Authors: Simon Gould
‘Yeah man’, laughed Charlie. ‘They’re gonna just love us for this aren’t they!’
‘Sure they are!’ I laughed back. The possibility of our waiting for the ceremony to finish never even crossed our minds. ‘We need to find out what happened at 11 a.m. last Sunday’, I reminded us both. Being a church, the options were probably limited to a wedding or a funeral.
Further to our impeccable timing, several seconds before we entered the transept of the church, the congregation struck up a hymn, which was building to it’s
first chorus as we strode in. Marching straight up the aisle, badges out yet again, we made a beeline for the reverend who was taking the service, aware that the hymn was becoming quieter and quieter as more people looked up and noticed our presence.
By the time we reached the reverend, the church had become silent. Even the organist had ceased playing.
‘Reverend’, I began, ‘Detectives Patton and Holland, LAPD. I wonder, could we have a word?’ I asked.
‘In private’, Charlie clarified.
‘Can this not wait?’ the reverend asked. ‘We are in the middle of something here’, he said gesturing to the full rows on the pews in front of him’.
‘I can see that but I’m afraid it can’t’, I remained obstinate. ‘We are here on a matter of some considerable urgency’.
‘Then you better follow me then’, he gestured to the vestibule leading off a nearby door. ‘I will be back as soon as I have helped these officers with their enquiries’, he addressed his congregation. ‘In the meantime, perhaps psalms 100 and 149?’ he called to the organist. ‘And choir,’ he added. ‘Keep up the fine work!’
We followed the reverend, past the choir who to be honest looked a little pissed off at having an extra couple of unexpected numbers to perform. Once we were a suitable distance from his flock, the reverend turned to us. ‘Reverend Jack Riley’, he introduced himself, offering Charlie and I his hand, in turn. ‘So what can I do for you gentlemen?’
‘We’ve been given information pertaining to a missing girl’, I told him. ‘And that information has led us here’. I skipped the fact that we weren’t entirely sure about that.
‘And what? You think she’s here? That she’s been here?’
‘To be honest, reverend, we’re not sure yet. But we need to know what your records show occurred here last Sunday at eleven in the morning. The information we were given specifically mentioned that’. The reverend sat down, thinking.
‘Let me see, last Sunday? Five days ago? Let me see now’. Out of the corner of my eyes I saw Charlie roll his eyes. ‘Ah well yes, of course; last Sunday at eleven o’ clock there was a burial service for a gentleman called Theodore Sampson. He died suddenly of a heart attack the week before; only sixty! No age at all really. Was actually a friend of mine. He’ll be missed round these parts I can tell you. I performed the service myself. Large turnout as I recall, and rightly so. He was a good man’.
‘Did you happen to see this woman attend the service reverend?’ I asked, pulling out the photo of Sarah Caldwell we’d been given by Barnes. Riley studied the photograph for several seconds before answering.
‘I don’t recall seeing her’, he said. ‘That’s not to say she wasn’t there’, he added. ‘My eyesight isn’t quite what it used to be you know’.
‘No problem’, I told him, beginning to think that maybe we’d been crazy to listen to Marvin’s theory in the first place.
‘We’ll need to see the burial site’, Charlie informed the reverend.
‘Is that absolutely necessary’, sighed Riley. ‘Knowing Theodore the last thing he’d want is a couple of cops standing over his grave’, he chuckled.
‘It is absolutely necessary’, Charlie replied humourlessly.
‘Very well Detectives, very well. Follow me, if you will’.
We walked with the reverend through the church grounds and over to the graveyard, which was relatively small but seemingly, depressingly crowded. After a couple of minutes, the reverend came to a standstill. ‘There you go’, he gestured. ‘Theodore’s final resting place’. Charlie and I thanked him, telling him he could get back to his congregation. ‘Not a chance’, he said. ‘You think I want you guys interrupting me in another few minutes. I’ll stay with you till you’re done’.
