Yes, he was loved.
But he was also hated.
And yet...
Hated this much?
Was someone after Mr. Highsmith specifically? Mo murmured. Or...
As shed told Lieutenant Purbeck, she had to hope that only someone truly ill could have done this. Even worseif such a thing was possiblewas the chance that Richards murder had been random, that hed just been taken and that...
If that were true, there could be more heads on top of horsemen who should have remained headless.
She knew Purbeck was thinking along the same lines.
While this is going on, you might want to stay with a friend or move into a hotel, Purbeck said to her.
Lieutenant, we have no idea whats going on yet, Mo reminded him. Highsmith was a politician. He was very likely to be voted in as New Yorks next mayor. He was an independent, which means that most people loved him but that he also had enemies in the major political camps. I knowI followed him and his politics. He also had plans to run for governor at some point in the future, and a lot of people here still have homes in the city and use the Valley for escape. So...it makes sense that he was speaking here.
Purbeck nodded. Yep. He was special and he was different. But getting back to you... Youre in a remote area. I dont know if Rollo, big as he is, can protect you from this kind of insanity.
His size scares people all the time, Mo commented.
Normal people, Purbeck agreed. He stood awkwardly for a moment, watching his officers and the crime scene technicians working. But if you actually know the dog, hes one friendly guy.
Dont kid yourself, LieutenantRollo can be fierce! Maureen bent down to hug the dog. He didnt exactly prove her point when he rewarded her with a sloppy kiss. One of her moms best friends had bred Irish wolfhounds; the dogs had been special to her from the first time shed seen them. She and Rollo were family.
And Richard Highsmith She started to turn back to the head on the mannequin but stopped herself. He was a politician, in from the city. I do have to wonder whether someone decided to kill him and to use the legend to get away with it. Lets face it, no one can look at this without thinking that a maniac is at work. That could throw an investigation in the wrong direction.
I almost hope youre right. Purbeck glanced at the effigy and the headnow covered with blue canvas in case the gawkers arrived. And in case media cameras showed up. Given media presence at the convention center last night, Mo was surprised that no members of the press were here this morningand equally relieved. That was obviously because not many people knew there was a severed head here or that it had belonged to Richard Highsmith. They would soon enough. Police were trying to protect the scene of the crime and, she felt, Richard Highsmiths dignity. No one wanted the grotesque and heartbreaking image of Highsmiths severed head appearing on TV or the internet or the papers. I hope this is a political thing. Because if its not...
You think there really might be someone here...whos crazy and going after heads? Maureen asked. But we have the head.
Purbeck nodded grimly. What we dont have is the rest of the body, and thats the next order of business. But you
Detective Lee Van Camp, a lean man with a thin face and a haggard appearance, stepped over to them, interrupting whatever the lieutenant was about to say. Mo knew hed be lead man on the case. He worked with Jimmy Voorhaven, a younger detective, and they were probably the two best men in the county. Purbeck was a good commander and usually directed his detectives from his office. Purbeck was here himself because Richard Highsmiths disappearanceand now confirmed murderwas about as high-profile as it got.
He would remain involved. The media had already gone crazy but news people were being kept at a distance.
Shed worked with Detective Van Camp before. In fact, of all the local cops, shed worked with him the most. Theyd met when she was just a teenager. She hadnt had Rollo then; shed had his mom, Heidi. Working with the wolfhounds had been a godsend for her. When she was in her teens, her parents had discovered how effective she and Heidi were at search and rescue, and she remembered hearing them argue about whether they should allow her to continue. Theyd decided that yes, if she could help, they were morally bound to let her do so.
Shed never really known what Van Camp thought about her and her almost foolproof ability to find the missing. He simply watched her with his dark, unblinking eyes. And he was always courteous.
Well? Purbeck asked softly.
Political execution taken to a dramatic extreme? Van Camp asked Purbeck. Or mental case? He turned to Mo. What do you think?
