“And they haven’t told you anything?” she asked.
“We have them all at the station. We can actually charge Richard’s assistant, a woman named Jillian Durfey, but we haven’t got anything on the others. She swears the chloroform was planted in her room, which we haven’t been able to prove one way or the other. The rest of them continue to deny they know anything about it.” He was quiet a minute. “I haven’t been with my unit for very long, but I know that the members are exceptionally good. If anyone could get something out of this group—even a shred of information—they’re the people. But right now we have to find the child, Mo. That’s our immediate focus.”
She looked at him. “You just said ‘we.’ I hope you mean that because I’m going to need your help. This isn’t flat land. There are hills everywhere and who knows how many forgotten dead. Nature has taken over in a lot of these areas.”
“Obviously, I’m here with you,” he said stiffly.
She didn’t respond.
They drove to the cemetery and he parked on the rise, just steps away from the point where she and Rollo had run up the hill yesterday, when they’d found the bodies of Richard Highsmith and Wendy Appleby.
Mo got out of the car and went to open the back door. She showed Rollo the shirts again, letting him get a good whiff. She didn’t put him on a lead.
Barking, he jumped out of the car. She raced after him with Aidan Mahoney close behind.
There was no real path. There’d been burials here for so long that the ground had shifted; stones stuck out at odd angles. She nearly tripped but grabbed one of the stones, righted herself and hurried after Rollo.
She reached the top of the hill and looked around. She could see the vault they’d come upon during the early hours of the previous morning—where the body of Wendy Appleby had reclined, as if asking them in.
And where they’d found the rest of Highsmith.
The moon was high that night, only partially cloaked in clouds. It cast an almost sinister glow as shadows appeared and then fell around the praying angels, cherubs and monuments.
There were more vaults built into the rise of the next hillock. Mo assumed Rollo would race straight toward them, that the scent of the shirt would lead him there.
She could be wrong, of course. They were working on her theory right now. And even though it was a plausible theory, she might be wrong.
There were dozens of plausible theories.
She felt Aidan close behind her. He didn’t speak.
They both watched Rollo.
She could hear Van Camp shouting, ordering his officers to search for anything that looked as though it didn’t belong.
A team of medics was with them, too.
At least they’d sent medics and an ambulance. Everyone was hopeful.
False hope?
Rollo dashed toward the vaults. They weren’t neatly aligned—they were as haphazard as the hillside itself. He ran from one to another.
And then he disappeared.
Mo ran after him, careful as she traveled the uneven, stony ground.
Rollo reappeared. He was still searching.
“This may not be right,” she heard Van Camp murmur.
“Give him time,” Aidan said.
Rollo now ran toward the edge of the hillside that led to what was officially Sleepy Hollow Cemetery. He galloped back and forth, back and forth, barking.
“What the hell is he doing now?” Van Camp asked.
Mo simply watched her dog, who sat, looked at her, thumped his tail—and barked again.
“This is useless,” Van Camp muttered. “And we’ve got a kid out there somewhere.”
“No, no, I don’t think it’s useless at all,” Voorhaven said. He walked toward Mo. “He means something by that, doesn’t he?”
Mo nodded. “That posture means he’s found him.”
“There’s nothing there,” Van Camp said. “Mo, you’re the best, I know that, but he’s just sitting on a grave, barking.”
Mo didn’t answer right away. She stood unmoving among the graves as the moonlight played over her in the misty night.
Because she heard a sound. Like a muffled sob.
She turned slightly. There was an angel of stone, hands folded in prayer, head bowed in sorrow. Her beauty was decaying and yet somehow shimmering in the unearthly light.
She might have been crying.
Mo looked at Aidan, who was studying her. He asked quietly, “Mo? You have something, don’t you?” He gave her a nod of encouragement.
“Rollo isn’t wrong and he hasn’t lost his touch,” she said slowly. “We’re close to the boy. I believe we’re standing right on top of him.”
8
The police spread out. Flashlights swept across graves and the edifices of dozens of mausoleums and vaults.