Karen Rose - Die for Me

Johannsen stopped for a screen check. “It’s the edge of something. The soil changes here, abruptly. It goes maybe three feet deep. Let me get a few more rows.”

She did, then frowned. “There is something here, but it looks like it’s got metal in it. We tend to see that in cemeteries with older, lead-lined caskets. The shape isn’t right for a casket, but there is definitely metal here.” She looked up, her eyes questioning. “Does that make sense?”

Vito thought about Jane Doe’s hands. “Yeah,” he said grimly. “It does.”

Johannsen nodded, accepting there would be no more answer than that. “Okay.” She marked the corners with her garden stakes. “It’s six and a half feet by three feet.”

“The same size as the first one,” Jen said.

“I didn’t want to be right, Vito.” Nick shook his head. “Fuck.”

Jen stood up. “I’ll get my tools and the camera, then I’ll get the team back and we’ll set up floodlights. Give me a hand with the tools, Nick. Vito, you call Katherine.”

“Will do. And I’ll call Liz.” Lieutenant Liz Sawyer had not been pleased to hear of the first body. Multiple unmarked graves would not be the news she wanted to hear.

Nick followed Jen, leaving Vito alone with Johannsen. “I’m sorry,” she said simply, sadness filling her eyes.

He nodded. “Yeah. Me, too. Let’s check the other side.”

As Johannsen continued on, Vito dialed Liz on his cell. “Liz, it’s Vito. We have the archeologist here. There’s another one.”

“Not good,” Liz said tightly. “One or more?”

“One at least. She’s just getting started and it’s going to take a while. Jen’s calling for her team and we’re going to get as much done as we can tonight.”

“Keep me apprised,” she ordered. “I’ll call the captain and give him the heads-up.”

“Will do.” Vito slid his phone back into his pocket.

Jen and Nick returned with the digging tools and the camera as Johannsen found the edge of the next grave. “Same length, same depth.” Twenty minutes ticked by before she looked up. “And another body. But this one doesn’t have any metal.”

“We didn’t find metal there with the detector,” Nick said.

Vito looked out over the field. “I know. That means there could be even more.”

Jen was laying plastic sheeting around the first new grave. “Take a spade, boys.”

They did, and for a while the four of them worked in silence, Johannsen marking the second plot and moving to the left to begin again, Nick, Vito, and Jen digging. Nick reached the body first. Jen leaned forward and with her small brush, removed the loose dirt from the victim’s face.

It was a man, young and blond. Decomposition was not yet advanced. He’d been handsome. “He hasn’t been dead long,” Nick said. “A week maybe.”

“If that,” Vito said. “Uncover his hands, Jen.” She did, and Vito twisted closer to get a better look at what he didn’t understand. “What the hell?”

“He’s not praying.” Nick frowned. “What is he doing?”

“Whatever he’s doing,” Jen said, “his hands are wired just like Jane Doe’s.”

The victim’s hands were formed into fists, both settled against his naked torso, the right above the left. The right fist was positioned level with the heart and his elbows pointed down. Both fists formed O’s. “He was holding something,” Vito said.

“A sword.” The whispered words came from above them, where Sophie Johannsen stood, her face ghostly pale under the red bandana. Her eyes were wide, horrified, and fixed on the victim. Vito had the sudden urge to pull her face against his chest, shielding her from the decomposing body.

Instead he stood and put his hands on her shoulders. “What did you say?”

She didn’t move, her eyes still fixed on the dead man.

He gave her a gentle little shake and pinched her chin, forcibly turning her face to his. “Dr. Johannsen, what did you say?”

She swallowed, then lifted her eyes, no longer bright. “He looks like an effigy.”

“An effigy,” Vito repeated. “As in ‘hung in effigy’?”

She closed her eyes, visibly steeling herself and Vito remembered that her bodies had been dead for hundreds of years. “No,” she said, her voice shaken. “As in a tomb or crypt. Many times tombs would have images of the dead carved in stone or marble. These statues would lie on their backs on top of the crypt. It’s called an effigy.”

She’d calmed herself, sounding like a teacher giving a lecture now. Vito supposed it was her way of coping. “The women usually had their hands folded like this.” She folded her hands beneath her chin, the pose identical to Jane Doe’s.

Vito glanced sharply at Nick, who nodded.

“Go on, Sophie,” Nick said quietly. “You’re doing fine.”

“But… but sometimes their arms were folded across their breasts.” Again she demonstrated, laying her hands flat. “Sometimes the man’s hands are folded in prayer, but sometimes he’s in full armor, holding a sword. Usually he holds the sword at his side, but sometimes the effigy was carved like this.” She balled her trembling hands into fists and laid them on her chest in exactly the way the victim’s were posed. “He’d hold the hilt of the sword in his hands and the blade would lie flat against his torso, straight down his center. It’s not as common a pose. It means he died in battle. Do you know who he is?”

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Someone’s son or husband,” she murmured.

“Why don’t you go sit in my truck? Here are the keys.”

She looked up at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “No, I’m all right. I just came to tell you I didn’t find anything to the left of the other plot. I’m going back toward the trees.” She wiped her eyes with her multicolored gloved fingers. “I’ll be fine.”

Nick stood up. “Sophie, now that you’ve told us this, I remember seeing pictures in an old history book. This is a medieval custom, isn’t it? Placing an effigy on the grave?”

She nodded but she was still very pale. “Yes. Earliest known carvings date as far back as 1100 and were common practice through the Renaissance.”

“Guys.” Jen was kneeling on the edge of the grave. “We’ve got bigger problems than this guy’s sword.” She came to her feet, dusting soil from her coveralls.

Vito and Nick looked down into the grave, but Johannsen stayed back. Vito couldn’t say he blamed her. What he saw made him want to turn his face away, but he didn’t. Jen had uncovered the victim down to his groin and there was a huge hole in his abdomen. “Sonofabitch,” he muttered.

“What?” Johannsen asked from five feet away.

Jen sighed. “This man had his intestines removed.”

“Disemboweled,” Johannsen said. “A torture used throughout history, but definitely used in medieval times.”

“Torture,” Nick murmured. “Holy shit, Vito. What kind of sicko would do this?”

Vito’s gaze swept the field. “And how many more did he put here?”

New York City, Sunday, January 14, 5:00

P.M.

The pop of a champagne cork brought the noise level to a low roar. From the back of the room, Derek Harrington watched Jager Van Zandt hold the fizzing bottle away from his expensive suit amid the cheers of a host of young, eager faces.

“We used to be happy with a six-pack as long as it was cold.”

Derek glanced up at Tony England, his smile rueful. “Ah, the good old days.”

But Tony wasn’t smiling. “I miss those days, Derek. I miss your old basement and working all night and… T-shirts and jeans. When it was just you and me and Jager.”

“I know. Now we’re growing so fast… I don’t know half these kids.” More than that, he missed his friend. Fame and pursuit of the dollar had changed Jager Van Zandt into a man Derek wasn’t sure he knew anymore. “I suppose success does have a price.”