‘Come on, let’s take a closer look,’ Darnell suggested. They stepped onto the stage and browsed over the gigantic symbol. It had been applied using white paint. ‘This’ll need to be replaced altogether and at some cost, I imagine.’
‘I’m sure they’re insured. Is this seriously the end of the journey?’ Vanessa asked as she scratched her head. ‘I’m so confused by why we’ve been brought here. Does anything stick out to you?’
‘Nothing. If anything we’ve had reassurance that Lincoln wanted to do his best by the former slaves by wanting them to have voting rights. There’s nothing here which seems to suggest he was anything other than a good man. It’s completely contrary to the rest of this trail.’
‘Something is missing. Where’s Kenny gone, we could ask him.’
‘Kenny!’ Darnell called, but there was no response.
‘Maybe he got called away.’ Vanessa shrugged her shoulders.
The lights dimmed and the speakers hanging to either side of the stage began to crackle before the muffles of voices trickled out.
‘Don’t know the manners of a good society, eh?’ a deep voice boomed out of the speakers.
‘What’s that?’ Darnell asked.
‘Oh God. It’s a line from the play.’ Vanessa held her hand to her mouth and grew pale.
‘What play?’ Darnell shrugged.
‘It’s Asa from Our American Cousin. I saw it at college. It was playing in the theatre the night Lincoln was killed. In fact, if my memory serves me correct, it’s leading up to the part where Lincoln was murdered.’ Vanessa grabbed Darnell’s arm with a trembling hand. Fear consumed her eyes.
‘Well don’t worry. It’s probably part of the museum experience, no doubt they put this on for visitors. Kids would lap this up.’
‘Well I guess I know enough to turn you inside out, old gal.’ Asa bellowed out of the speakers. ‘You sockdologizing old man-trap.’
The canned laughter of an audience roared out of the speakers.
And then the lights went out.
All was black.
Vanessa felt around for her colleague’s arm and gripped. A spotlight shone over the presidential box. The red velvet curtains slowly opened, exposing a wax model of Lincoln himself. His famous beard and that notable stovepipe hat.
The detectives giggled. ‘This is quite an experience! I wasn’t expecting this!’
An explosive bang echoed from the box. Smoke consumed the model of the former president, silencing the detectives’ giggles. Then another bang. To their right, another VIP box, mirroring the president’s private quarters, crackled and firelights burst from the platform.
‘This is a bit over the top,’ Vanessa said, catching her breath. ‘That gave me quite the fright.’
‘It’s a bit distasteful, isn’t it?’ Darnell scrunched up his face as if he had just sucked on a sour sweet. ‘It’s not really how you should honour a former president.’
A rumbling tremor ran beneath them and the detectives turned to each other with a shimmer of concern. Another explosion burst out of the aisles. One after another. Fireworks streamed across the theatre, narrowly missing Vanessa, who grabbed her colleague and threw herself off the stage and rolled down onto the floor and screamed.
‘What the hell?’ Darnell shouted. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I don’t think this is part of the tourist experience, Darnell.’
‘Let’s get out of here.’
Darnell slowly lifted up but kept his head ducked beside the row of folded seats and watched out for an interval in this theatre of horror. Firelights danced around the room. He grabbed Vanessa’s hand and ran towards the doors, ducking each time a firework flew across the room. As he reached the great white doors, he jiggled the knob.
‘It’s locked.’
‘What? We literally just walked through those doors to get in here a few minutes ago!’ Vanessa shouted over the continuous deafening bangs.
‘Come on, there must be a fire escape.’
They ran over to a door with a green exit sign. They pushed open the doors which set off an alarm. They ran down a set of red stone stairs before opening a final door with a metal bar, which released them out onto the street. Pedestrians stopped and stared at the shaken detectives, who had a hand each against the wall and bent over wheezing.
‘Are you OK?’ asked a bystander.
‘Call 911!’
*
Darnell was exhausted from what had become a hectic day. The adrenaline had finally departed and the hours of questioning from the FBI had consumed him. What was worse was their trip had been less than productive. They were nowhere closer to finding the body than they were back in Illinois.
If he didn’t know it himself, the people behind the exhumation certainly did. When he returned to the hotel, he took advantage of the free internet café to catch up on his emails. One titled Lincoln grabbed his immediate attention. He double-clicked on the email and the message expanded across the screen. The laurel wreath was once again embedded into the message, removing any doubts over its sender.
As Lincoln once said, my great concern is not whether you have failed, but whether you are content with your failure.
Darnell closed the lid with more determination than ever to bring President Lincoln home.
Chapter 25
‘I want you to come back to Springfield at once,’ Commander Hill yelled down the phone. Darnell rolled his eyes and pleaded that there was still work to be done in DC. He sat in a coffee shop on a street parallel to the theatre. They’d spent the remainder of their evening updating the local feds about their shattering experience in the theatre, before retiring to bed after an exhausting day. The following morning, they met for breakfast when Darnell received a flustered call from their boss.
‘But, sir, we’re so close! I can feel it.’ Darnell protested.
‘I don’t
