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diaper, freshly soiled.
D Agosta could hear Waxie blowing hard behind him. He was beginning to wonder why the Captain
had abruptly stopped complaining.Maybe it s the stench, he thought.
Hayward was moving toward a passage that led away from the cavern. Over here, she said. The
body was found in a cubby down this way. We d better stay close. Watch out you don t get piped.
Piped? D Agosta asked.
Someone reaches out from the dark and whacks you over the head with a pipe.
I don t see anyone, D Agosta said.
They re here, Hayward replied.
Waxie s breathing became more labored.
They began following the passage, moving slowly. Hayward periodically pointed her light along the sides
of the tun-nel. Every twenty feet, a large rectangular space had been cut into the rock: work and storage
areas, she explained, of rail-way crews a century before. Filthy bedding lay in many of the cubbyholes.
Frequently, large brown rats, disturbed by the light, would stir among the trash, waddling away from the
flashlight beams with insolent slowness. But there were no signs of people.
Hayward stopped, removed her police cap, and drew a damp strand of hair back into place behind one
ear. The report said it was the cubby directly across from a collapsed iron cat-walk, she said.
D Agostatried breathing through his hand, and when that didn t help he loosened his tie and pulled his
shirt collar over his mouth, as a kind of mask.
Here it is. Hayward shone her beam on a rusted heap of iron struts and I-beams. She swept the
flashlight across the tunnel, locating the cubby. From the outside, it looked just like the others: five feet
across, three feet deep, cut into the rock about two feet above grade.
D Agostastepped closer and peered in. Naked bedding lay askew, caked thickly with dried blood.
Blood was also spat-tered about the walls, along with bits of something thatD Agosta didn t want to
think about. There was the ubiquitous packing crate, tipped over and partly crushed. The floor of the
cubby was lined with newspapers. The stench was beyond description.
This guy, Hayward whispered, was also found without his head. They identified him from prints.
Shasheen Walker, thirty-two years old. Rap sheet as long as your arm, a serious user.
At any other time,D Agosta would have found it ludicrous to hear a police officer whispering. Now, he
felt somehow glad. There was a long silence while D Agostaplayed his own light around. Did they find
the head? he asked at last.
Nope, said Hayward.
The foul little den showed zero signs of a police search. Thinking he d rather be anywhere else,doing
anything else, D Agostareached into the cubby, took hold of a corner of a filthy blanket, and jerked it
back.
Something brown tumbled out of the folds and rolled to-ward the nearest edge. What was left of its
mouth was wide open in a frozen scream.
I guess they didn t look too hard, D Agosta said. He heard a small moan escape from Waxie. You
okay, Jack? he asked, glancing back.
Waxie said nothing. His face looked like a pale moon, hov-ering in the noisome dark.
D Agosta turned his light back on the head. We re gonna have to get an SOC team down here for a
full series. He reached for his radio, then remembered it wouldn t work.
Hayward edged forward. Lieutenant?
D Agosta paused. Yes?
The moles left this place alone because someone died in it. They re superstitious that way, some of
them. But as soon as we leave, they re going to clean this whole mess up, get rid of the head themselves,
and you llnever find it. More than anything else, they don t want cops down here.
How the hell will they know we were here?
I keep telling you, Lieutenant, they rearound. Listening.
D Agosta shone his light about. The corridor was silent and dead. So what s your point?
If you want the head, you re going to have to take it with you.
Shit, breathed D Agosta. Okay, Sergeant, we ll have to improvise. Grab that towel over there.
Stepping in front of the motionless Waxie, Sergeant Hayward picked up a water-logged towel and
spread it on the damp concrete next to the head. Then, pulling the sleeve of her uniform over her hand,
she nudged the head toward the towel with her wrist.
D Agosta watched with mixed disgust and admiration as Hayward gathered the ends of the towel into a
ball. He blinked his eyes, trying to wipe away the smart of the foul reek. Let s go. Sergeant, you may do
the honors.
No problem. Hayward lifted the towel, holding it away from her body.
As D Agostastepped forward, shining his flashlight back down the corridor toward the staircase, there
was a sudden whistling sound and a bottle came winging out of the dark, just missing Waxie s head. It
shattered loudly on the wall. Farther down the passageway, D Agostacould hear a rustling noise.
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