Standard procedure for a suspicious death, but it meant she'd have to go down into those tunnels. Into the heat and the enclosed spaces where someone had died under circumstances unusual enough to warrant federal involvement.
Isla's jaw tightened with resolve. "Show me the entrance."
The officer led her to the steel door, which stood propped open despite the cold. A wave of humid air rolled out, incongruous against the December morning. Isla could see metal stairs descending into artificial light, and she heard voices echoing from below—James's steady baritone among them.
"The main body site is about two hundred yards in," the officer explained. "Section D-8, whatever that means. The guys from Public Works can give you better directions, but Agent Sullivan has someone guiding him."
"Thank you." Isla adjusted her coat, knowing she'd need to shed it once she was inside, and started down the stairs.
The heat hit her like a physical wall about halfway down, and by the time she reached the bottom, she understood why the paramedics had been concerned about Walsh. The temperature was oppressive, the air thick with humidity that made breathing feel like work. Isla immediately unzipped her coat, pulling it off and draping it over one arm.
The tunnel stretched in both directions, illuminated by bare bulbs that created pools of light separated by shadows. Massive pipes ran along the walls and ceiling, wrapped in aged insulation and radiating warmth that made the concrete walls glisten with condensation. The smell was distinctive—hot metal, damp concrete, and something else she couldn't quite identify. Something that didn't belong.
James appeared from the left branch of the tunnel, his considerable frame ducking slightly to clear a low-hanging pipe. His face was flushed from the heat, his usually neat hair slightly disheveled, and he'd already removed his suit jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Relief flickered across his features when he spotted her.
"Isla." He closed the distance between them with a few long strides. "This one's weird."
"Define weird."
"Come see for yourself." He glanced at her coat. "You'll want to leave that here. It only gets hotter the deeper we go."
Isla hung her coat on a hook near the base of the stairs, where several other jackets already waited. She checked her weapon—still secure in its holster—and followed James into the left branch of the tunnel.
The heat intensified as they progressed, and Isla felt sweat begin to form along her hairline. The tunnel narrowed, forcing them to move single-file, and Isla became acutely aware of the enclosed space pressing in around them. This was nothing like the open docks where Brune had operated. This was confined, claustrophobic, a maze of pipes and concrete where you could get turned around if you didn't know the layout.
"How far in?" she asked.
"About fifty more yards. Walsh found him in a maintenance chamber off the main corridor." James's voice echoed slightly off the walls. "Medical examiner's already down there. Dr. Henley."
Isla knew Patricia Henley well, had worked numerous cases with her over the past three years. She was thorough, experienced, and not prone to dramatic assessments. If Henley thought something was unusual enough to hold the body in place for FBI review, that meant something.
The corridor opened into a wider space where more people had gathered. Isla recognized Lieutenant Frank Morrison from Duluth PD, a solid investigator in his fifties who'd been cooperative on previous cases. He stood talking quietly with a woman in Public Works coveralls—probably someone from the maintenance department who knew the tunnel system. Two crime scene technicians were setting up lights and equipment, their movements careful in the confined space.
And there, slumped against the far wall beneath a massive steam pipe, was David Langford's body.
Isla stopped at the threshold of the maintenance chamber, her investigator's instincts immediately cataloging details while her stomach tightened with the recognition of death. Dr. Henley crouched beside the body, her examination kit spread out on the concrete floor, her gloved hands paused mid-motion as she looked up at Isla's arrival.
"Agent Rivers." Henley's voice was professionally neutral, but Isla caught the edge of something else beneath it. Confusion, maybe. Or concern. "I'm glad you're here. This one's giving me trouble."
Isla moved closer, stepping carefully around the equipment the crime scene techs had set up. The heat in this chamber was almost unbearable, radiating from the pipes with an intensity that made the air shimmer. Her shirt was already sticking to her back, and she felt sweat trickling down her spine.
But she barely noticed the discomfort once she got a clear look at David Langford's body.
The victim was a white male, probably mid-forties, based on the gray in his dark hair. He wore a Public Works uniform—dark blue coveralls with a name patch on the chest. His wedding ring caught the harsh glare of the portable lights the techs had set up, a small gold band that somehow made everything more tragic. His eyes were open, staring at nothing, and his mouth was slightly agape.
But it was the marks on his exposed skin that made Isla's breath catch.
Burns. Strange, patterned burns that covered his face, neck, and hands—everywhere his skin was exposed. They weren't the typical burns she'd expect from contact with hot pipes or steam leaks. These looked almost... deliberate. Carefully placed. The tissue was red and blistered, but in patterns that suggested someone had methodically applied heat to specific areas.
"Cause of death?" Isla asked, crouching beside Henley.
"Hyperthermia." Henley gestured to her thermometer, which showed an ambient temperature of 157 degrees Fahrenheit. "Core body temperature was 109 when I arrived. At that level, you're looking at organ failure, neurological damage, cardiovascular collapse. He essentially cooked to death."
Isla's jaw tightened. She'd seen heat-related deaths before, but never in circumstances like these. "How long was he down here?"
"Based on rigor and lividity, I'd estimate four to six hours. Time of death probably between midnight and 2 AM, though I'll have a better estimate after the autopsy."
“We have him on camera entering just after midnight, so it seems safe to say he died shortly after entering.”
