Fleece and Flock
The cemetery is so small, there isn’t a gate. It's a second-rate little space that reveals itself in glimpses between mossy oaks and hovering wisteria. The church that owns it stunted its growth by selling off the surrounding fields; where there was once cotton, there is now an expanse of McMansion housing.
The reverend now drives a new Bentley.
"So that's the Waterfall District, eh?" The younger man stares at the massive construction project as the rhetorical question flutters in the wind of the air conditioner.
The two detectives park. Out of habit, they flip identification at the uniform standing next to yellow tape. "Preacher is over there, fellas," he points towards a glowering man in a suit.
They're late for the meeting with the reverend, and he's hostile as he eyes the pair. "I called four hours ago. I'm at a loss to why it took so long for investigators to get here. I need you to catch the monster that did this on hallowed ground!"
The younger inspector rolls his eyes. "Jesus, Rev. For the love of God, take a breath."
The old detective smiles at the preacher. "Excuse me a second while I borrow my partner." Lightly taking him by the arm, he turns and walks away a few steps. "Pop it in reverse, kid. Be considerate," he whispers.
"My horoscope this morning didn't say that I had to take shit from a crooked preacher."
"They're all crooked, but your attitude is horseshit. Both of you being assholes won’t change that we got a new body next to an old grave."
"Yeah? Remit all complaints to the Fuckoff Department. You take his statement. I'll examine the dead guy. Corpses give me the creeps less than preachers."
The old detective couldn't help but agree with the kid.