Diane Davidson - The Main Corpse

“What a comforting thought.”

Marla listened to Bo explain that the safety on the Glock was a small lever on its trigger. His ice blue gaze held her as he explained in a no-nonsense voice, “You aim and shoot. This is a nine-millimeter semiautomatic and you’ve got nine rounds. You see a guy. You see a jackrabbit. You see a bumblebee. You shoot. Got it?”

Marla nodded mutely and took the gun. I had my doubts about her ability to use it. General Bo lithely stepped out of the way so Jake, tugging Arch with all his canine might, could enter the mine first. I was the last one to step into the tunnel.

The dank air struck my nostrils like a blow. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t cold, musty dampness blowing gently in my face. The moist breeze stank of metallic earth.

“Fifty-one degrees year-round,” General Bo reported cheerfully. “No matter what the weather is outside, that’s the temperature inside a mine or cave.

Might get a tad warmer as we go in.” Jake tugged forward down the tunnel, then made a quick right into what General Bo informed us was a “drift” cut out of the rock. This was the way, I surmised, to the magazine that held the explosives I’d read about in the inspectors’ reports. Once he was in the drift, however, Jake seemed to become confused. With his long ears flopping, he backtracked from the drift and sniffed energetically along the floor of the main tunnel. He sniffed up the walls, around the tracks, started up the tunnel, then headed back to where Marla stood.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Pool scent,” Arch said as he tugged Jake back. He sounded discouraged. “Tony’s been in here, Jake can tell that. But because of the enclosed space, Jake thinks Tony’s everywhere. In this kind of situation, it’s very hard for a bloodhound to be able to tell exactly where the scent was, or how far back the person he’s tracking went.” He grimaced with dismay. “That’s why they use German shepherds in places like this, like when someone’s trapped in a building. Shepherds don’t get overwhelmed by so much scent.”

“Just give him time,” Bo advised. I felt less hopeful, but said nothing.

After more uncertain sniffing, Jake shuffled down the railroad track. The general pointed to the shadowy tunnel ahead. We were to move into the mine. Just what I was dreading.

Step by echoing step, we moved deeper into the earth. Twice I tripped on the old, rusted track. The damp breeze coming from inside the mine grew mustier and staler. Only three feet over our heads, the rough-hewn rock was occasionally covered with chain-link fencing.

“To sheath unstable rock,” the general explained. “By the way, the top of the tunnel is called its back.” He reached over to touch the stone walls. “These are called the mine’s ribs.”

The cold air was seeping through my outerwear and into my underclothes. Our footsteps echoed eerily. About fifty feet in, I looked back. Marla stood motionless in the entry, guarding the portal. I wished with all my heart that Arch and I were back there with her.

About seventy feet in, the tunnel and the track made a right-hand turn. Jake, still sniffing up the ribs, turned right also. But again he seemed confused. Water dripped from overhead. By the light of the lamps along the wall, I could just make out a crack in the rock above us.

“Fault,” General Bo said matter-of-factly. “Why does the air smell so bad?”

“That’s one of the biggest problems, bringing ventilation to the miners. They ventilate the place with raises that go up the mountain. They’re like shafts, only miners climb from level to level via ladders – “

We were diverted from discussing this by Jake scrabbling frantically up what looked like a timber wall built up on the left side of the tunnel. I glanced backward. Because of the turn we had made, I could no longer see Marla.

“What is it?” I said. “What’s he found?”

“More pool scent, I think,” Arch responded. He held out his hand to the wall. “Maybe this is the sump.” He clambered up the side of the wall, put his hand over the side, and made a splashing sound. “Yep, it’s water.”

“The sump,” the general explained, “is the reservoir of water that drains down from the mine. They use the water for the drilling, as I was saying – “

Jake was going nuts. He sniffed up the side of the sump wall, came back down, sniffed up again. He pulled furiously on his thick leash. It was all Arch could do to restrain him. Tony, or Tony’s scent, had spent some time by the sump.

General Bo reached back to get his cap lamp. Arch stepped firmly on Jake’s leash but couldn’t keep his balance to get up on the sump step without pulling too hard on his dog. I mimicked Bo’s actions and groped along my belt for the cap lamp. Clumsily, I pulled the cord out, snapped the lamp into its bracket, and turned the knob. Given my current frame of mind, I was almost surprised when the light flashed on. My small thin beam swept over the ribs of the mine. While Arch struggled to secure Jake’s leash, talking to and soothing the excited animal, the general and I climbed up the uneven steps leading to the sump. The hound whined as Bo and I shone our pale cones of light into the liquid depths.

The water was so still it was almost impossible to tell it was there. The pool seemed to go back about fifteen feet, and down about eight. We swept our lights along the murky surface of the water, and then down to the sump floor. I cried out in shock.

At the bottom of the pool, fully clothed, bald head shining, eyes wide with surprise even in death, was Albert Lipscomb.

20

“Stay still, Arch,” I commanded sternly as I turned away from the corpse to protect my son. “Just… wait until we get down.”

“Why? What’s there?” He was bent awkwardly over Jake. The leash had become tangled between his legs, and Jake was paying no heed as he pawed up and down and moaned deep in his throat. “Tony Royce must have sat down here or something,” Arch said, frustrated. “The scent’s really strong. That’s why Jake’s going ballistic. Is there something in the water, Mom?”

I turned back to the sump. If that fool dog was correct, we’d find Tony’s body next. General Bo moved his light over the length of the dead man. I swallowed hard.

“It’s Tony’s partner,” I murmured.

“I figured,” Bo said. “This is the corpse we’ve been looking for, I’d wager.”

I struggled to clear my mind. But yes, he was right. Victoria Lear had died because she had discovered the Eurydice was worthless. Albert had disappeared, ostensibly with all the money from the Prospect account. A bank teller who could have identified someone had been strangled. Marla had been accused of the murder 9f Tony Royce. But in discovering Albert Lipscomb, we’d found the main corpse, the key to unraveling the bizarre happenings of the last week.

His body did not float. This was Colorado, not Florida. As Tom had told me several times, it takes a month in forty-degree water for a corpse in a lake to come to the surface. Underwater, Lipscomb’s narrow, surprised face had a waxy, bluish appearance. His skin was shriveled. His long fingers, splayed outward, looked like those of a person too long in the bath. I didn’t remember him having age spots on the backs of his hands. I blinked and focused on the dark, round marks. They looked suspiciously like burns. As if someone had tortured him –

“No, no!” cried Arch. He’d unfastened the leather lead. “Jake, come back!” But even as Arch called frantically, Jake trotted away. Apparently his powerful nose was telling him to go back down the track in the direction we’d come. Or perhaps he was again confused by the pool scent. Or maybe, like me, he desperately wanted to get as far away as possible from the presence of death. Arch took off after his pet, but the general was faster, bounding off the sump steps and racing nimbly down the rails with the same stamina I’d come to expect from him. Arch tripped and made a spectacular spill in the mud. As I stumbled after my son, a gunshot cracked loudly down the close space of the tunnel.