Remember that point in "Dead Beat", when Harry goes to meet Mavra's ghost at the grave she arranged for Harry, in Graceland Cemetery near the Inez Clarke statue?
Quoting:
"Graceland Cemetery is famous. You can look it up in just about any Chicago tour book—or God knows, probably on the internet. It's the largest cemetery in town, and one of the oldest. There are walls, substantial ones, all the way around, and it has far more than its share of ghost stories and attendant shades. The graves inside range from simple plots with simple headstones to life-sized replicas of Greek temples, Egyptian obelisks, mammoth statues—even a pyramid. It's the Las Vegas of boneyards, and my grave is in it.
The cemetery isn't open after dark. Most aren't, and there's a reason for it. Everybody knows the reason, and nobody talks about it. It isn't because there are dead people in there. It's because there are not-quite dead people in there. Ghosts and shadows linger in graveyards more than anywhere else, especially in the older cities of the country, where the oldest, biggest cemeteries are right there in the middle of town. That's why people build walls around graveyards, even if they're only two feet high—not to keep people out, but to keep other things in. Walls can have a kind of power in the spirit world, and the walls around graveyards are almost always filled with the unspoken intent of keeping the living and the un-living seated at different sections of the community dinner table.
The gates were locked, and there was an attendant in a small building too solid to be called a shack, and too small to be called anything else. But I'd been there a few times, and I knew several ways to get in and out after dark if need be. There was a portion of the fence in the northeast corner where a road construction crew just outside had left a large mound of gravel, and it sloped far enough up the wall that even a man with one good hand and a large and ungainly dog could reach the top.
We went in, Mouse and I. Mouse might have been large, but he was barely more than a puppy, and he still had paws that looked too big for his lean frame. The dog had been built on the scale of those statues outside Chinese restaurants, though—broad chested and powerful, with that same mountainous strength built into his muzzle. His coat was a dark and almost uniform grey, marked on the tips of his fuzzy ears, his tail, and his lower legs with solid black. He looked a little gangly and clumsy now, but after a few more months of adding on muscle, he was going to be a real monster. And damned if I minded the company of my own personal monster going to meet a vampire over my grave.
I found it, not far from a rather famous grave of a little girl named Inez, who had died a century before. The little girl's grave had a mounting on it, and in the mountain resided a statue. I'd seen it often, and it looked mostly like Carroll's original Alice—a cherub in a prim and proper Victorian dress. Supposedly, the child's ghost would occasionally animate the statue, and run and play among the graves and the neighborhoods near the graveyard. I'd never seen her, myself.
But hey. The statue was missing."
Anyway, on my tour to link Real Chicago to Dresden's Chicago, I went to Graceland Cemetery, which was more accurate in its description than Jim could have realized...one of the outer walls had a HUGE pile of gravel, as described above; the variation on this is that the gravel was there because the workers were repairing a hole from where a car had crashed through the brick wall...turns out they have to fix car oopsies like that at least 3 times a year because some are too soused to drive straight on a straight road.
But you have to admit...hole in wall + pile of gravel near wall = "...several ways to get in and out after dark if need be."
Cue Rod Serling and Twilight Zone theme...
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