by David Wood
Rose tapped up the Facebook app, opened Messenger, and sent a quick note to Jazz.
Guess who’s in town. Want to grab a coffee?
She put the phone down and went to take a shower and brush her teeth. When she came back, there was a reply.
Girl, you here now? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?
Rose smiled. Last minute detour. You around?
The response was immediate. Hell, yeah. Where you wanna meet?
Rose knew Planet Hollywood was not far away and suggested it. Jazz called her a damned tourist! for choosing such a kitschy place, but said she wasn’t too far from there and they arranged to meet in half an hour. Rose pocketed the phone and headed out.
Inside Planet Hollywood, Rose was mesmerized by the movie memorabilia/ She found a photo of Doug Bradley in his makeup as Pinhead from Hellraiser, and the actual puzzle box used in the film. The Lament Configuration, it was called, and Rose smirked at the typo in the display box, calling it the Lamont Configuration. It was also known as a Lemarchand Box, after the fictional artisan who made them. Rose wondered if she should tell someone, to have the error corrected, but figured it would be pointless. She took a photo anyway and posted it on her Facebook page with a snarky comment that would amuse her horror aficionado friends.
She wandered around the other exhibits, ignoring the noise and bustle of early drinkers and people eating, and then found a seat right near a glass display box containing Freddie Krueger’s red and green striped jumper and his glove of long razors. Her love of horror films made the thing feel like a holy grail of sorts, and she stood staring at it for several moments, mesmerized. Robert Englund had really worn those exact items as he terrorized Nancy in her dreams. Rolled gold film history. She took a selfie in front of it and messaged it to Jazz, knowing her friend was also a fan. She added the words, One, two, Freddie’s coming for you!
There was no reply, and Rose sat and ordered a non-alcoholic cocktail of sweet juice and fruit pieces, enjoying the general vibe of the place. Before long, a heavy hand landed on her shoulder from behind.
“Three, four, better lock your door, bitch!”
Rose laughed and jumped up, pulled her friend into a hug. “It’s so good to see you!”
“You too. It's been a long time.”
“Too long.”
“What the hell are you drinking?”
“Want one?”
Jazz laughed. “Sure, why not?”
Before long, they were chatting and laughing as if they’d never been apart. Rose quickly mentioned Jake, but Jazz didn’t need the heads up.
“I’ve seen you two on Facebook. He looks like a hardass.”
Rose nodded. Of course. As if she needed to worry about breaking the news of a relationship to Jazz. She internally scolded herself for being so ridiculous. Perhaps, she mused, it was because she harbored a strong desire for Jazz and felt some measure of guilt for that. She certainly wouldn’t act on it, but maybe she needed to be a little more honest with herself about her feelings. And with that thought, she realized she hadn’t noticed Jazz showing off any partners on her social media.
“He’s tough,” Rose replied. “But he’s also gentle and kind. He’s a great guy.”
Jazz smiled, squeezed Rose’s hand. “I’m happy for you, really.” She left her hand there a moment longer, mischief playing her eyes.
“Cut it out!” Rose said.
Jazz lifted her hands in exaggerated surrender. “I’m not doing anything.” But her grin was pure evil.
Rose laughed, tried to cover her flushed skin by hiding behind the umbrellas in her cocktail as she took a sip. “What about you? With anyone?” she asked, putting the large glass back down.
“Nah, no one special. Just fooling around, enjoying life. I got no complaints.”
“That’s good.”
They fell to chatting, reminiscing about the last time Rose had been in town. Jazz talked about a story she was working on, hoping to bust something wide open, but she had to be cagey about the details.
“Talking of investigating,” Rose said as the conversation lulled. “You ever hear of a big New York name, Matthew Price?”
Jazz’s nose wrinkled in thought, then she shook her head. “Don’t think so. Why?”
Rose was a little deflated. She had maybe hoped the response would have been immediate and damning but knew that was unlikely. “No real reason. He’s started seeing Jake’s aunt, and he sort of gave me the creeps a little bit, that’s all. He works for SaleMed, owns it in fact. Big pharmaceutical outfit.”
