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Rafael was cold. Not the crisp, refreshing, joyful cold you got on ski slopes and the ocean, but the penetrating, damp, misery-inducing cold of a tomb, which was technically what it was.
In the dim light of the portable battery-powered lamps that had been set up around the search area his eyes and thoughts skimmed over the searchers as he’d been doing most of the day, on and off. Twenty-one local and regional police officers walked slowly forward in a single line swinging flashlights from side to side over rocks and pools, fastidiously looking for the smallest evidence. A two-person forensics team had set up a portable table to collect and catalog the finds and a single bright lamp with a daylight bulb spotlit the sorting trays.
The Albany police captain, Mills, who’d called in NYPD to help in the investigation, was engaged in her own vigil at the other side of the cavern. She looked despondent, as well she might, and cast glares regularly in Rafael’s direction, disappointed by his skepticism that her plan would work. According to Mills one of the twenty-three searchers in the cavern was a serial rapist and killer, the problem being which one? Only Rafael, Carisi, Rollins, Mills, and the killer himself knew that tidbit of information. They had a shortlist but their shortlist was more of a longlist right now. Mills thought the killer, thrown into disarray by the arrival of NYPD and the discovery of his lair, would tip his hand. Rafael thought she was kidding herself. He’d told her as much while planning the search, four hours into the search, and again an hour ago. Now she was avoiding him. Not that he blamed her. He wasn’t enjoying his own moody company much either.
The cavern he stood in was part of Howe Caverns, separate from the tourist routes and arrived at by walking a half mile service tunnel. Uniformly gray rock was broken only by the occasional underground feature. Calcite draped over low ridges in ribbons of dull color. Aquamarine pools sparkling in the low lighting. Stalactites hung from the ceiling to meet their stalagmite counterparts. It had all the fascination of the formations to be found in the public caves but without the added glitz in the form of neat boardwalks and handrails and colored lights.
When they’d arrived they’d been given a briefing by one of the national park rangers, Ranger Bob, a homely name insisted on by a grandfatherly man in his late fifties that Rafael had distrusted immediately. The useless statistics about the cavern had been rattled off as if they were another tour group. At its highest point, Ranger Bob had stated with an enthusiasm targeted at kids under ten, the ceiling was 150 feet. The cavern was 124 feet wide and 196 feet long. Above them were 160 feet of solid rock before reaching the icy January surface. The entirety of the Howe Cavern system maintained a constant temperature of fifty-two degrees Fahrenheit, balmy compared to outside. It was the persistent damp that made it feel colder.
“You didn’t have to come,” Carisi said. His heavy booted footfalls echoed against the limestone floor as he came up behind Rafael. Carisi cast an elongated shadow that merged with Rafael’s own as he reached him and lay a hand on the back of his shoulder, squeezing lightly. Carisi’s tone was sympathetic. Being Carisi, it would be.
The reusable paper cup Rafael held in one hand had ‘Barba’ scrawled in sharpie on the outside and on the inside a bitter, stewed version of what was purported to be coffee. When they’d first come into the cave, over the musty smell of rock and earth he’d imagined he could detect the lingering tang of decayed flesh but now he suspected it was the coffee. He emptied the dredges of the drink onto the floor of the cave and turned to meet Carisi.
Carisi’s hand dropped to his side, fingers twitching on the edge of Rafael’s vision like an actor waiting in the wings for their next scene. Carisi couldn’t talk without one or both hands adding punctuation.
“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Rafael said. He didn’t bother to hide his bitter sarcasm even though Carisi was perfectly correct; he hadn’t had to come.
He had wanted to get a feel for a crime scene different from his normal hunting ground of streets and skyscrapers and it had seemed a justifiable excuse to spend those long hours in a car with Carisi. That plan had quickly been scuppered when Liv had sent Rollins along with them and the three hours here had been spent listening to Rollins and Carisi bickering. Ah, well. Maybe Rollins could fall asleep on the back seat on the way home tonight. He could live in hope.
“Rollins and I are going to stay here for a few days to see the search out,” Carisi said.
And there went that hope too. Rafael’s mood dropped into his boots.
