Even though he didn't tell Officer Zeilnhofer, he had indeed confirmed the man's identity, his mother's intuition had been correct. The fact that neither Adams nor his body ever turned up after decades of being missing, could only mean he didn't survive the avalanche. From the stories his mother told, it was only by the grace of God that she survived. If it weren't for the rock overhang she hid under when the avalanche began, she would have met the same fate as the Austrian men who were with her. They were swept up by the torrent of snow and catapulted to their deaths on the glacier below. Their dead, broken, frozen bodies were found three days later when the storm broke. She seemed certain that Adams was killed also even though no body was ever recovered.
Katzer started the van, pulled forward, and then backed into the driveway stopping only inches from the garage door. He'd gathered all the chemicals he thought he'd need before he left Nashville and made the nine and a half hour drive to Charleston. His mother was resolute that if he couldn't find the book, he was to bring the woman back to Nashville so she could conduct the interrogation herself. If he found the book his orders were to kill her if he had to and return with the book.
He had never harmed another human. He had witnessed a lot of death in his business but never was he a violent person. As distasteful as the act of killing seemed, his mother was right. He had to protect the family.
Katzer pulled the latex gloves over his hands, opened a bottle and soaked a rag. It was an antiquated method but still effective. Besides, he had plenty of other options available if he needed them, this one was more convenient.
He walked to the door and knocked.
The door opened. "May I help y—"
Before she could finish her sentence Katzer pounced. Her size no match for him. He smothered the woman's face with the rag while he wrestled her to the floor. He kicked the door closed with his foot. Sitting on top of her, his long arms kept his face away from her claws as she kicked and squirmed.
He'd now crossed the line.
Something he could never undo.
After several seconds of thrashing, the woman stopped moving. He removed the rag and sat there. The rush of overpowering the woman was a thrill he hadn't anticipated. A feeling of power and dominance. At his age and in his profession, he didn't see much excitement. But now, he had to admit, he was aroused.
Without warning, a fist rammed into his stomach, knocking the breath out of him. She had tricked him by pretending to be overcome by the chloroform. He couldn't believe he'd been sucker punched.
With all the strength he could muster he slammed his fist into her jaw. Her jawbone cracked, blood splattered across the hardwood floor. His wrist felt like he'd hit a brick wall. She was alive, but unconscious. Katzer placed the rag over her nose and left it there while he searched for towels to wipe down the floor.
After he was certain the woman was unconscious, he searched the small home. Every drawer, cabinet, and shelf emptied. No book. The contents from every closet pulled to the floor. No book. Mattresses overturned. Every possible hiding place searched. Nothing. Katzer was convinced the book was not in the home. He leaned over, grabbed the woman, threw her over his shoulder, and carried her into the garage. He raised the garage door then grabbed the remote control attached to the visor of the car and put her in the back of the van. He used tie wraps and duct tape to secure her arms and legs and placed a strip of tape over her mouth to keep her silent after she woke up. He opened the lid to the casket in the back of the van and placed her inside. Prior to leaving Nashville, he'd rigged a special casket to allow for the circulation of air. Or sleeping gas if he needed it.
He closed the garage door, tossed the remote on the floor of the van, and pulled out for the long drive to Nashville. The best way to transport a body — dead or alive.
What should have been a nine-hour drive turned into a thirteen-hour drive due to a six-car pileup on Interstate 40 at the North Carolina/Tennessee state line. Katzer's van sat motionless for over two hours while rescue helicopters flew in to triage, stabilize, and fly out the critically injured. He knew from his experience that the rescue vehicles were transporting those bodies that were laying in the median covered with sheets to the morgue. When the wreckers finally cleared the debris from the mountain interstate, traffic crept along for nearly thirty miles before reaching speed limits.
He arrived in Nashville shortly after 11:00 p.m., pulled the van into the loading area, and crawled through the back to open the rear van door when it suddenly opened.
"It's about time," Heidi Katzer said.
"Give me a break, Mother. I called and told you about the traffic backup. I got here as fast as I could without risking being pulled over by the cops."
"Let's get her inside. Is she awake?"
"No," Scott explained. "She started making noise around Knoxville so I gassed her again. She should wake up within an hour or so."
Scott Katzer looked at the embalming table when he heard the woman groan. He'd tethered her arms and legs to the table with makeshifts bindings, duct tape still strapped on her mouth. He walked across the room and pressed the intercom call button, "Mother, she's coming to."
The newly remodeled embalming room was equipped with all the latest mortuary features. One wall was lined with stainless steel cabinets and sinks. Three white-porcelain embalming tables lined up side-by-side along the white tile floor. A drain in the floor near the middle of the room made wash down quick and easy. The white ceramic tile floor and walls gave the room a sterile look and feel. Above each table hung new H/Vac ventilation fans supported by articulating arms. The previous embalming room was dark and the rancid smell from decades of embalming had permeated the wooden cabinets and old equipment. Katzer's investment in the new embalming room was worth the money, he thought. His mother had initially objected to the expenditure but with some subtle advertisement, Katzer Funeral Home's new facilities had taken enough business away from its competitors to pay for the upgrade. And, as much as the grieving families would never realize, competition in the funeral home business could be ruthless at times.
Heidi Katzer opened the door. "How cognizant is she?"
"Still groggy but she'll be lucid soon enough," Scott replied.
"Turn on the heat spatula and melt some wax," Heidi instructed. "Just in case."
Obviously realizing her predicament, the horrified woman snapped her head from side to side as she struggled against her restraints. Muffled yells behind the tape strapped over her mouth grew louder.
Heidi stood next to the woman, held her head down, and ripped off the tape.
"What the hell is this all about?" The woman yelled. "Let me loose."
"Your fate depends on you, young lady," Heidi said. "First you're going to answer some questions. If I like your answers, you will be set free."
His mother's voice was too pleasant, Scott thought, given the fact that the young woman had just been abducted.
The woman jerked again against her restraints. "Where am I?"
Scott saw the woman's head lift, her eyes taking in her new surroundings.
"What the hell is this place?"
"None of that matters, my dear," The old woman reassured. "All that matters is that you cooperate." She paused. "Or the consequences will be quite severe."
The woman looked at Scott. "What's she talking about?"
"Just do as she asks," Scott said, "and you won't get hurt."
"Get hurt? What do you mean 'get hurt?' Let me go," she yelled.
Heidi leaned close to the woman's face. "Where is the book?"
"Book? What book? What are you talking about?"
"Let me refresh your memory," Heidi said. "A few weeks ago you climbed Zugspitze, correct?"