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numbly. Fetching his own horse, he led the way back onto the main street.
    There were three churches in town, and the first they visited wasn’t the right one, as its priest was quick to inform them. When they got to the second, larger church, they could tell right away they were in the right place. Where the first had been busy, with several market stalls out front and a steady stream of parishioners through the main doors, this church was all but deserted. With its crude stone construction—blocky and impersonal, overgrown with ivy—it looked like a neglected tombstone.
    The priest came out into the courtyard to meet them. “I heard your hoofbeats on the flagstones. I have been expecting you, after a fashion.” He wore a weary expression, but his manner was friendly enough as he showed the officers where to tether their horses.
    “What do you mean, you have been expecting us?” asked Lenoir when they had dismounted.
    The priest sighed. “I knew this matter could not long escape the attention of the Metropolitan Police. It is simply too horrible.”
    “Why didn’t you report it, then?” Brier snapped. “We could have raised the hue and cry!”
    The priest eyed Kody and Lenoir apprehensively; he was probably wondering whether they would arrest him. “Can you imagine what it is like to have something like this happen at your church? My parishioners should think this a holy place, not a place of evil. I wanted to keep word of the incident to myself and the parents, not have it become known throughout the Five Villages.”
    Brier pointed an accusing finger at the priest’s chest. “That was not your decision to make!” He would have said more, but Lenoir raised a hand, and the constable subsided.
    “You must have known that would be impossible, Brother,” said Lenoir.
    “Apparently so, as you see. Since news of the theft became known, not a single family has come to lay their loved ones to rest. They think this place is defiled.”
    Lenoir frowned. “Defiled?” Either he didn’t know the word, or he was simply astonished at how provincial these people were.
    In case it was the former, Kody explained, “The outer villages are superstitious. People out here favor supernatural explanations instead of reason.”
    The priest’s expression hardened. “Ah, yes, of course. Well, I trust your reason will provide a ready explanation for what has happened here. Mr. and Mrs. Jymes will no doubt be comforted that the superior minds of Kennian are involved in locating their son’s body.” Kody felt himself flush as the priest turned away, heading for the cemetery.
    “Somehow, Sergeant, I do not think you have struck a blow for intervillage relations,” said Lenoir.
    The priest showed them the plot where the boy’s body had been. “It was stolen in the night, of course. Only one day after the burial.”
    “How old was he?” asked Lenoir.
    “Called to God at nine years,” the priest intoned gravely.
    Kody felt a jolt. Could it be a coincidence? “The boy in Brackensvale was also nine, Inspector.”
    Lenoir didn’t seem to hear. He gazed at the grave site, visibly annoyed. “The evidence has been destroyed.”
    The priest was unapologetic. “You would not have found anything, Inspector. Footprints and the work of a spade—nothing more.”
    “How did the boy die?” Lenoir asked.
    “Fever.”
    “And his parents, where are they?”
    “Not far from here,” Brier said, eager to help. “I can take you there, if you like.”
    •   •   •
    They remained in North Haven until late afternoon, but they didn’t learn anything useful. So Lenoir said, anyway, but Kody thought they were overlooking an important detail.
    “The two boys were the same age,” he pointed out as they rode back to Kennian. “That must be significant.”
    “Why must it?” Lenoir asked indifferently.
    “Well, it can’t be coincidence.”
    “Of course it can, Sergeant. The corpse thief is obviously interested in fresh