Desires of the Dead Read Online Free PDF Page B

help whoever was in there.
    She fingered the cell phone inside her pocket.
    She could call the local authorities . . . anonymously. She could make up some excuse for them to come out here and look for the body and then leave without giving them her name.
    But even she knew she couldn’t use her cell phone; it would be too easy to trace the call, to track it right back to her. And then they’d want to know how she knew where to find the body. A question she did not want to answer.
    What she needed was to get out of here. To find a pay phone.
    She moved quickly now, backtracking through the shipyard. She stole through the opening at the entrance and raced toward the sidewalk, scanning up and down the road for a pay phone.
    It didn’t take long to find one; there were two, in fact, that she could see from where she stood. One was just at the edge of the shipyard’s parking lot.
    She jogged across the short space and picked up the receiver. The handset was cold and dirty, but Violet barely noticed. She surveyed the silver face of the phone for dialing instructions. She didn’t have any change, so she hoped this would work.
    She dialed quickly, her fingers trembling.
    There was a soft click, and then . . .
    A woman’s cool voice spoke from the other end. “911, what’s your emergency?”
    Violet paused. This is a mistake, she thought; I should hang up . Her thumb hovered over the large lever on the phone.
    “911 operator, please state the nature of your emergency.”
    She hesitated, but she had to do something.
    “Hello?” she said flatly, her mind spinning in a thousand different directions, grappling for a coherent explanation.
    “Please state the nature of your emergency.”
    “I . . . I think I heard something . . . some one . . .” Violet started, still unsure. Her hands were shaking, and so was her voice. “It was coming from inside one of the shipping containers on the waterfront.”
    “Do you have an address?”
    Violet shook her head, even though the dispatcher couldn’t see her. “It’s near the ferry terminals. The ones at Pier Fifty-two. There’s a sign that says Puget Sound Shipyards .”
    She was jumpy about placing the call. Maybe she’d made a mistake. She glanced around uncertainly, suddenly wondering about what kind of person could put someone inside one of those containers. What if that person was still here? What if he was watching her? What if he’d followed her?
    She took a step away, and the hand holding the handset fell to her side as she strained to listen to the sounds around her, searching for any sign that she wasn’t alone. The metal cord that connected the receiver to the pay phone reached its limit and she froze. She could hear the operator speaking on the other end, but she couldn’t make out the words.
    She needed to get out of there, but that need was outweighed by the desire to make someone come . . . to find whoever was trapped inside the steel box.
    She lifted the receiver back to her ear, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. “That’s all I can tell you. There’s someone in there, a person . . . locked in one of the containers. A red cargo container. Please . . . send help . . . .” She was whispering now, afraid that someone besides the operator might be listening to her.
    “What is your name—”
    Violet hung up, ending the call with an eerie sense of foreboding.
    She ran as quickly as she could to her car. Once she was inside with the doors locked, she leaned her head back and fought to catch her breath. She started the engine and listened to its rough purr as she waited for the heat to catch up—and for her heart to slow down.
    Outside the car, the echoes of the harp were muffled now, but the quivering aftershocks stirred all the way to her soul. She could hear the distant sound of sirens. She wondered if this was their destination . . . if they were coming because of her call.
    She didn’t wait to find out; she put the car in gear and drove out of the