I didn’t feel the absence of air in the clearing today, but suddenly I found it difficult to breathe. Something was going on here. Something frightening and perverted. I couldn’t help but remember Darius Goodwine’s warning that there would be more deaths unless I, and I alone, unmasked the killer.
“Was there a marker or any identification in the grave?” I heard myself ask.
“Not a marker,” Kendrick said. “But we did find a partially buried medallion, which is how Malloy discovered the grave. I’m glad you showed up when you did. Maybe you can help us identify the symbol.”
He removed an evidence bag from the collection beside the grave and handed it to me.
Given my conversation with Darius, I almost expected to see a claw entwined with a snake like the one Devlin wore around his neck, but no. The symbol on the medallion was even more disturbing.
“Do you know what it is?” Kendrick asked. I could feel his gaze on me as I turned the evidence bag over to study the back of the medallion.
“It’s a triskele.”
“Celtic, isn’t it?” Rushing said.
“I’ve been told this particular symbol dates back to the Egyptians. Some believe it represents the cycle of life. Birth, death and resurrection.”
“Resurrection.” I heard a note in Kendrick’s voice and glanced down. His gaze was still on me and I again felt those icy prickles at the base of my spine. “An odd symbol to be placed in the grave of a man missing his skull.”
Almost as strange as a memento mori tattoo on the wrist of a woman who had been buried alive.
As our gazes locked, I heard chanting, distant and dreamlike. It was all I could do to tear my gaze away to glance at the mortsafes. Twelve caged graves and an unmarked grave in the center. A young woman buried alive and a skeleton with a missing skull. What on earth had I gotten myself into this time?
“What about the other graves?” I asked, striving for a disaffected tone. It wasn’t easy. Not with that phantom chant echoing in my ears. Not with Kendrick’s compelling eyes measuring my every move. “Did you find any evidence of exhumations or fresh burials?”
“The ground is so overgrown with weeds and vines, we wouldn’t be able to tell unless we remove the mortsafes,” he said.
“Will you remove them?”
He hesitated. “We plan to start with the one that’s already open and see what we find. The one thing we know for certain is that the victim didn’t lock herself in that cage, nor did the skull vanish of its own accord. Someone has been using this place for a long time. Decades, most likely. To what end...” He trailed off as he rose and glanced around the circle. “That’s what we have to figure out.”
* * *
A little while later, we left the burial site and made our way back to the cemetery. Kendrick and I brought up the rear of the procession. As we trudged along the path, I kept thinking how badly I wanted the day to be over, but I knew, in the same way that I knew other unknowable things, that this was just the beginning of many dark days to come. I would need to be constantly on my guard if I accepted Darius Goodwine’s proposal, because insinuating myself in the search for a killer, human or otherwise, was no small matter. I would be deliberately placing myself in harm’s way on the very slim chance that my great-grandmother’s lost key actually existed and could be found.
A part of me—the sensible part—wanted to distance myself from anything involving Darius Goodwine. I was sorry that a young woman’s life had been taken and genuinely horrified at the circumstances surrounding her death and burial. But I didn’t know her. This was not my business.
Someone or something seemed intent on making it my business, though. Why else had I been summoned to that clearing by the watcher in the woods? Why else had I stumbled upon that meeting between Annalee Nash and Martin Stark? According to Darius Goodwine, only I could end this. But how? And at what price?
My heart started to pound in earnest at the prospect because no matter how suspicious I found Darius Goodwine’s proposal, no matter how many times I resolved to keep my distance, a fascination was starting to grow. Already I could feel myself getting caught up in the intrigue and I knew how things would go from here on out. All too soon I would become absorbed in the secret societies that Darius Goodwine had spoken of and I would obsess over their deep roots and entangled alliances as I tried to painstakingly piece together a connection. I would become engrossed in memento mori art and the placement of those cages and the identities of the remains inside. I would study the triskele and its convoluted meanings and then I would delve as deeply as I dared into the concepts of soul transference and raising the dead.
And all the while I conducted my stealth investigation, I would spend many a sleepless night worrying about Devlin’s involvement even though I knew that Darius had purposely planted that seed of doubt to torment me.
I was so deeply contemplative that I didn’t see the tree root snaking across the path in front of me. I tripped, half expecting Kendrick to grab my elbow to balance me, but he seemed not to notice. I supposed that, like me, he was lost in his own churning thoughts. After a bit, though, I could sense his attention.
When I glanced at him, he said, “What do you make of all this?”
“You’re asking me?” I gave an uneasy shrug. “I’m not a detective. What I think hardly matters.”
“If your opinion didn’t matter, I wouldn’t have asked for it. And I would have sent you on your way the moment you turned up at that grave site. I’m asking because you know about burials and symbols. You’re the closest thing I have to an expert on those cages.”
I took a moment to consider his question. “The presence of the mortsafes in such a remote location still puzzles me. I can’t imagine where one would go to buy such a device in this day and age, let alone a dozen of them. They must have been custom-made. But how they were transported into the clearing without being seen, I have no idea. There’s a sense of isolation out here, but we’re still within the city limits.”
