“Tampering with evidence?” A voice asked.

“Since when have I not?” Greg said.

Frank was looking at the body and the retired PI from his horse. “You didn’t push him off, did you?”

“That’s what I can’t understand. He was running away from me and then he just jumped! There’s nobody up there who could’ve pushed him. To make matters worse, somebody stole what he stole. This case is becoming more complicated.”

“Why don’t you check with the library to see what books are missing?”

“You know, you should be a detective! You have the brains for it.”

Frank smiled. “Maybe one day, but Charlie needs me right now. There’s a lady horse he met in the park yesterday who pulls tourists. I think I’ll take him to meet her.”

Gregson walked into the library again. “I need to know what books are missing.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t just give that information out to anybody,” the tense librarian said. She looked positively frazzled now. The library collects neurotics; perhaps because reading is the next best thing to risking your life.

Gregson showed her his police ID and neatly covered up the retired part with his thumb.

“Oh, why didn’t you say you were police? I guess they don’t have age or weight standards anymore.”

Gregson shrugged off the criticism. He was used to bitter women and he didn’t try to sweeten them with his humor. A man learns not to do these things over time.

“I’ve cataloged the books that went missing: Chess-field Park: A History, The Voodoo Queen, Lances and Projectiles, How to Dig up a Cursed Graveyard, and Rituals for Reign.”

“It sounds like someone is interested in black magic and medieval power,” Gregson said.

“Leave me out of it. I cling to the Lord and I want no part of Satan’s games.”

“That makes two of us, but somebody’s got to catch this killer,” Gregson said.

It was getting on to the evening and a thick fog was spreading across the park from all sides. Gregson knew where the graveyard was, and he also knew it was time to load his revolver.