So Insane, page 13
Martle had heard voices in the mine. Not moans, voices that spoke words. It was very possible he had simply hallucinated, but Faith doubted it. It made too much sense to think that someone had spoken and Martle had heard him.
Then again, that was three years ago. Was someone visiting the mines every day? If so, how had no one seen him before? Was he living in the deep part of the mine?
The thought didn’t feel as ridiculous as it sounded. People had lived in caves before. Hell, the catacombs in Paris held the remains of several underground dwellings along with the chapels and the infamous mausoleums. It didn’t seem out of the realm of possibility that someone had been living in the mines for years, probably using the cave network to venture to the surface when necessary. It made even more sense now that they had confirmed that at least one ventilation shaft led back to the mines. If a ventilation shaft connected the man-made network of tunnels with the natural one, it stood to reason that there were other intersections between the two. Considering how reluctant everyone was to visit the caves, it was also quite plausible that he had never been seen before now.
But who? And why wait until now to start killing?
And Faith believed it was only now that the killer had started murdering people. There were plenty of missing persons cases, but when she dived more deeply into the history, she found no cases where bodies were recovered showing stab wounds or any sign of murder.
It was the mine. It all came back to that. Tyler and Clara had visited the mines, not the caves. She believed the killer had some sort of connection to the mines and when the entrance was reopened, he would kill people who wandered inside. Why, she wasn’t entirely sure, but if she could find the answer to that question, she would be able to find the killer.
Michael returned to the front of the cave and reported, “Okay, so CSI’s gonna do their thing. They’ll take fingerprints like last time and probably find some. Ditto DNA. Once more, it probably won’t show up as anyone in the database. I’ve convinced him to send a drone up the ventilation shaft so we can hopefully follow the killer’s trail. We might even get lucky enough to see him. Who knows? In the meantime, Jones is calling off the S&R team from Colorado.”
“No,” Faith said, “Don’t let him do that.”
“There’s no one to rescue, Faith,” he said softly.
“And no one else brave enough to go into the mines,” she said, “We need them so that we don’t end up going into the mines alone and get lost.”
“I understand that, but how do we convince them to stay?”
“We’re FBI agents,” Faith said, “we’re going to talk to them with authority, and if anyone wants to give us trouble, we’ll make more trouble for them.”
“You mean more trouble for us.”
"I mean, we're going to do something, Michael, not just wait for something to happen.”
“Fair enough,” he said.
“I want to look into the mine collapse,” she said. “I want the names of the victims and the survivors and their families. I think our killer is connected somehow.”
“I think you’re right,” Michael said. “I’m pretty sure the voices Martle heard were real voices, or at least one person’s real voice.”
After being at odds in so many ways for so long, it was like a breath of fresh air to find that she and Michael were on the same page about this. “Go tell Jones that we’re heading back to town. I’ll call Turk.”
***
The nearest library was over an hour away in Lewiston, but they were able to find the Brightwater Courier—the regional newspaper—online.
The original collapse of the Granger mine occurred just over twenty-two years ago when the south tunnel collapsed, trapping twelve miners inside. Ten other miners were spared the collapse. They were the ones who alerted the authorities. The stories detailed the gory events described by Martle, including the bloodcurdling sounds of the miners suffocating to death under the collapsed tunnel.
Faith consulted the maps Martle gave them and found that the south tunnel was surrounded on one side by a half-dozen tunnels that Martle labeled UNSTABLE: UNSAFE. The other side was blank, indicating that he hadn't explored it. The nearest they could get, according to Martle, was a small cavern a quarter mile before the south tunnel that he had marked as MISC. STORAGE.
Well, a start was a start. They would have to wait for the backup from Aspen before they could start, however.
While Micheal napped, Faith looked into the names of the surviving miners. Not surprisingly, they had all quit the mine and moved far away, some immediately, the rest trickling away over the next several years. None of them lived within a thousand miles of Granger.
She moved on to the families of the deceased and found that they, like the survivors, had eventually moved away from the memory of their lost loved ones.
Except for one man. Linus Diller’s brother and sister-in-law had died in the collapse. Linus Diller still lived in Granger.
Faith called Jones, and the detective answered groggily. “What is it?”
“Linus Diller,” she said, “what can you tell me about him?”
Jones made a noise halfway between a sigh and a groan and said, “Linus is the town drunk. Lovely to have to admit that we have one, but we’re already coming across pretty shitty, so I guess it’s not the end of the world. He has a bit of a record—mostly barfights, nothing too serious.”
“Did you know that his brother and sister-in-law died in the mine collapse?”
“George and Carol? Yeah, I knew.”
Faith was past the point where any level of incompetence from Jones could surprise her. She didn’t even bother to ask if he had questioned Linus. “Do you have an address for him?”
“Um, yeah, hold on. Do you need the exact street address, or can I just tell you where to go?"
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Well, he lives in an old cabin on Breaker Ridge Road, just past where it turns from pavement to dirt. But at this hour, you’ll probably find him packing in as much booze as he can before Jonah Faulkner kicks him out of the Tin Can. That’s the local bar. Nice place, incidentally, if you two felt like a celebratory beer once this is all over.”
