Colder Than Death

Vaughn was my friend, father figure and mentor since I came to Dankworth. Our initial bond was built around death. I had lost a father; he had lost a son in Vietnam. He never got a last look at his boy because his remains were never found. Vaughn still smarted over the irony that the son of a gravedigger didn’t get a grave. It was another link. Although my father had a grave, I never got to see him after his death. He died in a plane crash. The coffin was closed. His remains cremated. Vaughn and I filled voids in each other’s lives. We considered each other family.

As I approached Mel, Alton, Perry and Vaughn, I picked up on part of what was being discussed.

“I don’t want this getting out in the wrong way,” Mel bantered as he wiped the perspiration from his forehead, his slight lisp creeping in-between his words making him sound like Elmer Fudd. “I can’t have people thinking they’re going to be dug up if they’re buried in my cemetery.”

“Calm yourself down now, Mel,” said Alton, his backwoods Louisiana accent making him sound like a Cajun crawfish trapper. He was fifty-two and had appeared out of nowhere to apply for a grave-digging job twenty-five years before. The position had been open for six weeks and, as always, was difficult to fill. Cemetery work was at the bottom end of the manual labor food chain, historically attracting drifters, drinkers and the chronically unemployable. Over the years Vaughn had learned to read an applicant quickly, making his decisions on gut instinct and the person’s eyes.

Vaughn hired Alton on the spot.

“How the hell is it not gonna get out, Mel?” Perry said. “A body was found in one of your mausoleums. What are we supposed to do, pretend it didn’t happen?”

“Can’t you play it down?” Mel asked.

“How do I play down a murder?”

“Y’all got to look at it from our point of view,” said Alton. “This here’s sacred ground. Y’all can’t have the folks believin’ it’s anything less. Right, Vaughn?”

Vaughn nodded a solemn yes.

“If it’s profits you guys are worried about,” said Perry. “This is the only cemetery within a thirty mile radius. You’re not ever gonna run out of customers.”

“That’s not the point,” Mel stammered. “It’s bad enough that I have grave robbers running loose, but to have a body found in someone else’s grave is such a… violation!”

“Mel’s right,” said Vaughn, his crisp voice belying his age. “People are sensitive about their dead.”

“I know that, Vaughn,” said Perry respectfully. Vaughn and Perry’s father were friends. Around Vaughn, Perry always behaved like an altar boy talking with an Archbishop.

“That’s why this has to be handled with the utmost of discretion,” said Mel.

“Alright,” Perry said. “Fine! But let’s get the body out of here, then we’ll figure out how to break the news.”

“Thank you,” Mel said, then, as if he noticed me for the first time, said, “Hello, Del.”

I nodded to Mel. Alton pointed at me with his right index finger and thumb as if he were shooting a gun, which was his customary greeting. Then, with great pomposity, Perry stated, “I want to get this over with quick.” He rudely turned away from the others and came towards me. “The only thing I hate more than a dead body is being in a graveyard.”

Chapter 3

Before I had a chance to respond, Perry noticed the white Dunkin’ Donuts bag in my left hand. “That for me?”

I nodded and handed him the bag.

He flipped the plastic lid off the container and noisily took his first sip. His eyes peered at me over the rim of the paper cup, then he bit into the donut. Crumbs dribbled out of both sides of his mouth. “Greg’s at the mausoleum with the body. He’ll help you load it into the hearse.”

Before I had a chance to acknowledge his instructions he walked away from me and turned his attention back to Mel Abernathy who was huddling with Vaughn and Alton.

Greg was sucking on a string of green dental floss. When he saw me approaching he stared, expressionless, his mouth hanging open, his watery brown eyes looking empty, lost. He spit the floss onto the grass.

Greg looked more like a drug addict than a policeman. He was balding and the top of his head was scaly, his brown hair stringy. His face covered with pockmarks and pimples. His beard didn’t help to improve things much either. There was hair on his face, but only in random splotches connected by wisps of unhealthy-looking follicles.

He came off as a fifteen-year-old boy trying to look older so he wouldn’t get carded in a bar. Ironically, the only part of his face that was perfect and pleasant to look at was his teeth. They were as close to pearly white as I’d ever seen.

Greg didn’t like me because I knew that his mother had committed suicide. Greg had found the body and with Perry Cobb’s blessing had by-passed the mandatory autopsy which would have determined the cause of death. Mrs. Hoxey had been an active member of Dankworth’s Catholic community. Greg felt that public knowledge of a suicide would have tainted the positive image his mother had maintained, so the cause of death was presented as a heart attack.

We dispensed with hellos. I said, “All set?” and his response was a curt “Yeah,” then we each grabbed an end of the body bag, lifted it and headed to the hearse.

“Where’s Wendell?” I asked.

“Perry’s got him scouring the other mausoleums that were broken into. Bastard sticks me with the shit work.” He looked over my shoulder. “Here he comes.”

I turned and saw Wendell about twenty yards away coming towards Greg and me. He quickened his pace and was standing next to us within ten seconds.

“Almost missed you,” said Wendell, a warm smile gracing his handsome face. He had blonde hair and looked like a young Harrison Ford.

I was about to speak, but Greg blurted, “Find anything?”

“No,” said Wendell.

“I knew it’d be a waste of time. I hate it when Perry plays cop.”

“Perry plays cop every day,” said Wendell more to me than to Greg.

Greg smirked. He hated working for Perry. It was a thankless job, more like Barney Fife to Andy Taylor, the difference being that Perry Cobb wasn’t a kindly, laid back sort and Greg wasn’t a lovable nerd. Perry treated Wendell with a measured respect, because of his experience on the Cincinnati police force, while with Greg he pulled rank at every turn.

“Looks like a big city case, eh, Wendell,” I said.

He nodded and raised his eyebrows. “Brings back the good old days in Cincinnati.”

“I’d like to get my teeth in this one,” said Greg. “But it’ll never happen. It’ll be Perry’s chance to be the big cheese. Just once I’d like to have a shot. You had your chance in Cincinnati to prove yourself. I’ve never had my day in the sun. Probably never will as long as Perry’s around.”

Suddenly Perry’s voice boomed, “What the hell’s the delay up there?”

We turned. Perry was staring at us as if we were five-year-olds.

“Let’s get moving,” said Greg, then we hoisted up the body bag and headed for the hearse. Wendell walked alongside.

“You don’t want this case, Greg,” said Wendell. “It’ll never be solved. Too much time has passed.”

“Never by Perry,” said Greg.

“I saw the remains,” said Wendell. “That body’s been in that mausoleum for years. Talk about a cold case. Perry doesn’t have the skills to solve a murder that happened this morning with three eyewitnesses and a fingerprint.”

As we approached the hearse I noticed that Perry was still holding a small chunk of the donut I’d brought him. Wendell opened the vehicle’s rear door, enabling us to slide the body bag inside.