Death Mask (7 page)

Finn didn’t dare mention the bloody tears. Instead he kept pressing. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’ve never seen anything quite like this before. It’s as though the man’s insides exploded then every bit of his bodily fluid leaked out onto the floor.”

“So you don’t think he was killed,” Finn said. “You think his heart exploded or he had a brain aneurysm or something to that effect.”

“It’s nothing official until we can do a proper autopsy of the body, but yes, based on the current evidence, that is my first inkling.”

“There’s no chance an outside force may have caused his death?” Finn asked.

“I suppose it’s a small possibility, but again, with no visible injuries to the outside of the body, it’s not likely.”

“Thank you for your time.”

“You’re welcome.”

Finn left the representative and made a beeline for Andria’s office.

“Well?” she asked.

“I don’t know how, but I think the Mask did it.”

“What? How?”

“The coroner’s office is stumped, because there are no external wounds. That only leaves internal reasons for the death. I know it sounds crazy, but I think somehow, the Mask caused this man to die from internal injuries.”

“Such as…a heart attack?”

“Sort of, yes. But more like a “fright attack.”

“You didn’t tell
him
that did you?” Andria asked.

“Of course not,” Finn said. “But one thing’s for sure. We’ve got to get to the bottom of this and quick. The more time that goes by the more momentum this thing picks up. Unfortunately, it seems as though we’ve turned a corner in this case—moving from practical joke to murder.”

Chapter 15

“Finn, look at this!”

It was Andria. She was overly excited when she entered Finn’s office at the precinct.

“Andria, what are you doing here?” Finn said, looking up from his paperwork.

“I found a diary in Juan’s locker. I grabbed it last night before we left, but didn’t look at it until today. Apparently he
had
seen something in the mask room, the same as me, and on more than one occasion. He’d even gone as far as documenting each instance. Based on his notes, it looks as though he’d made it a regular routine to stop and talk to the mask nightly.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. Here,” she said, shoving the diary in his face. “Look for yourself.”

“Each instance is dated and described in fairly good detail. However, for now, focus on the last entry and read it aloud.”

“
July 23 - Tonight is the night. I’m going to destroy the mask. I’m going to smash it to bits. Before, the mask seemed nice. It was just talking and rhyming, but two nights ago it threatened my life. It told me that if I didn’t follow and solve his puzzles he would kill me. I tried to ignore the threats, but sitting here in the museum now, I realize that I cannot, in good faith, ignore this problem any longer. If I ignore the threats, they will only get worse. Please forgive me, but I see no other solution.
”

“Unbelievable,” Finn said. “That explains the baseball bat.”

“What baseball bat?” Andria asked.

“Never mind. Let’s just stick to the plan and get on a plane. After tomorrow we should have more of the answers we’re looking for.”

“Or more questions,” Andria quipped.

Chapter 16

Finn and Andria arrived at New York’s LaGuardia airport at 10:35 pm the following evening, running on nothing but a riddle and pure adrenaline. It was dark, overcast and rainy, which made the conditions perfect for sneaking around a graveyard.

After a short, bumper-to-bumper taxi ride to the hotel, they checked into separate rooms and unpacked their bags. A quick change of clothes into more concealing attire and they were set to begin their sleuthing efforts. According to Finn’s records, John Piperr’s registered burial plot was located in a cemetery named Whitechapel Hills and was only a few blocks from their hotel on the west end of Central Park. With any luck Finn hoped to locate the cemetery, find what they were after and be out, undetected, within a couple of hours.

While Finn busied himself checking then double-checking his gear and a variation of notes and maps, Andria, ever the willing participant, watched stoically and awaited further instructions. She and Finn had done well together so far. They seemed to instinctually feed off each other’s energy and expertise. As an extension of that reality, she had blindly trusted him when he had suggested their next move, or clue, resided in New York. Because of their recent progress it seemed natural to go with the flow, but now, with time to think, she wondered how, or what, made Finn so certain they’d find something significant here. Not being shy, she did what came natural…she asked.

“Listen,” she said. “Before we do this, I’ve got a question.”

