Digging Up History Read online

  “That was only yesterday!” Marty protested. “Nell, help me out here.”

  “Detective,” I began in what I hoped was a soothing voice, “I’m not criticizing the police department, but we were afraid that if we told your department, you’d sweep in and clear everything out, and we’d lose anything like a historical context. Even in the best case, you probably would have lumped the outlier in with all the other bodies,” I ended dubiously.

  “I’d like to see the ME handle a couple of hundred bodies at once—he’d probably have to rent New Jersey to store them,” Hrivnak muttered. Then she straightened up and said firmly, “There are police protocols to follow when a body is found.”

  “Of course there are,” I said, nodding, “but what if that body is two hundred years old? Do you treat it the same way you would treat a fresh body?”

  “I can’t say I’ve ever had that problem,” she admitted. “Most of our victims are a bit newer.”

  “So let me ask you this: can we help? Or rather, will you let us help? I mean, not with analyzing corpses, but with finding out who they are and how they all came to be where they are. That would mean we’d like to have you leave them in situ for a bit so we could get the right kind of analysis done, with the right kind of people, but that might be only a couple of days. We could work with the medical examiner, if that’s what it takes.”

  “I’m going to have to think about it,” the detective said. “And how the hell do we handle the press? I mean, it’s kind of hard to hide a block full of skeletons in plain view. It’s gotta be, what, a few acres?”

  “Three or four, I’d guess,” I told her.

  Hrivnak went on, “The lot has a fence around it, but anyone could see right through it. You could cover it with something, but there are taller buildings around it, so plenty of people would be able to see all those bodies. Skeletons.”

  “I think that rather than try to hide the whole thing, you—we—could get ahead of the story. Find a friendly reporter and involve him—or her—from the beginning,” I suggested. “Emphasize the history, not the creepy parts. I’d be happy to help with that.”

  “I bet you would.” The detective thought for a moment. “Look, this mess is going to take clearances from half the city departments. Don’t ask me to decide right now, but maybe I can give you an answer about your idea tomorrow.”

  “That’s fine—I know what problems you must be facing.”

  “If I may make a suggestion,” James interrupted, “I think you need to provide some sort of protection for the site, once its location becomes known. I know that will involve extra expense for your department, but otherwise you may lose valuable evidence. The chain-link fence that’s there now is not going to be enough to keep people out.”

  “Maybe we can find a donor from the local historic community, if we emphasize the need to protect this unique part of the city’s past,” I suggested. I had no idea if it was possible, but it was worth looking into. Marty was sure to know someone who’d be interested—and she already had a stake in the investigation.

  “Whatever,” Hrivnak said. “Let me touch base with my boss and whatever other departments are going to have to be involved. I see your point, but I’ll have to convince the rest of ’em. I’ll get back to you when I know something.”

  “Thank you!” I said, and I meant it. This was a unique if weird opportunity to learn something new about the city, and I wanted to be kept in the loop.

  “And find that guy Dylan, will you? He’s got to be a witness of something, and he’s got the camera, right? Even if he doesn’t know anything, I’ve got to check him off the interview list.”

  “I’ve got his contact information back at the Society,” I said. “I’ll look it up and let you know where he should be.”

  Detective Hrivnak stood up quickly. “I’ll walk you out.” We followed like a flock of sheep, and she let us out the door.

  When we reached the outside world, it was still the same day. The sun was shining, and a few cars honked at one another. I took a deep breath. “Why did I expect to get arrested? We’re on good terms with Hrivnak, aren’t we?”

  “I think we’ve done our share of favors for her, so we’re about even,” James said.

  “You were quiet in there,” I said.

  “You two are the historians. I’m the bodyguard. Or something like that.”

  “Marty? You all right?”

  “What?” She looked like she was coming out of a trance. “Oh. I’m running through my mental Rolodex to figure out who I should call. As an optimist I’ll assume the detective can pull a few official strings and let us have access to the site, but as a pessimist I’m sure the allotted time will be short, and we’ve got a lot to do. Where do you think Dylan is? He seemed really gung-ho yesterday.”

  “Our original plan was to meet at the Society today,” I reminded her. “He may be working there, and you said you couldn’t reach him by phone to tell him otherwise.”

  “Maybe. Can we sit for a couple of minutes and just breathe, and think?” Marty said plaintively. “It’s too nice a day to sit inside the Society building.”

  “Okay. Independence Mall?” I suggested.

  “If it’s not too crowded and we don’t have to duck Frisbees.”

  “Works for me.” I turned to James. “Is there anything you need or want to do today?”

  He smiled. “What, and miss the chance to identify a couple of hundred bodies all at once? There might be some sort of FBI prize for that, as long as there’s no war or famine or plague attached.”

  “Then let’s sit down and map out a strategy.” To demonstrate, I found an empty bench on one edge of the Mall and sat. Marty and James joined me, more slowly.

  I took the lead. “Okay, assume we have limited time. What do we need to know, and where do we find it?”

  “A history of early Philadelphia cemeteries,” Marty said quickly. “I can’t imagine that a city block’s worth of bodies would have been forgotten entirely. There must be a record somewhere.”

