The rain that had been pounding against the partially open window had stopped. It had created rivulets which had run down the sill, but the water had been unable to gain an entrance into the room through the open window, which was hinged at the top and pushed out a scant six inches. No water from the sky or any cascading off the roof of the three-story building could enter the study of Mr. Alfred Ridge.
The seventy-two year old scientist was seated at his desk with his hands raised grasping the top of the desk. A small daily planner lay open in front of him. The solid oak roll top was large, even for the room in which it had stood for the past decade. It had been a gift from his now deceased father and had been in the Ridge family for more than seventy-five years.
A large wooden file cabinet sat on the opposite side of the room. This piece of furniture had seen neither a dusting nor polishing since it was dragged into the space five years earlier. In it the doctor kept his research, accumulated over the last half decade, and had been closely guarded by the scientist. The rest of the fifteen by twelve foot room on the third floor of the home was only partially furnished. There was a folding table with specimen bottles and a microscope and two canvas chairs, all of which had been pushed against the right hand wall, allowing just enough room for the door to be opened, without hitting any of them. A coat rack with an unused umbrella hanging on it was the only other furniture.
The door to the room, which opened from the hallway on the third floor, had been locked, with the key remaining in the keyhole. There was one other precaution the scientist had taken to insure his complete privacy. A heavy-duty hasp had been installed and a padlock was in place. The only key to the new lock was in the top drawer of the desk.
The rain which had let loose with torrents of water, earlier in the evening, had turned the courtyard outside the small window into a quagmire. Now the rain was gone leaving a muddy mess on the ground below. The only illumination inside the room where the doctor sat was a small lamp shedding light on his desktop.
There was a silence in the room, with no noise to disturb the doctor. As the torrents of rain had ebbed and flowed, and the claps of thunder had echoed off the stone walls of the hundred-year-old house, the man had remained seated stoically, not moving or giving any indication that the storm had bothered him. The old clock on the mantle, above the infrequently used fireplace, chimed nine times. It was late and by this hour the doctor was usually in the master bedroom preparing for sleep. This evening, however, was different. The doctor would see no bed this night, for he had been dead for nearly three hours.
Prologue
Pine Mountain, North Carolina
Friday