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  The medical examiner arrived at the cemetery about an hour later. The fact that he was still wearing golfing attire under his white lab coat suggested he might have been out teeing off on a few holes, which would explain why he hadn’t answered his pager when first called.

  Working with the CSI officers, the medical examiner started carefully going over the human remains, and tattered articles of women’s clothing. As each item was examined, it was carefully bagged and labeled for further study back at the laboratory.

  The dress was the first item to be examined, with extra care taken in regards to the bloodstains. A couple of the stains were still slightly wet, and quarter-inch cotton squares were dipped into the blood using forceps, and then put into glass test tubes. The test tubes were left unstopped so the cotton squares could air dry.

  Several strands of hair was also discovered clinging to the dress. There was no way to determine in the field if the hair fibers had come from the victim, the perpetrator, or from both of them. That was something they would try to determine under a microscope, back at the lab.

  After they had collected hair and blood samples, the dress was carefully lifted off the ground and spread out on a large sheet of brown paper, allowing it to air dry. Once dried, it was carefully folded and sealed in a large paper bag. The blue panties and the leather shoes were also examined and then sealed in paper bags.

  With the clothing out of the way, the medical examiner could focus his attention on the human remains that had been under the dress. The pieces of skin and bone were collected first, with the examiner placing each fragment in a separate glass container.

  The last items to be collected were the teeth, three in all, with two of them containing modern fillings. Teeth were especially significant in determining the age of a victim, based upon the changes they undergo during aging.

  Once all of the remains had been properly stored for transportation back to the medical examiner’s office, the CSI officers gathered several soil samples from the spot and placed them in cardboard boxes. The samples would be examined in detail back at the lab, looking for trace elements such as hair or fiber. Chemical analysis would also be run on the soil to see if it contained blood, semen, or other liquids.

  The medical examiner’s job was done once all the evidence had been tagged and bagged. Taking charge of the remains and clothing, he bid the others farewell and headed back to his office, promising he would be in touch as soon as all the tests were run. With the ME’s departure, the two crime scene investigating officers resumed the task of trying to lift fingerprints off of the front gates, broken chain, and the leather shoulder bag. They also collected the ornate silver ring for evidence. Jack and Bill finished up with their grid search of the cemetery, allowing the two patrol officers to head back to the station.

  There wasn’t much else they could do for the day, except canvass the neighborhood in search of clues. The Tolomato Cemetery was flanked by houses, so maybe someone in the area had seen or heard something during the night. There was also a green Dumpster that sat just on the other side of the fence, behind the Old Drugstore, that warranted a quick search. The perp might have dropped something in the Dumpster on his way to or from the graveyard: gloves, a pry bar used to break the chain, or maybe a container used to carry the clothing and remains.

  The two detectives were on their way to check out the Dumpster when a television news truck pulled up in front of the cemetery. Word had obviously already gotten out about the homicide.

  “Looks like we’ve got company,” Bill said, pointing at the truck. “Somebody at the office must have loose lips.”

  “Maybe it’s a slow news day, and they were listening to police broadcasts.”

  “I didn’t say anything over the radio. Did you?”

  “Not me,” Jack replied. “I used my cell phone.”

  “Well, somebody must have said something over the air.” Bill stopped and pulled a pipe and pouch of tobacco out of his jacket pocket. “Why don’t you go have a look in that Dumpster. I’ll play public affairs officer for the day.”

  “You’re going to give them a statement?”

  The older detective nodded. “We might have need of the press later on, so I had better give them a tidbit or two now to keep them happy. They’re going to find out everything anyway, so I might as well be nice. I’ll tell them that human remains were found, but it has yet to be determined where they came from. It’s also undetermined at this time if it was a homicide, or an attempt at an illegal burial.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “I thought you’d approve.” Bill smiled.

  “Okay, you deal with the press, and I’ll go look through the Dumpster.” Jack looked around, suddenly realizing what he had just agreed to. “Wait a minute. You get to kick back and chat with the media, while I go rooting around in a trash bin. I think you just tricked me.”

  Bill laughed. “I did indeed.”

  “Damn. There’s probably all kinds of nasty stuff in that Dumpster. What a way to spend my day off”--Jack glanced at his watch--”and the day is only half over.”

  Chapter 5

  It was already dark by the time Ssabra finished with her afternoon tours. Arriving back at the office, she changed into the costume she always wore for the ghost tours: a dark blue dress with layered petticoats, the kind that were typically worn during the 1800s, and a matching scarf and bonnet. Her shoes were modern, but the dress was so long no one could see them. Once dressed, she put a new candle in her lantern and headed out the door.

  First City Tours ran two different ghost tours at night. The eight o’clock tour covered the northern end of the old city, and included stops at the Huguenot Cemetery, the Tolomato Cemetery, the Casablanca Inn, and several spots along St. George Street. The nine o’clock tour focused on the south side, with Flagler College, the St. Francis Inn, and the old armory being key points of interest. The tours normally took a little over an hour to conduct, with twenty to thirty people in each group.

