the Reverend's hole. Something missed beneath his head.
The note was signed "Respectfully yours, a citizen of our city."
"Something missed?" Kurtz responded mockingly.
"There's nothing to prove here, no story to invent," said Rey with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. "The writer simply has something to tell. And, remember: The newspaper accounts have varied widely as to what happened to Talbot. Now we must use that to our advantage. This person knows the true circumstances, or at least that Talbot was buried in a hole, and that he was upside down. Look here, Chief." Rey read aloud and pointed: " 'Beneath his head.' "
"Rey, the number of problems I have! The Transcript's found someone at City Hall to confirm that Talbot was found with his clothes in a pile, just like Healey. They're printing it tomorrow and the whole blasted city will know we're dealing with a single killer. Then people won't blame 'crime' - they'll want someone's name." Kurtz turned back to the letter. "Well, why would the letter not say what 'something' we might find in Talbot's hole then? And why wouldn't your citizen walk up to our station house and tell me to my face what he knows?"
Rey did not answer. "Do let me have a look in the vault, Chief Kurtz."
Kurtz shook his head. "You've heard the heat we've taken from every cursed pulpit in the Commonwealth, Rey. We can't go digging up the Second Church's vault to pull out imagined mementos!"
"We left the hole intact in the event there was further observation required," Rey argued.
"Just so. I don't want to hear another word about it, Patrolman."
Rey nodded, but his expression of certainty did not diminish. Chief Kurtz's stubborn refusals could not compete with Rey's unwavering silent disapproval. Later in the afternoon, Kurtz snatched his greatcoat. He walked by Rey's desk and ordered, "Patrolman: Second Unitarian Church, in Cambridge."
A new sexton, a merchantlike gentleman with red whiskers, ushered them inside. He explained that his predecessor, Sexton Gregg, had become increasingly distraught since his discovery of Talbot's body and had resigned to look after his health. The sexton searched clumsily for the keys to the underground vaults.
"There'd better be something to this," Kurtz warned Rey when the stench of the vault reached out to them.
There was.
After only a few strokes with a long-handled shovel, Rey unearthed the pouch of money exactly where Longfellow and Holmes had reburied it.
"One thousand. Exactly one thousand, Chief Kurtz." Rey counted out the money under the glow of a gas lantern. "Chief," Rey said, having realized something remarkable. "Chief Kurtz, the Cambridge station house - the night we found Talbot's body. Do you remember what they told us? The reverend had reported his safe robbed the very day before the murder."
"How much had been taken from his safe?"
Rey nodded to the money.
"One thousand." Kurtz gasped in disbelief. "Well, I don't know whether this helps us or confounds the matter even more. I'll be damned if even Langdon W. Peaslee or Willard Burndy would blow a minister's safe one night and butcher him the next and, if they did, leave the money behind for Talbot to enjoy from the grave!"
It was then that Rey almost stepped on a bouquet of flowers, the token left there by Longfellow. He picked them up and showed them to Kurtz.
"No, no, I haven't let anyone else in these vaults," the new sexton assured them back in the vestry. "Been closed off since the... occurrence."
"Then maybe your predecessor did. Do you know where we can find Mr. Gregg?" Chief Kurtz asked.
"Right here. Every Sunday, faithful as could be," the sexton replied.
"Well, when he's here next, I want that you ask him to call on us immediately. Here's my card. If he permitted someone inside there, we shall have to know."
Back at the station house, there was much to be done. The Cambridge patrolman to whom Reverend Talbot had reported the robbery had to be interviewed again; they had to trace the legal-tender notes through the banks to confirm they originated from Talbot's safe; Talbot's Cambridge neighborhood would be scoured to find any information regarding the night his safe was broken into, and an expert in handwriting would analyze the note that provided the information.
Rey could see that Kurtz was feeling genuine optimism, probably for the first time since he'd been told of Healey's death. He was almost giddy. "That's what it takes to be a good policeman, Rey - a touch of instinct. It's all we have sometimes. It fades with each disappointment