“This area wasn’t incorporated until a few years ago and it hasn’t changed much,” Kendrick said. “The cages could have been hauled out here by cover of darkness, maybe over the course of several nights or even weeks.”
“But why?”
“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?”
I swatted a mosquito from my face. “Something else has been bothering me. I told you yesterday that the original purpose of mortsafes was to protect fresh remains from body snatchers known as resurrectionists. The symbol on the medallion you found in the center grave represents birth, death and resurrection. It’s probably a loose connection at best, but the word resurrection keeps cropping up.” I wanted to ask him if he knew of a group that called themselves the Eternal Brotherhood of Resurrectionists, but I didn’t want to explain where I’d heard the name. Something about Kendrick still niggled and I didn’t think it a good idea to reveal what I knew of the Brotherhood, especially considering the source. For now, I wanted him to continue thinking of me as nothing more than a cemetery restorer who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“It does seem a loose connection,” he agreed. “But the skull in that grave was certainly resurrected.”
“And what do you make of that?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I agree with Rushing. The grave was exhumed, the skull removed after decomposition and the remains wrapped and reburied.”
“But why?”
“Maybe someone wanted a trophy.”
I glanced at him sharply. “Trophies are usually associated with serial killers, aren’t they? Is that what you think you’re dealing with here? Do you think the circle is his burial ground?”
“Serial killer in the way that you mean is a reach. But like I said, someone’s obviously been using that place for decades. As to the purpose...” He trailed off again on the
same question, as if reluctant to take the speculation any further. “For now, let’s concentrate on the victim. The woman in the cage. How did you know to look at her arm when you viewed the body?”
Was that a note of suspicion I heard in his voice? “When I first came upon the grave, I glimpsed part of the tattoo on her wrist through the cage.”
He nodded. “And the tattoo itself—memento mori. That phrase means something to you, doesn’t it? I saw your face as you translated.”
“It doesn’t mean anything to me personally, but I was startled to find such a message on the arm of a woman who had been buried alive. Weren’t you?”
He didn’t answer. “What else can you tell me about that phrase?”
“I’m hardly an expert, except perhaps when it comes to cemetery memento mori, but I suppose it can best be described as a reflection on mortality.”
“Remember to die.” He repeated the words to himself as if he were trying to work something out.
“Sometimes translated as ‘remember death’ or ‘remember that you must die.’” I pushed back the damp tendrils at my temples. “Memento mori was both a philosophy and an art movement that sprang up in Europe around the time of the Black Death. Poems were written about the fleeting nature of earthly pursuits and portraits were often painted with the subject holding a human skull.”
We exchanged a glance and I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder. We were approaching day’s end and the elongated shadows that fell across our path seemed menacing.
“Go on,” he said.
“The depictions can seem a little gruesome nowadays, but in the context of the time, it was a reminder that life on earth is just the beginning of our journey and that one’s thoughts and deeds are best focused on the afterlife. As you might imagine, death images were especially prevalent in religious-themed art. Other than museums and cathedrals, the most common places to find examples in this country are old churchyards, particularly the Puritan cemeteries on the Eastern seaboard. The symbols etched into seventeenth-century gravestones—death’s-heads, skeletons in coffins, scythes, winged hourglasses—are all examples of memento mori art. As is the skull tattoo on the back of your hand.”
“And here I thought it was just a memento of an unfortunate night in Amsterdam.” Kendrick kept his gaze focused straight ahead, but a smile flashed so brief I almost didn’t catch it. The teasing glimpse made me wonder why he didn’t do it more often. That smile made him seem more approachable. More human.
But maybe that wasn’t such a good thing.
I studied his profile from the corner of my eye. “You mentioned earlier that you’d been to the Czech Republic. An example of memento mori on a very grand scale is the Sedlec Ossuary.”
“The Church of Bones,” he said. “I’ve been there.”
Somehow I wasn’t surprised. “I’ve always wanted to visit.”
“It’s quite a sight if you aren’t too squeamish. I was particularly impressed by the bone chandelier and the garlands of skulls in the nave.”
“I’ve seen pictures. They’re really very beautiful in their own way.”
He paused, giving me another glance. “You seem to know a lot about all this.”
“I obviously don’t know as much as you as I’ve never seen the chapel in person.”
“I don’t mean the ossuary. I’m talking about memento mori in general.”
“Given my profession, it’s only natural I’d be drawn to gravestone art and symbolism. It’s a passion of mine. I’ve done a lot of research over the years.”
“Which is precisely why I asked for your opinion,” he said.
By this time we were back inside Seven Gates Cemetery walking side by side through the headstones and monuments and then pausing when we came to the cottonwood grove where we’d talked before. We stood watching the procession pass through the main gate to the coroner’s van parked at the side of the road.
As the vehicles pulled away one by one, Kendrick’s gaze came back to rest on me, causing little tingles of unease at the back of my neck.
“Thank you for coming into the morgue,” he said. “I know that wasn’t easy for you.”
“I’m just sorry I wasn’t more help, but we knew positive identification would be a long shot.”
