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“No,” he said. “I think this chapel no longer plays an important role in the spiritual life of the Rosolli family.”
We followed Gabriela to the staircase and descended single file to the underground room.
“A crypt,” Gabriela said.
There were twelve niches in the room. Six on each side. The walls, ceiling, and floor were concrete. Hammered copper doors sealed each of the niches. Names of the interred were on the doors. Sarah Rosolli, Salvatore Rosolli, Manfred Rosolli, Joseph Rosolli, Anthony Rosolli.
Gabriela stood in front of Anthony Rosolli. “Hello, Anthony,” she said.
Ranger looked at Gabriela’s camo backpack. “Do you have anything useful in there?” he asked her.
Gabriela removed a screwdriver and handed it to Ranger.
Ranger pried the copper door off the wall and exposed the casket. “Usually there’s a second shutter here,” he said. “The copper shutter I just removed is decorative. There should be a heavier metal shutter that actually seals the tomb.”
“Pull him out,” Gabriela said. “There’s a reason he wasn’t sealed in.”
Ranger slid a mahogany casket out of the niche and Gabriela and I helped lower it to the floor. Ranger slipped the brass latch on the lid and raised the lid.
“It’s not locked, and it’s not sealed,” he said. “And it’s empty.”
Gabriela and I looked inside. The satin lining wasn’t in great shape, but the casket had obviously never been used. Or maybe only used for a short time.
“Where’s Anthony?” I asked.
“Probably bunking with someone,” Ranger said. “Probably with Mrs. Rosolli.”
Ranger flicked the beam of his flashlight into the niche. “Looks like the niche opens to a tunnel.”
I did a mental head slap. “What’s with these guys and their tunnels? It’s like they had a tunnel obsession.”
“Escape routes,” Ranger said.
“Places to hide stolen treasures and bootleg whiskey,” Gabriela said, flashing the Maglite beam around the space, crawling into the niche. “I came across something similar in Nepal when I was hired to find a stolen carving of Birupakshya from the Pashupatinath Temple in Kathmandu. I thought for sure it was in that tunnel. Turned out it was filled with vipers. Let’s hope this goes better. Truly, what are the chances of that happening twice?”
Considering my recent tunnel experiences, I thought the odds weren’t in my favor. I followed Gabriela into the niche and Ranger followed me. The tunnel was dirt and supported by chunky, crude timbers. It was a couple of feet wide and not quite six feet high. Ranger had to duck slightly when standing. After about fifty feet we came to a Y intersection.
“Go to the right,” I said.
“Intuition?” Gabriela asked.
“There’s a symbol burned onto the timber. I’ve seen it in the La-Z-Boys’ tunnels. Potts was the first to notice it. I have pictures.”
We turned toward the symbol and came to another fork. Aga
in, a symbol told us to go right.
The right-hand tunnel curved, and we came to a heavy metal fire door. Ranger selected a second key on the key ring and opened the door to a small concrete room with a safe embedded in the concrete. A second metal fire door was on the far wall.
“Interesting,” Gabriela said. “This takes mob paranoia to a new level.”
Ranger opened the door with the third key on the ring. Beyond the door was a short dirt tunnel that ended with a ladder going to a manhole cover. This was almost identical to the escape hatch opening to Liberty Park.
Ranger climbed the ladder and put his hand to the heavy cover.
“If it’s like the Liberty Park cover it has two steel pins that need to be pulled out,” Gabriela said.
Ranger felt around, found the pins, pulled them out, and moved the cover to the side.
