“Not new. That’s for sure. How old, I couldn’t say. Maybe seventy-five, eighty years. Could be more. I’m no expert.”
“OK. That kind of age, it was probably built by the WPA. From what I read about the town, the WPA did a whole bunch of work there. Back in the 1930s. Buildings. Roads. Amenities. And particularly improvements to the sewers and drains. That’s why they originally went. The town had two parts. There was a gap between them. Something weird about how it grew from a trading post, or whatever. Anyway, the southern half is higher. After a big storm the drains couldn’t cope. They overflowed and the water ran downhill and flooded the northern half. It messed things up real bad. Sometimes the sewers overflowed, too. That was even less pleasant. The southern half is part of Mexico, technically, but the problem impacted the US side. And the government was less parochial in those days. If the United States saw a problem, it fixed it. Wherever it was. And everybody was happy.”
“If the WPA did the work, there should be records.”
“For sure. That’s the government for you. Someone probably kept track of how many paperclips they used. The question is, where are the records? Did they survive? Only on paper? Or digitized and put online? I’m not sure anyone would invest the time and effort.”
“They must exist. Dendoncker had to have seen them. You said he made an effort to get this particular house. There has to be a reason for that. And it’s not the view. Trust me. He must have realized it gave access to what’s essentially a system of tunnels.”
“Seems likely. But there’s no guarantee he found the information online. That’s the problem. If it was on paper, in a book, he had a year to sniff it out. Your missing woman doesn’t. He could have been poking around in libraries. Municipal archives. Do you have time for that? And wherever it was, how many copies were there? He could have stolen them. Or destroyed them to protect his secret.”
“You’re saying it’s hopeless?”
“No. I’m saying I’ll try. Just don’t hold your breath.”
* * *
—
I went back outside and crouched at the side of Sonia’s car. She rolled down her window and I saw that her eyes were red and swollen again.
She said, “I’m sorry. I just had a crazy vision of you coming out and saying you’d found Michael. That he was OK after all.”
I said nothing.
“You haven’t. Have you?”
“No. I wish I had.”
“Did you find anything?”
“The entrance to a tunnel. I don’t know where it goes. Yet.”
Sonia reached for the door release. “I’ll come with you.”
“No. It looks like the kind of place you go in, you might not come back out.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
“But you’re going anyway?”
I nodded. “I have to. Michael’s sister could be at the other end.”
“Michaela?”
“Right.”
“I hope you find her. I hope she’s OK.”
“Do you know her?”
“No. We’ve never met. But I heard all about her. I hoped one day she’d be my sister-in-law.”
* * *
—
I waited until Sonia’s taillights had disappeared around the corner then went back into the house. I paused at the top of the ladder. Felt a prickle spread between my shoulder blades. Ignored it. Climbed down. Went through the concealed door. And looked into the tunnel. It seemed like the rails were pointing into the distance. It was an illusion, of course. A trick of perspective. But I still wanted to know where they went. And why they were there at all.
Dendoncker must have installed them. There was no place for them in a functioning sewer. Or drain. Plus they looked new. Newer than the surrounding brickwork, anyway. There was no sign of rust. The steel was shiny. It had recently been used. Polished by metal wheels running along it. Probably some kind of truck. Probably carrying Dendoncker’s smuggled contraband. In which case it must link to a storage facility. Another house he took over. Or an abandoned pumping station. Someplace like that.
Which didn’t make sense. Why not just drive the stuff to and from the depot from there? Why move it around underground and load it up here? It called for extra effort. Extra resources. Extra time. I couldn’t see how it reduced the risk. But whatever the reason, I wanted to know where the other place was. I would rather ambush Mansour there, where he felt safe. From a direction he wasn’t expecting. I didn’t want to stalk him through the tunnel. That option didn’t appeal to me at all. But the only alternative was to wait for Wallwork. To see if he found a map. He wasn’t confident. There was no guarantee it would be conclusive. And there was no way of knowing how long it would take him.