“I have a studio downtown,” Beatrice said. “I’m a painter. I work odd hours, sometimes until dawn. I always take Cosmo out for a walk when I get home. Usually, he’s been alone a long time by then, and it helps me unwind. I like the Garden District best late at night. It’s rather mysterious and beautiful, especially when there’s a good heavy fog coming in off the river.”
“So you were coming out of the gate here,” Atkinson said, “when you saw? What?”
“As I told Officer Coughlin,” Beatrice said, “I was coming through my gate with Cosmo, around midnight, and I saw two people hopping the wall there by the entrance, climbing into the cemetery.”
“Two people?” Atkinson asked.
Beatrice turned, gesturing toward the cemetery gates. “I saw two people go over the wall. Maybe others went before them and they were the last two, but I saw two.”
“Why didn’t you call anyone last night?” Atkinson asked. “Neighborhood security? The police?”
Beatrice shook her head. “I didn’t think anything of it. I see people, kids mostly, sometimes tourists, climb over the wall constantly. It’s so short there.” She shrugged. “For mischief, to smoke some pot. For sex. For the creepy thrill of it. The tour guides are always going on about vampires in this neighborhood. There’s hardly trouble from it, not even vandalism, really. The neighbors know it happens. Nothing bad has ever come of it that I’d heard of. Until last night.”
“And these two people,” Atkinson asked. “What did they look like?”
“One was a woman. Thin, long hair. Baggy clothes but definitely a woman. She climbed over second. Her friend stood atop the wall and helped her over. A boy, it looked like, if I had to guess. A young man, maybe. I couldn’t see his face. He was short, slender, wearing a long coat with the collar turned up. He seemed to have short hair.”
“Would you know the male,” Atkinson asked, “if you saw him again?”
“That might be difficult,” Beatrice said. “I didn’t see his face, the woman’s, either.” She slid another cigarette from her pack. Cosmo let loose a short howl. “I swear he knows these mean we’re staying outside.”
Maureen offered her lighter again and Beatrice lit up. She said, “Do you think the boy was the one who killed her?”
“That’s where we’ll start things,” Atkinson said. “Did you hear voices? Did either of them seem frightened or angry? Like maybe they didn’t want to go over the wall.”
“They didn’t speak that I could hear,” Beatrice said. “Although, once they were over the wall, the woman started singing.”
“Definitely a woman?” Atkinson asked.
“Absolutely,” Beatrice said, nodding, proud of her certainty. “More than anything, that voice told me one of them was female. I was walking away with Cosmo by then, and I don’t remember the song, none of the words or anything. But I stopped to listen, just for a few seconds.” She pressed one hand to her heart, her eyes getting wet. “He cut her throat? Excuse me.” She coughed into her fist. “The woman had the most extraordinary voice. Mesmerizing. It’s such a shame. Such a terrible shame. Horrible.”
“It is,” Maureen said.
“Do you think you’ll catch the man who killed her?”
“I like our chances,” Atkinson said. “Thank you for calling us. You’ve been very helpful.”
Beatrice seemed startled the interview was over. Maureen could tell her mind was lingering on the singing she’d heard coming over the cemetery walls. “All right, then. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you more. Officer Coughlin has my information if you need to speak with me again. I keep my phone off when I’m at the studio—I can’t be disturbed while I’m working—but, as I said, I keep odd hours, so call anytime.”
Atkinson handed Beatrice a business card. “Same goes for you. You remember anything else, if you see that man again, please call me. Day or night.”
“Of course,” Beatrice said. She pulled open her gate. “Well then, good night, ladies. Good luck.”
“Thank you,” Atkinson said. She waved at the dog. “Good night, Cosmo.” He growled at her before trotting up the stairs to wait for his owner at their apartment door, his tail wagging.
“Oh, Beatrice,” Maureen called, “I forgot one thing. Please tell the detective about the object.”
“The object?” Atkinson asked. “That sounds ominous.”
“I’m so sorry, of course,” Beatrice said. “Before she climbed the wall, the woman passed something up to the boy, for him to hold so she could climb. I saw him bend down and take it from her.”
“Any thoughts on what it was?” Atkinson asked.
“I couldn’t really see it,” Beatrice said, “but there was this musical tinkling. I swear it sounded like wind chimes. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. People often leave gifts for the dead in there. Helps with the guilt of going on living, I suppose.”
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