“Hurst from forensics is heading back though. It’ll be late, after everything’s stored and cataloged, but he’s okay to take you … unless … that is … you want to stay?”
Was that an invitation?
He could make that work couldn’t he? Overnight with Carisi. A car journey was easy. They’d listen to some music, talk about the law, discuss cases. But overnight they’d have a drink, talk about law and cases, but then they’d move on to personal things like shows, music, books. They’d sit close so they could hear each other in the noisy bar. Their sleeves would be rolled up and their forearms would brush. And then they’d go to bed. He shook himself. Don’t go there, Rafael.
Dejected by his spinelessness he nevertheless said, “I can’t. My diary’s full tomorrow.”
He shrugged deeper into the padded jacket he’d had the sense to wear. At least that along with the jeans, sweater, woolly hat and hiking boots were keeping the miserable cold at bay even if they couldn’t do anything about his miserable thoughts.
A searcher called out with a hand up and Hurst went over carrying an evidence bag, and a small flag to mark the spot. Carisi cleared his throat and switched the topic back to the search. He waved his arm wide to encompass the entirety of the searchers.
“These guys know you’re thinking a cop’s good for this.”
Rafael’s eyes dipped to look at his boots then back up. He wasn’t going to say it wasn’t fair but it wasn’t.
“Is that so?” he said flatly.
Carisi glanced sideways at him. “It’s just you’ve got a reputation for going after cops and it hasn’t made you mister popular.”
One case. Okay, two if you count COs. How easily reputations were built.
“I only go after criminals. It’s not my fault if some of those criminals are also police officers. Anyway, it could be a ranger.”
“Let’s hope.” Carisi’s fingers curled and uncurled at his sides. “But I’m just saying, even the innocent might take the opportunity to drop you into a pothole.”
Rafael looked out the side of his eyes at Carisi’s profile; his pale New York winter coloring, his cheeks and the tip of his nose flushed pink from the cold, his eyes the same arctic blue as the cavern’s pools. A few loose curls of blond hair escaped over his forehead from under the brim of his woolly hat. God, he was beautiful. Would Rafael ever have the courage to do something about it? He swallowed the lump in his throat and looked away.
“You worry too much, Dominick.”
His use of Carisi’s given name quieted any protestations, as it always did. Carisi ducked his head and tried to hide his bashful, pleased smile by turning to the cavern wall where Rollins was picking her way towards them across the area the searchers had finished with and forensics had cleared.
Rollins joined them, her neck bent back as she stared in awe at the ceiling. “Isn’t this place amazing?”
Rafael cleared his throat & shifted back to being the asshole ADA whose skin he wore with much more comfort than Rafael, the lovesick dope.
“I wasn’t aware we were here for sightseeing,” he said.
Rollins shot a glance at Carisi. ‘What’s his problem,’ the glance clearly said.
Carisi nodded up to the solid rock ceiling. “He thinks the world’s about to fall on his head.”
Rollins snorted.
Rafael rolled his eyes. “Are we any closer to identifying our murderer?” A few police officers were throwing glances their way. If looks could kill Rafael would be a dozen times buried by now.
“They really don’t like you, do they,” Rollins said. “I wouldn’t wander off on your own if I were you.”
Rafael huffed. “What am I, a child?”
“Sometimes.”
“We’re absolutely sure it’s one of them?” Carisi said.
Rafael shrugged. “Mills thinks so.”
Rollins shuffled her feet. “I hate it when it’s one of us.”
Carisi and Rafael stayed silent. There was nothing to say in response that hadn’t been said before.
“Well …” Rollins said after a pause. “They’re all acting as guilty as each other to be honest. The innocent don’t trust you or us, and the guilty is pissed we’ve found his killing fields.”
“We can probably exclude the younger ones now,” Carisi said. “We’ll have to wait for definitive aging but the forensics team are saying tentatively that some of the small bones we’re finding are decades old.”
“Could be animals?” Rafael said.
Carisi shook his head. “They’d have to have been brought in. Ranger Bob said no animal would wander this far in.”
There was nothing here to attract a beast, except the human kind. “So who does that leave us with?”
Rollins counted them off on her fingers. “From the police department we’ve got Hathaway, Rider, and Connell, and from the park rangers there’s Simpson, and Ranger Bob.”
