Memory Man (Amos Decker 1)

Decker bent down and shone the light on them. “No. The prints look to be identical. And it’s not two people walking side by side. The spacing of the prints is too close. But two sets make sense.”

“Why?”

“Come on.”

They continued on, with her taking pictures as they went. They passed through a massive, foot-thick metal door that only opened easily because it was set on hydraulic hinges.

“Some sort of blast door,” said Decker.

Now the space opened up into a large room about forty feet across and twice as long. The floors were concrete, the walls and ceiling the same. On the walls were signs that told what to do in the event of an emergency. Several were imprinted with a skull-and-crossbones symbol, the universal sign for danger. Along the walls were old metal lockers on which were bolted signs. One read, GAS MASKS. Another said, FIRST AID. A third said, WATER AND FOOD. The dust and cobwebs were pervasive and the air stale and musty.

“They must have had an independent air supply,” said Decker. “If a nuke hit, you couldn’t have access to the outside air.”

“But it can’t be airtight down here. I can breathe okay.”

“Which means it might have been vented so workers down here replenishing supplies and the like could breathe, but they close them off when the alarm sounds.”

Following the sets of footprints, they traversed the bomb shelter space and passed through another blast door where there was another passageway matching the one on the other side. The darkness was lifted every few seconds by the flash on Lancaster’s phone as she took pictures of the sets of shoeprints that had continued on down this passage.

Decker was counting off the steps in his head. Then they ran into another set of steps. These headed up. Decker had been shining his light on the floor at various intervals. The shoeprints they had seen earlier had paralleled them the entire way. They headed up. At the top of the steps was a blank wall.

“Dead end?” said Lancaster.

“Can’t be.” Decker dug his fingernails around the edges of the wall, working his way up and down both sides. Then he gained a handhold, tugged. The wall started to give, and then it came loose.

“It’s balsa wood,” he said, hefting it easily and setting it aside. On the other side of the open wall was a small space that was stacked with junk. On the other side of that was a door.

“The government wouldn’t have sealed it with balsa wood,” observed Lancaster.

“I’m sure they didn’t. But unlike the cafeteria where the wall wasn’t visible, this wall would have been in case someone opened that door. The shooter must’ve replaced whatever wall was here with the balsa. It would look solid but would be easily movable.”

“You’re talking a lot of work, Amos. He couldn’t have done all of that in one night.”

“But if he could access the school at night, he might’ve been here a lot doing what he needed to do.”

“But how would he do that? He couldn’t count on school plays every night? And bringing in saws and other equipment?”

“I’m not sure how he did it.” Decker hit the floor with his light. “Check out the patch right in front of the wall. Not much dust. That pile of junk used to be right in front of the wall, but it’s been moved so it doesn’t block the way.”

Decker checked the doorknob for prints, and then used the knife he’d brought with him to try to force the latch open.

“It’s locked. Give me a sec.” He passed the flashlight to her and pulled from his pocket his lock-picking instruments.

“Standard PI equipment?” she said wryly.

“You never picked a lock as a cop?”

A minute later the door swung open about a foot or so and then hit something.

“What is it?” whispered Lancaster.

Decker noted that she had her gun out. And that her left hand was still trembling.

“Something blocking the door.” He poked his head through the opening and recognized where they were.

“This is the storage room off the shop class. I looked in here before. The door’s hitting a stack of old window AC units. That’s why I didn’t see the door before. The units completely hid it from where I was standing on the other side.”

“And I bet when we searched this area, no one noticed the door on the other side for the very same reason.”

“Sounds right.”

Lancaster eyed the gap. “I can get through there.”

She turned sideways and passed easily through the narrow space.

She looked around. “If you can push on the door from your end, I’ll steady the AC units so they don’t fall over.”

He pushed on the door with his bulk and the door slid open farther, pushing the units with it, while Lancaster held on to them, keeping them upright.

“Okay, Amos, that’s plenty of room for you to get through.”

Decker passed through the widened gap, looked at the partially open door and then at the stack of AC units, and then stared down at the floor.

And then he frowned.

“What now?” asked Lancaster.

“There’s not a lot of dust in here, so I don’t see any more shoeprints.”

“But we saw the sets coming up the stairs. He had to come in here.”

“Agreed. So let’s assume he came through here and out into the shop class.”

They left the storage area and walked into the large room with all the tools and work tables.

“But how did the guy know there’d be no one in shop class?” said Decker.

“Oh, didn’t you know?” said Lancaster, sounding pleased she knew something Decker didn’t.

“Know what?”

“The shop teacher quit at the end of last year. They couldn’t find a replacement, so there’s been no shop class this year.”

“That’s why the door to the classroom was locked. And that’s also how the shooter knew. Debbie must’ve told him that there was no shop class.”

“But you were right, Amos. This is how he got from the cafeteria to the opposite end of the school unseen.”

He nodded. “He actually did it twice that day. He came out of the freezer, walked down the passage, came out into the halls, shot the people on his way to the front. Then he reentered the passage in the cafeteria, closed the wall after him, and walked back down the passage.”

“Which was why there were two sets of identical shoeprints,” added Lancaster.

“Right. Now, the shop class is also a big space, so maybe they figured to load kids from both ends of the school and down into the shelter in the event of an emergency.”

“How far underground do you figure that passage was?” she asked.

“Based on the number of risers, about twelve feet.”

“Doubt that would protect you from a nuclear bomb blast. Even if it’s all concrete with reinforced doors.”

He stared at her. “Well, what exactly would protect you from a nuke?”

“Good point.”

“I came in here the first night I was here looking around. Those are my shoeprints over there.” He pointed to the far wall. “I walked around, and then, like I said before, I looked in the storage rooms in the back.”

Decker knelt down and studied the floor. “Mary, hit this section with your light. I must have missed it earlier.”

Lancaster did so, revealing a long mark that disturbed the light dust, along with the impressions of shoeprints.

“What do you think that is?”