(2012) Colder Than Death (17 page)

The attention Nolan got from the handful of industry professionals who could truly appreciate his work was almost embarrassing. I actually think that had these men had their own private viewing they would have broken into applause for Nolan and slapped him on the back with congratulations.

The first night of viewing was in the grand tradition of old fashioned funerals. Scores of people came to pay respects to the family. By the end of the night, one hundred forty-five people had signed the guest book. The only awkward moment came when Perry Cobb arrived.

There were roughly sixty people in the viewing room when Perry arrived. Clint and I were at the door to greet him. He wore an out of style brown suit that was too small for him, a cheap, K-Mart off-brand pink shirt with buttons almost bursting to contain his belly and a plain, narrow green tie too loud for the occasion and scrunched into a bad Windsor knot with the lengths of it unbalanced.

Perry said “Greetings,” to me and punched Clint in the arm, adding, “How's the little woman?”

“Fine,” said Clint politely. Like most of us, he had learned to play the game with Perry.

“Any developments in the case?” asked Clint.

Perry gave him a dirty look. “Yeah. I've got fifteen suspects, three in custody and I'm gonna beat a confession out of one later on tonight.” He shook his head and cleared his throat. “There's nothing!” He turned to me. “So what's the deal on meeting with the kid?”

“I was thinking maybe tomorrow morning.”

“I can do it at eleven.”

“I'll check with her.” For a second I thought about telling him Quilla's and my theory, but again it didn't seem like the right time or place. I was biting at the bit to let him know what we had come up with, but it could wait.

“One thing interesting came up,” said Perry. “I went to dig up the files on Kyle Thistle. Guess what? There
aren't
any. We had a pipe break ten years ago. Flooded a huge section of our storage room where we kept stuff on the old or closed cases. All that's left is a waterlogged manila folder.” He scratched the tip of his nose. “I can't get a break on this case.”

I thought to myself that if Alyssa, Virginia Thistle and Brandy Parker were all killed by the same man, Kyle Thistle could be eliminated. But I knew that if Alyssa was alive and well and married with three kids somewhere, Kyle was a slim possibility. Without saying good-bye or uttering another word to Clint or myself, Perry walked away and headed straight to the Viewing Room.

Despite the crowd, most people had cleared out by 8:50. By five past nine the only ones left were Clint and myself. I was restless and wired. But my workday was done, so I could finally relax. I asked Clint if he wanted to go out and grab something to eat as we often did. He passed. Cookie was waiting.

On other nights I would call Tyler--or he me--to join me, but tonight was obviously out of the question. So with Clint and Tyler unavailable, as I locked the front doors I had resigned myself to staying home, making a sandwich and watching TV. For a moment I thought about calling Gretchen, but the time didn't seem right yet in my gut. Besides, it was a little late. I was loosening my tie as I turned off the lights in the Viewing Room when my cell phone rang.

As always, I hoped it was business.

“Good evening, Henderson's. May I help you.?”

“It's Quilla.”

“Oh.”

“
Oh
? You say
oh
like we're strangers.”

“I've known you for three days.”

“But they've been an intense three days. We know things about each other, Del. I've had relationships that lasted five months that weren't as intensive as us.”

“I was going to call you. Can you meet with Perry tomorrow morning at eleven?”

“Finally! I've been thinking and thinking and I've come up with another idea for him to pursue. Listen up: what if the killer has a relative buried in the general vicinity of the mausoleum where they found my Aunt? He visits the grave every so often. He knows the area's remote. He needs a safe place to hide a body so he takes a chance on the mausoleum.”

“Not bad.”

“Cobb needs to check every headstone near it.”

“Makes sense.”

“I didn't come up with the idea until about an hour ago. I was thinking of going out to Elm Cross cemetery and checking out the graves. Only problem is I don't drive. I was wondering if maybe tomorrow morning we could take a ride and look. Maybe before our meeting with Perry. I mean, if it wasn't so late and so dark, I'd say let's do it now.”

Her last sentence pushed a button in me.

If I hadn't been in the mood to get out and unwind I never would have said what I did, but it was relatively early and Quilla was interesting company, so before I had too much time to think I said, “It's not that late.”

