Chapter 7 - The Mausoleum at Midnight
The aqueduct was freezing, its brick walls coated in thick green slime. Julian moved through the knee-deep, stagnant water in total darkness, guiding himself with one hand on the damp brick wall and carrying Lily with the other. The distant rumble of sirens could finally be heard vibrating through the earth above them. The local fire brigade was arriving, but Julian knew the local police chief was Evelyn’s cousin. Going to the authorities in this town was suicide.
After what felt like hours of agonizing navigation, the aqueduct sloped upward into a dry, stone-vaulted chamber. Julian pushed open a rotten trapdoor in the ceiling and lifted Lily out onto cold grass.
They were outside.
The night air was freezing, biting through Julian’s soaked clothes. Rain was falling in a steady, miserable drizzle. Half a mile away, Blackwood Manor was a beacon of infernal orange, thick smoke billowing into the midnight clouds as fire trucks sprayed arcs of water onto the blazing roofline.
Julian checked their surroundings. They were in the family cemetery, surrounded by towering marble obelisks and ancient weeping willows.
And fifty yards away stood the Blackwood Mausoleum.
The massive bronze doors of the tomb were wide open. High-powered floodlights had been set up around the perimeter.
Julian’s blood ran cold.
A black hearse was parked on the gravel path beside the mausoleum. Two men in dark suits were hastily sliding a white lacquer casket out of the back—Clara’s casket. They hadn't waited for dawn. With the house on fire, Evelyn was executing her cleanup ahead of schedule.
Standing near the open vault, shielded by an umbrella held by a bodyguard, was Evelyn. Her hair was slightly disheveled, but she wore a fresh cashmere coat. She was watching the men move the casket toward the concrete crypt inside.
"They're burying Mommy," Lily whispered, her tiny voice trembling violently. She began to cry silently, her little chest hitching. "Daddy, please don't let them put Mommy in the dark."
Julian knelt beside Lily, pulling her under the shelter of a wide marble angel. "Lily, listen to me very carefully. Do you still have the silver recorder?"
Lily nodded, reaching inside her soggy pocket. The device was wrapped in waterproof plastic she had grabbed from the doll’s inner lining. It was dry.
"Good girl," Julian said, kissing her cold forehead. "I need you to take this phone." He pulled a disposable burner phone from his interior coat pocket—a backup he kept hidden in his trouser lining during business trips, intact and forgotten until now. "I’m going to dial 911. But not local. I'm dialing the Federal Bureau of Investigation field office in Chicago. When they answer, you hold Clara’s recorder to the mic. Do you understand?"
"What about you, Daddy?" she asked, her hazel eyes wide with pure dread.
May you like
Julian looked toward the mausoleum. Inside the open doorway, he saw bags of quick-setting concrete stacked high. Once Clara’s body was inside and that slab was sealed, the evidence of poison would be destroyed forever.
"I'm going to buy you time," Julian said softly. He hit speed-dial on the federal line Clara had saved months ago, pressed the phone into Lily's trembling hands, and stood up into the rain.