Maureen wasnt taken aback by the question. And it wasnt because she and Van Camp knew each other or that theyd worked together before. Hed told her once that he just listened and tested everything he heard; he listened to everyone, taking in what worked for him and ignoring what didnt. But he didnt brush off anyone or discount any opinion. Mo liked him a lot. He was an exceptional detective for that very reason.
She took a deep breath. Its certainly dramatic. But in the legend, the headless horseman is looking for heads. He takes the heads and leaves the bodies behind.
Yeah, thats what I was thinking, Van Camp said.
Purbeck narrowed his eyes. People say there are really no new stories, just new ways to tell them. The headless horseman was an old legend in the areaWashington Irving just wrote it up with literary talent. Whoever this is, theyre putting a new twist on it.
If you go by the legend, the horseman is searching for a head, Van Camp continued. And he killed old Ichabod Crane with a pumpkin head hed been carting around. But if you read between the lines, either Bram Bones did in his rival or Ichabod went off to live happily ever after somewhere else. But if you think this is a political assassination, the dramas an attempt to throw off suspicion. Hard to be sure at this point. He cleared his throat. Well know more, Im sure, after autopsy. I mean Well, well need to know how the head was removed from the body.
Whatever the answer may be, I really dont think were looking for a long-dead Hessian soldier still fighting the Revolution! Purbeck said.
No, but these days, politics can be close to war, Van Camp said with distaste. Poor guy. He sure as hell didnt deserve anything like this. I hope, I really hope that He paused again. I hope it was quick.
I want to send Mo and Rollo home. No reason they have to watch all this, Purbeck said.
Van Camp shook his head. Mo cant go yet. We still need her and Rollo.
Oh? Purbeck asked.
Boss man, hey, Van Camp said. Weve got...part of Mr. Highsmith. We need to find the rest of him.
Yeah, but I was hoping to give Mo a break. She and Rollo have already found Richard Well, his head. I thought wed search for the rest of the remains ourselves....but, Mo, it probably does make more sense if you and Rollo do your thing, get a head start. He winced. Sorry. You okay with doing that?
Of course, Mo said, crouching down by Rollo. Good job, my friend. But we need more. Are you ready?
Of course, Mo said, crouching down by Rollo. Good job, my friend. But we need more. Are you ready?
The question was just as much for her. She studied the site. Van Camp had left them. He was speaking with Voorhaven, requesting help to get up on a makeshift hoist for a better look at the head in situ. Gina Mason was beside him, accepting a camera from one of her assistants.
Mo? Purbeck asked. Are you sure you can handle this?
She nodded, closing her eyes. She envisioned the man in the picture shed been given hours before.
When she opened her eyes, she looked across the road to the cemetery.
Most people thought the old burying grounds were part of Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, which included hills and covered a lot of space. The Old Winchester Burying Grounds was actually a separate entity. At one time, St. Andrews Episcopal Church had stood somewhere in the center, although it had burned down during the Revolution. So, officially, this had been a burying ground rather than a cemetery. Traditionally, unlike a cemetery, a burying ground was attached to a church, although over the years the terms had become interchangeable.
Nowbe it cemetery or burying groundthe place beckoned to her.
Rollo, she said to the dog. Were on.
* * *
Aidan knew this area very well.
Nestled in the Hudson Valley, surrounded by mountains and bordered by the Hudson River, Sleepy Hollow was simply charming. Carved out of Tarrytown and once known geographically and locally by the unimaginative name of North Tarrytown, the village had become Sleepy Hollow in 1996 in honor of its most famous resident, Washington Irving. The entire area was ripe with Revolutionary history, along with tales of the Old Dutch community and legends from the Native Americans whod once called it home.
The Woman in White appeared now and then, and Major Andres ghost was said to roam the area. The dashing gentleman had been hanged as a spy by the patriots. Of course, he was a spy, but hed been handsome and charismatic, and many had lamented his death.
The woods were dense. Creeks and streams danced over rocks and down slopes. At night, when fog wandered in these woods, it was easy to imagine how frightening it might be to roam what wouldve been an eerie landscape in the dark, with only the light of the moon filtering through the trees.
The Old Dutch Burying Grounds by the Old Dutch Church were filled with worn old stones and vaults that had been dug into the cliffs, and it was spooky by moonlight.