Rafael looked for them in the searchers. All were on the list because of some connection with caves.
Sergeants Hathaway and Rider were together, chatting while they searched. Hathaway was skinny as rake. He was a spelunker who spent much of his spare time exploring the caves of New York state. His enthusiasm bored Rafael silly but he hadn’t yet decided if the enthusiasm was a clever cover.
Rider was a little younger, and smart, or rather a smartass. Thought he was cleverer than everyone else and Rafael let him. People who think they’re the smartest person in the room make mistakes. Rider had joined the police force after studying for two doctorates in geology and was in the process of doing a third. He wrote his theses on the Knox caves and Ellenville Fault ice caves and worked holiday jobs as a Howe Caverns tour guide. If it did turn out to be Rider they’d have to search the other caves too but luckily Rafael wouldn’t have to be there for that.
Lieutenant Connell, tall and bulky, was on the far side of the search line. A man with little imagination. He did everything by rote and to procedure. He was top of Mills’ suspect list but Rafael suspected he was only that high because she didn’t like him. He was on the list at all because part of his job was to be the primary police liaison with the public caves.
Park Ranger Simpson was paired up with a junior, but trusted, police officer for the purposes of the search. The man was listless. Disinterested. The work he did in the caves was of the menial change the light bulbs type of thing. It didn’t mean he was stupid but Rafael was having a hard time imagining him as a serial rapist and killer.
And finally Ranger Bob, also known as Park Ranger Robert Fredericks. Fredericks ran private tours into parts of the caves the general public didn’t normally go into, like the cavern they were searching now. He was used to putting on a show for the public. Rafael wondered where the show ended and the real man began. Fredericks was their escort and guide and spent most of his time standing with Mills sharing pearls of so-called caving wisdom.
“I can’t believe it’s Ranger Bob,” Rollins said. “He’s so nice.”
Rafael gave her a look of disillusion.
She shrugged. “I’m just saying, I could live with it if it was Connell or Hathaway. They’re both dicks.”
“Who do you have your money on?” Carisi said to Rafael.
“If I bet on the guilt of suspects based on who I liked and didn’t like, I’d be poor.” He made a shooing motion with his hand. “You two are the detectives so go detect. Bring me a suspect. Bring me a case.”
Carisi raised an eyebrow and gave him a small wry smile, then he and Rollins turned and headed away. Rafael watched Carisi’s tall, assured back view, head ducked in conversation with Rollins then he sighed and turned away himself. His money was on Ranger Bob which meant it probably wasn’t him.
He put his empty paper coffee cup down onto one of the camping tables with its row of flasks and row of similar sharpie-named cups. He checked his watch. Two hours to kill before the search packed up. To stop himself from second-guessing how he’d chickened out of the chance to spend an evening (more?) with Carisi he decided to disregard Rollins’ advice and go for a walk. He picked up a flashlight from a box of spares, and a cookie from one of many packets open next to the coffee, and eating as he walked he made his way towards the entrance of a nearby tunnel.
There were twenty six tunnels that led from the cavern, according to Ranger Bob. Personally, Rafael thought it would be in one or more of the tunnels they’d find evidence that would give him what he needed to showcase the prosecution. Rafael would give a lot for some larger and obviously human bones. Not a skull — too cliché. A hand would be great. Then add to that some clothing. Something a jury could easily recognize that he could build empathy around. The search team would get to the tunnels tomorrow and until then they were out of bounds so as not to disturb evidence but there was nothing to stop him shining his flashlight in for a look-see. He was almost excited at the prospect.
With the flashlight ready in his hand he walked along the wall of the cavern deeper into the cave system. As he came to each tunnel he shone the flashlight inside and peered in, the beam shining on the same gray rock that made up the main cavern. Disappointingly, there wasn’t anything else to see. If he was expecting a nice, neat, gift-wrapped with a bow pile of bones he wasn’t going to get it. Instead he had narrow fissures, some dry, some wet, that swallowed the beam from his flashlight without showing anything of interest, even geologically.