“I’ll get back to you on that,” Faith said. “What time does the bar close?”
“Two o’clock.”
That left them a little over an hour. “All right,” Faith said, “thank you.”
“Yep,” Jones said before unceremoniously hanging up.
Faith looked at Michael sleeping on the bed and debated going herself to allow him a chance to rest. If she did that, though, she’d never hear the end of it.
She woke Turk first, hoping that the noise of the big dog springing to alertness would also wake Michael. It didn’t, and Turk didn’t seem inclined to wake Michael up himself, so Faith had to do the job.
She shook him softly, and he rolled over and smiled softly. "Love you, Faith," he murmured.
A memory flashed across Faith's mind then, of waking Michael the morning after he first spent the night. They had spent the rest of that day in each other's arms, and Faith thought at the time that she could get used to waking up like that.
Apparently, Michael had once felt the same.
She shook him again, a little harder, and this time he woke fully. “What is it?” he asked.
“I found a lead,” she said, “Linus Diller. Town drunk. His brother and sister-in-law died in the original mine collapse.”
He sat up, alert now. “Where is he?”
“Jones says he’s probably at the local bar.”
“Wonderful,” Michael said, standing. “Do we like him for this?”
“He’s the only person connected to the collapse still in town,” Faith said as Michael quickly dressed. “I don’t know if he’s a suspect yet, but he’s definitely a lead. He does have a history of violence.” She filled him in on the information Jones had given her.
“Well, a barfight isn’t the same as a murder,” Michael said, “but I suppose it’s possible that he might have gone off the deep end when he heard the mine was uncovered.”
“Even if not,” Faith said, “odds are he knows something we can use.”
“Well,” Michael said, pulling his jacket on, “let’s go find out.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
As it turned out, Linus Diller was not at the Tin Can. Nor was the Tin Can even remotely a nice place. Faith guessed that when you only had one option, you had to make the best of it.
Not that Faith cared one way or the other about the quality of the establishment. She and Micheal headed to the bar, Turk in between them, to see if they could get any more information on Diller before trying his cabin.
The bartender was a thickly built woman of around fifty with a lined face that looked like it would have been very pretty before years of alcohol abuse robbed it of its fullness and color. She looked dispassionately at the three of them and nodded at Turk. “Dog’s gonna have to wait outside. We don’t allow pets in here.”
“He’s not a pet, he’s a K9 unit,” Faith corrected, “and we are FBI Special Agents investigating the murders of Tyler Stone and Clara Montpelier.”
“Oh yeah,” the woman said, “my daughter works for the police department. She told me they found the Montpelier girl’s body.”
“They did,” Faith confirmed, “and we’re following up a lead on her killer.”
“Got it,” the bartender replied. “All the same, your dog’s gonna have to wait outside.”
Faith bristled, but before she could reply, Michael said, “My name is Special Agent Michael Prince. This is my partner, Special Agent Faith Bold. And our K9 unit goes where we go. Unless you want us calling our friends at ATF about a possible expired liquor license.”
Michael’s instincts turned out to be correct. The woman frowned sourly but relented. “All right. What do you want to know?”
“Linus Diller,” Faith said.
“What about him?”
She shrugged. “Tell me what he’s like?”
The bartender laughed. “Well, he’s a drunk, bitter middle-aged man whose wife left him for beating her fifteen years ago, seven years after his brother died in the mine collapse. That about covers everything.”
“I hear he causes a lot of trouble here.”
The bartender shrugged. “He picks fights sometimes. Not so much now that he’s getting older. To be honest, I just let them go outside to figure it out. It’s cheaper than hiring a bouncer.”
“How often is he here?”
She chuckled. “I can’t remember the last time he wasn’t here from open to close.” She cocked her head and said, “Actually, he’s been here a lot less often the past two weeks or so.”
Faith lifted an eyebrow. “Is that so?” she asked.
“Yeah,” the bartender said. “He’s only been here for an hour or two each night. He sips his drinks quickly, then heads home. Might have something to do with the mine being reopened. Linus is a mean son of a bitch, but he really loved his brother.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “Between you and me, I think he loved his sister-in-law a little more than he loved his brother. Don’t know that for sure, of course, but it seemed to me he that George’s boy looked an awful lot more like Linus’s boy, if you know what I mean.”
“Thank you for the information,” Faith said. “We’ll be in touch if we have any further questions.”
“Sounds good,” the bartender replied. “Name’s Luann, by the way.”
Faith smiled drily. “Nice to meet you, Luann.”
On the way to Diller’s cabin, Faith checked her pistol’s load. Michael looked over from the driver’s seat and frowned. “You’re not planning to use that, are you?”
She cast him a sardonic look, and he said, “Considering your recent behavior, that’s not an unreasonable question.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not planning on using it, no, but since two people have pointed out that Diller is violent, I think it pays to be prepared.”
“Prepared, yes; anticipating, no.”
“Like I said,” she repeated patiently. “I’m not planning on using it.”
“Okay. Just making sure.”
They remained silent for the rest of the drive. Breaker’s Ridge Road led them out of the town proper. Faith noted that while Breaker’s Ridge Road led west and the mine itself was north of town, there were several dirt paths that would allow Diller to reach the mines without having to travel through town.
