Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 152, Nos. 5 & 6. Whole Nos. 926 & 927, November/December 2018

“How do I know the letter is real?”

“The friendly-fire incident Hank witnessed? The guilt he felt for not reporting it?” She tapped her pocket. “It’s real, and it’s written here.”

“You want me to dig up a man based on your word. Forget it. I’m not doing anything until you show me the letter.” I moved toward her.

“Another step and it’s going to get ugly.” The moonlight reflected the gun in Sylvia’s hand.

My breath caught. “Get ugly?” My eyes remained on the gun. “It’s already ugly.”

You can take her, I heard Hank whisper.

But I hesitated. If the gun went off, the Park Police would find me at Hammett’s grave with a shovel, and I would trade my brother’s dishonor for mine.

“Hank was your husband. How can you do this to him?” I whispered, desperate to find something that would reach her.

“How can I do this to him?” She sneered. “How can he do this to me?” She shook her head. “Your brother would come home at night, talk about the Tomb, the cemetery, like it was his mistress. He’d go on and on about the history of this god-awful place. And I listened, like a good wife, while he blathered. Then he deploys to Iraq and gets himself killed. And what do I get?”

She paused.

But I already knew the punch line.

“Nothing. That’s right. He leaves his life insurance to the damn sentinel fraternity.”

“Well, if you hadn’t cheated on him...” I cringed, the words out of my mouth before I realized what I’d said.

“Screw you, Jimmy. This place took from me. Now I take from it.” She picked up the shovel and slung it at me. “Start digging.”

My eyes went to the shovel and then to Hammett’s grave. Am I really going to do this? What other choice did I have? Sylvia would report my brother to the command if I didn’t. And then Hank wouldn’t be remembered as a soldier who defended his country or as a protector of the Tomb. Instead, he would be cast aside like Sergeant Jones — another sentinel whose badge was revoked, another man who dishonored the fraternity.

I couldn’t let that happen.

I unbuttoned my uniform top, tossed it aside, and then untucked my brown T-shirt. I grabbed the shovel and plunged it into the ground. The dirt slid against the metal, the sound like a mother shushing a small child. I dumped it and started over again.

Shush. Dump.

Shush. Dump.

I continued that way through the night, while Sylvia loomed over me with her gun and Hank’s letter.

Finally, the shovel struck something hard.

My stomach tightened.

You don’t have to do this, Hank whispered in my ear. You can still walk away.

I shook my head.

“What are you waiting for?” Sylvia demanded.

I tossed the shovel aside, removed the headlamp from my cargo pocket, and clicked on the light. I continued to push the soil away until the coffin was fully exposed.

“Here,” Sylvia said, her voice nearly giddy. She dropped something into the hole. It thudded next to me. I groped around until my fingers found an object that was cold and smooth. I picked up the crowbar and worked the lid off the coffin. The wood splintered.

“Sorry,” I whispered before I eased open the lid. The smell knocked me back. My hand flew to my mouth. I wanted to retch.

“Is it there?” Sylvia demanded.

I adjusted my headlamp and focused the light back on the coffin. But the red beam made details difficult to distinguish. “I don’t know...”

The zipper on Sylvia’s duffel squealed. Clink. Thud. A symphony of sounds played overhead, and I suddenly wondered if it was loud enough for the Park Police to hear.

“Get out of my way.” Sylvia tossed a rope ladder into the hole. She climbed down, bringing with her a rain of dirt. I turned my head and shielded my eyes, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her focus was on the coffin.

She clicked on a flashlight. A white beam splashed against Hammett’s remains: a collection of bones and...

Sylvia’s breath caught. She reached inside the coffin and lifted out a leather bag.

“Hank’s letter,” I demanded.

“You’re just like your brother. Obsessed with your family’s legacy and that damn fraternity.” She laughed. “You can all go to hell.”

There was something about her voice... I don’t know if it was her maniacal laugh, or just the bitter tone. But suddenly I realized, Falcon or not, this wasn’t going to end today. Not with Sylvia. For her, this wasn’t about money. It was about revenge: revenge against me, revenge against my brother, revenge against the sentinels and all that the fraternity represented.