Read Online The Gravedigger's Ball by Solomon Jones - Free Book Online
Authors: Solomon Jones
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passersby. There were flashing lights and angry voices, aggressive cops and determined reporters, all scrambling forward for a glance, a video clip, or a snapshot of Officer Frank Smith’s body being carried to a waiting police van.
The raven could see the confusion taking shape below as one cameraman, then two, broke through the barricades to get shots of the spectacle. Police pushed back and a brief melee ensued, but even after it was quelled, there was an undercurrent of unrest among the media and a feeling of anger and grief among the police.
Cops darted in and out of the streets surrounding the park, searching for the man who’d wreaked havoc that morning. The cars moved in fits and starts, and the men and women who drove them did so with their heads on swivels. There was something inherently aggressive in their posture. The raven saw all of it, but he didn’t see the woman he’d come to find. His master, who watched from afar, couldn’t locate her, either, but what he saw through his live satellite feed was enough to pique his interest.
As he sat in a dank chamber with rats squealing and scurrying on the dirt walls and floors, the man closed his coal-black eyes and allowed his laptop’s azure light to wash over his face. When he opened his eyes and the secure connection revealed what the satellite filmed from overhead, the man smiled at the sight of police scrambling around the park. He wondered what they’d do if they knew he was watching.
The man sat back, his black coat draped over his rickety wooden chair. Like his hands, shirt, and tie, the coat was encrusted with the soil he’d used to choke his victims to death. His mind, however, was clear. He knew his purpose, he knew his goal, and he didn’t care how many people he had to kill to achieve it.
If it meant spending the night with filth and vermin, he was willing to endure it a thousand times. The treasure that lay beneath Fairgrounds Cemetery was more valuable than anything the world had to offer, and he was going to find it, no matter what it took.
There was a buzzing sound in the pocket of his greatcoat. The killer reached in, extracted a phone, and looked at the screen. There was a simple text message that read, “Proceed to phase 2.” The killer read it with a measure of resentment. He didn’t plan on taking orders from anyone, no matter how much money they offered to pay.
He pocketed the phone and opened another window on his laptop so he could switch from the overhead view of the park to a live feed from CNN. He watched closely as the police commissioner and a group of commanders approached a bank of microphones near the media contingent. The reporters pressed closer and hoisted their cameras high in the air. The raven left his perch and landed twenty yards from the microphones. The killer sat in his dank hiding place, hoping to see or hear something in the anger and angst of the moment that would tell him when and where to resurface.
As everyone pressed forward to listen, Lynch took a deep breath and began to speak.
“Today, a woman was killed at Fairgrounds Cemetery,” Lynch said, pausing as the boisterous crowd grew silent. “Though her identity has already been revealed by several media outlets, we won’t be sharing her name publicly until we can notify her next of kin.”
Looking around at the assembled media, the commissioner tried to be businesslike, but it was clear that he was agitated. “Here’s what we know so far. Shortly after 9:00 A.M. , one of our detectives was already on the scene when a gunshot was fired at the Fairgrounds Cemetery.”
“Who was the detective and what was he doing there, Commissioner?” asked a radio reporter.
“We can’t comment on either of those questions right now, as the answers might compromise the investigation. But we can say that shortly after the detective heard the gunshot, he spotted a man in the area where the victim’s body was found. The detective gave chase, and when the
The raven could see the confusion taking shape below as one cameraman, then two, broke through the barricades to get shots of the spectacle. Police pushed back and a brief melee ensued, but even after it was quelled, there was an undercurrent of unrest among the media and a feeling of anger and grief among the police.
Cops darted in and out of the streets surrounding the park, searching for the man who’d wreaked havoc that morning. The cars moved in fits and starts, and the men and women who drove them did so with their heads on swivels. There was something inherently aggressive in their posture. The raven saw all of it, but he didn’t see the woman he’d come to find. His master, who watched from afar, couldn’t locate her, either, but what he saw through his live satellite feed was enough to pique his interest.
As he sat in a dank chamber with rats squealing and scurrying on the dirt walls and floors, the man closed his coal-black eyes and allowed his laptop’s azure light to wash over his face. When he opened his eyes and the secure connection revealed what the satellite filmed from overhead, the man smiled at the sight of police scrambling around the park. He wondered what they’d do if they knew he was watching.
The man sat back, his black coat draped over his rickety wooden chair. Like his hands, shirt, and tie, the coat was encrusted with the soil he’d used to choke his victims to death. His mind, however, was clear. He knew his purpose, he knew his goal, and he didn’t care how many people he had to kill to achieve it.
If it meant spending the night with filth and vermin, he was willing to endure it a thousand times. The treasure that lay beneath Fairgrounds Cemetery was more valuable than anything the world had to offer, and he was going to find it, no matter what it took.
There was a buzzing sound in the pocket of his greatcoat. The killer reached in, extracted a phone, and looked at the screen. There was a simple text message that read, “Proceed to phase 2.” The killer read it with a measure of resentment. He didn’t plan on taking orders from anyone, no matter how much money they offered to pay.
He pocketed the phone and opened another window on his laptop so he could switch from the overhead view of the park to a live feed from CNN. He watched closely as the police commissioner and a group of commanders approached a bank of microphones near the media contingent. The reporters pressed closer and hoisted their cameras high in the air. The raven left his perch and landed twenty yards from the microphones. The killer sat in his dank hiding place, hoping to see or hear something in the anger and angst of the moment that would tell him when and where to resurface.
As everyone pressed forward to listen, Lynch took a deep breath and began to speak.
“Today, a woman was killed at Fairgrounds Cemetery,” Lynch said, pausing as the boisterous crowd grew silent. “Though her identity has already been revealed by several media outlets, we won’t be sharing her name publicly until we can notify her next of kin.”
Looking around at the assembled media, the commissioner tried to be businesslike, but it was clear that he was agitated. “Here’s what we know so far. Shortly after 9:00 A.M. , one of our detectives was already on the scene when a gunshot was fired at the Fairgrounds Cemetery.”
“Who was the detective and what was he doing there, Commissioner?” asked a radio reporter.
“We can’t comment on either of those questions right now, as the answers might compromise the investigation. But we can say that shortly after the detective heard the gunshot, he spotted a man in the area where the victim’s body was found. The detective gave chase, and when the
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