“Well, if he’s rich and into big pharma, I guess he’s not a great guy,” Jazz said.
“Not all pharma is bad, surely?”
“No, of course not. But it’s enough to maybe put you on edge, no?”
Rose thought about that and wondered if perhaps Jazz was right. Maybe it was that simple. Maybe she just needed to do a little digging of her own, check out the company website. The director would surely have some profile on there, and she could put her mind at ease. She felt the need to turn the conversation elsewhere. “Remember you told me about the ghosts of the Round Table at the Algonquin?”
Jazz laughed. “Classic journalist story, that one. What, you saw one there? A ghost?”
“Not there, but I think I did see a ghost last night.”
“Get outta here!”
“I’m serious. Jake’s aunt lives at the Dakota.”
Before she could carry on, Jazz sat back in her seat with a whistle, wide-eyed. “Damn, you need to marry that boy. You’ll never need to work again if he has relatives that rich.”
“Shut up, I like working. But yeah, it was a surprise to learn. I mean, I knew he had a decent bit of money, but I wasn’t sure how. Now I know. Anyway, that’s not the point. I saw a ghost outside the building when we left after dinner last night.”
Jazz sat forward again, smiling, but her interest seemed genuine. “Looks like you got a spook from it too. You okay?”
“Well, we’d had a couple of drinks, and Jake was a little skeptical about it, so I didn’t admit much to him at the time. I just told him it was an old-fashioned looking man. But it was more than that.”
“In what way?”
“Well, earlier in the day we’d been to visit the Edgar Allan Poe house.”
Jazz grinned. “You do love your horror stories.”
Rose nodded, chewed her lower lip nervously. “I do, and maybe that’s why this is creeping me out so much. But the ghost I saw last night at the Dakota, I’m sure it was him.”
“Who?”
“Edgar Allan Poe!”
“Seriously?” Jazz said. “You don’t think maybe he was just in your mind and you saw someone in the shadows...”
“No, I really don’t think so. I hadn’t thought about Poe for hours, then just saw him there in the darkness of the arched entrance. His hair was a little shorter than in the photos you always see, and he was wearing a suit and tie. It was old and worn, and he was carrying a hat in one hand, the kind men wore in the early 20th century, maybe. But I’m not kidding, it was definitely him. Or an absolute doppelganger.”
Jazz leaned back again, shaking her head. “Well, I don’t know anything about Poe ghosts, but I’ll grant you that is pretty weird. You’ll be going to see his aunt more while you’re here?”
“Sure.”
“Then keep an eye out. And maybe ask around, do some research, see if Poe has any connection to the Dakota.”
Rose smiled, relieved Jazz wasn’t ridiculing her. “I’m glad you’re accepting my word for this.”
“Well, I believe you when you say that’s what you think you saw. Whether or not it really was what you saw, who knows? But I’ll tell you what. I can’t help with Poe ghosts, but I’ll ask around about Matthew Price and SaleMed, see if there’s anything obvious you should be aware of. Just in case, you know?” As she spoke, she was tapping a note into her phone.
“Thank you, Jazz. I really appreciate that.”
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“And don’t leave town without us catching up again.” She swallowed the last of her cocktail and stood. “I have to get back to work, but I want to meet this hardass new man of yours.”
JAZZ RICHARDS HEADED back into the New York Sentinel offices, her mind on Rose Black. A damn shame she was seeing this Jake Crowley guy because Rose was as fine as Jazz remembered. Better even. Clearly hanging out with this guy agreed with her. Jazz was pleased for her friend. Rose was one of life’s decent people, and there were few enough of them around, it seemed. Or perhaps she was getting more jaded, spending her life working on the kind of stories that sold. Which meant stories about the worst sorts of people. Although she got to do a feel-good piece every now and then, and she was doing a public service every time she exposed another predator or criminal. Jazz Richards was an ardent believer in the power of the press.
