Saracen walked slowly through the oldest part of the burial ground where moss-covered stone slabs guarded ancient lairs and rusted railings protected body vaults from intruders of another age. To his relief he found that modern day burials were carried out in land well to the rear of the church and out of sight of the road. He found Myra Archer’s grave in front of a little copse of pine trees. A temporary headstone said simply Myra Archer. In front of it, in a little glass jar, were a few Spring flowers but the mouth of the jar was too wide; the flowers lay almost horizontal.
Saracen looked around to get his bearings and to determine the best way to get there at night. He decided on parking in the lane again. From there he could climb over the back wall and reach the grave through the pine trees without having to walk through the churchyard at all.
There was a small wooden hut just past the pine trees. When he was sure that no one was about Saracen went over and had a look inside. He saw three spades, a tarpaulin and various sections of wooden shuttering. It was the gravediggers’ hut. He would not have to bring his own shovel.
There were times during the afternoon and early evening when Saracen himself could hardly believe what he was about to do. These moments passed but only to re-occur with growing frequency as the time neared. He was relieved when night fell and the waiting was over.
The lane behind the church was deserted, just as he hoped it would be. He parked the car on the concrete apron of a bank of old lock-up garages, hoping that a car standing there would not look out of place although the condition of the lock-ups suggested that they were no longer used. As he walked along the lane he had the constant feeling that he was being observed and accordingly invented a series of casual reasons for looking round. Each time he did he saw no one. The feeling was born of guilt.
The top of the cemetery wall was wet and covered with moss. Saracen could smell the green dampness as he rolled over its rounded crown and dropped down on the other side to crouch there for a moment, listening for any sign that he had been seen. All was quiet. He was about to get to his feet again when a sudden movement up on the wall made him freeze. Iron fingers clutched at his stomach until he saw with relief that it was a cat, its green eyes burning in the dark. Saracen swore under his breath and moved away from the wall to court the shelter of the pine trees as he made his way to the gravediggers’ hut.
Wet rust from the hasp came off on his hands as he pulled the door open and took out what he needed, two blocks of wood, a tarpaulin and a spade. He closed up the hut again and opened out the tarpaulin on the ground. In addition to what he had taken from the hut Saracen had brought with him a torch, a screwdriver and a tyre lever. There was too much to carry along to the grave so he placed everything on the tarpaulin and dragged it along the ground behind him like a sledge. A cold wind touched his cheek; it rustled the needles of the pines, disturbing the sepulchral silence and making him feel a little less vulnerable.
The earth, as he had hoped, was soft after all the rain. It put up little resistance after he had removed the top layer of turf. As he dug down he piled the wet earth up on the spread-out tarpaulin, occasionally cursing as wet clods stuck to the face of the shovel forcing him to shake it free and thereby induce painful protests from his back. After twenty minutes he stopped suddenly as the spade hit wood. He had reached the coffin.
All the pangs of guilt and self doubt of the afternoon flooded back to make the sweat on Saracen’s forehead go quite cold. His conscience screamed at him. This is desecration! Stop this madness! but there was no going back now. He cleared away the earth from the lid and shone the torch down on the brass plate. ‘Myra Archer RIP’ Requiescat in Pace…in pace…in pace…repeated his conscience as his pulse rate climbed ever higher. He worked on the screws holding down the lid until his trembling fingers had extracted the last one and pushed it clumsily into the pocket of his jerkin with the others. Saracen paused to steel himself for the sight of Myra Archer’s shrouded body and then he levered up the lid.
All feelings of guilt and remorse and the accusing finger of a long lost faith disappeared in an instant. The coffin contained four sandbags and nothing else. Saracen stared dumbly at the dirty hessian sacks, unable to make sense of it all. Surely Garten could not have beaten him to it? No, that was ridiculous, he decided. That left the other possibility. Myra Archer’s body had never been there in the first place! The burning question now was whether or not an empty grave would be enough to nail Garten. He could not be sure. It would certainly be enough to instigate all sorts of official investigations but where would they lead? He could reach no firm conclusion.
Becoming increasingly anxious at his own indecision Saracen decided that he must seek a witness to what he had found. He would phone Jill and ask her to come down. He left everything as it was and climbed back over the wall into the lane where there was a telephone box at the end. He ran towards it, only slowing to a walk when reaching the junction with the main road so as not to attract attention. The phone seemed to ring for an age before Jill answered.
“Is it over?” she asked before Saracen had had a chance to say anything.
“No, I need you here.”
“James, I couldn’t face it…”
“It’s nothing like that. The coffin is empty. I need a witness, that’s all”
“You did say empty?”
“Yes. There isn’t much time. Can you get over here now?”
“Claire Tremaine is here at the moment. She invited herself over.”
Saracen cursed softly.
“We could both come. She knows all about the goings on at the hospital, her brother told her.”
Saracen thought for a moment then saw he had no option. “All right,” he said. “Quick as you can.”
Ten minutes later the girls arrived in the lane. Claire was driving and she parked her green Metro next to Saracen’s car in front of disused garages. From where he was waiting by the wall Saracen could see that Jill seemed nervous but noted the Claire was her usual confident self. They hurried towards him and he helped them over the wall and led the way through the pines to the open grave.
Jill just nodded when Saracen shone the torch down into the coffin. Claire grinned and said, “Not much doubt about that.”
“That’s all I wanted you to see.” said Saracen. “You can go now if you want.”
To Saracen’s surprise it was Jill who said, “We’ll wait for you. Is there anything we can do to help?”
Claire looked at her and added, “Good idea. I like all this spooky stuff. It’s like some black magic ritual.” She qualified her assertion by dancing a few steps round the edge of the grave to Jill’s embarrassment and Saracen’s annoyance. Saracen lowered himself into the hole and replaced the lid of the coffin before climbing out again to begin filling in the earth.
“Shouldn’t you call the Police or something?” asked Claire.
“I’m going to confront Garten first,” said Saracen. “It will short circuit a lot of red tape.”
“There’s a car coming!” whispered Jill as headlights swung into the lane and lit up the middle branches of the pines. The three of them crouched and froze as the car passed slowly along Church Lane, its engine murmuring quietly.
“It’s gone,” whispered Claire.
“No,” cautioned Jill, holding up her hand. “It’s stopped!”
Saracen closed his eyes briefly and swore.
“I’ll take a look,” whispered Claire and made for the wall before anyone could stop her. She was back within moments. “It’s the Police!” she whispered. “They’ve stopped beside the cars.”