Officer Hottie paused. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, this house is about as old as mine, and I have a cistern under the floor of my dining area in the kitchen. There’s a rug over the access panel in the floor, so no one would know it’s there. But I’m wondering if this house has one.”
“Show me where it might be,” he said. The officer in charge raised his eyebrows, but Officer Hottie simply smiled. “We’ve been through this house before and all over the back. If the kid is here, then we have to find him now. Letting him take a lookisn’t going to hurt.” He turned back to Marty, who swallowed hard under the intense gaze of the man who filled out his blue uniform in all the best ways.
“All right,” the officer in charge allowed. “But be careful and don’t touch anything.”
Marty nodded and followed the officer and dog down the walk. “This is Dexter. While he’s working, please don’t try to pet him or anything.”
“I won’t,” Marty promised, his gaze settling on the world’s most perfect backside encased in tight blue fabric. He shook his head. “I’m Marty, by the way.”
“Grant Webster,” he said as he pulled open the door. Marty went inside, his nose wrinkling at the smell. Clearly this place had been closed up for a long time, and at some point some animal must have died in there.
“It’s good to meet you,” Marty said before stifling a sneeze. “Sorry.” He went through toward the back of the house to the kitchen and checked the floors. “Mine is under this area of the house.” They both looked around. “It’s likely the flooring would have been laid over the door, so there would be lines.” The place was filthy, with bits of litter all over. Marty checked out back and found an old broom. He slowly swept the center of the floor but found nothing. “I’m sorry. But there isn’t one here.” Marty looked out the window and followed a line of sight from the back of the garage area to the other corner of the house. He went through the hall and opened the door to what was probably a pantry.
“Let Dexter check first,” Grant said, and Marty stepped aside, but it was clear that someone had been there before.
“Did you check in here the last time you were here?”
Grant shook his head. “The door was open, and Dexter peered inside but moved on.” He paused. “Dexter’s main function is to find the dead.” Marty nodded and bent down. Dustand crap floated in the air, but he pointed to a scrape on the flooring. It might have been made by a small foot. Marty got down on his knees in his excitement and tapped the floor.
“It’s hollow.” He brushed the area and found a line before stepping back. “There’s a door.”
“Dexter, sit,” Grant said, and the dog sat on command, his eyes bright and mouth open. Grant didn’t find a handle, but he pulled a screwdriver from his belt and wedged it under one side. He managed to pry up the door and grabbed his flashlight, shining it down. “Stay here,” Grant said firmly and lowered himself downward.
“I found him,” Grant said into his radio. “Back corner of the house across from the kitchen. A cistern in the floor.” Marty held his breath. “He’s alive, but very weak. Call for medical assistance, and we’ll need a ladder.”
Marty peered over the side to see Grant gently checking the little boy over. “Is he okay? Do you need anything?”
“Water,” Grant said, and Marty went outside. He was no longer needed.
“Grant says he needs water and that the boy is alone,” he told the officer in charge as sirens approached.
“Thank you for all your help. We would never have known about the cistern if it wasn’t for you.” The officer in charge actually gave him a smile. Marty stepped out of the road and onto the sidewalk as an ambulance pulled up. They grabbed a backboard and hurried inside. Apparently the boy was responding, and his parents had been called. Just about the time they arrived, the EMTs emerged from the empty house with the boy on a stretcher, an IV in his arm.
A man and woman who had to be the boy’s parents hurried up to him, and Marty saw the boy take his mother’s hand. She got into the ambulance with him, and the father hurried back the way he came, probably to follow them in their car.
Finally the police officers began to pack up, and Grant came out of the house with Dexter, leading him toward their vehicle.
“Is he going to be okay?” Marty asked him.
He put Dexter in the back of the car, where he lay down, and Grant closed the door. “Yes. By some miracle we got to him in time. He hasn’t eaten or had anything to drink in days and he was pretty dirty, but the boy was already starting to come around once they got fluids in him.”
“That’s good. What happened? Do you know?” Marty asked.
“As near as we can tell, he got into the house and found the entrance to the cistern. Somehow he must have gotten it open, and then we believe he fell in and the door slammed shut.”
One of the officers was pulling the front door to the house closed before walking around the side. “That’s not possible,” Marty told him. “Grant, there is no way that could happen.” He walked toward the house with Grant striding right behind him.
“Don’t go in there,” Grant said, but Marty ignored him and followed the other officer around to the back where the door stood open. Marty passed him and hurried inside. “You need to stop.” The voice was commanding.
“No. You need to listen,” Marty said as he whirled around. “I’m not going to touch anything, but you need to see what I have to show you.” He hurried to the pantry and stopped in the doorway. The cistern door had been closed. “Look.” He pointed at the door. “If what you told me had been true, then you would have found him two days ago because that’s what the floor would have looked like.” There was small pile of debris running along the hinge to the cistern door. “No way would any of you miss that.” He turned to Grant, whose mouth hung open.
“Holy shit,” he said under his breath.
“Exactly.” The implications of what he had just brought to light hit him full force. “Someone placed that little boy in the cistern and then closed the door on him. Afterward, theyscattered debris and dust on the floor to cover up the door so even if you did go in there, you wouldn’t know the boy was here. And the door must be nearly airtight. I suppose the only reason he’s alive at all is because just enough air was trickling in for him to survive.”
“Yeah. But what I want to know is why Dexter didn’t smell him. I mean, the stench that come out of that cistern when we opened it was enough to alert anyone that there was something here.”
