TITLE: Dead, Without A Stone To Tell It
When a single human bone is found on a lonely stretch of coastline, a determined homicide detective and a reluctant scientist risk their lives when they join forces to bring a serial killer to justice.
Boston, Massachusetts; the Old North Church
The heels of the woman’s boots beat a muted staccato against the worn wood of the narrow, centuries-old staircase as she followed the vicar from the brightly lit, sun-streaked upper reaches of the church above into the oppressive still and silence of the dark, damp basement below.
Not many people went down to the basement anymore ― only those who would commune with the dead.
She was one of those people.
She stepped off the lowest step onto a floor of poured concrete and followed the darkly robed clergyman through the adjacent doorway, barely skimming the crown of her head on the low lintel as she ducked under the small sign that read ‘Watch Thy Head’.
“Here we are.” The vicar’s voice resonated in the quiet. “These are the crypts.”
They stood in a small vestibule, the large area under the sanctuary of the church spreading out before them. Through the doorway, a long corridor stretched away into the gloom that shaded the far reaches of the space, only dimly lit by the few exposed light bulbs that hung from the ceiling. There, long held safe in the quiet darkness and forgotten by all but a scarce few, were the oldest crypts in Boston.
Standing in the near silent basement, with only the creaks from the floorboards overhead announcing the presence of the funeral mourners above, she could feel the centuries of history entombed in this building, just like the dead sleeping inside the aged brick walls.