Book of Shadows

CHAPTER Thirty

“He put her on a chain and sunk her down, down, down.”
In the dark of night, Garrett strode on the concrete path of the HarborWalk, with the Channel glimmering beside him. His breath showed in the cold, misty air. His emotions were still roiling from the—whatever it was that had just happened—and he felt a powerful drowsiness that he recognized as partly denial.
Tanith’s voice echoed in his head. “Be careful.”
He snapped himself into focus, looked around him to stay alert.
In daylight the HarborWalk was a popular tourist destination, and in warmer months joggers and lovers strolled beside the water in the evenings, drawn by spectacular views of the lights of downtown Boston and their sparkling reflections in the dark water.
But after the restaurants and cafés closed, the area turned ominous, with large parts of it still under construction and detours that jogged through too-deserted streets. A cold wind off the Channel made Garrett pull his coat tighter around himself; the crescent moon was an icy shimmer in the water.
It makes no sense. Why would the killer chance leaving her in such an open area?
The water, he answered himself. In some part of his mind he knew it had something to do with the water. The elementalness of it. Earth, Air, Fire, Water. He put Erin in the dirt and he wanted Amber in water.
Garrett wasn’t sure what exactly he was looking for, but the good news was Binford Park, the spot the Dragon Man had named, was tiny, just half an acre of landscaping beside the waterfront, with a pergola and an unobstructed view of one of the wider sections of the Channel.
The concrete path along the waterfront was edged by a low concrete seawall, with a chest-high black iron railing. Garrett stopped at the railing and looked over it. The water was ten feet below where he was standing. Waves lapped against the wall.
“He put her on a chain and sunk her down, down, down.”
What are you doing here, anyway? he asked himself. If he dropped Amber’s body in the water, then you’ll need a dredging crew to find it.
Garrett knew he was looking at one of the deepest parts of the Channel. Before Binford Park was constructed, almost half a million cubic yards of dirt had been excavated from the area, creating a gigantic casting basin that was used to construct huge concrete sections of tunnel, which were then floated into the Channel and submerged in a trench as part of the “Big Dig.”
No, there’d be no finding a body here without a diving crew. If there’s even anything left to find. Garrett had seen what marine animals do to human remains. There’d be no flesh left by now, and the bones would have separated and been carried out by the tide.
But the Dragon Man’s words kept running through Garrett’s head:
“He put her on a chain and sunk her down, down, down.”
“He put her on a chain.”
Garrett leaned out over the metal railing and looked down the blocky stone wall below him. And down by the waterline he saw what he had been looking for, something he had apparently remembered from—he didn’t even know what—published photos of the HarborWalk construction, or some previous trip to explore the new pathways.
There were thick metal rings embedded into the stone, every ten feet or so, along the seawall.
Garrett began to walk the path, stopping every ten feet to look at each metal ring. With every step his dread increased.
At least there won’t be any burned flowers, he thought, looking around him at the concrete path and stone wall. It did nothing to quell his anxiety.
A dozen rings down the walkway he saw what he was looking for: a chain hooked to the large metal ring below him.
“He put her on a chain . . .”
Garrett felt cold wind on his neck, and he whipped around, looking behind him. Nothing but darkness, the wash of streetlamps.
With bile rising in his throat, Garrett scanned the wall below him. It was constructed of huge rough blocks, which jutted out unevenly, providing narrow ledges and footholds.
Garrett jumped the railing and eased himself down the rough rock wall, feeling for footholds. He stopped on a ledge two feet above the surface of the water and knelt to look down on the iron ring and the chain linked to it. It was not soldered, but attached by a thick, open hook. Garrett reached into the icy, lapping water and pulled up on the chain. There was some give, so he pulled up enough slack to release the hook, then wrapped the chain twice around his wrist and started the climb back up the wall. The chain grew taut as he reached the iron railing. Garrett clamped the hook on the metal handrail, hoisted himself over the railing, and then braced himself on the fence to haul the chain up. It was a sickly, heavy weight and he had to strain at it.
He’d pulled up thirty feet of chain when it finally surfaced: a thick black rubber bag, the size of a small sleeping bag, attached to the chain, with water weight at least two hundred pounds; Garrett was unable to lift it farther.
Then again, he didn’t want to. Despite the encasing rubber and the cold air, he could smell it from ten feet above.