Jan Burke - Bloodlines

Mitch turned toward me and motioned Eric to wait.

“It was never necessary for matters to reach this point,” Mitch said. “You’ve forced all of us to do things we’d prefer not to do. But since you’ve brought all this trouble about, I should warn you that I don’t mind the idea of killing you both. And it really wouldn’t bother me at all to see you suffer before you die. I may only have a few minutes to do that, but I know ways to make your last few minutes seem like hours. Do you understand? Now, what were you about to say?”

I tried not to let him see how scared I was. He was an expert in suffering, all right-I thought of what he had done to O’Connor and his family by killing Maureen and hiding her body-and with that thought, I had my answer, as clearly as if O’Connor was standing right at my side to prompt it.

“The cemetery.”

“What?” Mitch said. “What the hell did you say?”

“Municipal Cemetery.”

Ethan’s eyes had widened. He clearly thought I was crazy.

Yeager looked at him and perhaps misread his reaction-believed Ethan was upset that a secret had been told. He studied Ethan, then said, “Now, why should you pick a place like that?”

I tried mental telepathy, prayers, you name it, hoping he could see some reasons-the cemetery was not near here, so getting over there would give us some time. Openness, darkness, headstones, and statuary to hide behind. Better for our chances of survival than the narrow enclosed storage unit.

“I wrote a story about it,” Ethan said. “I go there a lot.”

“Why?”

“It’s closed now, because of the investigations they did after the story broke. But who knows what they might find there? So I know which graves they’re working on, and which ones they’ve finished with.”

“An investigation, and they just let you have the run of the place?”

Ethan smiled up at him, his battered face not affecting his ability to look cocky. “They wouldn’t have an investigation at all if it weren’t for me, would they? And they’re used to seeing me around, supposedly doing follow-up, so they don’t pay much attention to me or anything I’m doing.”

“Get him off the floor.”

He groaned again as Ian pulled him up by an arm. He didn’t look too steady on his feet this time.

“Keep talking,” Mitch said. “Make it fast.”

“There are a lot of empty crypts and graves. There are others that have too many bodies in them. Some vaults that don’t have coffins in them-a nice place to store something if you need to. No one is going to be buried in Municipal Cemetery any time soon-the state is taking forever, having a forensic anthropologist work on it, all of that. Ben Sheridan. He’s taken over part of one of the buildings just to sort bones.”

I realized that some of what he was saying must be true-he must have gone by the cemetery fairly recently, or he wouldn’t know about Ben.

“Never mind that,” Mitch said.

“I’m just saying, I’m one of the few people allowed in there.”

“At this time of night?”

“No, but I know a way in.”

“No night watchman?”

“That’s the beauty of it. The people who were robbing the graves and moving bodies around were with the company that operated the cemetery. The night watchman was in on it. He was fired.”

“And not replaced yet?”

“No. There are police patrols. At first they came by a lot, but it’s been over a month now, so they’ve cut back. The cops have already seen me there, too, supposedly hoping for a follow-up story, trying to get the mood of the place at night right. They think I’m kind of pitiful, really. If we’re careful, they won’t be a problem.”

“Seems like too much trouble for a hiding place. Maybe I should have your apartment searched, just in case you’re full of shit.”

“Go ahead. You won’t find what you’re looking for. You ought to know why I chose the cemetery.”

Mitch’s eyes narrowed. “Me?”

“I got the idea from you,” Ethan said. “From the orange grove. Let someone else do all the digging, right? What’s a better place to bury something than a grave?”

Mitch smiled. “Or bury someone.”

He walked back to his limousine. If he left us in the garage with his nephews, we were as good as dead. Or, considering the Yeagers’ ideas about suffering, maybe not that good.

He halted, then called Eric over to him. I felt a cold sweat break out on my forehead. I thought of running now, taking cover wherever I could, hoping Frank would be looking for the Jeep, hoping the LoJack signal would work two levels down in an underground garage. This plan seemed unlikely to do anything other than get both of us killed.

I glanced over at Ethan. His face was still bleeding, but he held his head up. When he saw that I was looking at him, he managed a small smile-not a cocky one this time. It seemed to say, So far, so good. Hang in there.

It reached me in a way no threat from Yeager could have. I stood straighter. He noticed and gave a little nod.

Eric came back. “We’re all going in the Jeep.”

“All of us?” Ian said.

“Yes. You drive, I’ll get in back with these two. Smart boy here is going to show that he’s not stupid enough to try to bullshit the Yeagers.”

M ITCH DISMISSED HIS LIMO AND DRIVER AND GOT INTO THE FRONT passenger seat of my Jeep, where he began barking orders. Although Ian had lived in Las Piernas for several decades, either he had no sense of direction or he had never learned where Municipal Cemetery was.

We drove into the hills above the city. At one point, I disagreed with Mitch on how to get there, trying to prolong the drive.

“Shut your pie hole,” Eric said, leveling his gun at me. “And keep it shut. Far as I can tell, you’ve already been all the use you’re going to be to us, anyway.”

I sat back as far as my taped wrists would allow.

We came within sight of the cemetery. We drove past its front gates, which were locked. A tall, solid plywood fence stood behind the gates, the kind you sometimes see around construction sites, in this case, apparently to block a view into the cemetery. Just over the top of the temporary fence, faint moonlight reflected off the top portions of a yellow backhoe and a dump truck parked near it. A large sign read MUNICIPAL CEMETERY TEMPORARILY CLOSED

and gave a number for families and others to call.

“All right,” Mitch said, “where’s this secret entrance of yours, kid?”

Ethan directed Ian down a small side road. The road ran along the eastern edge of the cemetery for a short distance before dead-ending at a field. “Park here,” he said. To our left was an auto body shop and next to it, a screen door repair shop. Both businesses were dark and locked up for the night.

We sat there for a few minutes with the engine running while Eric got out and looked around, checking for traps. Eventually, he motioned that all was okay, and came back to help Ian take us out of the car.

Almost from the first breath, it was there-not overwhelming, but distinct. A mustiness, mixed with the slightly sweet scent that sometimes mingles with that of decay.

Ian sniffed at the air and made a face.

“I know,” Eric said. “What is that?”

“Open graves,” Ethan said.

The brothers exchanged a look. “You’re shitting me,” Eric said.

“He’s telling the truth,” I said.

There were other scents and sounds as well. Las Piernas Municipal Cemetery is a little over a century old and was at one time surrounded by oil derricks. Most of the derricks are gone, but the pumping units remain, and we heard the rhythmic growling sound of the rotating gears of several oil well pumps in the field beyond the cemetery.