Part 19 (1/2)

Robert checked in on Fiona. Two detectives and an FBI agent sat in the den peppering her with questions. She calmly answered each, her left hand shaking, a gla.s.s of wine in the other, in a voice tired and raspy.

When they finished, Robert took her to see Jessica who lay safe in her room sound asleep. Tired from the day, and after taking the sedative her doctor prescribed, Fiona bedded down for the night. With Fiona safe, Robert and Thorne piled in the Range Rover, pulled out past a lone television truck and headed for the first mausoleum on their list.

Parklawn Cemetery. They exited Interstate 270, made a right at Veirs Mills Road, and parked two miles from the front gate. Heavy trees and brush stacked each side of the street, the air, cold and crisp, stood still. They crept alongside the road just beyond the woods. An owl hooted a warning.

You're not welcome here!

They reached Parklawn's driveway. The gate locked. The fence short.

At the top of a narrow winding road, towered an impressive white marble, gold trimmed mausoleum, with two oversized bronze lions guarding the entrance. A monument, out of place deep in woods.

Robert checked their rear. The wind whipped up harder. You're not welcome here!

”If the stuff's in here, you can't say Charlie didn't have taste,” said Robert, admiring the edifice.

”He killed the President, who gives a f.u.c.k.”

”Walked into that one,” Robert mumbled under his breath.

Inside, a dim yellow mist clouded the marble cavern from low-watt lights hanging ten feet apart on the walls.

”I can barely see the names on the crypts,” said Thorne, pulling a flashlight from her jacket. ”I checked these tombs before as closely as I could, but there're so many I might've missed a few.” Robert s.h.i.+ned his own light down the long corridor, keeping the beam away from the stained gla.s.s windows. ”I'd say you could've missed a few.” The crypts, stacked six in a row, floor to ceiling, seemed to stretch a mile. ”If it's here, it's in one of the crypts lower to the ground,” he continued. ”Easy access.”

Thorne flashed her light on the wall closest to her. ”I'll buy that. I'll take this side. Think he did us a favor and used his real name?” with an I'm disgusted shake of her head.

”He knew we were coming,” said Robert. ”So it's something we'd recognize.”

They walked to the farthest end of the row on opposite sides, and worked their way back. Robert made a mental snapshot of the rear exit, aimed his flashlight at the wall, and scanned from the top down.

Hardly naive about life's limits, it shook Robert how many people his age or younger lay resting behind the marble . Jonathan Mason-Loving Son-1959-1994, Alicia Vickers-Daughter-Wife-Mother-1962-1999, all not much younger or older than he or Thorne.

Soon, flickers of daylight bounced through the skylights and they put the flashlights away. Robert focused hard on each name, date, and epitaph, struggling to find a puzzle-piece that fit. Two hours later, two-thirds of the way finished, Thorne pulled off one of her shoes and ma.s.saged her foot. ”I'm feeling more and more like we should just walk up to Rothschild and start shooting.”

Robert opened his mouth...then heard the front door open. He felt for his gun.

”Excuse me,” a feeble voice said. ”Can I help you people with something?”

A thin, grandfatherly security guard stood in the doorway, in a Marine pressed uniform, creased and polished.

Robert stepped forward, hand extended. ”I'm Robert Veil, and this is my partn...friend Nikki.” Thorne's eyebrows flinted upward. He rarely used her first name.

”Tim Billingsly,” the guard answered, a benevolent smile on his face.

”Can I offer you some a.s.sistance?”

Robert started to say no, but thought better of it. ”Yes, we're trying to find the crypt of an old family friend. It's his birthday and we want to pay our respects. His name's Charlie, Charlie Ivory.” Tim lowered his head in thought, took off his cap, and scratched his half-bald head. ”Charlie Ivory,” he muttered. ”Can't say I remember a Charlie Ivory, but that don't mean much. Been here twenty years. So many people come in day to day you just can't keep up with'em.”

”Do you think they might know at the office,” asked Thorne. ”I came in a few days ago, but maybe they missed it.” Tim scratched his head again. ”It wouldn't be the first time,” he said.

”I'm on my way there now, but they've been a little testy lately about giving out information.”

”Oh,” Robert inquired.

”Yeah, we've had a few breakins over the last year or so. You know, kids, vandals, homeless looking for shelter.”

”Homeless?”

”Yes sir, I've chased a few out myself. They don't mean no harm though, just looking for a warm place to sleep.”

”Ever catch up to one of them?” Thorne asked, her charm and s.e.x appeal radiating. ”Ever see what they look like?” Tim's back straightened up. ”Can't say that I have,” he said, chest out. ”Not worth it to run them down, the police just let'em go. So I just chase'em away.”

Thorne stepped a little closer to Tim. ”Now you be careful,” she told him, adjusting his tie. ”It can get mighty dangerous out here.” Tim beamed and slapped his cap like a chivalrous cowpoke donning a Stetson. ”I'll check on the name of that fella for ya. What'd you say it was again?”

”Charlie Ivory,” said Robert.

”Got it,” said Tim, his eyes never leaving Thorne.

”Thanks sugga,” she said, with pouty lips just short of blowing a kiss.

Robert watched Tim mount a s.h.i.+ny blue moped, and putter off toward the cemetery office.

”You don't play fair,” he said, grinning, shaking his finger at Thorne.

”Just thought I'd make the old fart's day,” she said. ”Maybe get him to look a little harder and save us some time.”

”You're a tease.”

”Too bad I don't grind white boys anymore, or you might find out how real I can be.”

”You've been talking that s.h.i.+t since elementary school,” he said, remembering their feeble attempt at a schoolyard kiss. Thorne laughed and they went back to the search.

Robert heard the mausoleum door open again. This time, multiple footsteps clopped the tiled floor. Five men, guns drawn, stopped a few feet from them. One, lean and somewhat effeminate, wearing a well-tailored seersucker suit and bow tie, seemed vaguely familiar. The others, clean cut and mean, wore all the markings of mercenaries.

Thorne stationed herself a foot behind him.

”Well, you're obviously not here to pay respects to a loved one,” said Robert, his guns budging under his arms.

”h.e.l.lo Mr. Veil,” said Simon. ”Nice day to visit the dead.”

”Yes it is,” said Robert, his mind racing. He'd seen this man before.

”So what of it?”

”I was just curious, that's all,” Simon continued. ”Curious why anyone would come to a cemetery when there are so many more important things to do. You two have been in here for some time. We were getting worried.”

”You're pretty concerned for a rat-looking a.s.shole I don't even know.”