  “All right. James, what legalities do we need to know?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

  “Who’s legally responsible for the former cemetery and its occupants? Is there a court procedure to follow? Please don’t tell me someone has to identify each and every one, even if it’s possible with DNA these days. And if they’ve been dead for a hundred years or more, on average, there are probably no descendants to match. So we’re back to the first point: find out what cemeteries are missing, so to speak, and see if somewhere in the city there’s a list of burials for them.” I hesitated a moment. “You know, I feel very crass, but I keep thinking of the PR value of this, if we handle it right. Of course the press is going to be involved, at least while the story is still fresh. There must be some local scholars who’d like to get an oar in. The Society could set up an exhibit of what was found and what was done with it, and offer workshops on how to identify old bodies. And so on.”

  “I like it,” Marty said firmly, “but first we have to identify the bodies. Was there a church that went with the cemetery?”

  “You tell me. It was your ancestors who lived in that neighborhood. Did they leave any diaries or anything? Or do you know what church they belonged to locally? It could be that the local cemetery wasn’t exactly intended for the wealthy upper class. And why did your ancestors move uptown? Were they uncomfortable living next to the dead?”

  “You don’t ask much, do you, Nell?”

  “Look, I’m just spitballing here. These are things we could do. The question is, which ones have to be done first, while the others wait for more time and possibly funding?”

  “Fair enough,” Marty agreed.

  “And one more question,” I went on. “While we’re putting together our wish list—Marty, do you want to focus on the single body? It could be related to the cemetery, or it could be something else entirely.”

  “I probably do have some insider information about
that neighborhood at the right time,” she said. “That single body is under police jurisdiction in this case, as much as all the others, but I think we can finagle control over that.”

  “We still haven’t figured out where Barney is,” James said suddenly.

  Marty glanced at her phone. “He hasn’t called me,” Marty said. “He should be all over this. It’s his project, and for him, the longer the delays, the more money he loses.”

  “Marty, how well do you know Barney?”

  “Not very,” she said. “Socially only, I guess. Too bad Dylan isn’t here—he could do some background research on Barney. It wouldn’t take him long.”

  “So we need to find both Dylan and Barney. Let’s get something to eat, then go over to the Society and figure out what resources we have to work with,” I said.

  “I for one would like to look at maps of the neighborhood,” Marty said. “Ones big enough to see details.”

  “Good idea. I can look into early church history, and then we can compare notes—there should be some overlap. And you’re going to want to look at who owned the houses along the street there. Why would there be a body there?”

  “Definitely.”

  Chapter Twelve

  We had good intentions. We even had a plan, more or less. But I was ready for a nap. It had been a very odd few days, with a resulting body count of a couple hundred or so. I didn’t know anything about those, or what was left of them, but given my professional position, I thought I should, so I felt guilty. At least Marty hadn’t known any more than I did about the lost cemetery. But she had known about the other body—and now maybe she was feeling guilty about not telling anyone for half a century. What would I have done? I had no idea. Still, only our little group and a few of her many cousins knew what she knew.

  “Is it still Sunday?” I asked.

  “Last time I checked,” James told me. “What do you want to do next?”

  “I wish I knew. Did we eat lunch?”

  “No, but that can be fixed. But then what?”

  “Well, as you may recall, since it’s Sunday there’s no one at the Society because we’re not open. There won’t be anyone there tomorrow either—we’re closed on Monday too. So we should take advantage of the peace and quiet—and lack of competition for resources. We can get in a few hours today and at least figure out what we need to look at. I’m going to check on church histories, and will look at who lived in that neighborhood and whose house she were crawling under. Could be that body was the owner, or it could be someone else, from some other period. Or whatever the earlier equivalent of a street person was—a stranger who had no particular reason to be there. Checking that out will give Dylan something to do if we find him. James, anything you want to do? You’re kind of the odd man out here.”

  “I am at your service,” James said, deliberately pompously. “Just remember, this is my day off.”

  “How about this? We go to the Society and hope that Dylan is there and didn’t think to contact us. Before all this started I asked him to pull together the rest of the Featherstone book collection and see if there are any other mysterious pieces of paper attached to anything. Don’t worry, Marty—I told him not to tear anything apart, but if there are other bindings as poorly attached as that first one, he shouldn’t have any problem figuring out where to look.”

  James stood up from the bench and almost shook himself like a dog. “I vote that I go get food for all of us, while you two go to the Society and dig in. Where do you want to work?”

  “Someplace where we won’t be bothered. But it might be a good idea to start with the maps, so we’d need to find a place to spread things out, at least in the beginning. Does that work for you, Marty?”

  “I guess. It’s so odd, thinking about researching a part of the city I would have said I knew well, but when I was there on the construction site yesterday, it seemed unfamiliar. That’s the problem with history—we say things are old, but we forget that they keep changing, even while we watch.”

  “Well, try to look at it all with fresh eyes, as though you’d never seen it before. Maybe that will help.”