“Shoot,” Finn said, a little distracted by his OCD-like preparatory methods.

“I didn’t bother prying earlier to ask where, and how, you’d gotten your information that brought us here tonight and what made you so sure of yourself, but now my curiosity is getting the better of me.”

Finn stopped his preparations and sent her a peculiar glance.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize…” In mid sentence a humorous thought crossed his mind triggering a satisfied smirk to grow across his face. “Wait a minute. You’re not scared are you?” he asked.

Andria rolled her eyes and grunted. “Of course not,” she said. “Don’t be ridiculous. I handle centuries old bones and artifacts on a regular basis at the museum. I just want to know the plan that’s all.”

“If you say so,” he said, tongue-in-cheek.

“Yes, I say so!”

“Okay, okay. I was only kidding. But you do make a good point about the need for a quick huddle session before we head out.”

“Okay, great. But…”

“But what?” Finn asked. “You’re not having second thoughts about going with me tonight are you?”

“No, no. It’s nothing like that,” Andria said. “I’m actually excited about our little…field trip. And I’m certainly not doubting you. As a matter of fact, it’s quite the opposite. I’m seriously intrigued to know just how you came about your information and were able to piece the details together so quickly.”

“Hmm. Well, while your confidence is flattering, I’m not sure my powers of deduction would rival that of Sherlock Holmes, but even so, keep in mind that no respectable detective reveals his sources, regardless of the circumstances.”

“Funny,” she said.

Finn wiggled his eyebrows up and down several times in a joking manner. “All jokes aside I do have a bit of an admission to make.”

“Really?” Andria said, her tone turning suspicious. “And what might that be?”

“While the information I have would most certainly be classified as a solid lead in any investigative circle, it’s definitely no slam dunk. It’s more of an educated hunch.”

“A hunch? You flew me to New York City on a hunch?”

“An
educated
hunch,” Finn said, smiling sheepishly. “I’m sorry if I lead you to believe otherwise, but before you lose too much faith, take a look at my notes and decide for yourself.”

When Finn finished his explanation Andria was enamored; his intuition, at least in this case, bordered on genius.

“Touché, Mr. Winters,” she said. “I’ll have to admit, this definitely looks convincing on paper. I just may need to buy your dinner to show my appreciation.”

Finn winked at her, thankful for the support. “That won’t be necessary, ma’am. Let’s just hope it brings us a step closer to solving our mystery.”

***

It was a little after midnight when Finn and Andria exited the lobby of the hotel heading north. The moist, night air hung low and thick. Besides his map and flashlight, Finn had a backpack strapped over his shoulders crammed full of grave robbing tools. Although initially concerned that their late hours and dark clothing would draw suspicion, Finn’s worries were ultimately unmerited. Moving about in a metropolis the size of New York City that’s overrun with all walks of life, often operating at odd hours, makes it easy to blend in with the crowd.

After a short walk, they found the entrance to the cemetery. Based on the scale of its rectangular shape as depicted on the map and the expansive rows of grave markers extending out into the horizon, the cemetery looked to be huge, somewhere on the order of twenty to thirty acres. According to Finn’s documents, Mr. Piperr was buried in the center section, specifically reserved for the upper-class.

Following Finn’s map along the cemetery’s winding trails in the thick, low-hanging fog proved more challenging than either of them had anticipated. Adding further difficulty to their search, several of the paths were overgrown with thick vegetation making them impassable. After numerous backtracks to weave their way around, they finally came face-to-face with a six-foot tall wrought iron fence with a decorative rusted gate guarding its entryway.

Finn signaled for Andria to stop and pulled a second map from his jacket pocket. He gave the map a quick study then shined his flashlight through the bars of the fence to get a glimpse of what was inside. The headstones inside the fence were much more extravagant than any of the others they’d encountered along the way.

“This fence and ornately designed gate, looks like what’s described on the map,” Finn whispered. “It also looks as though it surrounds a different class of graves. I think this has to be the right location.”

Andria nodded her agreement.