Looking at the grave, Theodore had obviously been a well liked member of his community; several floral tributes adorned the grave. Thinking for a minute that maybe Caldwell’s next message may be tucked in among them somewhere, we knelt beside the grave for a closer look. As disrespectful as it appeared to the reverend, and his incessant tutting and clicking of his tongue made his feelings on that matter quite clear, we separated each bunch of flowers from the grave, checking the sender; seeing if there was anything from The Chemist. As we removed the final bunch of flowers, once again feeling deflated, that we had gone off course, something very strange caught Charlie’s eye, even in the fading light.
‘Hey Patton, what the fuck is that?’ he said, bringing an even louder disapproving noise from the reverend.
I knelt in closer to see what Charlie was referring to. I had to admit, I didn’t know. It looked very strange and definitely out of place given our current location.
Sticking out of the ground, no more than three inches was a small tube, about two inches in diameter. To any passer by and even to any of Theodore’s mourners, it would have been well concealed by the flowers.
‘Charlie boy’, I said standing up. ‘Call Balfer. I think we’re gonna need him’.
53
I stood staring at the grave, transfixed with the small tube protruding from the ground. I knew what I thought it was I just didn’t dare speak the words out loud. It was certainly something I’d never seen before, certainly not coming up from a grave; and I’ve been to my fair share of funerals over the years. There was only one possible explanation for the tube; ventilation. And that in turn, meant only one thing. Someone was buried in the coffin, alive. Had we found Stella? Had The Chemist led us to Stella?
Charlie was standing at the opposite side of the grave, just as transfixed as I was. I knew instinctively we were thinking the same. He remained silent too, almost waiting for me to say the first words.
‘Hey, Patton. Hey Holland’, Agent Balfer arrived breathlessly at the grave. ‘What have you got?’ I guess one of us had to speak.
‘Look right there Balfer’, I said, pointing at the tube. ‘What do you make of that?’ Balfer kneeled down, almost squinting in the dusk that had now settled to a dark grey blanket across the sky. Light was fading fast. He stood up, excitement in his eyes, and I could see he’d reached the same conclusion as we had.
‘You’re thinking the same, right?’ he looked at us, alternating between Charlie and I. ‘Right?’ I just nodded.
‘I think she’s down there, man’, Charlie stated. ‘I mean, we all do, don’t we?’
Again I nodded, and Balfer followed suit. ‘We need to do this very carefully’, he cautioned. After the bomb this morning at Sutherland Boulevard which had taken out several of our officers, he was right to want to proceed carefully. ‘The last thing we need is for this fucking thing to go off’, he added.
The reverend, who had shown his disapproval of us simply removing the flowers from the grave minutes earlier, was looking increasingly alarmed. If he’d thought we’d been disrespectful before, he was in for a bit of a shock very shortly. ‘I’m going to need you to evacuate your church reverend’, I told him. ‘Immediately’.
‘Right away’, he said, heading straight back to his congregation. Perhaps he had finally grasped the severity of the situation.
‘The thing in our favour’, I addressed Charlie and Balfer, ‘is that we are well within the timeframe of the game. If she’s down there, I want her out as quickly as possible; I can’t even imagine what’s going through her mind but like you said Charlie boy, we need to be careful’. If I had been asked to define Hell, lying alive in a coffin buried underground would be pretty close and the more I thought about it the more I thought we were right. Also, the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to dive straight in and get her out of there.
It took the best part of forty-five agonising minutes for everything to be co-ordinated. The church was evacuated, the necessary sweeps of the parameter conducted, paramedics were on standby and the bomb squad arrived to secure the scene and supervise extraction of the coffin just in case it was booby trapped. As for the exhumation order? Captain Williams simply said ‘We don’t have the time. I’ll deal with the consequences in the morning if I need to. Just get that fucking girl back’. Sentiments we all fully shared.
Nevertheless, three quarters of an hour after the three of us had agreed what we were looking at, we were ready to begin exhumation.
The members of the bomb squad, who quite rightly take their jobs very, very seriously, headed by Carl Kennington, wanted us away from the scene whilst they carried out the job of securing the site and opening the coffin.
‘Not a chance’, I informed him. Charlie, myself, and to his considerable credit, Agent Balfer stood firm. This was ours. Sensing our determination, Kennington shrugged.
‘OK guys, suit yourself up’.
