"Yes, ma'am." They both said in unison.
The President left the room followed by Evan Makley.
Jake turned to Francesca. "I hope you like cemeteries because it looks we'll be hanging out in them for awhile."
"I hate them. Cemeteries give me the creeps." She lowered her voice. "Just like Evan Makley."
14
Jake assessed the young soldier sitting at the table when he and Francesca arrived at Arlington National Cemetery. It was early and Jake had already read the file on Sergeant Blaine Roberts over breakfast. The young soldier had dark hair, brown eyes, Jake's size, 5' 10", 190 pounds and young. Jake thought he looked early twenties even though the file said nineteen.
Evan Mackley had made arrangements for a private meeting at the end of Roberts shift. The graveyard shift, literally, Jake thought. The young soldier was dressed in blue jeans, New Balance running shoes, and a green t-shirt with "Go Army" printed on front.
Roberts jumped to attention when they entered. "Sir. Ma'am."
"At ease, Sergeant," Jake said. "We're civilians, no need for military protocol here."
"Sir." Roberts faced forward still at attention. "I was told you were a Naval Officer and served under Admiral Scott Bentley at the Pentagon and that I was to extend proper courtesy, Sir."
"Sergeant, that was a long time ago. I'm on my third employer since the Navy."
"Yes sir. All impressive, sir."
"Very well, Sergeant." Jake pointed to two chairs. He and Francesca sat down. "Please sit down now Sergeant or this will take a very long time. We will dispense with the formalities and protocol for the purpose of this interview. Is that understood?"
Roberts sat down. "Understood, sir."
"This is Francesca Catanzaro. She and I are partners on this investigation. I don't know how much you've been briefed but this incident garnered the attention of some major movers and shakers in D.C. I know you've been up all night so we'll try to keep this brief."
"I'm fine, sir."
Jake opened his folder and pulled out a notepad and placed it on the table in front of him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen. He pointed to a briefing sheet from the folder. "It says here you're assigned to a mission called Task Force Christman. I'm not familiar with the mission, can you brief us on it?"
The next ten minutes were spent in a question and answer about the purpose of the mission mandated by Congress to validate each plot in the cemetery. Jake could tell the young soldier was nervous in the beginning but the more he spoke about his job the more at ease he became.
"Before each shift," Francesca asked, "do you get some sort of briefing?"
"Yes, ma'am." Roberts said. "We have a mission brief at 2100 hours every night which lasts about thirty minutes. Our assignments are made then."
"If there is a funeral scheduled for the next morning, wouldn't the grave be dug the day before?" She asked.
"Yes, ma'am. At the beginning of each shift when our survey areas are assigned, we're each given a call sheet. The call sheet indicates where any open graves are located, which I verify visually. The call sheet also indicates any graves that are recently covered. New interments alert me to soft earth so I avoid walking directly on top of the grave."
"Has anything like this happened to you before?" Jake asked.
"No, sir. I've run into rabbits, foxes, and even deer but this was the first time I'd come across an open grave that wasn't marked and flagged off."
"Flagged off?" Francesca asked.
"Yes, ma'am. Every open grave for next day ceremonies are covered by an open tent in case of rain and a yellow flagging tape is wrapped around it to serve as a warning so no one would accidentally fall in."
"Like you did," she said.
"Yes, ma'am. Like I did." Roberts smiled for the first time since the interview began. "But this grave wasn't listed on the call sheet, nor was it covered or flagged."
"And as we now know," Francesca said, "was vandalized."
"Which brings me to my next question," Jake asked, "how often does this happen? I mean, obviously there has been vandalism from time to time at Arlington, right?'
"Yes sir. Over the years we've had markers disappear, graves disturbed, markers defaced or broken. The cemetery has had instances of flowers being moved from one grave to another. We've even had a few instances of things being placed on graves in the middle of the night."
"What about grave robbers?" Francesca asked. "Just the other day I read an article about organ harvesting in Europe. They were stealing corpses right out of the morgue. Bodies that weren't embalmed were dug up the same night they were buried."
Roberts' smile disappeared. "There have been some instances in the past, but until the other night, it had been many years. And technically, this one wasn't a robbery. It's officially classified as a grave disturbance. Nothing appeared to have been taken. All his remains and personal effects were still inside the casket. I can tell you the family was pretty upset but the dead man's wife vouched for everything in the casket. The man died in an explosion and was mutilated so the ceremony was closed casket."
"When was that?" Francesca asked.
"He died in 1945 and was originally interred here at Arlington in 1946. His remains were moved thirty or so years later to their current location."
"Are remains moved often?" Jake asked.
"Not anymore. Reasons do come up that predicate moving remains from one plot to another. I imagine there will be quite a number of moves in the near future as Task Force Christman reveals more mistakes."
"How many mismarked graves have you found?" Francesca closed her folder, a signal to Jake that she had no more questions.
"Personally, only one. Collectively the Old Guard has found a couple of dozen. Not bad considering there are nearly 300,000 grave markers dating all the way back to the Civil War."
Jake noticed the sergeant's bloodshot eyes. He'd been awake all night walking through the graveyard verifying markers and was visibly tired and ready for some rest. But the young soldier had not complained. Jake thought he might have seen the man suppress a yawn once or twice but he maintained a professional attitude throughout the entire interview. "One final question."
"Go ahead, sir."
"What do you personally think happened to this grave?"
"I think it was kids, sir. Maybe some sort of prank, like a fraternity initiation or something."
"Thank you, Sergeant. You're dismissed," Jake said.
After the young soldier left the room Jake turned to Francesca. "I don't think I buy the fraternity prank theory."
"Doesn't ring true to me either." Francesca tucked her hair behind her ears.
"How's this for a theory?" Jake said. "What if the corpse is not the target?"
"Come on, Jake, that's ridiculous. If the remains aren't the target then how do you explain that all the caskets belong to black men?"
"Maybe to throw us off track." Jake smiled.
"Off track of what?" Francesca held up her finger. "Face it, Jake. This really could be a hate crime."
15
Scott Katzer sat in a white unmarked funeral home van in front of the house in Charleston, South Carolina for over two hours before he saw any sign of life. A woman walked out to the mailbox, placed an envelope inside, raised the flag, and returned inside the home. He'd done his research since he left Germany. Ashley Regan was the name listed on the police report in Garmisch who had discovered the body inside the cavern in the glacier. It also matched the name on the mailbox.
Katzer checked the time—8:00 a.m. His hands trembled. He'd never done anything like this before but his mother had instilled a sense of urgency in him to protect the family. If Ashley Regan had the book, he needed to get it from her. There was too much at stake.