As Rafael moved further towards the far end of the main cavern the noise of the search died to a distant echo. This far out, the cavern lighting was so ineffective the shadows blended into the natural gloom. It seemed the tunnels here were more prone to rockfalls as the next two he came to were blocked with a tumble of boulders. Ranger Bob had mentioned hard hats had to be worn in the tunnels as small rocks were apt to fall from the roof but he hadn’t really believed it until now.
He was just about to shine his flashlight down the next tunnel when a gleam from inside the tunnel itself stopped him.
He switched off his flashlight and took a step back to stand with his back flat against the wall so he didn’t cast a silhouette in the tunnel entrance. There shouldn’t be anyone in there because the tunnels were off limits until the official search. An advanced party, maybe? He didn’t think so.
Inching forward and peering into the tunnel he could see nothing except a flashlight beam moving around, reflecting on walls but pointed mostly at the ground. Occasionally the beam cast an uninformative Quasimodo-esque shadow. He listened. All he could hear were scuffling noises.
Rarely was he indecisive but he wasn’t sure of the best course of action. He glanced behind him to see if Rollins or Carisi, or in fact anyone, was within hailing distance but he was out of sight of the searchers and they of him. Carisi followed him around like a lost puppy or a vicious guard dog depending on the circumstances so where was the man now he needed him?
Carisi would tell him to go back and get one of the detectives. What if he did that and whoever was in the tunnel finished whatever they were doing and left by the time they returned? They’d never know who was in the tunnel or what they’d been doing.
Still, he hesitated. This wasn’t his job; he could mess it up. Perhaps he should wait on the outside, discover who was in the tunnel, and leave it to someone else to find out what they were doing. But if he went into the tunnel it might give up both their murderer and their evidence. He glanced up at the tunnel roof. He didn’t have a hard hat. He hadn’t heard a single rock fall while they’d been in the caves though the blocked tunnels were indicative that rockfalls did happen.
A hard hat wouldn’t help if you got buried under several tons of limestone.
From inside the tunnel there came a soft thud like something being dropped and a muffled curse. The flashlight beam moved to and fro. Searching for what had been dropped, Rafael thought. The light disappeared and he heard a satisfied grunt.
Damn it. He was wasting time. He had to know what the hell was happening in there. Confident now he was finally committed, and with his flashlight still switched off, he took a cautious step into the tunnel. His breath was shallow and fast. Keeping his right hand firmly palm down on the right wall of the tunnel to guide himself, he kept oriented in the narrow passageway by sliding the fingers of his left hand along the left wall. A few feet inside, the tunnel widened out beyond the reach of both his outstretched arms and any light filtering in from outside was swallowed in the pitch black. He jerked to a stop. He could be hovering over an abyss for all he knew.
He teetered, his balance confused by the lack of light. White noise buzzed in his head drowning out other sounds. He thought seriously about turning around and going back except that he’d never been a coward (Carisi notwithstanding) and that would seem too much like cowardice. What was he, a five year old afraid of the dark? He was more used to in-your-face threats by angry defendants than those created by his own imagination. The flashlight ahead of him was reflecting brighter now he was closer. It cast enough light that if he concentrated he could make out vague shapes in the dark. It was enough. The low murmurs from the main cavern came back to his ears slowly and were comforting.
He took a deep breath. Then another. He was not on the edge of a precipice. He wasn’t. He encouraged his feet to move and inching sideways he again found the right hand wall.
He slid his feet quietly and softly forward over the slimy mud and rock floor. He felt his way through the darkness and used the low reflected glint of the other person’s flashlight to aim towards. It was slow going. There were loose rocks on a floor that sloped gradually downhill and he tried not to kick them and send them rolling and clattering down into the tunnel. Twice his feet nearly slid away from under him and he clamped his teeth together to keep from yelling out.
It had gone quiet in the tunnel ahead. The reflection of the flashlight was steady and unmoving now, as if it had been placed on a rock while its owner used both hands for something else though Rafael couldn’t hear any signs of activity. Worried that he might be missing the best chance to see something happening, he sped up as much as he dared.