  I stood up, hoping that would get my blood flowing again. “Okay, let’s go. James—food. Marty, the Society. Meet us there, James.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said with a mock-military tone. “I’ll call your cell when I arrive.”

  We parted ways, Marty and I heading for the Society building, James toward Market Street, where there would bound to be many food choices, even on a Sunday.

  For a block or two Marty was silent. Finally she said, “Doesn’t this all seem weird to you?”

  “What, finding a couple of hundred bodies? Plus one?”

  “Well, yes. But first Dylan found that map, and showed it to me, and I recognized it, and we made a beeline for the place, and presto, there was a body I hadn’t thought of for more than half my life.”

  “Synchronicity?” I asked.

  “I’ll settle for coincidence. Unless of course Dylan finds a manuscript that explains everything.”

  “That would be helpful,” I said.

  It didn’t take us long to reach the Society, and I always carried my keys with me for occasions like this. I unlocked the door, then let Marty enter. Inside I inhaled deeply: the place was silent and no lights were on, but I loved the smell of old paper and leather. “Map room?” I asked Marty.

  “Yes. Drat, I keep forgetting to carry a camera, and my cell phone isn’t good enough to take detailed pictures. You should buy a couple of cameras for this place.”

  “Of course,” I said. “I should always be prepared to find more bodies and need to do immediate research on them. Let’s go up.” I checked to make sure my phone was on, since James was going to call, then led the way to the large workroom on the second floor. I turned on the lights, and then I realized there was someone in the room: Dylan.

  “Hey,” he greeted Marty and me. “Where’ve you been?”

  “At police headquarters. James and I decided it was the right thing to do, to explain what we knew to the police. I would have called you about the change of plans, but I didn’t have your phone number handy. And how’d you get in?”

  “I got a key when I got the internship—don’t worry, it’s official, and I signed some document,” Dylan said. “I figured you’d show up here eventually. Why did you need to talk to the police?”

  “In case you don’t know—and I don’t know why you would—the police and/or the medical examiner are required to attend to any body, even if it’s been dead for a couple of centuries,” I told him. “Anyway, Detective Hrivnak was kind of expecting us because apparently the officers from yesterday reported that they’d seen several rather odd people nosing around the site. That would be us. But she and I have worked together before and she trusts us. She said we could help with the historical aspects, and I practically kissed her. I can’t bear the thought that a gang of guys with wheelbarrows might show up and cart all the corpses away and file them somewhere.”

  “And did you tell her about Marty’s body?”

  “Yes—it seemed smart to come clean all at once. And if we want to have a prayer of identifying that one, we need to preserve as much evidence as possible.”

  “Good point. Well, I came in to see if I could enlarge the pictures of Marty’s dead guy, and then I wanted to finish gathering up the Featherstone books, like you asked.”

  “Have you found anything?”

  “No, not yet. First I had to find them and sort them—they were kind of scattered in different places in the building, wherever there was room—and I haven’t gotten around to examining them. Are we making a big leap of logic to think that the map we found means anything? It was just kind of stuffed into the binding of that book, and it’s not like anybody would find it unless they knew exactly what book it was in. And an amateur wouldn’t be able to get it out of the book without making a mess.”

  “That’s a good point, Dylan, but I thought we should check any
way. I should go pull Harriet Featherstone’s file and see if anybody left any personal comments about her in it. I don’t know her genealogy, and I can’t recall if she ever talked about it. But as Marty pointed out, there may be some cosmic meaning to the fact that we found the letter and the body within a day of each other. It’s worth looking into.”

  “Are you going to stay here now?”

  “James is bringing food. I was going to check out Philadelphia church history to see if we can figure out if the cemetery was connected to a church, and Marty was going to look at early city maps and see if she could find out whose house that was. That should be enough for today, and we’ve both got tomorrow free.”

  “I’m really enjoying this, you know,” Dylan said shyly. “Maybe I should look at the Featherstone file first? Maybe there’s something personal about her that would explain what that paper was doing in a book at all. Or the paper might not even have been hers, just something a random bookbinder picked up and recycled.”

  “It’s possible. How many books did she leave us?”

  “I think around two thousand, but that’s just a guess. You told me she was ninety-something, right? She’d been collecting for a long time.”

  “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, collecting is a passion. Or an obsession. Once you’re hooked, you can’t stop yourself.”

  Dylan grinned. “I get it. Do I get to eat with you guys?”

  “Sure. I’ll come find you when James gets here, and we can eat in the break room.”

  We split up then. I went back to my office and turned on my computer so I could search for references on churches of Philadelphia during its first centuries, and the cemeteries that might have belonged to them. I admit to a surprising fondness for old cemeteries—I usually stopped at the Christ Church Cemetery to visit with Ben Franklin and others, and I knew Marty had some ancestors buried there. No, the dead don’t talk to me, although I’ve been known to talk to them, but doing this makes me feel closer to them. And I’m not alone: you can tell where the famous people were buried in a cemetery by where the biggest crowd is standing. Which again made me wonder, how do you simply cover over a fairly substantial-sized cemetery and forget about it? Yet that’s what we thought had happened.