They reached the cabin a few miles outside of Granger. The road, as promised, turned to dirt, where it wound up into a small spur of the mountains. Diller’s cabin was located a half mile before the foothills.
The lights were still on inside, which made sense since Diller would normally be awake at the bar at this time. Faith lifted a hand to her pistol but pulled it away when she saw the look on Michael's face. Turk growled low in his throat as they approached the door, and Michael looked worriedly at him too.
The tv was playing inside, and when they knocked, Faith could hear Diller swear. She lifted her hand to her pistol again and, this time, left it there.
The TV volume diminished, and Faith heard shuffling footsteps as Diller approached the door. He opened it a crack and cast filmy eyes on the two agents under the porchlight. "What the hell do you want?" he growled, his voice the rasp of a longtime alcoholic.
“Linus Diller?” Faith asked.
“Who the hell are you?”
His left hand was hidden behind the door, and Faith kept her hand on her pistol. "I'm Special Agent Faith Bold. This is Special Agent Michael Prince and our K9 Unit, Turk."
Diller looked down at Turk and frowned. “That dog pisses on my porch, I’m going to kick the shit out of him.”
Michael rolled his eyes. Turk looked mildly amused at the threat.
Faith knew she should treat it with the same levity, but after what had happened with West and Turk, she couldn’t. Her eyes narrowed, and she said, “You put your hands on my dog, I’ll make sure that’s the last time you ever use them.”
Michael frowned and tried to interject. “We just need a few minutes of your time, Mr. Diller.”
“Like hell you do,” he said. “Come back with a warrant, then we’ll talk.”
He made to close the door, and Faith put her shoulder into it. Diller stumbled backward, and the door flew open. "No, we'll talk now," she said, "people are dying, and I think you know something we need to know."
When Diller stumbled back from the door, she saw that his left hand held only a half-empty bottle of whiskey, not the shotgun she expected. “What the hell are you doing?” he shouted. “Get the hell out of my house!”
Though still belligerent, his eyes held more fear than anger, and Faith pressed her advantage. “No,” she said, “if you want, you can file a complaint with the Philadelphia field office after you tell us what we need to know.”
“I think if we both take a step back,” Michael interjected, putting a hand on Faith’s shoulder, “we’ll agree that it’s in all of our best interests to get this conversation out of the way as quickly as possible. Mr. Diller, we can talk on your porch if you would prefer, but this really is an urgent matter or we wouldn’t be here at one-thirty in the morning. I’d consider it a personal favor if you just gave us a few minutes of your time.”
“Not sure what the hell I’m supposed to do with that,” Diller groused, “but all right. I’ll talk to you. Little Miss Psychopath can sit quietly and behave. Or can she?”
He leered at Faith, and Faith nearly struck him. Turk's low growl stopped her and also wiped the smile off of Diller’s face. “Hey now, I was only joking. I’m not gonna hurt her.”
“Turk will behave as long as everyone else behaves,” Michael said, glaring at Faith. “We’re here to talk. That’s all.”
Faith gritted her teeth a moment but forced herself to nod. Diller offered a nod of his own and said, “All right then. You can sit here.”
He gestured to the kitchen table where two wooden chairs sat. Faith’s lip curled when she saw the questionable stains on the chairs, but Michael stoically ignored them and sat, staring at Faith until she did the same.
"All right," Diller said. He lifted the bottle of whiskey to his lips and took a long draw. A trickle of whiskey dribbled down his overgrown beard, and Faith's lip curled upward again. "What do you want to know?" he asked.
“First,” Michael asked. “Can you confirm your whereabouts six days and thirteen days ago?”
"You mean, did I kill those kids who went missing?"
“Did you?”
Diller chuckled. "No, they did for themselves. That mine's been dangerous since it was first built. Don't know why folks still try to explore it after two cave-ins."
“Have you been back since the cave-in that killed your brother and his wife?” Michael asked.
“Back?” he chuckled. “I never went in in the first place. My brother was the cave guy. How do you call it? Spunkler?”
“Spelunker,” Michael offered.
“Right. Well, anyway, he was the guy who liked caves. That’s why Carol fell in love with him. She liked caves too.”
“Did you and your sister-in-law have a relationship?” Faith asked.
Diller frowned. “I thought you weren’t gonna talk.”
Faith lifted her hands placatingly. “I’ll sit right here the whole time.”
Diller scoffed but didn’t protest further. “Well, to answer your question, no, I didn’t screw Carol. Everyone seems to think I did because she was actually kind to me, but I didn’t. I loved George. I would never hurt him like that.” He frowned. “Why are you even asking about her? She’s been dead twenty-two years. So has George.”
“We believe that someone is murdering people who visit the mines,” Michael said. “We’re talking to you because you’re the only remaining family of the victims of the mine’s first collapse who still lives in the area.”
“So I must be the killer, right?” Diller replied contemptuously.
“It’s probably a good idea to avoid sarcasm,” Michael advised. Faith noted the similarity between that advice and the advice he gave Tom Martle. She also noted the similarity in Diller’s response.
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