He’d gone not much further when he heard a movement to his left, so small and so quiet he wondered if he imagined it. He froze and listened. He turned his head towards where he thought the sound had come from. Then a flashlight switched on with the beam pointing directly at his face and as he lifted his hands to shield his eyes from the blinding glare, he was dealt a brain-rattling blow to the side of his head. Stunned, he stumbled dizzyingly. He put an arm out to hold on to something but there was nothing there. He was hit again on the head. He blacked out well before he hit the ground.
He woke to a fuzzy haze of confused thoughts.
Silence. Except … water dripping, muffled by distance. Like a leaky faucet in another room.
Complete, uncompromising blackness.
He didn’t know where he was, or why. Perhaps he was asleep. He drifted away again. Came back. Snapped suddenly into consciousness. Knew he was in a cave. Still couldn’t remember why.
He raised his head off the dirt and yelped. Putting his fingers against his scalp he winced as they felt their way around a large tender lump just above his ear. Tender on the outside, thumping like a bass drum on the inside.
He levered himself slowly up to sitting.
He was in a cave because … because? Christ why did it hurt so much to think? They were hunting a killer! He’d gone into a tunnel. Why? Had he been hit by a falling rock? Carisi and Rollins would have a field day on the drive back to New York if he had. Something was wrong with that thought. He wasn’t sure what. He couldn’t remember why he’d gone into the tunnel either. Well, it would come to him he supposed. First things first, he wanted coffee, even the barely drinkable kind. And Tylenol.
And Carisi to sooth his fevered brow.
Coffee, Tylenol and Carisi were all outside the tunnel so all he had to do was get up and find them. He shuffled around until he was on all fours. Sweat prickled on his forehead. Small chips of stone dug into his knees through his jeans. A wave of nausea sent his head spinning. He rode out the feeling, trying to ignore it but had only limited success.
Alright, well, perhaps they could come and find him instead.
He yelled into the blackness. He couldn’t bring himself to shout ‘help’. It was too corny.
“Hello!”
The sound of his voice echoed around the tunnel and added to the jackhammer inside his head but he tried again.
“Hey! I’m here!”
Once he’d started it didn’t seem sensible to stop. He yelled and shouted until he was out of breath and hoarse.
No one came.
It struck him, grievously late, that he should be able to hear noises from the main cavern. He strained his ears to listen. Before that moment he’d registered the silence but not its implication. No noise meant no people.
Surely if the search team had packed up for the day and left someone would have noticed he was missing. Carisi would miss him, he was sure of it. How long had he been unconscious? He didn’t know. He pushed up the sleeve of his jacket and pushed the backlight on his watch. Five minutes to seven. He rested his forehead on his knees and slowly worked it out with his still sluggish brain.
If Carisi hadn’t missed him by now then it could be hours, he concluded vaguely, before someone decided he was missing and possibly came back to find him. Even after they’d missed him they’d have no real reason to think he’d still be in the caverns so it could be hours after that, after they’d exhausted all the more reasonable explanations.
He shivered. It was the cold, he told himself.
Nothing for it but to get himself out.
Okay, one decision made. Now what?
Light. He must at least have had a flashlight with him when he entered the tunnel, so where was it? He moved one hand in tentative circles around him but found nothing.
On his hands and knees he shuffled to his right. He got as far as the wall, feeling out around him as he went, but didn’t find the flashlight. He did the same again all the way back to the other wall. No flashlight. Sitting back on his heels he checked the pockets of his jacket to find his phone so that he could use the flashlight on that. He tapped at the phone to bring up the home screen and felt the smashed screen against his fingertips, and however many times he pushed at the power button, nothing happened.
Shit! He must have landed on it when he fell.
A lingering dizziness made it hard to think straight. His eyes were heavy and he let them close. He was deeply drowsy — no, he couldn’t sleep. He jerked his head up and blinked rapidly. If he went to sleep in the tunnel and someone did come looking for him they’d never find him.
Alright, so he had no light and he had to accept it. The flashlight must have fallen further away and he couldn’t waste any more time looking for it.
With his hands on the wall to steady himself he stood up. He’d never considered what it would be like to have an absolute absence of light until now. He couldn’t even see his hand when he brought it right up in front of his face. Without light, his world shrunk to what was immediately around him; what he could feel and what he could hear. In this case, a wall, a floor, his clothes as they brushed against each other. His breath fast and anxious. And that persistent distant dripping sound that was starting to feel like a drill boring into his skull.
