Dead Waters - Anton Strout [87]
“Well, now,” the Inspectre said, walking around. “This seems more like the Mason Redfield that he always feared becoming.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” I said.
“Nonsense, my boy,” he said. “It’s hardly your doing.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I said. “It’s just that I saw who he was back when I read part of your past psychometrically. I saw the promise and potential of who he could have been before he became. . . this.”
“I never would have expected this of him and I knew the man. I haven’t the faintest idea why he would become so corrupt as all this, but I must find out.”
“Check this out,” Connor said from where he stood in the center of the hidden room.
The Inspectre started walking over toward him, and then stopped in his tracks. I followed his gaze to a spot on a table in the center of the room. It was slick with blood.
“Whose is it?” I asked.
The Inspectre walked over to the table, looking it over. He grabbed the edge and lifted up one side of it.
“Sir?” I asked, unsure of what he was doing.
He let go of the table with one of his hands and indicated the surface where all the blood was.
“See how the blood flows when I tilt it?” he asked. “It hasn’t coagulated yet. It’s still fairly fresh. If this had happened before Mason’s death, it would by dried by now or tacky to the touch.”
“I’d say it’s pretty tacky, not cleaning it up,” Connor said. “It ruins the décor.”
I turned and shot him a look.
“What?” he said. “Is cracking wise only your domain or something? I was just trying to ease the tension.”
“Not helping,” I said. “Still feeling tense, but that’s probably just because we know the professor’s alive again.”
“Then maybe we should get to work, gentlemen,” the Inspectre interrupted.
I didn’t need to be told twice. “Fine,” I said, not bothering to banter any further. I turned my attention to taking in as much as I could of the whole hidden room. It wasn’t until I was focusing on the floor that I felt something click.
“Inspectre,” I said, noting the legs of the table, “you didn’t slide the table when you lifted up the one side, did you?”
He thought for a second before answering. “I don’t believe so, no. Why?”
“I didn’t think you had,” I said. “I don’t remember hearing a scraping sound.” I knelt down next to the table, mindful not to kneel in the blood underneath it. “Then why are there drag marks, here. . . and here?” I pointed at two sets of marks next to each pair of legs.
“Someone must have moved it aside before,” I said, and then stood back up. “Help me with this.”
The three of us grabbed the dry spots along the edge of the table and lifted it, moving it away from the center of the room. No longer in the shadow of the table, a definite difference in the flooring was evident.
“A trapdoor,” the Inspectre said.
Connor leaned down and felt around in the drying blood before finding a ring and pulling the door up until it was standing open resting on its hinge. The sound of running water rose up from the darkness below.
“What the hell?” I asked.
“After you, kid,” Connor said, waving me toward the open hole.
“Me?” I croaked out. “Why do I have to go first?”
Connor smiled. “I walked in through the secret door first, so it’s your turn now.”
“Screw that,” I said. “The last time I went down in something like this it was that Oubliette the Department had me test in. I nearly died when it malfunctioned. You’ll excuse me if I’m a bit reluctant to go jumping into another dank, dark hole.”
“Don’t worry,” Connor said. “You’ll be fine. Besides, it builds character.”
“Maybe you should try building a little character, then.”
“I’m full up,” he said, shrugging.
“Rock, Paper, Scissors?” I said.
“Now, why would I do that?” Connor asked. “I already don’t have to go down. What’s in it for me?”
“If I win,” I said, “you go down there. If I lose, I’ll do all your case paperwork for you for two weeks.”
Connor stood there, thinking about it. He didn’t look quite convinced. My partner knew he had the upper hand.
“Gentlemen,” the Inspectre interrupted. “Sometime today . . .”
I had to close the deal.