Page 141 of 1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Forty-Two

“Horrible. Horrible! The worst dishonor to the dead. Murder?In the tomb of a true American patriot no less. Unknown bodies left, familiesnow feeling lost and full of fear and worry. Horrible!”

Either the man was a good actor—it was always possible—or hewas truly distraught over what had been discovered in his family’s tomb.

“We all agree it was terrible,” Jackson said. “We’re hopingyou can help us.”

“Me? How?”

“Nothing unusual happened when your father was interred?”Angela asked, keeping her questions polite and her manner that of someoneseeking help rather than accusatory in any way.

Angela had done her research and knew the man was in hisearly forties. Naturally proud of his heritage, he’d written several books onthe Founding Fathers. When he wasn’t writing, he ran a tech company thatspecialized in helping those who did their own income taxes. He’d created thecompany along with a college buddy from Yale. The two continued to do well—sowell, in fact, their employees now handled the day-to-day.

Which left Benjamin Robertson time to pursue his researchand whatever other interests he might have.

Murder?

He was a handsome man with strong bone structure, curly,dark hair, and a clean-shaven face. He wasn’t quite six feet tall but had a fitbody for his medium build.

He wore a crisp, clean, dark blue business suit.

He frowned, looking from Jackson to Angela. “When weinterred my dad? No, nothing unusual. There were no bodies in the tomb then. Imean, none that didn’t belong there. Oh, my God. Even talking about this isridiculous. Don’t take that wrong. It’s horrible and tragic, but...” He paused,lifting his hands helplessly. “Nothing was unusual the day my dad was interred.My pops died of natural causes—a bad heart. We knew he was also going intokidney failure, and those who knew and loved him were prepared. Ready to seehim at peace. Many people attended his funeral, and the priest was in the tombwith him, too. Honestly, no, there was nothing.”

“Is that the last time you were in the crypt?” Jackson askedhim.

Benjamin Robertson nodded. “Other people were in there thatday. Not just to honor my father, but... my several-times great-grandfather wasa famed patriot. People like to see the tomb. Even architecturally, it’s ahistorical monument.”

“But you didn’t leave anyone in it after the funeral?”Angela asked.

He shook his head. “No. No, of course not.”

He didn’t sound entirely convincing.

“And you locked it when you left. Are you certain?” Jacksonasked him.

“I, yes. I’m sure. I...”

He appeared somewhat perplexed, then suddenly exploded withconfusion and anger.

“I don’t know! I think I locked it. I was ready and preparedfor my dad’s death, but it was still... it was a damnedhard day. I think I locked it, but I was trying to watch over my mother andtalking to the priest. To others. I think everyone was out. I think I lockedit. And I probably did. You know the cemetery office keeps a copy of the key,too.”

“We do,” Angela assured him quietly. “And we know howupsetting this must be for you. I’m sorry to put you through it. We’re tryingto get to the truth, make sure someone is held accountable, and ensure suchhorror never takes place again.”

Robertson let out a long sigh. “Yeah, of course. I’m sorry.I guess... well, the media has it out there that bodies were found in, as theycalled it, the patriot’s tomb. And then they act all sanctimonious,like they aren’t going to say anything. The victims’ families need to benotified. And, of course, they are all aware it’s an active investigation. Thatfellow who wrote the article, Jefferson Moore, is after me again. At first, itwas just fine and cool, but not now. People always want to be sensational. Youknow, whoever shocks the world the most gets the best ratings or reviews.”

“Don’t worry,” Jackson told him. “It is an activeinvestigation, and the media will not be getting anything else until we knowmore. But we’ll speak with the fellow who did the article.”

“Jefferson Moore,” Robertson repeated. “I thought it wasgreat that he wanted to write about Gordon Town Cemetery. It’s notable, butit’s too close to Arlington and other historic cemeteries and places that areall major sites for historians. I was glad for the opportunity to explain thatdecorating was a way to include our lost loved ones in our holidays. And he dida damned good job with the article. But I just don’twant to talk to anyone now.”

“Understandable,” Jackson told him, handing him a card. “Ifanyone causes you difficulty, or if you think of anything, please call us.”

“Absolutely,” he assured.

“By the way, do you have a list of people who attended yourfather’s funeral?” Jackson asked.

“A list? Well, it was in the paper, so...”

“Was anyone filming? Doing video?” Angela asked.

“I... I don’t know,” Robertson said. “Maybe. I can askaround. My cousins were there. The service was beautiful. A soprano from thechurch sang Ave Maria, and my cousin’s son did an amazing job with DannyBoy. You never know. I guess maybe...”