She headed towards her desk, thinking about Matthew Price. The fact the name had never crossed her path before made her think there would be little to find on the man, but she wasn’t so lost in her own hubris that she thought she knew everything.
“Richards, over here!”
Jazz winced, Elena LaGuerta’s summons could never be ignored. She turned to see her editor hanging off the doorframe of her office. The tall Puerto-Rican-American woman had an imposing presence, but kind eyes. She was a tough boss, but a fair one, and Jazz had developed a strong liking for her. Even if she was a pain in the ass sometimes.
She headed over. “What’s up?”
LaGuerta went back inside her office and sat down. “Got a new assignment for you,” she said, as Jazz closed the door.
“Oh yeah? Anything juicy?”
“I need you to head over to Washington Square Park.”
“Another homeless person?” Jazz asked.
“Nope, much more interesting. You’re probably going to enjoy this, it’ll appeal to your sense of the macabre. Two previously undiscovered tombs beneath Washington Square were found this morning by water department workers.”
Jazz had to admit that was a more interesting story than many she had to cover. Probably just an old dusty pit with a few bones from before history really mattered in the modern bustle of New York, but she had long since learned to never write anything off. An open mind and a keen eye were the most important aspects of her work. That, and strong analytical thinking. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll head over there now.”
LaGuerta nodded and turned back to her computer.
As Jazz left her boss’s office, an idea struck her. She pulled out her phone and called Rose.
“Miss me already?” Rose asked, a tease in her voice.
Jazz shook her head, gave a short laugh. “Always miss you. But something just came up that I think will interest you.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“Let’s just say it’s relevant to your professional interests. How about you join me at Washington Square Park to see a mass burial.”
“Seriously?”
“Come on, Rose, I know you well enough. Trust me on this.”
Chapter 5
Rose held Crowley’s hand as they walked along the last bit of 5th Avenue to Washington Square Park. Across the busy street, the park looked inviting, open, and calm. Low, black iron fencing stood all around the perimeter, with gray paved walkways between green trees and neatly managed flowerbeds. People enjoyed the large grassy lawns, reading, napping, picnicking. The park entrance was marked by a towering white stone arch, an eagle with its wings spread at the apex, with intricately carved details all around. Two figures in statuary stood proudly on either side. George Washington on the right-hand side, Rose noted, not surprisingly given the name of the place. Was it also Washington on the left, in a long coat and tri-corn hat, or someone else of note? She realized her US history was incredibly limited when it came to ex-presidents and notable figures. She was about to ask Crowley when he spoke.
“Here we are then. So where’s your mysterious friend?”
Rose frowned, sensing a bit of snark in Crowley’s tone. Was he a tiny bit jealous? She had told him how she’d decide to pop out for a drink with her old pal while Crowley worked out and how it had been just like old times. Maybe that’s what put him on edge. She sighed. Men could be so fragile if they felt anything but the most important person at any given moment. Rose refused to feel guilty about having friends, even if they were friends about whom she harbored carnal thoughts. Thought police were not in force yet, only actions counted.
Then again, if Crowley had said he was going for a drink with an old girlfriend, or an old nearly-girlfriend, Rose figured she might be a bit jealous, too. Maybe she should cut Crowley some slack. “Honestly, Jake, she’s an old friend. That’s all. You’ll like her, I expect.”
Jazz emerged from the other side of the large archway and waved. Rose snuck a glance at Crowley and smiled when she saw his reaction. Rose thought Jazz was a beautiful woman, and Crowley clearly shared that view.
“Hi again!” Jazz said. “You must be Jake?”
“That’s right.” He reached out, and they shook hands.
“Rose told me all about you.”
Crowley looked from Jazz to Rose. “Did she now?”
“I did not!” Rose protested. “I just told her how great you were.”
“In bed,” Jazz said.
“Hey!” Rose looked at Crowley and laughed to see him blush. “I did not say that, Jasmine Richards, will you stop stirring.”
