Cold Case Cover-Up. Virginia Vaughan

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СКАЧАТЬ you locate the microfiche I asked for?”

      “I did. I’ll show you where they’re at.” Lila crossed the main floor and Dana followed her. Microfiche wasn’t used much anymore but Dana was surprised when Lila led her through the side door and up a flight of stairs. She’d expected it to be in an out-of-the-way place, like the basement.

      She shot Lila a questioning glance.

      “We had it downstairs until a pipe burst last year and flooded the basement. We moved the machine upstairs to a storage closet behind the stacks. It’s a little dark but it’s private. No one should bother you.”

      She followed Lila through rows of shelves lined with books until they reached a door on the far wall. Lila unlocked the door and Dana stepped inside. The room was filled with boxes and supplies. In the corner was the microfiche machine with a chair pushed up to it. A fluorescent light flickered overhead, threatening to go out at any moment. Lila was right about it being private. Few people would venture here except by accident. But she’d faced worse circumstances and she wasn’t going to complain. “I’ll be fine. Thank you, Lila.”

      She motioned to a box of microfiche next to the machine. “I pulled everything I could find on the murders for you. And the machine is set up to print to the circulation-desk printer downstairs. I’ll be around if you need anything.”

      Lila disappeared into the stacks while Dana set down her purse and got to work. She pulled out the first microfiche film and placed it into the machine. She scrolled through the newspaper dates until she came to the front-page headline on the day after the murders: Double Murder Stuns West Bend.

      The article went on to describe how the local volunteer fire department had responded to the fire at the Renfield home. One body had been discovered, that of Mrs. Rene Renfield. Police were being tight-lipped about how she died, but it was rumored that she was already deceased when the fire was started. The whereabouts of Paul Renfield and the couple’s one-year-old daughter, Alicia, had yet to be determined.

      Dana knew from the article in her mom’s belongings, dated six days later, that the child’s body would not be found for two more days, when it was discovered beneath rubble of the house by fireman Jay Englin, but she doubted the veracity of that report, believing the local authorities, namely Sheriff Mackey, had covered up the fact that Alicia—that Dana—was alive. Was she found in the rubble of the house two days after the fire as this article stated? It seemed unlikely. She would have been severely dehydrated and suffering smoke inhalation at the least, and been taken immediately to the hospital, where several people would have seen her, making a cover-up unlikely. How then, and more importantly when, did Jay Englin find her?

      She wished she could track him down, but so far, she hadn’t been able to find a current address or online presence for him. He was the one person still living who could confirm that a child’s body had actually been discovered. She thought about asking Lila if she had any information on Jay’s whereabouts. She wasn’t giving up on talking to him and would continue trying to locate him.

      She printed out several articles that mentioned the murders and jotted down every piece of information she could find about the details of the case, hoping the reporters who’d written for the paper back then had better access to the police files than she did. Perhaps she could even track down one of them for an interview. She glanced at the bylines and realized most of the articles were written by two people, Jerry Foster and Jane Shaw. She added their names to her list of people she wanted to interview. It would be nice to speak to them to discover if there was anything in their notes that hadn’t made it into the articles.

      She took out her phone and looked up the paper online, only to discover it had folded back in the late nineties, when the digital age began to make papers around the country flounder. It was no surprise that a small-town paper couldn’t make it. There was, however, a webpage that seemed active. She clicked the link and discovered Jerry Foster still operated an online blog. She skimmed through the archives and found no mention of the murder, but if he was still writing then perhaps he would remember the case. She quickly pulled up her email and shot him a message asking to meet.

      Suddenly, the room went dark. The machine shut down, and only the light from her phone illuminated the room. The machine was old and probably hadn’t been used in a while. Perhaps it had blown a fuse. She opened the door and found the lights were off in the stacks as well, and it was dark as night as she made her way toward the light she saw filtering in through the windows in the main area.

      She cleared the stacks and looked around. No one was here, but the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly raised and Dana swore she felt eyes on her, watching her. She glanced around and saw no one, yet she couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that she wasn’t alone. She pressed the button for the elevator, then realized it wasn’t working, either.

      Rubbing her arms, that feeling of being watched was strong. Someone was up here with her, but why weren’t they showing themselves? “Hello?” she called, watching for movement and feeling silly for the uneasiness washing over her. It was probably Lila or one of the other librarians reshelving or straightening books. Sure they were. In the dark. “Hello?” she called again.

      No one responded.

      A door slammed and she jumped and spun around. Someone had just left through the side door that led downstairs. But why hadn’t they answered when she’d called?

      She hurried over and pushed open the door, “Who’s there?” she called, her voice echoing through the stairwell. “I know someone was just here. Who is it?”

      She started down the steps. The lights were out here, too, but if someone was trying to frighten her they’d have to do a better job than spying on her at the library or cutting power to the microfiche. She wasn’t going to be intimidated.

      In the darkness, she felt a hand on her back, shoving her. She went tumbling down the concrete steps, pain shooting through her with every bump. She hit the bottom, jamming her shoulder into the concrete floor. Her head spun, but she forced herself to glance up, pain shooting through her as she did. All she saw was darkness above her. A figure moved at the top of the stairs but she couldn’t make it out. Man or woman? Young or old? She couldn’t tell. Then the darkness pulled her away and she didn’t know anything else.

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