“Focus, Rafi, focus.” His voice sounded unnervingly loud.
He turned to his left, placed his left hand on the left wall, and took a step forward. He didn’t know why but it felt wrong.
Think. Why was it wrong? Think!
He took another step. It still felt wrong. Turned around, one eighty. Swapped left hand for right hand on the wall. Took a step forward. The floor sloped up and that felt right. He was taking a lot on faith but went with his gut and began walking, sliding each foot tentatively forward at each step so as not to trip over loose or embedded pieces of rock. God his head hurt. He fought the urge to sit and rest.
Another two steps and his hand waved into empty space when he picked it up and moved it to the next spot on the wall. For a moment he panicked, not understanding what was happening, but then he realized he’d reached the mouth of the tunnel. He took a step backwards and found the tunnel wall again, this time when he took a step he slid his hand along the wall to follow it as it turned ninety degrees.
The sense of achievement when he was clear of the tunnel was profound. He kept walking to leave the tunnel well and truly behind him and when he’d taken another sixty steps, which by his reckoning would be about twenty yards, he leaned back against the wall and with the sleeve of his jacket wiped away the sweat that streaked his face. He shouldn’t be this exhausted. What did concussion feel like?
Rollins told him not to wander off on his own. He pictured her ‘I told you so’ face. Perhaps when he got himself out of the cave he could pretend it never happened.
To get himself out of the cave he had to move. He groaned. Moving seemed monumental but with both palms flat against the wall he pushed himself upright. He left one hand on the wall and started walking. Stones skittered away as he kicked at them. He cautiously stepped over the larger ones to avoid losing touch of the cavern wall. He wished he’d looked harder for the flashlight.
Behind him there was a snap like someone treading on a stick, followed by a flash and a boom, then a rush of air and the deafening noise of falling rock like the roar of some giant beast. Instinctively he ducked and covered his head with his arms, coughing and spluttering on the dust, curling into the wedge between wall and floor. His heart raced. His ears ached. Logical thought came to a halt. It sounded like the whole cave was collapsing.
The noise went on and on, seemingly never ending though was probably less than a minute, and it was several minutes before he registered the noise had stopped excepting a few stones which clattered still as they rolled. When even that stopped he uncurled shakily from his position by the cavern wall and stood up. His heart pounded in his ears. He blinked hard to clear the grit in his eyes.
That was a man-made explosion. It came to him in halting disjointed thoughts, as he strained to regain his scattered composure. He’d heard that sequence before on an anti-terrorism conference — the crack of the detonator and the flash-boom of the explosive. Natural rockfalls didn’t flash, or boom. But an explosion made no sense to his chaotic considerations.
God, why wasn’t Carisi here? They could make sense of it together the same way they analyzed cases late at night in his office or at a bar.
Why an explosion?
To hide evidence.
What evidence?
Bodies? Clothing? Weapons? All of the above?
Would that explosion look like a natural rock fall if they didn’t look too closely?
He’d gone into that tunnel for a reason and now it seemed imperative he remembered why. Had he seen something or someone? He dug into his memory. It was like trying to see through a brick wall. He grunted in frustration.
“Come on!” He slammed the side of a fist into the cavern wall and smarted at the sting.
In a sudden flash he had it. There’d been someone else in the tunnel with him, someone who’d hit him. Someone who was a killer. Had he seen something? He couldn’t remember. He tried not to think too hard about how close he’d been to not getting out of the tunnel, ever. Another thirty minutes unconscious, searching for a flashlight, dopily working out what he was going to do, and he’d have been in that tunnel when it collapsed. Was that what was supposed to happen? Or was the explosion simply to bury evidence and Rafael was a bonus? That tunnel wasn’t the only tunnel blocked by a rockfall and they wouldn’t have searched it. Perhaps all the blocked tunnels had been blocked by intention not accident.
Anger itched under his skin. They’d search all the goddamn tunnels now. He was going to prosecute the goddamn ass off this goddamn murdering asshole when they goddamn caught him. He took a deep breath. Coughed at the dust.
