Page 144 of 1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Forty-Two

Nor did it hurt that her caring was real. Of course, therewas that division. They had to care. But they had to keep their emotions at adistance during many investigations.

But as they approached, the ghost watched Angela curiously,his eyes on her rather than Jackson. As he realized they could see him, hesmiled through a frown, surprise evident.

“Hi, sir,” Angela said. “I’m Angela Hawkins Crow, and thisis my husband, Jackson. We’re delighted to make your acquaintance.”

For a moment, the ghost looked around as if assuring himselfthey were actually speaking to him.

“You are seers,” the ghost said. “My dear Lord, I have notmet such gifted people in... ah, well, let me see. A hundred years or so.”

“Really? Oh. Well, we do exist. In truth, we have manyfriends and coworkers who are... seers, as you say.”

“What do you call it?” the ghost asked.

“We’re never sure,” Angela told him with a grin. “Sometimes,people think we’re gifted. Others sometimes think we’re cursed, but... well, Iimagine you know. We don’t talk about our abilities to those without thembecause they—”

“They think you are mad and should be locked away,” theghost said knowingly.

Angela shrugged with a grimace. “There are just so few inthe world’s population who are gifted. But we try our best to let our talentswork for us.”

“You are police officers?” the ghost asked.

For a moment, Jackson was surprised. The first policeforce in the United States had been formed in Boston in 1838—years after thisman’s death, he imagined.

Apparently, the ghost read the question in his expression.“I have been here a very long time,” he said softly. “And I learn all I canabout the world and this country as the years go by. Shifts occur, peoplechange, and there is always something new to learn.”

“We’re FBI,” Jackson told him. “A special unit. As far asour official doctrine goes, we handle unique cases where people thinka place is haunted or where criminals use demonology or the like to committheir crimes.”

“Ah, well. Of course. You cover up the truth for yoursanity,” the ghost said knowingly. “That is fascinating and wonderful.”

“We hope you can help us,” Angela said softly.

The ghost offered his hand. “Colonel George Clayborn,Continental Army,” he told them.

They touched air, but shaking the man’s hand was propersince he’d offered the gesture. While they couldn’t feel him, the air was justa little bit... different.

“Colonel,” Jackson acknowledged, and Angela smiled andnodded to acknowledge the introduction.

“FBI,” Clayborn said. “Yes, you see, I know about that, too.Founded July 26, 1908. The investigative force of the Department of Justice.”

“Yes. You’re well-informed,” Angela told him.

The ghost shrugged with a grin. “I’ve always enjoyedreading. Even with the internet these days, people are always forgettingnewspapers in the cemetery. And since television, there’s an old pub down theroad that carries the news most of the time. As I said, I like to keep up todate.”

In a serious tone, he added, “You are obviously here nowbecause of the murders. I assumed you were police or law enforcement because noone else is allowed in the cemetery right now.”

Jackson nodded. “We were—”

“Hoping to meet someone like you,” Angela finished.

Clayborn sighed. “I wish I could help you. I can tell youthat the Robertson vault is famous in its way. People hear about the patriotEthan Robertson’s mausoleum being here, and some know the vault was built by afamous architect of the day, Gervais Conte. So, yes, people do come sometimes.”

“Have you seen anyone going into the vault? A young womanclaims she saw a figure with a knife, and the door wasn’t fully closed orlocked. That’s how we found the victims. There were three bodies in the tombthat didn’t belong there. They were killed at three different times. You neversaw anything?” Jackson asked.

“I saw all manner of people when the last Robertson wasinterred,” Clayborn said and then winced. “But I never saw anyone enter and notleave. The groundskeepers go into the vaults now and then. At this cemetery,they check structural integrity. I am afraid I don’t pay much attention. It isas it has been for years and years.”

“It’s a pity that Ethan Robertson isn’t here,” Angelamurmured.

“Ah, Ethan was here. He had to see the end of all we foughtfor. All he had died for,” Clayborn said. “But one glorious day, we bid himfarewell after he saw the Fathers put down freedoms inwriting. When he saw that our General George was heading the country but not asa king, rather as president. So, I’m afraid it’s been a while. Still...” hesaid and then paused, frowning. “I don’t think the Robertson mausoleum was closedafter the last interment. There were so many people at the funeral. Some camein honor of the dead, grieving, finding prayers and a funeral to be a step inthat process. Others wanted to peek inside and see shrouds covering the bonesof many of those long dead.”