She hesitated for several seconds, then said, “Doesn't the cemetery close at six or something?”

“Yes. But that doesn't mean
I
can't get in.”

“But it's... dark. I mean... it's past nine o'clock. We'd be going into a cemetery... at night.”

“If it makes you uncomfortable, we'll go tomorrow.”

“Yeah. That's probably better.”

“But tomorrow's not as good for me as now. Tell you what, if you're uncomfortable I'll take a ride out to the cemetery myself and check things out tonight.”

“I'd kind of like to be there. I mean, if you're checking gravestones by yourself you could miss something.”

“So you're saying you want to go?” Then it dawned on me that it was a week night and that going out so late might not set well with Quilla's mother. “Unless it's too late.”

With sarcasm dripping through the phone, she said, “Like my mother's gonna be worried that I'm out on a school night?”

“Look, I can pick you up in ten minutes. If you want to go, make up your mind right now.”

A few seconds passed, then she said, “I'll be on the corner of my street. Make it fifteen.”

******

I changed into a pair of jeans and took off within five minutes. Quilla was waiting. She started talking the moment she got into the car.

“What kind of person takes a job as night watchman at a cemetery?”

“Vaughn was Head Groundskeeper for something like forty years. When he retired he stayed on as the overnight security guy. It's more than just keeping on eye on things for him. He's worked there his whole life. He took a personal interest in it. Sometimes he calls it his garden of bones.”

“How old is this guy?” she asked.

“Going on eighty-eight.”

“Why is a thirty-three-year-old man so chummy with a guy fifty-five years older?”

“After my dad died Vaughn became a father figure for me.”

We were about ten minutes away from Elm Grove when I dialed the number of the phone in the small shed behind the cemetery office where the groundskeepers had their lockers. I knew Vaughn would be there, listening to the radio or reading. Periodically throughout the night, at no set times, he would get in his Jeep and cruise through the grounds, looking for unwanted visitors. If he found any it was almost always teenage kids looking for a place to drink or have sex.

“Vaughn Larkin.”

“It's Del. I'll be at the front gate in ten minutes.”

“What's wrong? You ain't called me here in five years.”

“I need to get in. Bring a flashlight.”

Vaughn didn't ask questions. He knew me well enough to know I had a reason.

He had the gates open by the time Quilla and I arrived. I pulled inside and rolled down the window. Vaughn bent down and looked inside. “I need to check where they found the body in the mausoleum.”.

“No problem,” said Vaughn. He was surprised to see Quilla in the car. “Who's that with you?” he muttered softly. I introduced them. Quilla managed a weak “Hello” and Vaughn nodded his head. He returned to his Jeep. We followed him.

“There should be a notebook and couple of pens in the glove compartment,” I said.

Quilla clicked it open and looked inside. She removed a black Pentel, a red Bic pen and a stenographer's notebook.

“You write in the notebook. Tear out a few sheets for me. Put down the family name on each headstone. When we meet Perry we'll go over them and see if any strike a chord.”

She nodded as she neatly removed the pages from the notebook. Vaughn slowed down and came to a stop. I did the same, pulling to a stop a dozen yards behind him.

“Give me a second with Vaughn before we start,” I said. Quilla nodded yes, then I went to the Jeep. Before I said a word he handed me a regulation Police issue flashlight. “You want to give me an inkling of what this is all about?”

I explained Quilla's theory and our plan to check the names.

“Worth a shot,” he said. “Most people buried there came from Belgium, Germany and Switzerland. Had a huge migration in the late nineteenth century. I'd help you, but my sciatica starts acting up in October. Gotta keep these old bones of mine in a sitting position. Swing by before you leave.”

I nodded. Vaughn took off. Quilla had gotten out of the car and was leaning against the rear fender, holding the notebook and pages I'd asked her to tear out.

“You take this,” I said as I handed her Vaughn's flashlight. “And I'll take that.” I took the loose pages. She kept the Pentel and gave me the red pen, then I opened the trunk and got another flashlight for myself.

“Ready?” I asked. We were about ten feet apart.

“How should we do this?”

“One at a time. You take this row and I'll do that one. Write down the year they died and the names?”