“Oh, so he’s no good in bed?”
Rose was thankful that Crowley laughed and joined in instead of being offended. “I’ll have you know I’m bloody fantastic in bed, thank you very much. I’ve satisfied over three women in my lifetime.”
“You didn’t tell me he had a sense of humor,” Jazz said to Rose, though her eyes never left Crowley.
“All right, enough,” Rose said. “I think we need to change the subject. What’s happening here that you think I’ll be so interested in?”
Jazz handed Rose a new-looking Canon digital SLR camera and said, “Just play along, yeah? Follow my lead.”
They went into the park and Jazz headed directly for an area between two lawns, marked off by orange cones and yellow tape. Two men stood beside the tape, talking.
“We got an early tip about this,” Jazz said quickly as they walked. “It’s the kind of thing that’s often discovered in New York. You can imagine the layers of history, the city is constantly renewing itself, a modern layer put over the top of one that came before, time and again. There are all kinds of stories about underground places that are forgotten, bricked up, filled in even. Then every now and then, city workers will uncover some part of that lost history, a snapshot of what was here before.
“Now we know this park is historic in its own way, and city archaeologists knew there were supposed to be old tombs somewhere nearby, but were unsure exactly where. Then last night, city workers doing a dig for a water main discovered two burial vaults containing the remains of at least a dozen people, supposedly interred around two centuries ago.”
“Two hundred years?” Crowley asked, aghast.
“Yep. And it’s all only three and a half feet below the sidewalk. But that’s all I know from the tip-off. It’s probably all there is to know, a bit of old New York and that’s that. But who knows, right? One day I’ll luck into something special, worthy of a good story. This might be it.”
They reached the two talking men and Rose realized she was smiling. Jazz did know her well, after all. This was a pretty cool thing to tag along for. Inside the barricade was an open manhole. One of the men standing beside it was clearly a construction worker, with calloused hands and a friendly face. His companion was altogether more academic, wearing a suit and tie. He was older, probably not far from retirement.
Jazz flicked a wink at Rose and stepped up. She flashed something in a leather wallet that Rose couldn’t see, then said, “How are you guys today? Parks Department, here to have a quick look before the
others descend.”
“Others?” the academic asked, confused. He looked from Jazz to Rose to Crowley, then back again.
“That’s right,” Jazz said, “so we’d better be quick. Gotta make an inspection, a couple of quick preliminary photos, you know the drill, right?”
“Well, not really–” the man started.
Jazz bulldozed over him. “Hey, look, no matter. It’ll take five minutes.”
“We’re waiting for the police,” the construction worker said uncertainly. “I guess it’s not a real priority though, not being an emergency.”
Rose laughed. “No, it’s hardly a crime scene, huh? You found the vaults?”
“Me and my team, yeah. We’re contractors for the city department of design and construction. As we went to set up down there, an old wall fell in, and we saw the vaults behind it. I sent the team home, there’s nothing we can do now until we get the all clear. You here to give us that?”
“Not my department,” Jazz said quickly. “But I report to them.” She turned to the academic. “And you are?”
“Professor Charles Putnam. I received a call, and I’m waiting on a couple of young researchers to join me in examining the site. I thought we were supposed to–”
“Of course you are, Professor, but red tape always comes first, am I right?” She stepped over the tape and gestured to Rose and Crowley. “Come on, you two. The quicker we get this done, the quicker these guys can get on with their job. I’m really sorry to inconvenience you like this.”
Without waiting to see if anyone followed her or tried to stop her, Jazz strode over to the manhole and quickly descended the ladder. Suppressing a smile, noticing Crowley doing the same, Rose followed.
At the bottom of the ladder, Rose found herself in a low, rounded passage of brick. The walls and ceiling were coated in a white deposit that at first looked like peeling paint, but which she suspected was in fact a mineral deposit from centuries of damp. At the end of the rounded passage was a low doorway, and Jazz headed for it.
