Sound of Darkness

“From me?” Mark smiled.

“We have nothing on him. Nothing at all.”

“He’s supposed to be coming by headquarters to work with one of our sketch artists,” Mark said. “I can only assume he’s done buffing his car and will go there from here.”

“He asked the hospital staff if he could stay the night, but the doctors appealed to his better senses, I guess, saying they really needed her to concentrate on sleeping and healing. He, of course, said she’d heal better with him sleeping at her side, but her main man is a Dr. Borden, who can be as stubborn as a rock. So, I guess he’ll be by. Do we believe him about the man he saw watching them?”

“We can find out if we have the sketch,” Mark said.

Ragnar nodded. “Your plan from here?” he asked Mark.

“Cemetery?”

Colleen was surprised when Ragnar agreed.

“Sergeant Alfie Parker,” Ragnar said quietly. He smiled at Colleen. “One of the few ‘remaining souls’ who makes a point of visiting us at the office. He was killed on a bust. And while they rescued several women and confiscated just about every drug known to man, the head honcho got away.”

“Oh no!” Colleen said.

Mark picked up the story, inclining his head toward Ragnar, as if asking his partner to step in if he had anything wrong.

“I think Alfie had become invested in the case. He’d met a young lady, a runaway, on the street. He’d gotten her to go to a home where they helped runaways like her, but then she disappeared. Her friends believed she’d been swept off the streets by traffickers, but because of her history, the police believed she’d gone off on her own accord. Anyway, Alfie believed the group was holding her. He was one hell of a detective from what I’ve been told. The young woman he was trying to help would be older now, of course. We don’t know if she made it or not. She went by the name ‘Susie,’ and Alfie never knew her last name.”

“Anyway,” Ragnar said, “Alfie should be on payroll, except of course, he doesn’t need money anymore.”

“Jackson has tried to help him. He investigated the old case but couldn’t find anything further about ‘Susie.’ The man behind the operation was only known as ‘John Smith.’ If any of his crew knew his real name or where he was during the bust, they were killed in the gunfire,” Mark said.

“I guess that’s why Alfie hangs around?” Colleen asked.

“He is determined to be helpful, and he is,” Mark said.

“When he was a detective, his area was near the house where Carver was keeping Sally,” Ragnar told her. “He actually comes into our offices when he sees something suspicious. I’m sure he’ll be happy to meet you. I warn you—he’ll be fascinated.”

“Oh?” Colleen asked.

“Your special hearing,” Mark reminded her.

“Oh.”

“He’ll find you exceptionally gifted,” Ragnar said, smiling. He looked at Mark then. “So, you’re off to the cemetery hoping Alfie will be hanging out?”

Mark nodded. “As soon as we’re done there, we’ll head into headquarters and see if Gary Boynton shows up. Then—once we have a sketch—we can check with the restaurant manager and get him to show the picture around.”

“I’ll check in on our victims again and make my way to headquarters. Meet you there,” Ragnar said. “Good fish and chips, huh? For a hospital cafeteria? And the price is right!”

He pat Red on the head, nodded, and headed out. Mark took a last bite of fish and looked at Colleen.

“Ready?” he asked her.

“Sure. Nothing like a trip to a cemetery,” she told him dryly.

Sergeant Alfie Parker had been buried in one of the oldest cemeteries in the area.

He had been laid to rest in an area with other police officers, in a section to the far back, one that had been added in the early twentieth century.

To reach it, they drove through the oldest area, which was well maintained, but still in an area where trees were interspersed with stones that had been weathered for over two hundred years. Through the years, various groups had worked to keep up the integrity of the cemetery, and there were benches and plaques throughout. Funerary art from the nineteenth century added to the haunting beauty of the place.

“Have you been here before?” Mark asked Colleen. She had been studying the place since they’d come along the drive.

“No. I’m originally from Orlando, Florida,” she told him.

“Ah, nothing old there!”

“You’d be surprised. Not to mention my field trips were often up to St. Augustine, the oldest city in the country—or the oldest continually inhabited by European settlers. Or invaders,” she added with a shrug.

He grinned. “We have other Krewe members from Florida,” he told her, amused.

“Where are you from originally?” she asked him.

He laughed. “About a mile from here.”

“Ah, so you know this area well.”

“I got to know this cemetery well once I got to know Alfie,” he told her.

“He hangs out here?”

“Sometimes. Yeah, I know. Ghosts usually don’t hang out where they’re buried—not many good memories about being in a box. But he comes back now and then to check in with his old friends.”

“Other cops?”

“Some,” Mark said. “Alfie is just a good guy. He has all kinds of friends.”

He parked the car along the earth-and-stone drive that bordered the section for slain police officers. Some had worked in the area, some had simply been from the area and were brought back home to lie with their fellow law enforcement officers and still be near living relatives.

Red followed as they walked to Alfie’s grave.