“It’s possible you may yet remember something.”
I thought of those flashing rubies and that waiting silhouette in the shop window, but still I held my silence.
“If you do remember something, you have my number,” he said.
I nodded.
“It’s getting late.” We turned as one to glance at the horizon where the sun had started to sink beneath the treetops. “Not a good idea for you to be out here alone. There aren’t any streetlights along the road and it’ll get dark fast once the sun goes down.”
“I appreciate your concern, but working alone in remote locations comes with the territory.”
A scowl flickered across his brow. “Yes, but you did just stumble across a woman’s body and her killer is still on the loose. He might start to wonder at some point if you caught a glimpse of him.”
“I didn’t see anything,” I insisted.
“He can’t be sure of that.”
“Then I’ll be careful. I’ll lock all the gates until I’m ready to leave and I’ll keep my phone handy. Please don’t concern yourself with my safety. As I said, I’m accustomed to working alone in remote places. I know how to take precautions. I’ll be fine.”
He leaned in a little closer and lifted his hand. My instinct was to recoil, but something kept me rooted to the spot as my breath caught unexpectedly.
“You have something in your hair.” He plucked a leaf from the tangled strands and let it float to the ground.
“Thanks.” I didn’t outwardly react to the contact, but a pulse jumped in my throat. I knew that I should pull away at that moment, step back and take a breath. But I didn’t and neither did Kendrick. Instead, we remained so close I could feel his breath against my face. He smelled surprisingly of mint, a fresh scent that seemed at odds with the direness of his warning. I had the strangest urge to cup my hands around my nose and mouth and draw that cleansing scent deep into my lungs.
I didn’t understand my fascination for Detective Kendrick. What I felt wasn’t physical attraction or a fleeting infatuation and it certainly wasn’t love at first sight. I was still very much in love with Devlin. I would never want any man as deeply as I desired John Devlin.
But there was an undeniable pull to Kendrick. He was a curiosity, an enigma. A rebound that I instinctively knew could be my downfall.
Tread carefully and trust no one.
I could see the sun reflected in his eyes. Like his scent, the glow belied the darkness that I knew must thrive inside him. Those eyes were enticing and so mesmerizing it took me another moment before I managed to glance away.
Kendrick stirred restlessly at my side, but he made no move to leave. It was as if something had rooted him to the spot, as well.
We were all alone in the cemetery and the situation affected me on a surprisingly emotional level. Lucien Kendrick was the first man I’d been alone with since the last time Devlin and I had been together. Unless, of course, I counted Darius Goodwine’s visit, but I wouldn’t allow Darius to intrude upon the moment because I couldn’t afford a diversion. I needed to maintain my focus on Lucien Kendrick. I had to keep up my guard around him. Not because I thought he would try anything untoward. His behavior had been nothing but professional. It wasn’t even about my suspicions. I needed to stay alert and on guard because I suddenly found myself wondering what it would be like to be kissed by him.
“Not a good idea,” Kendrick said.
His response startled me. “What?” My hand flew to my neck as if the supernatural properties of Rose’s key could chase away m
y embarrassment. “What isn’t a good idea?”
“Being out here by yourself.” Those scintillating eyes took me in. I could feel the stroke of his gaze at my throat, on my shoulders and all down the length of my bare arms, making my fingertips tingle.
His voice lowered, quickening my breath and triggering a dangerous response. “Like I said, you shouldn’t linger once the sun goes down. That’s when the monsters come out.”
I knew about monsters. I knew about the dark, inhuman things that came calling once twilight fell.
But I didn’t know if Lucien Kendrick was one of them.
Ten
After Kendrick left, I locked all the gates and made sure my phone and pepper spray were well within reach. I wasn’t afraid, but I couldn’t deny a growing sense of unease. What if Kendrick was right? What if the killer thought that I had caught a glimpse of him?
For all I knew, he could be watching me from the woods at that very moment, waiting for the chance to tie up a pesky loose end. What better time to strike than now, while I was alone in the cemetery? The nearest house was a quarter of a mile away and the road was completely deserted. No one would hear me scream.
Not afraid, huh?
I forced myself to take a deep breath as I picked up the scrub brush and ran a hand over the soft bristles. I had no reason to believe that I was a target. I hadn’t seen or heard anything to indicate that I was in danger, and despite Detective Kendrick’s supposition to the contrary, the killer wouldn’t have dared bring his victim through the cemetery in front of a witness. More than likely, the crime had been committed at night while I lay sleeping peacefully in my hammock. I had nothing to fear. The killer was long gone by now. Why would he hang around the cemetery when the police had only just left?
But try as I might to calm my prickly nerves, I kept glancing up to check my surroundings. The sun was barely visible above the horizon. Soon the light would fade and dusk would fall. The ghosts would come out. So far I’d been able to keep the manifestations at bay with Rose’s key, but how long until Darius Goodwine’s prophecy came true? How long until I no longer had the means or the fortitude to protect myself? You’ll likely suffer the same fate as your great-grandmother unless...
The Sinner Page 8