Of course, there was also much that was warm and welcoming in Sleepy Hollow and Tarrytown.
There were hotels and motels, bed-and-breakfasts and inns, as well as shops that offered the usual T-shirts, souvenirs, handmade arts and crafts, and one-of-a-kind clothing.
And there were headless horsemen.
There were headless horsemen everywhere.
They were on signs that advertised stores and restaurants.
They were on village welcome posts along the roadsidesome made of wrought iron and some of wood etchings, and others were done using a variety of other artistic media and techniques.
As a child, Aidan had scrambled up and down the hills and leaped over the many lilting brooks and streams. He and his friends had created their own stories about the patriots and redcoats and traitors, the Indians who had once claimed the land and, needless to say, Irvings headless horseman.
It had been a great place to grow up. The entire Hudson Valley was, in his opinion, one of the most beautiful places on earth. And, for a boy, it had been filled with adventure. Hiking, fishing, boating, walking with his friends...learning their world and its history.
Richard Highsmith had been one of those friends.
Aidan hadnt gone to the local station yet. Neither had he headed over to the center where Richard would be speaking. Jackson Crow had called Aidan with specifics about the last time Richard had been seen. In fact, Highsmiths assistant, Taylor Branch, had feared that hed just walked outthat hed suddenly had an epiphany regarding politics and its negative, nasty side. Branch was sure that Richard would realize he was a different kind of politician, one who could bring about change, and that hed come back. So hed waited, entertaining the crowd with musicians hired for the event.
Richard had been missing for three hours before Branch had called the police. Then thered been confusion. Next the place had been shut down and those whod come to see him speak had been held and questioned, but finally theyd all been allowed to leave.
A search had actually begun last night around midnight. From Jackson Crows last call, Aidan knew that more people had been called out at the crack of dawn.
The police had searched through the night. Many of the tourist attractions in Tarrytown and Sleepy Hollowlike Washington Irvings Sunnyside and the old Philips Manorhad acres of farmland, surrounded by forest.
The police had called in all kinds of assistance. Officers from the county and state. Bloodhounds and other canine search-and-rescue units, including an Irish wolfhound and his keeper who seemed to have an extraordinary rate of success. Anything and everyone was out thereand now the information had hit the airwaves.
Aidan had decided to go on instinct. On the voices he heard in his head. He hated when that happened, loathed it. But the voices still came now and then. And today...
Hed heard Richard. Heard him when it was too late.
They got me, my old friend. They got me.
He wished hed heard something different. Like, Im in danger, old friend.
Cursing, he began to walk. First he climbed uphill, by the Old Dutch Church. But somehow he knew that was wrong, so he changed course, got back in his car and drove beside the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery. Finally, he reached the end and parked again.
It was fall; mid-October had just arrived. The day had been beautiful when hed started driving and even when hed first parked. The leaves were turning, offering brilliant touches of color here and there. The temperature was cool but not cold.
Suddenly a chilly breeze was whipping around him, and when he looked up he saw that the sky was gray and ominous.
A brook trickled between the boundaries of the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery and Saint Andrews burying ground. He hopped over the brook, studying the expanse of trees that flourished everywherethe plan when the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery was designed had been to make it a serene and beautiful place, a place where families might come to picnic and find peace while they honored their lost loved ones. And it was beautiful here. The dead rested between the graceful trees and gurgling water. Nature at its best.
The one land of the dead blended into the next. There hadnt been a burial at the old grounds for a century while Sleepy Hollow Cemetery still accepted new denizens. But the old burying ground was just as beautiful, though not actually planned that way. Nature, on her own, had stepped in. The grounds were somewhat overgrown, yet that made them more forlorn and more poignant. Crosses rose in high grass; cherubs appeared by tombstones.
Angels wept.
There were vaults dug into the hill where the church had once stood, surrounded by trees and bushes. Tombs had been built above the ground, and these old mausoleums endured within a fairy-tale land where the dead rested and the living might contemplate the beauty of lifeand the inevitability of death.