Finn thumbed down on the gate’s handle to unlock the clasp then swung the heavy gate open. Its hinges howled an eerie, high-pitched screech the entire way back. Finn swallowed hard then gave Andria a reassuring look. They eased through the gateway, with racing hearts, waving their flashlights in a frenzied search for a century old tombstone belonging to their mystery man.

This inner area contained a more complex maze of corridors, each one splitting off into two, forty-five degree directions every few hundred feet, forcing them to choose right or left. To avoid getting lost, they relied solely on the map’s drawing to make each turn. After several zigzags, the map directed them into a series of continuous right-hand turns reminiscent of a nautilus pattern. This spiraling effect led them in a tight circle toward the maze’s center point. The final pathway dead-ended into a tall, moss covered grave marker with a large stone-carved top hat sitting at its apex. The top hat’s silhouette against the night sky was an uncanny sight. The wave of a flashlight revealed a name chiseled in block letters on the tombstone. It read—John Piperr.

“Bingo!” Finn whispered.

He leaned down and swung the backpack off his shoulders then untethered the Miller’s Knot that held the mouth of the bag closed. Rifling through the bags contents, he located two military styled, folding shovels and handed one to Andria.

“Here,” he said. “I’ll start digging at one end, you dig at the other. It’ll be quicker that way.”

“You got it, partner.”

After a couple of hours of steady digging they’d made significant progress, but physical exertion forced them into alternating break periods. The rotation had made it back around to Finn’s turn. He lowered his weary body down into the hole, which was now nearly shoulder deep, and continued digging. Topside, Andria was laid out flat on the ground beside the open grave staring up at the stars trying to recoup before her next digging session.

As the hole neared standard coffin depth, Finn got his second wind. The surge of energy rejuvenated his spirit helping him to dig longer and harder. He was nearing the point of exhaustion, when the tip of his shovel struck something underneath the dirt that jarred his hands. It made an unmistakable dead thump. The sound got Andria’s attention, inspiring her to sit bolt upright.

“Good heavens, what was that?” she asked.

“Relax,” he said. “It was only my shovel. It hit something solid. Hold your flashlight steady while I scrape away the dirt with my hands.”

Minutes later, Finn had uncovered the definitive outline of a wooden coffin.

“Okay,” he said, looking up at Andria. “Hand me down the claw hammer and crowbar from my backpack. Whatever secret is buried underneath this lid is about five minutes from being exposed,” he said.

Andria quickly rummaged through the backpack then handed down the tools. Finn sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly to relax himself, then went to work on the coffin. After ten minutes of prying and maneuvering, he straightened his back and looked up at Andria from the bottom of the hole. “All right, I think that’s it. I’m ready to lift off the top.”

Andria stood to her feet for a better view and steadied her flashlight.

Finn inserted his fingers beneath one edge of the partially rotted wood and raised up on the lid. It was heavy but lifted easily. When he got the lid to its tipping point Finn pushed hard and shoved it out of the way.

With all the movement, Andria couldn’t see into the open coffin.

“What do you see, Finn? What’s down there?” Andria beseeched.

Finn stared down into the exposed coffin with an amused silence then knelt and brushed away a thick layer of cobwebs.

Still unable to see, Andria quickly scuttled along the edge of the open grave for a better view. “What is it?” she shouted. “What’s in the coffin!”

“It’s a skeleton,” Finn said, calmly. “And it’s clothed in a Scotland Yard policeman’s uniform.”

“A Scotland Yard uniform?” Andria replied, sounding more confused than surprised.

“And it’s holding a glass tube with a tightly rolled piece of yellow paper inside,” Finn added.

“Another clue?” Andria asked.

“No doubt. It looks like the tube has a wax seal to protect the opening, so it should be easy to access.”

Finn leaned forward and carefully slid the glass tube from the skeleton’s curled finger bones and scraped off the wax seal. He turned the open end of the bottle down at a forty-five degree angle and gave it a quick, hard shake. The paper inched forward past the bottle’s mouth. Another shake and there was enough paper exposed to allow its extraction. Being mindful of its age, Finn pinched the tip of his forefinger and thumb onto the edge of the paper and gently pulled. The integrity of the paper remained primarily in tact and slid easily from the bottle’s opening.