She really wanted to say “cryptkeeper.” The guy looked the part. She’d seen him around the neighborhood. A pale, pink-faced older white guy about her height, with long, stringy white hair streaming out from under an endless variety of old mesh-backed baseball caps. He dressed in ratty jeans and stained T-shirts and rode a rickety old bike with a radio and a rusty bell tied to the handlebars. Maureen couldn’t think of a job where dress code could be less important.
“That’s what I was told,” Preacher said. “I guess he’s on his way. We have to wait for him to ride over here.”
“We couldn’t send a car for him?” Maureen asked.
“You’re hilarious, Coughlin, you really are. We’re a chauffeur service?”
Maureen looked around, hands on her hips. The streets were quiet. She could hear the traffic light change from red to green, one light going out, the other coming on, at the nearby intersection. “Anybody else coming?”
“Beats me,” Preacher said. “I bought the call, so maybe it’s us until crime scene and the coroner’s office gets here. I didn’t sense incredible urgency.”
“So we went from babysitting live bodies on Magazine Street,” Maureen said, “to babysitting a dead one in there.”
“It would appear so,” Preacher said. “You’re wondering now how you could have missed it so much, aren’t you?”
Maureen took out her cigarettes, studied the pack, jammed it back in her pocket. She looked at the top of the wall. Wasn’t really that high. “Gimme a boost.”
“Coughlin.”
“C’mon, Sarge. Gimme a boost. I think I hear something inside the cemetery. Voices, I think. We should get in there.”
“You think I’m going to fall for that?” Preacher asked. “We wait for the man with the key.”
“How’d the dead body get in there?” Maureen asked. “Somebody tossed it over the wall? How’d anyone know about it if the place is locked up tight? Maybe someone is inside.” She bounced on her toes. Maureen noticed the security guard in front of Commander’s Palace across the street watching them. Here’s his excitement for the night, she thought. Mine, too, probably. She made a mental note to make sure she talked to the guard later. He could be the kind of witness who might actually talk to the police. “Who knows how long it’ll take anyone to get here? Gimme a boost, help me get over the wall. I can clear the scene at least, make sure it’s safe.”
“I’m willing to bet,” Preacher said, “there is no body. I bet it’s a prank, a goof. It happens.”
“Better we find out sooner rather than later,” Maureen said. “We could save a bunch of people some trouble by checking it out first.” She saw Preacher’s shoulders droop an inch or two. She knew she had him. And it wasn’t her whining that had persuaded him. She knew her logic was sound. “C’mon, let me do a little police work tonight. Please.”
Preacher handed over his radio. “I’ll get the other from the car.”
Maureen secured the radio on her belt, clipped the mic to her shoulder. “Now help me up there.”
“Let’s go around the Sixth Street side,” Preacher said. “The wall is shorter over there.”
“You’re joking,” Maureen said. “You’re stalling. The wall is the same all the way around.”
“It’s not the same,” Preacher said. “If you don’t know by now that the whole city’s crooked, I can’t help you.”
“Yeah, you can,” Maureen said. “Help me climb.”
“It’s your funeral,” Preacher said, chuckling at his own joke. He moved close to the wall. With an elaborate groan, he got down on one knee, leaning one shoulder against the bricks. “Step one is the thigh, step two is the shoulder, after that, reach up and put those young muscles to work.”
“Thanks, Preach,” Maureen said, and she started her climb.
Standing on one leg, balancing on Preacher’s shoulder, the top of the wall was at shoulder height. Grabbing with two hands, sending dust and pebbles tumbling down on Preacher, she pressed her body high enough to swing her hips atop the wall. Surprised, she realized she’d climbed atop a wide marble platform. As she stood, a cold gust of wind knocked her off balance and sent dead leaves twirling over her feet and scratching across the marble’s surface.
She steadied herself and looked down at Preacher as he struggled to his feet, dusting her boot print off his shoulder.
“You all right?” she asked. “If I have to get down and help you, it defeats the purpose.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Preacher said. “I’m not the one sneaking into a cemetery in the middle of the night.”
“I’m not sneaking,” Maureen said, though she did feel like a young girl up to mischief. “I’m doing police work.”
“Tell that to the ghosts,” Preacher said. “This is one of the most haunted places in the city. In the world, maybe.”
“Nice try,” Maureen said. “Save it for your tour guide career.” She turned in a circle. “I’m on a shelf or something up here. I can see the whole cemetery almost.”
She looked over the tops of the vaults and crypts. From her vantage point, the cemetery really did look like a ruined cityscape, maybe an old Greek or Roman village after a century or two of neglect. And okay, she had to admit, the vibe was extra-creepy. Nothing more eerie, she thought, than an empty, silent city. Not that she’d ever tell Preacher how she felt.