Chapter 5 - THE FADED CHILD’S DRAWING
The rain was pouring down in sheets as the armored SUV pulled up to the iron gates of St. Jude’s Cathedral.
Dominic, Anthony, the security chief, and I were inside.
Margaret and Silvia had stayed behind at the estate under heavy guard.
“Kane is hiding them in a crypt?” Anthony asked, staring out the window at the towering gothic church.
“Dr. Kane knows we would never disturb family resting places,” Dominic said quietly. “It’s the one place he knew my men wouldn’t search.”
We moved silently through the graveyard.
The underground crypts were cold, smelling of damp earth and old stone.
Crypt 4.
The heavy iron door was secured with a modern padlock.
That didn’t belong there.
The security chief produced a set of bolt cutters and snapped the lock.
Dominic pulled his gun.
He pushed the door open.
The space was massive, lined with stone tombs.
But it wasn’t a tomb anymore.
It was a makeshift medical facility.
Generators hummed in the corner. There was a small cot, a portable heater, and IV stands.
But the crypt was completely empty.
“They’re gone,” Anthony said, his voice echoing in the cold stone room.
Dominic lowered his weapon, his chest heaving with frustration.
“He knew we were coming. He moved them.”
I walked over to the small cot.
The blankets were still warm.
There were empty vials on a small metal tray.
I picked one up.
“Insulin,” I said. “And Nitroglycerin. Your mother’s heart is failing, Dominic. If Kane took her out into this rain without her medication, she won’t survive the night.”
Dominic slammed his fist against the stone wall.
“Where would he take her?”
I looked around the room.
Under the cot, something caught my eye.
A piece of paper sticking out from beneath a loose stone.
I pulled it out.
It wasn’t a clue left by Dr. Kane.
It was a faded, crumpled child’s drawing.
Crayon on construction paper.
It depicted a house with a blue roof, a big oak tree, and a small boy holding a red balloon.
I looked at the drawing.
“This looks decades old.”
I handed it to Anthony.
Anthony stared at the paper.
His face went completely pale.
“I drew this,” Anthony whispered.
Dominic frowned. “What?”
“I drew this for Uncle Robert. When I was eight years old.” Anthony’s hands were shaking. “He kept it pinned to the bulletin board in his office at the clinic.”
I looked at the drawing again.
“Turn it over,” I said.
Anthony flipped the paper.
Written on the back, in Robert’s neat handwriting, was a list of numbers.
34 - 12 - 88 - 09.
“It’s a combination,” the security chief said.
Dominic stared at the numbers.
His eyes widened in sudden, horrifying realization.
“It’s not just a combination,” Dominic said, his voice dropping to a hollow whisper. “It’s the access code to the private elevator at the downtown high-rise.”
May you like
Anthony looked up. “Your corporate office?”
“No.” Dominic looked at his son. “The penthouse. Where your pregnant wife is sleeping right now.”
