Still, I locked the front door.
I was halfway through making coffee when my phone rang. The number was unfamiliar.
"Hello?"
A man answered. His voice was low and slightly breathless.
"Is this the owner of the property on Briar Glen Drive?"
"Who is this?"
"My name is Martin Cole. I'm calling about the old Harrow development."
I stopped moving.
"How did you get my number?"
"From the county permit request. Your name was listed as the current property owner."
I glanced toward the kitchen window. From there, I could see the pool behind the house, its concrete walls exposed beneath the gray morning sky.
"What do you want?"
"I heard you've uncovered something."
"Who told you that?"
There was a pause.
"Does it matter?"
"It matters to me."
He exhaled. "Listen, I worked for Harrow Residential Group in the late eighties. Not as an engineer. I was a site supervisor. I helped coordinate the installation of the water system in Briar Glen."
I leaned against the counter.
"You're talking about the chamber under my pool?"
"Yes."
"Then perhaps you can explain why my neighbor believes she owns it."
Another silence followed.
"Denise Vale?"
"That's right."
"She's still there?"
The question unsettled me.
"You know her?"
"I knew her father."
"Thomas Vale?"
"Yes."
I looked again at the photograph in my hand.
"Can you tell me what happened to the system?"
Martin didn't answer immediately. When he finally spoke, his voice had changed. It was quieter now, more careful.
"Not over the phone."
"Why not?"
"Because if what I think is under that plate is still there, you shouldn't be asking questions where anyone can hear you."
I felt a cold sensation travel down my back.
"Who is anyone?"
"Meet me somewhere public. There's a diner on Route 8, just outside town. Tomorrow morning. Nine o'clock."
"Why should I trust you?"
"You shouldn't," he replied. "But you should hear what I know before Denise gets to it first."
The call ended.
I remained in the kitchen with the phone pressed against my ear.
For several seconds, I could hear nothing except the refrigerator humming.
Then a car door slammed outside.
I moved to the window.
Denise was standing beside her mailbox.
She wasn't looking at the street. She was looking directly at my house.
When she noticed me behind the glass, she raised one hand.
It wasn't a friendly wave.
It was a warning.
I called Peter Vale that afternoon.
He answered on the fourth ring.
"Hello?"
"It's me. I need to ask you something."
"About Denise?"
"About a man named Martin Cole."
The silence on the other end was immediate.
"Where did you hear that name?"
"He called me this morning. Said he worked for Harrow Residential Group."
Peter let out a slow breath.
"Martin Cole was the site supervisor."
"Was?"
"He left town after the accident."
"What accident?"
"I told you about Daniel Ruiz. The worker who collapsed in the chamber."
"You told me there was an accident. You didn't tell me Martin Cole was involved."
"He wasn't the one who caused it. At least, that's what I was told."
"By whom?"
"My wife."
I looked toward the backyard.
"Peter, I think you need to tell me everything."
"I don't know everything."
"Then tell me what you do know."
He was quiet for so long that I wondered whether he had hung up.
Finally, he spoke.
"After Daniel died, the company sent people to the site. They said the chamber had been disconnected and sealed. They said there was no danger to anyone living in the development. But Thomas didn't believe them."
"Her father?"
"Yes. Thomas was an engineer. He had helped design part of the system, and he knew the official report was incomplete. He spent months trying to get the county to investigate."
"What did he find?"
"I don't know. He never told me the details."
"But Denise might know."
"She was young then. Maybe sixteen or seventeen. Thomas kept her away from the site."
"Why would she be so determined to keep me away from the chamber?"
Peter sighed.
"Because her father spent the last years of his life trying to make sure nobody opened it."
That answer only made things worse.
"What was inside?"
"I don't know."
"Peter, somebody left a photograph on my truck this morning. They told me to stop digging."
His breathing changed.
"Did you tell the police?"
"Not yet."
"You should."