The Anatomy of Deception - Lawrence Goldstone [99]
I CREPT DOWNSTAIRS AT THE appointed hour and, in case she should awaken, left Mrs. Mooney a note explaining that my absence was due to a medical emergency.
Eakins was outside in a carriage; we immediately set out. Neither of us had experience in nocturnal intrigues, so we agreed to err on the side of caution and both of us were as vigilant as possible during the ride to South Philadelphia. Eakins made a number of turns and circles in order to detect anyone who might have been following, but we seemed to be alone on our route. Rather than proceed all the way to St. Barnabas, Eakins stopped about a half-mile away. He tied up his carriage in a quiet part of town where it was unlikely to attract attention, even at such a late hour.
We took great care on our walk to the cemetery, secreting two short shovels under our overcoats. Eakins also carried a hooded lantern, which was kept shut, emitting virtually no light. We glanced over our shoulders frequently and occasionally stopped abruptly to listen for other footsteps. Except for the distant barking of dogs and a lone owl, we heard nothing. It was dreamlike, prowling down the quiet streets in long coats on a cool, dark night, the moon and stars largely obscured by an overhang of low clouds. For his part, Eakins seemed to observe the night as a panoply of muted color, a study in composition and design.
We arrived at the back fence of St. Barnabas in about fifteen minutes, and once more waited in silence to ensure that we had no unseen companions. It was then that my heart began to race and my hands grew moist. Even in the half-light, I could see the painter had been affected similarly.
The fence was low and easy to scale, and we were over in a matter of seconds. Once we entered the cemetery grounds, we had journeyed to the far side of the law. If apprehended, we had agreed that our only defense was to admit exactly why we were there, of our suspicions of foul play in the death of Rebecca Lachtmann, and a desire to determine if those suspicions had any basis before leveling accusations. That explanation might not totally spare us the wrath of the authorities, but might mitigate against the most serious of charges. We fervently hoped, of course, that no such account would be necessary.
With April soon upon us, the ground had lost the hardness of the winter frost and we made our way silently through the cemetery, navigating carefully through the rows and rows of graves. It was a simple matter once I had noted the designations of two or three of the rows to move toward the location where the five cadavers in question had been interred.
The section that St. Barnabas had allocated for Reverend Squires’ charges was an uncared-for area at the far end of the cemetery. The rows of shabby graves were interspersed with large trees and would most certainly be avoided by anyone who did not have specific cause to be there. I wondered how much worse Potter’s Field could have been than this grim and neglected place.
Although the silence was, in its own way, as unnerving as sound, we were both relieved that we were so unlikely to be discovered while completing our task. I counted eight graves up from the marker at the end of the proper row to a recently filled mound of earth marked with a simple cross. Without a word passing between us, Eakins and I threw off our coats, grabbed our shovels, and began to dig.
Immediately under the surface, the soil was rocky and surprisingly difficult to move for being filled in so recently. I was unused to such labor and tired quickly. Eakins, however, despite his slight frame had impressive reserves of strength, much as Charlie had shown shoveling the ice. I began to wonder if common assumptions of size and musculature might not be completely false.
We had gotten down about eighteen inches when my shoulders began to ache. Fortunately, just a few inches later, Eakins’ shovel hit the flat wooden top of the pine coffin. Paupers’ graves, even when subsidized by Reverend Squires, were not deep. About three minutes later, we had shoveled off the remaining