Frantically she ran her fingers along the interior, this time focusing on the edge of the coffin lid.
Forcing slow, even breaths in to calm herself and preserve air, she fumbled across the lining. Finally, she felt a tiny metal clasp. She almost cried with relief, feeling the cool steel in her hand.
Running her fingers around it, she pushed the edge and shoved the top of the casket at the same time. But the clasp broke, snapping in her fingers, and the lid refused to budge.
Her breath quickened, and silent tears ran down her face.
She was trapped.
Ninety-Four
Finton’s Final Resting Home
Derrick glared at Sheriff Waters, who’d insisted on driving and checking out the funeral home with him.
“Did you know about this?” he asked him.
“Detective Reeves doesn’t share well,” Waters said in an irritated voice. “And I was checking out a couple of Carrie Winters’ clients.”
“Any leads?” Derrick could barely concentrate for the worry eating at him.
The sheriff shook his head. “For a hooker, she seemed to have morals. No extortion or threats to expose her clients. And I ran backgrounds on the few names but no one with a history of violence against women.”
That they knew of. After all, men with money could pay to have their illicit activities covered up.
The sheriff’s siren wailed as they careened into the parking lot for the funeral home.
“Ellie’s Jeep,” Derrick said, pointing to her parked vehicle.
“I’ll look around out here if you want to check inside.” Bryce pulled his weapon and scoped out the property. Woods backed up to the brick structure, heavy gray clouds overhead threatening a downpour and casting the exterior in deep pockets of gray.
Senses honed, Derrick held his gun at the ready while Bryce headed toward the woods. First, he climbed the steps to the outside entrance of the apartment but found it was locked and boarded up. A quick look through the window revealed it was empty, so he went back down the steps. If Finton had someone here, he’d probably put them in the basement. Ellie might be there now in trouble.
Walking around the outside of the building, he checked doors and windows for a point of entry. He finally found a lock broken, the window half open and dusted with footprints. Two sets. A woman’s boots and a larger set that had to belong to a man.
Crawling inside, he shined his flashlight around the dank interior, the acrid odors of body waste and chemicals permeating the concrete walls so strongly that he briefly gagged.
Moving slowly, he listened for any indication that Ellie was inside, or that another woman might be here needing help. The furnace clanged, and somewhere he heard a mouse skittering along the floor. He followed the hall to the prep room and looked inside, but it appeared to be empty. Still, he ducked inside and checked the storage room, careful not to touch any of the instruments or supplies.
Forcing himself not to think about the fact that this place had seen countless dead bodies, he continued on to the refrigerated room.
Dread made his stomach cramp, but he opened the heavy door and looked inside. A blast of frigid air assaulted him, but the steel shelves and tables were bare.
A noise from down the hall made him step back outside, closing the door then creeping past an office. Eyes peeled for an ambush, he eased open the door and shined the light inside. Dingy yellowed walls, a cold tile floor, and a room full of caskets.
There was the noise again, and he spotted McClain dragging himself up from behind one of the coffins and staggering toward the door.
“McClain?” Derrick went still. “Where the hell is Ellie?”
The ranger rubbed the back of his head with his hand. Looking confused and dazed, he slumped against a gray coffin, leaning over as if struggling to focus.
Just as Derrick moved toward him, he thought he heard a sound again. A squeaking sound. Or was it scratching?
“Ellie?” he shouted. “Are you in here?”
Quickly glancing around, he realized there was no one else in view. If someone was in the room, they had to be in in one of the caskets. Stowing his gun, he hurried toward a bronzed coffin against the wall. He quickly lifted the lid. Cream-colored lining, gold around the edges. But it was empty. Fear pulsed through him as he raced to the next casket, a dark charcoal one with a silver bracket closing it. Heart hammering, he raised the lid and found ivory satin pillow and lining. No one was inside.
“Ellie!” he yelled as he moved onto another. He jerked it open, expecting to find Ellie. Or… Shondra.
But there was no one.
Rapidly exhaling a breath, he ran to the last one in the corner. Polished nickel.
The shrill sound echoed again and his hand shook as he jerked the lid up.
Ellie lay inside, gasping for a breath, her eyes wide in terror, hands clawing to get out.
Ninety-Five
Ellie screamed and grasped at Derrick to help her out. With the latch broken and the lower half of the casket closed, her legs were trapped. He gently helped her, lifting her free.
Tears trailing down her face, she gulped for air, the claustrophobic darkness finally giving way to light.
“I’ve got you,” Derrick said as he hauled her limp body toward the door and held her. “You’re okay, Ellie. You’re safe now.”
Unable to help herself, she sobbed against him, tremors running through her at the terror of being locked inside.
Derrick carried her into the hall. She blinked back tears, unable to stop trembling.
Her fingers ached where she’d tried to claw her way out, and her nails had broken off, her fingers bleeding from scratching at the interior.
Footsteps echoed behind them, and Cord shuffled into the hall, rubbing the back of his head. “Ellie?” he said in a thick voice. “El?”
“She’s right here,” Derrick replied, his tone harsh. “What happened, Ellie? Did McClain lock you in there?”
Ellie’s head swirled with confusion. One minute she and Cord had been searching the space, then the next, someone had jumped her from behind.
“Ellie?” Derrick asked. “Talk to me. Tell me what happened.”
“I don’t know,” she whispered. Cord wouldn’t have hurt her. Would he?
Footsteps pounded, then another male voice sounded from nearby. “Agent Fox? Ellie?” A second later, Bryce ran into the hall, his gun drawn.
“I found her,” Derrick shouted. “She was assaulted and locked in one of the damn caskets.”
Hurrying toward them, the sheriff’s jaw was set tight as he took in the scene.
“Arrest him,” Derrick ordered, staring at McClain. “I think he attacked Ellie because she got too close to the truth.”
“What?” McClain said, his voice slurred. “No. That’s not true.”
Ellie opened her mouth to argue but she was still struggling to breathe as Bryce handcuffed Cord and hauled him down the hall.
Ninety-Six
Stony Gap
An hour later, after Ellie had been examined by the medics, she and Derrick made it back to the sheriff’s office. Derrick was unable to erase the image of finding Ellie trapped in the casket, panicked, gasping for air.