by DB Gilles
Nolan seemed confused. “Should I do it? Doesn't make a difference to me, but is it a good thing for her? A healthy thing?”
“I think it might help to give her a sense of closure.”
Nolan shrugged his shoulders, then said, “What am I supposed to say?”
“I don't know. I don't think she knows what she'll say to you. C'mon, let's go outside.”
Nolan nodded and started towards me, removing the white apron in the process. He cleared his throat, looked at me, raised his eyebrows as if to say, “Let's get this over with,” gestured for me to open the door and said, “After you.”
I didn't want Quilla to get even the slightest glimpse into the embalming room, so I opened the door only wide enough for Nolan and myself to step into the hall. When Nolan was out I shut the door. Quilla focused on Nolan from the instant he came through the door. Her green eyes beamed with an aliveness I hadn't seen in the short time I knew her. Instead of looking at Nolan as the last human being to touch what was left of the physical remains of her beloved Aunt, it struck me that Quilla gazed upon him with a sense of wonder, almost as if she were staring at the person who had saved Brandy Parker's life, not prepared her body for burial.
“Quilla, this is Mister Fowler,” I said.
In a surprisingly sweet tone, Nolan said, “I'm sorry to make your acquaintance under such sad circumstances. And your name is?” He extended his right hand.
“Quilla.” She shook Nolan's hand. As she did so she gazed mysteriously at Nolan's hand saying, “Did you touch my Aunt's body?”
Nolan glanced quickly at me, then back at Quilla. “Yes.”
“With both hands?”
“Yes.”
“With your bare hands?”
“I wear gloves.”
“Could I hold your other hand?”
Again, Nolan shot me a fast glance, then looked back at Quilla. “I, uh, guess so.” He extended his left hand. Quilla took it into her own left hand, then she closed her eyes, almost as if she were in a trance.
Again, Nolan looked at me, arching his eyebrows and looking bemused. I shrugged my shoulders, equally perplexed. I watched Quilla hold Nolan's hands. She seemed to be alternately squeezing and tugging at his fingers, as if she were trying to pull some kind of vibe or life from them. Quilla opened her eyes after about fifteen seconds. She was trying to hold back tears.
“I can feel her presence,” she said happily, smiling broadly. Then she abruptly released Nolan's hands and grabbed him around the waist, hugging him.
Nolan again looked at me, his eyes bulging, mouth open. He raised his arms from his sides, unsure of what he was supposed to do, not that I blame him. Quilla's sudden outburst of physicality would have thrown me too. As she continued to hold him Nolan held his arms aloft, not sure if he should hug her back or of what she would do next. After another fifteen or twenty seconds, Quilla let go of him and stepped back, now noticeably crying, but smiling with equal passion. “Despite all the time she was in that mausoleum, could you still see how pretty my Aunt was?”
Without missing a beat, Nolan said, “It's amazing you ask that because when I got my first look at your dear Aunt I was taken by how beautiful she was.”
“Really?” squealed Quilla as if she were five years old.
“After all the years there was a certain amount of... disturbance to the body...which is natural, but it was easy to tell that she must have been a stunning young woman.”
I was touched by Nolan's decision to shield Quilla from the truth about her Aunt's remains. After nine years in the unprotected environment of a twelve-foot square mausoleum they were largely skeletal, with little flesh remaining.
Nolan looked at his watch, then said, “Meanwhile, young lady, I'd better be getting back to my work.”
“Thank you, Mister Fowler,” she said firmly.
“You're welcome.” He stepped back and was about to return to the embalming room when Quilla said to me, “Is Nolan the person Viper will be talking to?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.” I said. Nolan stopped and looked at me, another look of bemused curiosity on his face. “But I haven't brought the subject up yet to him.”
“What subject?” asked Nolan.
“Quilla has a friend who's interested in getting into the trade,” I said. “Could he stop by and talk to you?”
“I don't know,” said Nolan uncomfortably. “I'm not sure how much help I'd be.” He flashed me a quick look, his eyes asking me, “Should I do this?”
