Beatrice scowled, then asked, “Who changes the combinations?”

“A tall guy. He comes down every Monday morning. Vice president of something or another.”

“What’s his name?”

“That’s ‘Mr. James Stone to you, boy,’ ” he said in the condescending voice of an old white man.

Beatrice’s eyes widened. Maybe James Stone was the Jim she’d heard talking in the middle of the night about bribing officials. Ramone tossed his cigarette onto the cement floor. “So how did your trip down the tunnels go?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“Like I told Max, this shit is for emergencies only, got it? These tunnels ain’t exactly safe.”

Beatrice nodded in agreement and waited for Ramone to give her the all-clear signal before climbing back up the stairs out of the dark.

CHAPTER 49

Saturday, August 22, 1998

A team of five officers in uniform flooded the room, carrying duffel bags of equipment. Iris would have put up her hands if she wasn’t so petrified. She sat on the floor next to the bathroom door in a daze as they turned on every light they could find. None of them spoke to her. They filed into the bathroom one by one. She could see the flashes of a camera bouncing off the walls in quick succession as if the pile of dead flies in the shower stall were movie stars on a red carpet.

A man in his midforties wearing a sports jacket and jeans stepped into the room. He had on a Cleveland Indians baseball cap. He could have been a middle-aged dad on his way to a Little League game. He looked right at her.

“You must be Iris.”

He walked over and smiled warmly at her. She tried to smile back, but her face was frozen.

“I’m Detective McDonnell. I understand that you were the one that found the remains.”

She nodded blankly.

“Let’s get you out of here.” He held out his hand to help her stand up.

Iris recoiled from his hand as though it might strike her. She shook it off and pushed herself up from the floor. Her arm hoisted her field bag onto her shoulder. The sudden weight shift nearly sent her toppling over. The detective caught her shoulder as she staggered back on her heel.

She followed him out of the room, down the hall, and into the freight elevator without looking back. She never wanted to see the place again. When the elevator door finally closed, she sucked in what felt like her first breath in hours.

Her eyes began to refocus. “Where’s Ramone?”

“He’s being questioned by Detective Mendoza. Would you like to go get a cup of coffee?”

“I could really use a drink.”

After everything she’d seen, she could use about a gallon of vodka. The bones buried under the flies rattled in her mind. She grabbed the wall of the elevator to steady herself. Suzanne had told her several people had disappeared when the bank closed. Beatrice’s abandoned suitcase still sat in a closet up on the eleventh floor. But the body she found belonged to a man. The young girl’s body might be buried somewhere else in the building. She could still see the metal grate to the cold-air return. It had been loose.

“How about a beer? I know a good place.”

Iris raised her eyebrows. She gave a small nod and wondered what kind of cop would take her to a bar for questioning. A good one, she decided.

They stepped out of the elevator into the loading dock, where Iris caught sight of Ramone and a large Latina woman talking. He was smoking a cigarette. Iris stared at the gray plumes hanging in the air. Cigarette. Her purse and cigarettes were waiting inside her parked car.

“Tony, you want me to call the coroner?” the plump woman asked.

“Yeah,” Detective McDonnell said. “We’re going to need forensics too. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Um, excuse me?” Iris pleaded with the detective, not taking her eyes off the cigarette dangling from Ramone’s lips. “Do you mind if I drop off this bag? It’s kind of heavy.”

“Absolutely.” The detective nodded, then walked over to Detective Mendoza and Ramone.

Iris ran down the steps from the loading dock to her rusted Mazda and dropped her bag inside. It was then she realized the dead man’s key was still in her hand. Iris glanced back at the loading dock, where the detective was standing, and opened her mouth to say something. No words came out. She couldn’t explain the key. Why didn’t she give it to him right away? He would ask questions. She chewed her lip. He might check her bag. She glanced down at the ring of keys and stolen files sitting at the bottom of it. Guilt washed over her. Then panic. She shook it off. It doesn’t matter, she told herself. You are not a suspect. A key didn’t kill whoever was buried under the flies. It was just lying on the floor. She dropped it into her field bag, then grabbed her purse and lighter and joined the detective on the loading dock.

“Okay, Rita. I’ll be back. No one else gets in that room until forensics arrives,” the detective commanded as he led Iris out of the loading dock and onto the street.

The road behind the bank was clogged with police cruisers and flashing lights. Iris wondered when on earth she’d be able to go home. She expected the detective to lead her to a car, but instead he began walking down the sidewalk.

“Come on,” he said. “It’s not far.”

Iris stopped and lit a cigarette. She sucked in enough smoke to overwhelm the taste of rotting insects and vomit in the back of her throat at least for the moment, then kept walking.

“Some fuckin’ day, huh?” he said, watching her drag on the cigarette again.

She startled at the sound of an older man, a policeman no less, cursing. She blew out a lungful. “You have no fucking idea.”

They walked three blocks and turned into a door. Iris remembered the bar. It was Ella’s Pub. Tony shoved the door open and called out, “Carmichael! We have an alcohol emergency!”

A wrinkled old elf popped up from behind the bar. The sight of him almost made Iris smile.

“Ah, Tony! To what do I owe this pleasure?” He rushed out from behind the bar and shook the detective’s hand. He smiled a grandfather’s smile, and then his eyes fell on Iris. “Ah, bella! I remember you. You are working in the old bank! It has been too long. Please come in. Come and sit. What can I get you?”

Iris ordered a Guinness, and the officer ordered a black coffee. He was still officially on duty, she reminded herself, tamping out her cigarette. Once she’d had a large swig of beer and lit another smoke, the detective took out his notebook. Iris glanced over at Carmichael, perched on a bar stool, watching the game. He looked up and gave her a resigned smile that seemed to say, I warned you not to disturb the ghosts.

“Now, Iris. Tell me everything that happened today.”

Iris downed half her beer in one swig and began to talk. She told him about her job, about working on a Saturday, about being frustrated and kicking in the door. She left out the details of her pathetic romance with Nick and her anxiety over the ring of keys she’d taken from the vault. She’d have to explain how she got them and so much more—the intruder in the building, her conversation with Suzanne, the files she’d stolen. The voices she’d been hearing. He would think she was crazy, she rationalized. Besides, the detective wouldn’t care about missing items in an abandoned building. When her car was broken into the year before, the police officer informed her that there was no way the cops were going to waste time trying to find her missing cassette tapes and radar detector. What would this cop care about missing stuff from twenty years ago? It all sounded good in her head, and she repeated the excuses to herself over again as a cold fear gripped her stomach. She had stolen things from the building. If she told the detective, she’d be caught. She might get fired. A fly crawled up her arm. Iris recoiled violently, swatting at her skin.