Who though? Ranger Bob, Simpson, Hathaway, Connell, Rider. He had no idea, no clue. He had opinions, like Hathaway was too slight, Connell and Simpson lacked the necessary imagination. Fredericks liked to show off but so did Rider. Opinions weren’t enough. When he got out he’d direct the search immediately to this tunnel and they’d find the clues.
With more determination than before, he placed one hand on the cavern wall and continued picking his way through the cavern.
He passed other tunnel entrances. For each one he dropped to his hands and knees and felt his way across until he came to the other side of the tunnel. Stood up. Kept going. Eventually he crossed a tunnel entrance where the floor was damp and slippery. When he reached the other side he pulled himself to his feet. It was harder each time. His head swam with fatigue. Sweat dripped from the tip of his nose. He remembered passing a tunnel on his way through the cavern close to a gently overflowing rock pool. If this tunnel was that one, he was about halfway to the spot they’d had the coffee and tea and water and cookies. Some thirty or forty yards beyond that, the service tunnel to the public caverns and the switches for the lighting. He looked at his watch. It had taken him nearly an hour and a half to get this far. That couldn’t be right. He tapped at the watch but it stayed stubbornly the same. He almost wept.
He fell into the next tunnel. He was leaning so heavily against the cavern wall as he walked his hand disappeared into the tunnel entrance, followed by the rest of him. He lay there, all the breath knocked out of him. He’d banged his shoulder on a rock on landing and the pain was agonizing. Another ache to add to the catalog of aches. Cursing in Spanish with words that would shock his mother, he struggled up to sitting.
“Carisi … Dominick, please come.” His pathetic plea echoed back at him, taunting him. What if Carisi did come? What then? Then there’d be nothing because Rafael was still a coward.
But there was the matter of whoever had been in the tunnel and clouted him on the head. He’d left Rafael unconscious in the tunnel but he couldn’t be certain Rafael would still be in the tunnel when the explosive went off. He couldn’t be certain Rafael hadn’t seen something incriminating and wouldn’t be able to identify him. So why was Rafael still alive?
The killer would come back, Rafael concluded with certainty. As soon as he could slip away without it being suspicious he’d come back and check Rafael was buried under the rocks and if he wasn’t, he’d finish the job. The first person who came to find him wouldn’t be Carisi.
He gave himself a mental shake. “Are we finished with the self-pity party? Yes? Good.”
He dragged himself up the wall. One foot in front of the other for as long as it took.
Then there was glow of a flashlight beam, only one. Rafael shrunk back against the wall. He was between tunnels. He looked around for somewhere to hide. The flashlight beam cast a deep shadow behind a boulder and Rafael shuffled forward to reach it. The flashlight was moving, cutting a straight path across the center of the cavern in a direct line to the tunnel where the explosion had taken place. Rafael watched and moved around the boulder to stay in the shadow as the man with the flashlight moved past him and beyond.
Then more lights; many individual dancing lights reflecting on the walls as they came through from the service tunnel, accompanied by many voices talking collectively and indistinctly. The lone flashlight was switched off with its operator issuing a sharp curse as the other lights made their appearance into the cavern. The beams were bright when they swept the cavern but they didn’t reach as far as where Rafael was lying low.
“Barba!”
That was Carisi. Rafael took a deep sobbing gasp of breath. But where was the killer? Would he take a chance of attacking Rafael with others in the cave? If Rafael were the killer, he’d walk back to get lost in the group of rescuers. Rafael couldn’t, in any case, afford to have Carisi and the others leave without him so he was going to have to make a move.
“Over here!” He coughed and spat rock dust. Not loud enough.
His eyes darted left and right. Every indistinct shadow could be a murderer. He summoned all the breath he could muster. “I’m here!”
The voices reacted with shouts of acknowledgment and the flashlight beams started bobbing his way. The cavern lit up as the main lighting was turned on. Rafael blinked rapidly, almost blinded after so long in darkness. The flashlights were turned off and after a moment Rafael could make out the shapes of about a dozen people running towards him as fast as they dare on the uneven ground. He waited, swaying precariously without something to hold on to.
Carisi, with his long legs, got to him first.
“Barba. What … whoa!”
