Chapter 5 CHAPTER FIVE

Sunday was an agonizingly slow day. Theo followed the daily round of cooking, washing, becoming unnoticed and his thoughts were never far away in thinking about the closed door in the basement, and what was inside or not.

When he walked by the door he would observe it, it was a massive barrier, and a silent passage off the kitchen. It was of an old-fashioned lock, the one with a skeleton key.

Catherine had her keys on a key-ring that she kept around her. It would be impossible to get them.

But there was a way with old mansions, and Theo had experienced them all during the three years of his service as a maintenance laborer and help. Victorian houses like this one often had duplicate keys hidden in odd places, relics from the days when large staffs needed access to various rooms.

During the dinner time. The family settled in the living room to do their usual Sunday routine, Theo returned to the kitchen to wash up the dishes.

Then he opened the drawer where old utensils were kept, the stuff that was too old and useless to be used, but too valuable to be thrown away. The cloudy silver ladle had covered what he wanted, a little box of old keys, and nobody had probably thought about it except the paranoid journalist who had sought to get at it.

Theo pocketed the box and finished up with his cleaning. At some point around ten o'clock he told Elena that he was going to bed early, he had a headache. Elena face was fixed on her phone.

Theo waited in his room until midnight in such a way that the mansion had become quiet and dark. After which he opened his door gently and sneaked downstairs.

The house was settling upon him, the wood creaking and the pipes groaning. Any noise caused his heart to beat faster, and someone would hear him.

He managed to get to the door of the basement without hindrance. It was a dark corridor with a nightlight by the kitchen door the only source of light.

Theo drew the box of keys and he began to insert them. The fourth key went smoothly in and turned softly with a click.

The door swung on oily hinges, containing steps down to the darkness.

The flashlight on his phone helped Theo as he put it low as he came down. The steps were of old solid wood. Below that was another door, which was open.

He open the door and found himself in a typical basement, concrete floor, open beams, an old piece of furniture that was covered by sheets, boxes that were stacked along the walls.

Nothing sinister. Nothing unusual.

Theo got disillusioned. Perhaps Catherine was not lying. Maybe it was just storage.

But suddenly he detected something strange. The basement was not such a big place, perhaps twenty feet in length by thirty. However, the size of the mansion was much larger. There should be more space.

He circled the interior, measuring with his steps, mentally matching it to the plan of the ground floor above.

The cellar was short at least fifteen feet. Somewhere there was hidden space.

Theo studied the walls more closely, feeling his way along the concrete, seeking discontinuities, anything that would give a clue to some hidden door.

He discovered it behind a pile of steamer trunks. A section of wall that sounded hollow when he knocked on it.

Theo pushed the trunks aside, which panted him hard. It was an outline of a door, almost invisible in the dull light, which was behind them.

He pushed it and it moved. Not locked, mere stuck because of disuse.

Theo pressed against it, and before he knew what was happening it swung open, almost pushing him to the ground into the darkness beyond.

He caught himself and lifted his phone light.

The light went into an obscure chamber, and Theo choked.

It was as though one was traveling back to the 1980s in a time capsule. There is an old computer in a desk, filing cabinets and a wall full of papers, photos and newspaper cuttings.

Theo came in, his instinct as a journalist shrieking that he had discovered something huge.

He began with the newspaper clippings on the wall. They were aged and yellow, but still readable:

"Apartment Fire Kills Twelve in Riverside Complex"

"Investigation in Insurance Fraud Continues"

"The Investigation of the Deadly Blaze is still open to questions.”

Theo went nearer and read the articles. Twelve fire deaths of a building fire in 1985 and five children died. The house was insured at a much higher price than it was worth. Before the investigators could encounter the owner, he had disappeared.

Next Theo noticed a name that caused his blood to chill, Graham Whitmore a property investor.

He went over to the filing cabinets and began taking out folders. Insurance forms, title to property, photograph of buildings with fire pictures.

Not just one building. Dozens.

Graham Whitmore was indeed operating a scheme of insurance fraud where he was purchasing failing properties and insuring them very high and then setting them on fire to receive the payout.

The apartment building had been an error. It was not supposed to be in use.

Theo could not stop shaking as he was taking pictures with his phone. All of it, documents, newspaper cuttings.

Then he discovered the confession that had been written by hand.

It was dated 1985, written in a trembling hand:

“I did not intend for anybody to die. I was informed that no one was in the building. Thomas Brennan assured me. But twelve people burned. A dozen souls upon my conscience. I felt like admitting it, but Victor convinced me that we both would be taken to jail. So I buried it. God forgive me."

It was signed: Graham Whitmore.

Theo's mind raced. This was huge. This was a conspiracy to commit crime, insurance fraud and twelve counts of negligent homicide.

But there was more. He discovered another file, which was marked by Michael Callahan.

Newspaper clippings regarding the disappearance of his uncle were inside; and they were found in the possession of Victor notes which reads: “Journalist asking too many questions about the Riverside fire. Getting too close. Must be handled."

The next letter was written three months after Michael disappeared, contained only one typed word, which was: “Problem solved. Body dumped at new Henderson property. No trace."

Theo had a feeling of bile in his throat. His uncle had not simply disappeared. He had been killed and his corpse buried.

The hand held phone of Theo recorded one photo after another, and this was a testament to 40 years of crimes.

Then he heard a footsteps above him, in the steps of the cellar.

His heart thumped and Theo stood still. Footsteps were slow, very deliberate, closing in.

He pushed files aside hastily as noiselessly as possible, and his thoughts were busy with possibilities. There was no other means of escape, no window, no second door. He was trapped.

Footsteps came to the end of the stair. Theo stood at the wall pressed against the secret door.

A beam of light cut through the main basement.

"I know you're down here, Theo." Like a knife, Victor Whitmore cut through the darkness