Chapter 22 - THE ARCHIVES AT SAINT JUDE'S CREEK
The Saint Jude’s Creek Records Building was a monumental stone structure built during the late nineteenth century, its soot-stained granite facade towering over the narrow brick avenues of the old river district. High arched windows lined the upper floors, while the subterranean levels extended deep beneath the riverbank, housing over a century of civil deeds, land surveys, and sealed judicial warrants.
Daniel parked the cruiser in the rear municipal lot beneath the shadow of a rusted fire escape. The morning air here was heavier, carrying the briny scent of the river and the sharp tang of coal smoke from nearby heating plants.
They entered through the basement intake door, where an elderly clerk named Samuel sat behind a heavy oak counter, peering over gold-rimmed spectacles at a stack of yellowed ledgers.
"Officer Harris," Samuel rasped, his voice as dry as the parchment surrounding him. "I heard the chatter on the band about Elmwood Lane. They said you cleared the house."
"We cleared the occupants, Samuel," Daniel said, leaning against the wooden counter. "Now we need to clear the paper. We're looking for the historical deposit logs from the Special Collections division between two-thousand-fifteen and two-thousand-eighteen."
Samuel paused, his wrinkled hands resting flat on the ledger before him. He looked past Daniel to María, noting the mud on her boots and the quiet, intense focus in her posture.
"Special Collections?" Samuel repeated quietly. "That was Evelyn Thornton’s hall. Nobody’s been down into the deep vaults since she left the department. The state inspectors locked the lower bay three years ago after the river flooded the east drainage pipe."
"Did they lock it," María asked, stepping forward, "or was it secured with a private brass pad?"
Samuel’s eyes flickered with a mix of caution and old remembrance. He reached under the counter, pulling out a heavy iron ring holding dozens of brass keys, but among them hung a single vacant loop where a small silver key had once rested.
"Evelyn brought her own lock when she took the chief archivist position," Samuel murmured, dropping his voice to a whisper. "She said the county locks were too easily bypassed by visitors from the mayor's office. She spent her last three months here working after hours, cataloging boxes that weren't listed on any public index."
"Where are those boxes now, Samuel?" Daniel asked.
The old clerk pointed a bony finger toward the iron spiral staircase at the back of the intake room, which wound down into the absolute pitch-black depths of Sub-Level Three.
May you like
"Section G," Samuel said. "Behind the high-density storage racks. If you're going down there, take the heavy lanterns. The electrical grid down there hasn't been energized since the storm of twenty-two."
Daniel nodded, reaching for two heavy, rechargeable halogen lanterns sitting on the equipment shelf. He handed one to María, clicked his own beam to high, and led the way down the iron stairs into the cold, silent dark below the river.