Carisi caught Rafael as he started to fall.
“Are you okay?” Carisi said.
“Don’t ask stupid questions.” Even to Rafael’s ears his own voice sounded slurred and distant. Carisi’s concerned face swam in front of him and Rafael felt his arms around him as his legs gave way. Carisi lowered him to the ground, crouching there with him as they were fast surrounded by some of the others in the group.
Rollins ducked down beside them. “Hurst was looking for you because he wanted to leave and he couldn’t find you. Your hero here,” she said, nodding towards Carisi, “got everyone together to come back and check the cave.”
“Someone has to watch out for you,” Carisi said.
Was he blushing? Would he blush more if Rafael said, ‘Do you want a permanent position’?
Rollins interrupted the thought before Rafael could put it into action. Peering at the side of his head she sucked her breath in as she brushed back a lock of hair. “Did you have an accident or … ?”
Rafael shook his head.
“Do you know who?”
He didn’t, but would the guilty person know that? Leaning against Carisi’s chest Rafael felt safe. Somewhat embarrassed, but safe. He looked at the quiet team of searchers forming a semi-circle around him. He recognized them all. His eyes drifted along the row like it was a line-up. There was Mills, looking deeply unhappy. Then Ranger Bob, worried about his job no doubt after he let one of his charges get himself injured. There was Connell. Rider, Hathaway, Simpson … all looking curious. He flicked back to Connell. His face showed curiosity. But it was also hard, wary and watchful. As Rafael focused on him, Connell took a step backward, then he swung sharply on his heel and ran. A few of the others turned and watched in confusion. Rafael grabbed Carisi’s shoulders and like a toddler on a climbing frame he hauled himself to a stooped stand.
“Stop him,” he said.
Rollins didn’t waste time asking why. She turned and raced after the disappearing Connell. Shouts went up as more people joined in the chase. Carisi stood and held Rafael upright as they both watched the running man disappear in a tackle under a sea of bodies. He hadn’t gotten far. A half dozen officers hauled him to his feet as he lashed out, kicking and cursing.
Connell turned and shouted, struggling against the restraining hands. “Why aren’t you dead?”
Oh, goody. A confession in front of a dozen or more witnesses. Rafael’s favorite thing.
Carisi’s grip on Rafael tightened. He looked at him, seeming to take his state in fully for the first time. No doubt the Rafael he saw wasn’t what he was used to; scruffy, and dirty, tired maybe, bloody maybe. Carisi reached up with his hand, stretched his fingers as if to touch the side of Rafael’s head but withdrew.
Carisi clenched his jaw, the tendons on his neck standing out stiffly. “I guess we’re adding attempted murder of an ADA to the charge sheet?” His voice was higher than usual.
Rafael nodded and winced. “Back there is a pile of prehistoric mountain I think I’m supposed to be under.”
Carisi gazed over Rafael’s shoulder. “I’ll go and look.”
Without meaning to, Rafael reached out and grasped Carisi’s jacket in his fist.
Connell was being led out of the cavern by Mills and another officer, and the others were all milling around by the entrance of the service tunnel, stunned into quiet whispering. Rafael and Carisi were on their own.
Rafael’s knees were weak. His shoulder throbbed. His head pounded. “Stay.”
Carisi was clearly flustered. “Yeah … of course.”
Rafael leaned into Carisi’s solid support, dropped his head to his shoulder and Carisi tightened his arm around him. He felt Carisi’s breath on the top of his head. Felt the warmth of him. Felt the strength of him.
There were more things to be frightened of than Dominick Carisi.
“Dominick …”
Carisi moved away just enough to duck down so he was looking directly into Rafael’s eyes. their lips were almost touching.
“Yes?” Carisi said quietly.
Over Carisi’s shoulder Rafael could see Rollins hurrying back with a man carrying an EMT bag. They’d reach them at any moment and Rafael would have missed his chance.
He closed the gap between his mouth and Carisi’s. Or maybe he just swooned that way. Either way, they were kissing and he wasn’t ashamed to let the surprised but willing Carisi do most of the work. It wasn’t earth-shattering and it wouldn’t make it into the history books as the world’s best first kiss, but Rafael would make it up to Carisi later.