The Grave Robber

For the third time this week, the deputy's car pulled into the old county cemetery. Three more police cars were parked next to an old tomb - a different one than the last two times, Deputy Gallagher noticed, but otherwise it was a very similar crime scene. He climbed out of the car to confirm it with the other officers.

Again, it was the tomb of an old, wealthy family, very prominent citizens from back in the day. The locks had been busted off, leaving the wrought iron doors lined with stained glass, standing open.

"Nothing's missing. No damage," said Officer Martin, "except the locks, I mean."

Gallagher rubbed his mustache, deep in thought. What kind of person goes into graveyards at night and opens up circa 1800 vaults? Or - better yet - what kind of person goes into graveyards at night, period? It was beyond him and he adjusted the cap on his balding head.

That night, Gallagher found himself in the cemetery. After a day flooded with calls from concerned relatives of the deceased, afraid that their loved ones' tombs would be next, he decided to put a stop to it once and for all.

The deputy volunteered to come in on his night off to watch for the "grave robber". Although the name didn't really fit, considering that this person didn't actually take anything, Gallagher thought it was very fitting. The grave robber was stealing him away from his comfortable bed where he could be asleep right now, instead of sitting in his old Crown Vic in a deserted bone yard. Also, the grave robber had stolen the front page of the Tuesday paper, shoving the news of the upcoming election to the second page. In a news-deprived country town, this was the crime of the century.

Gallagher yawned and fidgeted in his seat before checking his watch. The illuminated green clock face showed that he had only been here an hour and a half. There was no telling if the perpetrator would even dare to venture out tonight. Surely he must have realized that everyone in the entire county knew about him? It was too risky for him to so much as step foot in the graveyard without being called in. In fact, someone had already called in a suspicious vehicle in the cemetery - the precise moment when Gallagher pulled in just after dusk to wait. It was the nosey old woman across the road. After a quick drive through of the whole place, Gallagher assured the dispatcher that he was the only one in the graveyard and parked the Crown Vic in the old section with all the tombs in view.

As the hours ticked by, the deputy's eye lids began to droop. The radio was silent as usual in the sleepy town at night. The one time when there was radio traffic (Officer Rex pulled over a speeding out-of-state car), it startled Gallagher awake. He didn't recall falling asleep, but checked the time, his aging heart still pounding from being woken up so suddenly. Two more hours had passed.

Guiltily, he looked round, switching on his spot light and aiming it at each vault in turn, one by one, starting with the farthest away. All was well so far, as he turned the rusted light on the last tomb, so close that the beam of light was cast over top of the hood of the car. Gallagher cursed, lurching in surprise, knocking his cap clean off when he bumped his head on the ceiling. The light shown on the open doors, which swung in the breeze with the lock bent and laying on the steps, before the bulb flickered and gave out, leaving the deputy in the darkness.