I arched my eyebrows and tilted my head a bit, as if to say, “It's your call, man.”
“You'd be a great help,” said Quilla. “He doesn't know anything about what you do except what he's seen in dumb horror movies.” She looked at Nolan with great expectancy.
“Well, have him give me a call and I'll sit him down.”
“Cool-cool,” said Quilla.
“What'd you say his name was?”
“Viper. I mean Lester. Lester Petrovich.”
Nolan eased up, almost relaxed. “I know a Petrovich. Harry Petrovich. Owns Petrovich Heating and Cooling. He installed central heating and air conditioning in my house.”
“That's Viper's uncle. Viper works part-time for him.”
Nolan smiled. “Small world.”
I reached into my pocket and gave Quilla my business card. “Give this to Viper. It has our number on it.” As Quilla took the card Nolan used the opportunity to wave good-bye and move the few steps to the embalming room.
“Bye Nolan,” said Quilla, smiling at him warmly.
“Bye-bye,” he said and disappeared into his work space.
I looked at Quilla. “Did meeting Nolan accomplish what you wanted?”
“I didn't know what I wanted to accomplish. I just knew that I wanted to touch the last person who touched Aunt Brandy.” She smiled. I guess I'll go now.”
“I'll drop you somewhere.”
“No. I want to walk. I feel like being alone now. Besides, Viper's therapist isn't that far from here.”
I walked her upstairs and out the rear entrance to the Home. She brought up the meeting with Perry. Again, I told her I would try to set something up as soon as possible and that I'd call her. We said good-bye. I went back to the embalming room to ask Nolan a question. He was in the process of getting ready to wash Alphonse's body.
“That was nice of you to be so gentle with her,” I said.
“Give people what they want to hear,” he said matter-of-factly, shrugging his shoulders. “The kid was hurting. What would've been the point of telling her that what was left of her Aunt bore no resemblance to anything human?” I nodded in agreement.
“About her friend who wants to talk to me? Harry Petrovich's nephew? If he calls should I tell him how things really are or should I sugarcoat what I do?”
“Play it by ear. If you sense he's serious, give him the truth. Tell him what it's like to take a maimed or disease-ridden body and attempt to make it look presentable for the viewing public.”
“I hear ya,” said Nolan, nodding his head affirmatively.
“Guess I'll leave you to work on Alphonse,” I said, heading to the door. As I opened it Nolan had turned on the water and sprinkled a goodly amount onto the head of the body. In a few seconds he would apply a dab of Pert Plus shampoo to the full head of silver hair on Alphonse's head.
I stepped into the hall.
As I headed up to my office I heard Nolan say, “You always had great hair, Alphonse.”
I went upstairs for a quick meeting on logistics with Clint. We still had two bodies on view, both scheduled for burial the next morning, one at 9:30 for interment at Elm Cross, the other at 11:30 for interment at a cemetery in Youngstown. As I would be occupied with the arrangements for Alphonse, I assigned Clint the Youngstown burial, primarily because it was further away and would demand more traveling time. Because I anticipated a massive turnout for Alphonse, by having the other two bodies gone we wouldn't have to worry about even more people
showing up to pay respects and there would be ample parking space.
After Clint and I finished my first inclination was to call Perry and fill him in on the theory Quilla and I had come up with about Alyssa and Virginia Thistle, but I decided to wait until we could talk face to face.
Instead, I called Mel Abernathy at Elm Grove cemetery to tell him to open a grave for Alphonse DiGregorio.
Chapter 16
Nolan did an amazing job on Alphonse, making him look not only much healthier than he really was, but younger, almost vibrant. It was the best work I'd seen him do in years. On a personal basis and in a professional sense, it was Nolan's night to shine. Receiving compliments on his work from me was one thing, but Wilt Ging and at least a dozen friends of Alphonse who were Funeral Directors and embalmers showered their praise upon him.
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.