It took us maybe fifteen minutes to dig the ground out from on top of and round the coffin to the requirements of Kennington, who told us whilst we were digging that he needed a clear line of sight around the coffin before we opened it. During the digging, it became clear that the tube was looking more and more like a makeshift ventilation system and a sense of growing excitement grew around the diggers and various police spectators, all of whom were willing Stella to be in the coffin and for her to be alive and unharmed.
We stepped back letting Kennington and his team do their stuff; checking around the coffin, they could see no sign of explosives or booby traps of any kind. Whilst I was happy to let them check it over, there was only going to be one person opening that coffin.
It was dark by now, though the grave was well lit; several portable lights had been rigged, giving a distinctly eerie feel over the entire graveyard. ‘Get everyone out of here’, I told Kennington. ‘Get them well back, just in case’. He immediately engineered everyone back, twenty feet or so from the grave. Charlie didn’t move an inch. He knew that didn’t apply to him and he wouldn’t have gone anywhere even if I’d told him to.
‘Ready, man?’ he whispered.
‘Yeah I’m ready’.
The coffin lid was heavy in my hands as I lifted it, trying to prise it open, although maybe it was just that all my energy seemed to have drained in the last hour. It had been a physically and mentally exhausting day. Charlie’s hands made it lighter, and between us we eased the lid from its base and pulled it open.
54
The first thing I saw was her eyes. Wider than any eyes I can ever remember seeing, conveying a mixture confusion, disorientation, panic and relief simultaneously. Her face was streaky where she had been crying, probably most of the time she had been conscious down there, and I could see tears trickle down her cheeks as she stared back at me.
I put my arms out to gently lift her up, unsure as to how far the Clozapone had advanced through her body. I could see she was struggling to move, but I couldn’t tell whether this was due to the drugs or simply from being lying in the coffin for so long.
‘You’re safe now’, I whispered as I cradled her, a sense of relief washing over me; washing over us all. I heard her merely whimper a response. She clearly had no idea what had happened to her or why.
She clung to me, now freely sobbing but still unable to speak; the realisation of us discovering her absolutely overwhelming. ‘You’re safe now’, I repeated softly; I could think of nothing else to say.
The paramedics rushed in to stabilise her; to prep her for her journey to hospital. They had been given the antidote, and I knew they would take great care of her. Anyone could see how fragile she was, we didn’t want to damage her any more than she had been. I could only begin to imagine my state of mind if I were to go through the same set of circumstances.
As I relinquished my gentle but firm grasp of her arms, she finally managed one word, which almost broke my heart. ‘Mom…’ she stuttered.
In finding Stella Edwards, everything else that had happened today had momentarily faded into the background. Only now, hearing her single word, did I realise the devastating news that we would have to break to her soon; that her mother had been killed this morning by a bomb planted at her house by the same person who had kidnapped her. It wasn’t news we’d be breaking quite yet; there was nothing we could to do to bring her mother back now, but there was an awful lot we could do to make sure this young girl didn’t suffer any more than she had done in the past twenty-four hours.
As one of the paramedics placed an oxygen mask over her face, I could see her eyes still desperately searching for any sign of her mother. ‘Shhh’, I comforted. ‘Close your eyes, try to relax. We’ll take good care of you now’.
It goes without saying, that if I wasn’t a member of the LAPD, a career in counselling wouldn’t be beckoning. Once she was stable in hospital, I would break the unthinkable news to her; it seemed the least I could do; if Sarah Caldwell hadn’t been targeting me, Stella and her mother would have been going about their everyday business. Instead, her mother had paid with her life and Stella’s world, as bad as it was now, would only get worse when she was told what had happened. I only prayed she would come through it.
My gaze followed Stella, unable to break away, as her vitals were checked and then I watched as the paramedics gently lifted her into the awaiting ambulance. Finally, I turned back to Charlie who had yet to look up from the coffin. ‘Hey, Charlie boy’, I tried to attract his attention. He looked up, startled, as if he’d been somewhere else for a moment. I looked to where he’d been staring. As soon as we’d opened the coffin, I’d been fully focussed on making Stella’s transition back to reality as comfortable and painless as possible; only now did I see the bottom of the coffin for the first time.