The Sinner. Amanda Stevens

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СКАЧАТЬ so as not to further taint what was clearly a crime scene. I wanted to get shots of the other cages, but I didn’t think it a good idea to tramp through the weeds before the authorities had conducted a thorough search.

      All the while I worked, I remained intensely aware of the watcher in the woods. The sensation of that hidden stare stayed with me even as I immersed myself in the scene, letting my gaze wander over the metal cages, committing to memory details of the devices so that I could later sort through my photographs and research materials for a similar design.

      I’d read about a pair of caged graves located in an old cemetery in Pennsylvania, but those were the only mortsafes I knew of in North America. Their size and weight made them unwieldy to transport so finding them in such a remote location was especially puzzling considering that body snatching was no longer a threat.

      How and why had they ended up in this clearing? What other purpose might they have served? Might still serve?

      The questions droned on as I anxiously waited for the police. The authorities didn’t rush to the scene with sirens blaring as I had imagined they would after my descriptive and rather breathless phone call. Instead, a good half hour after I’d reported the find, I heard the slamming of car doors out on Cemetery Road, and then a few minutes later two uniformed officers appeared on the trail, ambling along as if out for an afternoon stroll.

      Both stopped short when they spotted me. None of us said a word and the silence stretched until I pointed toward the second mortsafe.

      Their gazes followed my finger. They were young officers, perhaps inexperienced in dealing with such a strange and disturbing scene. I detected a collective hesitation before they approached the caged grave. They spent several minutes in quiet conversation as they observed the tiny hands from various angles in much the same way that I had. And then they made phone calls.

      After a bit, one of the cops came over and introduced himself as Tom Malloy. He looked to be in his midtwenties, still fresh-faced and earnest with a smattering of freckles across his nose and blue eyes that crinkled appealingly at the corners. He touched a finger to the brim of his hat and gave a slight nod. “Miss.”

      I nodded back as I folded my arms and then unfolded them because I thought the stance made me look defensive.

      “I take it you’re the one who called this in,” he said. “Amelia Gray?”

      “Yes, that’s right.”

      His gaze narrowed as he nodded to the scratch on my face. “What happened there?”

      I lifted a hand to the stinging flesh and shrugged. “A thorn caught me.”

      He glanced back at the hands in the cage and then at me, giving me a thorough scrutiny before taking out his notebook. I could see how the beading blood on a fresh wound might give him pause under the circumstances.

      “Let’s take care of the busywork first,” he said pleasantly enough as he jotted my name on a blank page. “What’s the best number to reach you?”

      I gave him my cell number and answered a few more rudimentary questions before recounting to him how I’d come upon the cages. I told him everything I could remember except for the part about being summoned by the presence in the woods. I explained that away by saying I’d taken a walk to work out the kinks after hours of bending over the headstones.

      “You’re from Charleston, you say?” His gaze flicked over me again and I tried not to flinch at his prolonged appraisal.

      “Yes, but I’ve been staying in Ascension since the end of May. I’m in the process of restoring Seven Gates Cemetery.”

      He looked surprised. “You’ve been working here all summer? I don’t recall seeing you around.”

      “I only get into town once or twice a week. The cemetery occupies most of my time. It was in really bad shape when I first started.”

      “You work alone?”

      “Yes. I’ve put out feelers for local help, but I haven’t had much luck. Just a couple of college kids early in the season, but they didn’t last long.” I bit my lip and turned away with a frown. It wasn’t like me to ramble or volunteer more information than was requested. Evidently, the discovery of the mortsafes and the sight of those hands had left me more shaken than I realized.

      “Can’t say I’m surprised about the lack of local help,” the officer said politely. “There’s a lot of superstition surrounding that old church and cemetery.”

      “Such as?”

      He shrugged. “The usual stuff. Both have been abandoned for as long as I can remember. Kids used to hang out in the ruins late at night after drinking beer and smoking weed, but I don’t think anyone goes there any more. Not after...”

      “Not after what?” I prompted.

      He glanced down at his notes. “Not after the place got so overgrown. Too many snakes and God knows what else lurking in the bushes. It’s too bad, really. The cemetery used to be beautiful.”

      “It will be again.”

      He turned back to the circle, his gaze moving around the cages. “I’ve lived here my whole life. Grew up in a house not five miles from where we’re standing. I thought I knew this area like the back of my hand, but I sure never knew these things were here. Have you ever come across anything like them before?”

      “Not around here. Mortsafes were mostly used in Europe.”

      “Mortsafes?” I saw him shiver.

      “They kept grave robbers from digging up fresh remains to sell to medical schools.”

      His expression turned grim as he trained his gaze upon me. “Looks like they were used here to keep something in.”

      I’d thought of that, as well, of course, but I didn’t comment.

      “Will you be around this afternoon?” he asked. “We may have more questions once we get her out of the ground.”

      “I’ll be working in the cemetery. I never leave before sundown.”

      He gave a vague nod as he went back to his partner. I hung around watching them. They didn’t seem to mind. Maybe they were glad for the company. The place seemed more desolate than ever and the trill of the loon made us all turn anxiously toward the marsh. I couldn’t help remembering the officer’s broken thought: Not after...

      Not after what?

      The palmettos rustled in a mild breeze. An insect droned in my ear. And from the woods, that presence still watched me.

      Who are you? I wondered. What are you?

      Still no answer.

      For the next several minutes, the cops huddled over the second mortsafe, talking in low tones and making a few notes until more personnel arrived on the scene, including a plainclothes detective, a forensic team and the Beaufort County coroner.

      A brief discussion ensued about possible ownership of the land and how best to open the cage so the body could be removed. That dilemma brought Officer Malloy back over to me.

      “Who СКАЧАТЬ