Far too large for a sink floor drain.
It continued vertically.
Delaney looked at Caleb.
“Move the bench.”
They moved it.
Behind the bench, a section of concrete looked slightly different.
Same color.
Different aggregate.
Caleb knelt.
Ran his fingers across the seam.
A rectangle.
Four feet by three.
Filled flush with concrete.
His pulse accelerated.
“Old access.”
The inspector nodded.
“Covered.”
Caleb thought about the seller.
Don't dig too deep behind the garage.
He stood.
“I need to call someone.”
The previous owner answered this time.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Ellison.”
Silence.
“Caleb?”
“Yeah.”
Another pause.
“How’s the house?”
Caleb almost laughed.
“Interesting.”
Ellison said nothing.
Caleb looked at the concrete patch.
“I found the tunnel.”
Silence.
Longer this time.
Then the old man exhaled.
“Figured somebody would eventually.”
Delaney stared.
Caleb put the phone on speaker.
“What do you know?”
Ellison remained quiet.
“Mr. Ellison.”
“I didn't know what it was.”
“You knew enough to warn me.”
“My father knew.”
Caleb looked at the others.
“When did your father own this place?”
“Bought it new.”
“1978?”
“Yes.”
“What did he know?”
Ellison sighed.
“He worked for Brookstone.”
Linda, standing at the garage doorway, went rigid.
“Who?” she whispered.
Caleb asked, “What was his name?”
“Ray Ellison.”
Harold Wynn whispered something.
Caleb covered the phone.
“You know him?”
Harold nodded.
“Site superintendent.”
Caleb uncovered it.
“Your father built the subdivision?”
“He ran construction.”
“Did he know about the groundwater system?”
Silence.
Then:
“Yes.”
Linda stepped inside.
Her voice sharp.
“Did he know Gerald Carroway?”
Ellison heard.
“Who's that?”
“My husband.”
Another pause.
“Gerald.”
Linda closed her eyes.
“You knew him?”
“I met him.”
“What did he do?”
Ellison sighed.
“Mrs. Carroway, I don't think you want this over the phone.”
“I have spent twelve years living above something my husband apparently helped bury.”
Her voice hardened.
“I think I've earned the phone call.”
Ellison remained quiet.
Then he said:
“Gerald was trying to stop them.”
Linda sat down on Caleb's tool stool.
No one spoke.
Ellison continued.
“My father told me there were two groups at Brookstone.”
“Two groups?”
“People who wanted the lots finished.”
“And?”
“People who thought the contamination wasn't gone.”
Caleb looked at the hidden floor hatch.
“Which side was your father on?”
Silence.
“The wrong one.”
Ellison's voice became softer.
“At first.”
Linda asked, “What about Gerald?”
“He kept records.”
Caleb looked toward the boxes.
Ellison continued.
“He found reports showing the groundwater readings had been manipulated.”