(still canned drops)
By noon, stomach growling despite the rolls and illicit coffee and hot cocoa taken several times during the morning, Mike felt the crew assembled could do the job unsupervised for a short bit. Some time mid-morning, Angel Higgins and the Chief answered a summons to Temple Square, to answer questions the Saints leaders must have about the crime, and why the Confederal bureau took charge of the case. Looking around, Holzon nodded when Graves and Emma looked up from their work with the daugerrotype boxes, recording the steps Graves and Feinstien where taking in the rcovery of the remains.
"Anything yet?" Mike asked.
"Well, I ain't a bone expert, but most of the damage appears to be from being burnt or baked somehow." Feinstien spoke up first.
"The few broken spots correlate to the brackets and the joists, so I agree. Not saying it ain't weird, but does not look like any violence other than being shoved it caused." Graves shook his head. "Definitely something for the Sarge's mind to think over. Still have no clue how to get him inside this tube. Almost looks like he, well, grew into it, somehow."
"Speaking of the Sergeant, where is he?" Holzon gazed upwards, noting the careful way the three managed to remove part of the wall below, exposing more damaged joists.
Detective Smith gestured to the west wall. "This is actually under the back porch, which was a raised area. behind that brick area is their root cellar, which apparently was rearranged sometime either about the same time or just before, the event happened. Not sure folks ever knew what happened." Emma then looked at the bricks again. "Mike, this might be me being suspicious, but if the bricking was part of the event, or related, we will have to search local records for who owned the property, any guests at the time and such."
"Sarge asked two of the Vigilantes your Angel friend left here to watch over things to escort him up to meet the caisson." Graves chimed in.
Nodding to graves"Well, I will leave that to you, Emma/. Jst make serious notes. We'll be before the next session of Congress to explain what we know, I'm betting. At least that will not be until January." Running a hand over the bricks, fingers focusing alnog the edges afer a moment. "Two types of mortar?"
Feinstien laughed. "We told you, Detective. Two cups of coffee, but we'll let you admit you had a bet with us that you lost to any who look at you oddly."
Grmacing, Emma held up a hand. "The whole wager has yet to play out. Agent Holzon wants his answer, and we need his before I forfeit."
Graves laughed, adjusting the stand his special focusing lantern stood on for a clearer picture inside the underflooring parts. "Yeah, we might get another of those crullers if you learn some patience, Ari."
"Gambling. Great, just what I need, more paperwork." Mike laughed. "I take it you three have a theory?"
"Your way of having everyone make their own observations and ideas is working so far, Mike. Why don't you look it over some more, your way, then we can all compare notes, and settle the bet?"
The tone she used was one Mike knew well from his wife. She was sure of something, and convinced masculine prejudices would prevent him from seeing them. "Ah, one of those things. Gents versus the Lady. I see." Shaking his head, Mike headed to the stairs back up. "Where is this root cellar's current entrance?"
"Just off the mud room." Emma said.
Something hit the agent about then, turning him back His eyes roamed the exposed supports, and the areas above them. His eyes narrowed, lines around them forming as somethiing began to form in his thoughts. "I think I see. Keep working, I'll be back in a few, then I suggest, if my escort has returned, we compare notes and thoughts over lunch somewhere nearby."
Taking the steps two at a time, Mike felt the habit his wife despised rising. He puffed out his cheeks to keep teeth from pinching the right side of his face in a bit. Candace chided him for that, claiming it made him look like some toothless bum. In the hallway to the back, he almost ran into Arvard exiting the water closet.
"Sorry Arvard."
"Son, somethiing about this house...." He stopped, noting Mike's face. "Hmmm. I'll add it to my notes."
"And think about someplace quiet around here we can compare first impressions and notes over a good meal." Scrunching his face at another loud grumble from his belly, Mike "Tag along a minute, though. Might need to have your knowledge of the area."
"Remember, son. I'm a Johnny Reb, not a Saint, by birth." Arvard's grin faded after a moment. "You're on to something."
Mike bit his lower lip, gently. "Maybe. Want you to see this side first, then we'll head back downstairs." Then he chuckled. "And I might need you to close your ears from time to time, given the local ban on gambling."
"As long as it's only drinks, food items of small value and other such, the Quorum says to look away, most times." Arvard said, following Mike over to the mud room. Mike noted the step up, curiously eyeing the flooring.
When the door opened, both men noted the cement stairs, compared to the stone ones inside. Meeting the pale eyes of the Vigilance Committee commander, Mike noted the suddenly serious look on the older man's face. Mike's boots on the first few steps broke the sound of the water running again on the commode. The rasp of a lighter behind him reminded him he'd forgot a lantern. There was a bit longer pause than normal before light came from above, accompanied by the harsh smell of cigarette tobacco. That surprised Mike enough to look back.
"Bad habit." Arvard shrugged. "Keeps me from the Temples, but the Elders appointed me for a reason which piety and holding a Temple Recommend was not an issue."
Mike nodded. "Thanks for remembering the lantern. I should have thought about it, but up at the fort, every room has a gas light."
"Spoiled, you ask me." Arvard let a smile go with that taunt.
Mike looked around the cellar as the angel descended the stairs, lantern in hand. Shelves crossed the bricked up entry here, and most of the walls. Cobwebs and the musky smells of potatoes and other garden goods stored for winter wrinkled his nose. Behind the north and east wall, and to either side of the sealed off doorway of the south wall, native sandstone stood. The west wall, after moving jars of canned fruits and jellies, proved brick.
Both men shared a look in the dim light. Holzon puffed again as his cheek pinched between teeth. A hint of red glow joined the dim lantern light, pungent smoke saying Arvard's cigarette was burning fast on surprised intake of breath.
Holding a hand up, Mike looked around. The room felt close to him. Not just the narrowness he expected from the foundation. Foot steps above him got his eyes looking upwards. Here, there was no ceiling, and the raised floor's joists were exposed. The original floor and many of the joists in here were missing. Eyebrows drawn to the bridge of his nose, Mike motioned upwards to Arvard, who was studying the ground in the room.
Joiniing Arvard's gaze, Mike noted the holes in the stone floor, scrape marks and other indications of something heavy being mounted and moved about inside the room.
"Son, I have a bad feeling we just kicked over enough cans of worms to keep us fishing 'til Judgement Day." Arvard whispered.
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