  She would be leading one of the eight o’clock groups, which meant she had approximately twenty minutes to get back over to St. George Street, where customers would be signing up to take the tour. She wasn’t pressed for time, because it wasn’t that far of a walk, but she did need to get her butt in gear.

  Ssabra arrived at the north end of St. George Street in record time, with a few minutes left to spare. It was amazing how fast she could move when she wanted to, despite being hampered by a long dress and several layers of petticoats. It was even more amazing how many people were already standing in line behind the Mill Top Tavern, waiting to sign up for the tours. It was obviously going to be another busy night in the haunted city.

  Checking in with the girls manning the sign-up sheets, she was given a group of around twenty-five people to take out on tour. As was often the case, her group for the night was a mixture of tourists and locals: couples, families, young and old, even a few repeat customers who had taken one of her ghost tours earlier in the week. She didn’t mind the variety; as a matter of fact, the diversity of her group would help to make the night more interesting. She could be factual and informative for the adults, while playing the part of the spooky storyteller for the little ones. She always delighted in making children snuggle closer to their parents for protection.

  Moving her group away from the sign-up table, she double-checked to make sure everyone was wearing a ghost sticker. The stickers were given to tour customer when they paid their money, and served as a means of identifying who was in the group. It was not unusual to have someone try to slip into the group during the tour, and the lack of a ghost sticker was an easy way to identify them.

  Usually, she didn’t have much trouble getting rid of a nonpaying outsider. The others in the group had paid their money, and they were not about to have someone tag along for free. They would tell the party crasher to get lost. It was amazing how protective a group could be of their tour and their tour guide.

  Counting heads and chec
king stickers, she introduced herself to the group. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. My name is Ssabra Onih, and I will be your official guide for tonight’s ghost tour.”

  Slipping into character, she favored the crowd with a slight smile and lit the candle in her lantern. “I hope that none among you are faint of heart, for I promise you an evening of spooky delights. We are going to visit the haunted places of North America’s oldest city, walking hand in hand with its ghostly residents.

  “I must warn you that this is a walking tour, so I hope you’re all wearing comfortable shoes. Also, we will be crossing several streets where there’s traffic, so I ask that none of you cross before I do. It wouldn’t do to have any of you run over by a speeding car. If that happens, you just may end up as one of the many ghosts of our lovely city.”

  Finished with the introduction, she gathered her group together and lead them south along the crowded avenue. The first stop of the evening was the Pellicer-Peso de Burgo house at 49 St. George Street. After everyone gathered in a semi-circle around her, she told the story of the hauntings that were associated with the original building.

  “The building you see behind me is called the Pellicer-Peso de Burgo house. It is a reconstruction of a Minorcan duplex, and was built by the Historic St. Augustine Preservation Board in 1974. It is now a museum run by the city of St. Augustine.

  “Prior to the Minorcan duplex, this site was occupied by a print shop and stationary store. The business was located on the ground floor, with a private residence above that. The business and residence were both owned by the Paffee family, some of the wealthier citizens of old St. Augustine.

  “The haunting that I want to tell you about, the one associated with this site, took place in 1927, around the same time that a vicious hurricane was battering the east coast of Florida. Mrs. Paffe was quite elderly, and she lived in the upstairs residence with her grandson. The poor woman was also ill, and a nurse had been hired to take care of her.

  “One night, when the winds of the hurricane were blowing strongly against the shuttered windows, the nurse went into Mrs. Paffe’s bedroom to check on her, only to find a nun kneeling beside the bed, obviously praying for the elderly woman. Finding it odd that someone else would be in the room, the nurse went to the grandson’s room to inquire about the nun.

  “The nurse was quite surprised when the grandson told her that the nun was actually a spirit, and often appeared to comfort his grandmother when she was afraid. The elderly woman was terrified of storms, especially hurricanes, so the nun had obviously come to help ease Mrs. Paffe’s fears.

  “The nurse was a little skeptical of the grandson’s story, so she walked back to the bedroom of Mrs. Paffe. But the nun was no longer at the bedside of the elderly woman, nor had she gone down the stairs and out the front door. She had simply vanished. The nurse was surprised to find that the nun had disappeared, and began to wonder if she really had seen a ghost.

  “A few nights later the nurse went to check on Mrs. Paffe, only to find a strange man standing in the room. The man was young, tall, and dark-haired, dressed in an odd-looking uniform, like those the Spanish soldiers used to wear in the 1700s. Thinking that the soldier must be a family friend, and had come to pay a visit on the elderly woman, the nurse left the room and went to see Mrs. Paffe’s grandson.

  “When the nurse told the grandson about the Spanish soldier, he became quite upset and ran down the hallway into his grandmother’s bedroom. But he was too late. The soldier had gone, and he had taken with him the spirit of the sick woman. Mrs. Paffe was dead.

  “It seems that Mrs. Paffe had told her grandson about the nun who always came to visit her when she was sick or afraid. She had also told him about the Spanish soldier who would one day come to escort her spirit to the other side. The soldier had indeed come that night, carrying Mrs. Paffe’s soul to the great beyond.”

