“And what time was that?”
“This main entrance, five P.M. All others at four.”
My cell buzzed. I glanced at the screen.
Blocked call.
“It’s him,” I said.
I answered.
“Hello, Jack.” Luther’s voice. “I just sent you a picture.”
On cue, my iPhone buzzed, indicating a text message. I clicked on it and saw a photo.
Life is because God is, infinite, indestructible, and eternal.
ROBERT E. FRANKS
Sept 19. 1909 – May 22. 1924
Herb leaned in over my shoulder to look.
“The place is surrounded, Luther,” I said. “Give up or you’ll die here.”
“We all have to die sometime, Jack. And this is a lovely place for it. Green, peaceful, some nice scenery. You should come in. I have no intention of killing you today. But you and you alone can save others, if you’re fast enough. Here one must leave behind all hesitation; here every cowardice must meet its death.”
I guessed that last line was more Divine Comedy.
“I’ll pass,” I said. “But I’ll be sure to drop in and say hello when you’re locked up in Cook County, being traded for cigarettes.”
“Suit yourself. I don’t have a Dante quote for that, but Burke should suffice. How about: ‘All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.’ Have fun sitting on the sidelines, watching men die, knowing you could have prevented it.”
The call ended.
A cold wind whipped through my hair, stinging my scalp. The trees beyond the gate rustled in the breeze, and I realized I’d been unconsciously rubbing my belly. I took my hand away.
“Is the SRT here?” I asked Herb, not liking the sound of Luther’s threat.
“Yeah.”
“The bomb squad?”
“We have several K9 units, some trained in explosives.”
“Find that grave,” I said, but as the words left my mouth I realized I didn’t want Herb to be the one looking for it. I believed Luther. Though I knew he was nothing more than a sick, disturbed man, part of me worried he somehow had the power to kill everyone here. I’d faced so many monsters in my career, but none scared me as much as Luther.
He was the boogeyman.
“Is there overnight security?” I asked.
“Yeah, but it’s not extensive. Pretty much just a guy driving around. He hasn’t reported in.”
I glanced beyond the gate into a pool of darkness. “Where are the lights?” I asked.
“No lights inside.”
“Caretakers?”
“There was a groundskeeper. Guy named Willie. Tom talked to him a few minutes ago.”
“Groundskeeper Willie?” I asked.
Herb shrugged.
Detective Tom Mankowicz approached with his partner, Roy Lewis, a bald guy who looked a lot like the boxer Marvin Haggler.
“Hey, Lieut,” Roy said, the smile on his face reaching his eyes. “Terrible situation, but good to see you.”
“We need to find the gravesite of Robert E. Franks,” I said. “Tell the teams in the field.”
“Won’t be easy.” Tom rubbed his chin. “There are a quarter million people buried here.”
“There’s got to be some sort of grave map or database.”
“Got the family service counselor for the cemetery on the way here, but it’ll be a few minutes.”
“What about that groundskeeper?”
Rob and Tom looked around, and then pointed to a man leaning against the stone entrance, watching everything going on with wide eyes. As we approached, I noted he was tall, with a pot belly that rivaled mine, short red hair, and a pointy Bob Hope nose.
“Mr. Kneppel, we need to know the location of a certain grave. Robert E. Franks.”
Kneppel’s wide eyes got wider, and when he spoke, he flashed a gold tooth. “Bobby Franks?” His voice was hoarse. “Uh…we’re not supposed to give out the location of that particular gravesite.”
Bobby Franks. That was a name I recognized. He was one of the most famous murder victims of all time. Back in 1924, it had been nationwide news, called the crime of the century. Two teenage law students named Leopold and Loeb had murdered the thirteen-year-old boy just to see if they could get away with it. His death was nothing more than an intellectual exercise. But they’d inadvertently left evidence alongside the body and were defended by the most famous lawyer of the day and probably all time, Clarence Darrow. Darrow didn’t get them off, but he was successful in avoiding the death penalty, which the public had demanded. It made sense why the cemetery wasn’t public about the grave’s location—it could draw unwanted attention to a place whose purpose was to provide a quiet venue for the living to visit and mourn the dead.
“It’s okay, Mr. Kneppel,” Herb said. “We’re the police.”
“Oh. Yeah. I guess it’ll be okay. He’s in the Jacob Franks mausoleum. The paths are all labeled.”
Willie mentioned an intersection, and Herb immediately spoke into his lapel mike, repeating the caretaker’s words.
Then he, Roy, and Tom headed for the cemetery entrance.
“Guys!” I called.
They stopped and turned back to face me.
“Let SRT handle this one,” I said. “With K9 support and explosives experts.”
“Seriously?” Herb said.
“I’ve got a bad feeling, Herb.”
“We talking cop intuition? Or…” He let his voice trail off, and I got the full meaning of his insinuation. Was I off my game? Had the stress, the preeclampsia, the baby, and Luther muddled my thinking and made me overreact?
“I dunno,” I said. “But I would consider it a personal favor if none of you went to that grave.”
They spent a few seconds exchanging glances.
“Sure, Lieut,” Tom said. “My fiancée, Joan, is big on intuition. I’ve learned to heed her. We can hang back here. Roy?”
“You’re my brother from another mother, man. Ain’t going without you. And I’d follow the Lieut straight anywhere, she asked.”
I speared Herb with my eyes. “Herb?”
“It’s my crime scene, Jack. I’m highest rank on site.”
“Highest rank or fattest rank?” McGlade chimed in, apparently grumpy after being woken in the middle of the night.
“Shoes fit okay?” Herb asked him.
McGlade looked down, noticed his faux pas. “I meant to do that. It’s a trending topic on Twitter. You did it, too, but your stomach is so huge you can’t see your feet.”
I heard a click and thought maybe Herb had set his jaw. Hard to tell with his chubby face.
“McGlade, one of these days—”
“—you’re going to stop eating everything you see?” Harry interrupted. “Don’t answer. I’m afraid if you open your mouth you’re going to suck all of us in.”
“Y’all a punk,” Roy said, taking a step toward McGlade. “Didn’t your mama teach you manners?”
McGlade sneered. “Nope. But your mama taught me some stuff last night.”
Roy took another step, and then Phin moved into the mix as well, backing up Harry.
There was so much testosterone in the air, if I wasn’t already pregnant I might have been worried.
“Look.” I spread out my palms. “Everyone needs to calm down. Herb, please, do this for me.”
His hound dog jowls dropped even farther, his mustache looking like a horseshoe.
“Sure, Jack. I’ll let the SRT take over.”
He barked orders into his mike, and I released a sigh of pure relief.
“See how I distracted him from going?” Harry whispered to me. “I would have thrown a donut for him to fetch, but didn’t have one handy.”
Once again I wondered if McGlade was smarter than he acted.
The next few minutes were spent in silence, all of us waiting. Roy and Tom fidgeted. Harry stepped away and switched his shoes. Herb appeared more anxious than I’d ever seen him. I thought about reaching for Phin’s hand to hold it, but was worried he wouldn’t accept mine. Willie pulled out a flip phone at least a decade out of date and walked away, his finger in his free ear.