The first name I wrote down was Frungel. They were a husband and wife. The male died in 1889. The wife in 1892.

“Why did Vaughn become your father figure?”

“After we buried my father, I developed a morbid fascination with visiting my dad’s grave. I was spending too much time here. My Dad was cremated. I didn't see any reason why he should be out here in the middle of nowhere alone... when he could be home. I came to get him. Vaughn caught me. I thought he was gonna call the cops, but instead he said he just talked to me.”

“'Leaving a loved one behind's something I have strong feelings about,” he said. “I know someone who got
left
. It was a sad, terrible thing. When I was thirteen I had this little girlfriend. Her name was Christine Framingham. She was the same age as me.' He paused for a few seconds, then said, 'Let me see your eyes.'“

“Quickly, he shone the flashlight beam about five inches from my eyes and kept it there for a few seconds.”

“'You have honest eyes,' he said. 'Let's go. I want to show you a grave.'“

“'A
grave
?'“

“'Not just any grave. It's a grave that somebody tried to dig up a long time ago. Somebody like you. Let's go.'“

“I didn't know what to think. I was petrified. I didn't know if he was some old pervert or if he was gonna call the cops or my mother, so I said, 'Look, it's late and... can I just go home?'“

“'I'll give you a choice, lad. I can call the Chief of Police, a man by the name of Chester Cobb and he can book you for attempted grave-robbing or you can come with me.'“

“'Alright. Okay.'“

“'Glad you're seeing it my way. Let's go.' He started walking. I followed. 'Now, understand that this happened over sixty years ago. Christine got scarlet fever and died. She was my first experience with death and I took it real hard. My father knew how close me and Christine were, so when he was trying to console me he told me that even if I couldn't
be
with Christine anymore I could still visit her for as long as I wanted. Of course, he was talking about visiting her grave.' We arrived at Vaughn's pick-up truck.”

“'Jump in,' he said.”

“As he walked around to the driver's side I thought about making a run for it, but I remembered that he still had my ID card, so I got in the truck.”

“'Understand something else,' he continued as he started the engine and drove off. 'I didn't know much about paying respects back then. My folks and I came to town without knowing a soul, so it wasn't like we had a bunch of relatives buried here. Until Chrissie passed on I'd never even been
in
a cemetery. The second my old man said I'd be able to visit her for as long as I wanted, a peacefulness came over me. Kinda like the feeling you get when you know the worst of something is over. But let's get back to you. When you started digging into your father's grave, I bet you were just thinking of this ache inside, right?' I nodded yes. 'Some hateful kind of pain that you thought would only go away if what's left of your father is home safe with you, right?'“

“'Yes.'“

“'The thought of your father bein' alone out here
gets
to you. I know the feeling.' He made a right turn. We seemed to be going further into the cemetery. I had no idea where we were. He slammed on the brakes. I was jolted forward. 'Here we are.' He slid smoothly out of the truck and started walking without waiting for me.”

“
'Come on
!'“ he yelled. I ran to catch up to him. “'You like flowers?'“

“'I guess.'“

“'Then you're in for a nice surprise. Ideally, it should be seen in nicer weather--Spring or Summer--and in the daytime to be fully appreciated, but you'll get the idea.'“

“Vaughn had the flashlight on, but it was pointed towards the ground directly in front of us. As we trudged past the gravestones and foreboding mausoleums, the light bounced helter-skelter on the ground, landing on the top of one old headstone for an instant, then beaming onto a stretch of grass, then back onto another headstone with the figure of a praying angel on top. We walked about another twenty yards or so until we came to a stretch of shrubbery about three feet long and seven or eight feet high.”

“'Gets a little tricky now,' said Vaughn. 'Just do what I tell you. Here.' He handed me the flashlight. 'Go. I'll be right behind you.'“

“'Okay.’”

“In a few seconds I'd reached a huge weeping willow tree, then as I passed it I raised the flashlight and, as if it were a camera, panned the area in front of me. That's when I saw it. Christine Framingham's grave. But it wasn't so much a gravesite, as a flower garden.

I moved closer, following the flashlight beam and realized it was actually more like a shrine.