  She stopped speaking and fell silent, allowing her story to sink in. There were several smiles among the members of the group, and a few nodding heads. But for the most part, her listeners were happy to just stand quietly in front of the de Burgo house, searching its windows and doors for any signs of a ghost.

  “And now, if you will all follow me, we will move on to our next location.”

  The tour guide had planned on taking her group to The Casablanca Inn, and telling them the story about the ghost who still signaled to ships in the harbor, but another group had gotten there ahead of her. Not wanting to risk getting the two groups mixed up, which could easily happen, she decided to lead her people north to one of the old cemeteries.

  Ssabra turned to her group and smiled. “It looks like someone beat us to The Casablanca Inn. That’s okay. We can come back to it later. Right now, I want to take you to one of St. Augustine’s oldest cemeteries. Make sure you all stay together; I wouldn’t want anyone to get lost along the way. I also want you to keep a sharp watch, for where we are going ghosts have been seen on many occasions. Several people have even captured them on film, so make sure you have your cameras ready.”

  There was general laughter among the group, but she noticed that two of the children moved a step closer to their parents. A young woman also snuggled against her boyfriend, perhaps pretending to be afraid. He didn’t seem to mind, as he put his arm protectively around her shoulders.

  Leading the tour group north past the old City Gate, they arrived at their destination. The Huguenot Cemetery was the burial place for the city’s early Protestant residents. Since St. Augustine had originally been under Catholic rule, the cemetery had been built outside the city walls. No way the good Catholics were going to let heretics be buried inside the city.

  The half-acre burial ground was established in 1821, the same year that a yellow fever epidemic swept through the area. Many of those buried in the cemetery had fallen victim to the deadly disease; some had even been buried side by side in unmarked mass graves. Because of the mass graves, no one knew for sure just how many people were buried in the Huguenot.

  Telling stories about the yellow fever epidemic, and early burials, cast a somber spell over the tour group. Many of them gazed thoughtfully at the cemetery, perhaps wondering about the hardships and suffering of the permanent residents. Standing there in the darkness, it was easy to imagine restless spirits wandering among the gravestones.

  But with tragedy sometimes came comedy. Ssabra also told the story about the honorable Judge John B. Stickney, who was said to still haunt the tiny cemetery, even though his body had been dug up and sent elsewhere. According to the legend, a couple of drunken grave robbers had stolen the judge’s gold teeth when his body was being removed for reburial up North, and his spirit still haunted the cemetery in search of his shiny molars.

  Ssabra had just turned to point out the headstone of Judge Stickney, when she heard someone speak.

  “Osiyo.”

  Thinking someone might have a question, or a comment to make, she turned back to face her group. “Yes? Did someone have a question?”

  A few of the people in the group looked at each other, but no one spoke up. “I’m sorry. My ears must be playing tricks on me.”

  “Maybe you heard a ghost,” a little boy said, stepping away from his mother.

  “Could be.” Ssabra laughed. “And if I see one tonight, I’ll show you just how fast I can run.”

  She must have overhead one of her tour members saying something to another, and had mistaken it for a question directed toward her. Finished with her stories about the Huguenot, Ssabra lead the group down the street to the Tolomato Cemetery.

  The Tolomato looked just the way it always did at night, spooky and dark. A narrow rectangle of land where ancient headstones and crypts stuck out of the ground like old bones, and where towering oak trees wore long gray beards of Spanish Moss. It was always quiet at the graveyard, but it was never completely silent, for even the slightest hint of a breeze made the dried fronds of the palmetto trees whisper to each other.

  The
police had left the area earlier in the day, taking their bright yellow barrier tape with them. The gates were again closed, secured with a brand new chain and padlock. Whatever had happened there that morning, be it human remains being found or even a murder, the investigation was obviously over.

  Gathering her group together on the sidewalk in front of the entrance gates, Ssabra recited several ghost stories about the Tolomato. One of the stories she told was about the two boys who had spent the night in the cemetery, back when doing such things wouldn’t get them arrested, and how they had awakened to see a ghost floating across the grounds toward them. Terrified out of their wits, both boys fled for their lives. Later they learned that the ghost they had seen was that of a young woman who had died one week before her wedding day, and whose last request was to be buried in her white bridal gown.

  The boys were not the only ones to see the phantom bride, for she had been sighted numerous times over the years. Some even claimed to have photos of the woman in white, proof positive that life did exist beyond the grave.

  Ssabra spoke slowly as she recited her ghostly tales, choosing her words carefully, drawing her listeners into the story. As she spoke, several members of the group crowded closer to the fence, obviously hoping to see a spirit or two wandering among the graves. Others took flash photos, and video tape, hoping to catching something on film that wasn’t visible to the naked eye.

  Finished with the ghostly stories about the Tolomato, they moved on to several other places in the old city that were supposed to be haunted. They paid a visit to Fay’s house, which was said to be inhabited by the ghost of a mean old woman who had chain-smoked cigarettes when still alive. Some claimed that Fay still chain-smoked in death, for the glowing tip of a cigarette was often seen in the second-floor window of the old house. They also stopped by the Old Spanish Bakery, where the spirit of a young woman had been seen on numerous occasions hanging laundry over a wooden fence.