no members of the press were here this morning—and 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 Highsmith’s dignity. No one wanted the grotesque and heartbreaking image of Highsmith’s severed head appearing on TV or the internet or the papers. “I hope this is a political thing. Because if it’s not...”
“You think there really might be someone here...who’s crazy and going after heads?” Maureen asked. “But we have the head.”
Purbeck nodded grimly. “What we don’t have is the rest of the body, and that’s 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 he’d 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 Highsmith’s disappearance—and now confirmed murder—was 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.
She’d worked with Detective Van Camp before. In fact, of all the local cops, she’d worked with him the most. They’d met when she was just a teenager. She hadn’t had Rollo then; she’d 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. They’d decided that yes, if she could help, they were morally bound to let her do so.
She’d 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 wasn’t taken aback by the question. And it wasn’t because she and Van Camp knew each other or that they’d worked together before. He’d 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 didn’t. But he didn’t 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. “It’s certainly dramatic. But in the legend, the headless horseman is looking for heads. He takes the heads and leaves the bodies behind.”
“Yeah, that’s 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 area—Washington Irving just wrote it up with literary talent. Whoever this is, they’re 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 he’d 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 drama’s an attempt to throw off suspicion. Hard to be sure at this point.” He cleared his throat. “We’ll know more, I’m sure, after autopsy. I mean— Well, we’ll need to know how the head was removed from the body.”
“Whatever the answer may be, I really don’t think we’re 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 didn’t 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 can’t go yet. We still need her and Rollo.”
“Oh?” Purbeck asked.
“Boss man, hey,” Van Camp said. “We’ve 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 we’d 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?”
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 she’d 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. Andrew’s 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.
Now—be it cemetery or burying ground—the place beckoned to her.
“Rollo,” she said to the dog. “We’re 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 who’d once called it home.
The Woman in White appeared now and then, and Major Andre’s 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 he’d 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 would’ve 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
