Page 143 of 1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Forty-Two

“Philip will be a lot better at watching the video anddetermining what might have been going on with someone.”

Philip Law, like his sister, Colleen, was a valuable memberof the Krewe. They were two of a set of triplets, and the third member of theirtrio, Megan, was now married to Agent Ragnar Johansen. She had kept her dayjob, editing for a major publishing house. Still, with her ability to readbetween the lines, so to speak, she often helped out.

Philip, however, had degrees in not only psychiatry but alsopsychology, in addition to his talent for something akin to mind reading.

Jackson nodded his agreement. “I already have him listeningto the recordings I made in the conference room this morning—our sessions withDebbie Nolan and Benjamin Robertson. I’ll ask him to look at the videos thatwere posted of the funeral, as well. Mark and Colleen can help him with that.I’ve also requested the security recordings from the cemetery’s office. Later,we’ll get it all up on the main screen and see if any of us can find anythingsuggesting someone might have been at the funeral or in the office abscondingwith a key. Plus, we still have the office personnel to interview. And so manyothers. Then again, Rome wasn’t built in a day—”

“Jackson, we have to figure out how to build Rome in aday—or at most a couple of days.”

“Because?”

“Because I’m afraid if we don’t, something even worse willhappen by Halloween.”

He grimaced. “Okay, so we’ll build Rome in day or two. Comeon. We can head out for the cemetery now. Maybe, if we’re lucky, we’ll findsomeone among the dead who might be able to give us something we can’t get fromthe living.” He hesitated and then shrugged. “Maybe revenge could go the otherway. But it’s hard not to wonder how an employee of Robertson Technologiesended up in the Robertson tomb.”

“Too obvious, perhaps? Someone who wants to see him blamedfor the murder?” Angela suggested.

“That’s a possible theory, yes. Anyway, let’s head out andtrust our fellow agents to use their talents to uncover what they can see andhear in those conversations on the videos.”

Angela nodded and closed her computer. They headed out tothe parking lot.

The drive to Gordon Town and the Gordon Town Cemetery tookthem about twenty-five minutes. While the Krewe offices were in northernVirginia, traffic getting out of the D.C. area was seldom easy.

And yet it was strange. They went from an area that washeavily populated and continually congested to roads with almost nothing.

Finally, they reached Gordon Town and the cemetery.

The place remained roped off—yellow crime scene tapestretched around the entire burial grounds from triangle point to trianglepoint. And the local police presence was visible as intended. Before hoppingover the stone wall by the embankment where they’d parked the car, Jacksonwaved to an officer and produced his credentials. The officer nodded andapproached.

“Anyone trying to get in?” Jackson asked.

“Not in this area,” the man told him and waved a hand in theair. “No way the media missed what happened last night. Captain Denning held apress conference this morning, warning people to stay away. Not quite anythinglike ‘trespassers will be shot,’ but a serious suggestion that they might bearrested. He has a way with words. So, no problems here.”

Jackson thanked him, and they slowly headed toward theRobertson tomb.

Angela linked her arm with his, looking about as they movedalong.

“There!” she said suddenly.

Jackson paused, looking in the direction she’d indicatedwith a nod.

And there, legs folded beneath him and perched on anaboveground tomb, was a man.

One that most probably wouldn’t see.

He was clad in the uniform of a Continental soldier, thebasic blue coat and white shirt that George Washington had ordered in 1779.Even at a distance, Angela knew the uniform from a few of the deceased she’dmade friends with throughout the years. This uniform had a red facing with white lining and white buttons, typical of thoseworn in Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland, and Virginia.

“That couldn’t be... Ethan Robertson?” Jackson murmured.

“That would be too lucky,” Angela said.

“Probably, but I think we are in luck,” Jackson said.

“Oh? Right! If it isn’t Ethan,” Angela said, smiling grimlyat her husband, “I think it’s far more than likely he indeed knew ColonelRobertson, Virginia hero of the Revolutionary War.”

Chapter 3

One of Angela’s best assets, Jackson thought, was herability to appear as if she were just a friendly, interested person. It didn’thurt that she was a naturally beautiful woman with her inquisitive, bright blueeyes and fall of long, blond hair.