and where I was pointing. He stared for a moment. “Oooh, man … ” he said, drawing it out. “Oh boy. It's been opened…. He's down in the crypt, sure as hell.” He spun around and would have left then and there, but one of the troopers just reached out one arm and stopped him in his tracks.
I pulled my gun, and with my other hand gingerly reached out and opened the door.
What it revealed was pretty damned unimpressive, at least at first glance. A dark recess, about seven or eight feet into the hillside, one that would be high enough for me to stand in, if I bent a bit. Maybe six feet, or just a bit less. Just an old, wooden floor, with a hole in the middle that was about six feet square. That was it, as far as I could see, and it was quite a disappointment.
“There's nothing here,” I said.
“It's at the bottom,” said Toby.
“What's at the bottom of what?”
“The car. The car's at the bottom of the shaft, just look down the shaft…. ”
I looked up at the assembled faces. “Anybody happen to have a flashlight?”
The second trooper handed one down. I stooped a bit, leaned over the black square, and shined the light downward.
Instant vertigo. The shaft descended what had to be at least eighty or ninety feet. As I lurched back I caught a glimpse of two things. A vertical, rusty track with shiny edges; and a big, rusty wheel with what looked to be a very large bicycle chain running in a channel.
“What you got?” croaked Lamar.
“Just a second,” I said. “I hate heights.”
“In a hole?” asked Sally.
“It's a high damned hole,” I replied, irritated. “Just give me a minute.” I took a deep breath, and got down on my stomach, and crawled forward, toward the edge of the shaft. As I did, I heard Sally wondering aloud how you could have a high hole.
Being so solidly supported, I could look down. Sure enough. The wheel, chain, and rails were part of the elevating mechanism. As I looked all the way down, I thought I could see something at the bottom. Probably the car Toby referred to. I also noted that the chain seemed to be oiled. I backed out.
“It goes way down, there's rails and a chain, and I think I can see some sort of car or box thing at the bottom.”
“That's it,” said Toby.
“Can we climb down there?” asked Lamar.
“No,” I said emphatically. “No way.” I simply wasn't about to try a climbing descent to the bottom of that shaft. Not at any price.
“Use the box,” suggested Toby.
“What box?”
“Inside the door, to the left.”
I looked in again. Sure enough, in the corner was a dark gray electrical box, labeled “Square D,” with a lever on its right.
“How does it work?”
“Just pull the lever up or down … whatever way it ain't now,” advised Toby. “It'll bring the car up for you.”
The problem with simple solutions is that they sometimes hide complex problems just under the surface. That was