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
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.”
“
“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
“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
