“Miss Adair,” Joe said, “can you tell me about the day Mr. Hicks died?”
“Like I said, I came to bring flowers to my grandmother. When I left, I saw a man who looked like him—like Poe—walking in front of me, and the way the path runs, he must have come from over here. I didn’t think anything about it. But then I heard on the news that Mr. Hicks had a heart attack in his tomb, so I told the police that I had seen someone in the cemetery. But they told me lots of people had been here, and that there was nothing suspicious, that no one had locked Mr. Hicks in and both doors were unlocked when they found him.”
Just then Adam and Nikki returned. When they stepped out of the car, Adam was dangling a key triumphantly; then he frowned, noticing the addition to their party.
“This is Sarah Adair,” Joe explained. “And she was just telling us that there was a man dressed as Edgar Allan Poe in the cemetery the day Bradley Hicks died.”
“Oh?” Adam stared at her with renewed interest.
“Are you going in?” Sarah asked.
“Well…” Nikki said.
“You can go into any of the tombs. The keys are just hanging on the rack in the office.”
“They just leave them there for…whoever?” Joe asked.
“Of course. People come from all over the country to visit relatives who are buried here,” Sarah said.
Joe took the key from Adam, fitted it into the lock and found that the iron grate swung open easily. Unless it had been oiled since Hicks’s death—something he would have to look into—there was no way it would have stuck and trapped anyone inside. With Adam’s flashlight in hand, he stepped in and closed both the outer grate and the inner wooden door behind him. Both opened instantly to his touch.
He closed the doors again and turned off the flashlight, then tried to imagine being Bradley Hicks.
Trying to open the door…
Not being able to.
He might have tried banging on the walls, but they were brick, and very thick.
But could anyone have counted on him to have a heart attack so conveniently?
He must have had a weak heart, and his killer must have known it.
He opened the doors again.
It was almost amusing. They’d lined up in front of the tomb as if they were waiting for Lazarus to arise.
“The doors don’t stick,” Joe said briefly, then turned to James. “You said you knew him pretty well, right?”
“Yes.”
“Did he have a heart condition?”
James nodded somberly. “That’s why they figured he had the heart attack.”
“Makes sense,” Joe agreed. Then he turned back and locked both doors to the tomb. “I guess we’re done here,” he said. “James, thank you. And, Sarah, thank you, too.” He handed her his card. “Just in case you remember anything else about that day.”
Joe slipped an arm around Genevieve, and with the others behind them, they started walking back to the car.
They decided to have an early dinner in Baltimore, and just after they’d ordered, Joe’s phone rang. He saw that it was Raif and excused himself to step outside.
“I found it,” Raif said.
“What?”
“I heard from a fellow in the Richmond P. D. thirty minutes ago, said he wanted to let me know that an Edgar Allan Poe costume—complete with wig, mustache, shoes, the whole bit—was rented to a T. Bigelow the day William Morton was killed. And one of our cops here managed to find a shop here on Broadway that had rented another one just two days before Bigelow was murdered. It was rented to Thorne Bigelow, as well.”
“Thorne is dead.”
“Credit cards can get around, you know?”
“So who do you like for it?”
“Jared Bigelow. And I’ve got him in custody.”
“You’ve arrested him for murder?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I still don’t have any proof on that. Although we did find a lady who lives down the block from him who said she saw Edgar Allan Poe walking around the neighborhood.”
“That’s something,” Joe said.
“I don’t know. She also told me that Martians had landed and were living in the house next door.”
“So what do you have Jared on?”
Raif chuckled softly. “Traffic.”
“Traffic?”
“And attempted bribery. He seems to think he doesn’t have to pay his parking tickets. He owes the city almost a thousand dollars, and the officer who stopped him wasn’t impressed with his offer of a gratuity, so at this moment, he isn’t getting out—no matter what kind of fancy lawyer he has—till the judge hears his case in the morning.”
“Oh, hell, Raif, you know he’ll make bail, so you don’t really have him.”
“I do if you can come up with something by tomorrow morning.”
He didn’t have a prayer, Joe thought. No, he didn’t even have the ghost of a chance. Still…
“Thanks, Raif. I’m still down in Maryland, but we’re heading back as soon as we finish eating.” He looked at his watch. “Think you can fix it so I can talk to him tonight?”
“Sure. I can arrange that.”
When Joe returned to the table, he quickly explained the situation.