A lethal legacy, p.18
A Lethal Legacy, page 18
Jenny’s little boy—Alfie, she’d called him—giggled delightedly and sent a ball flying their way.
Craig caught the ball, and rolled it back. Alfie chased after it happily.
“Thanks for that,” Jenny said. She sighed. “Honestly, I don’t remember a lot, but my dad did write letters to me. I’d be happy to go through them, see if he ever talked about anyone else’s visitors, or if they had prison buddies or anything relevant. It would be my pleasure to help you.”
“That’s good of you,” Mike told her.
“Really. Thank you,” Craig agreed.
“Mr. Egan—I don’t know his title now—was so good to me when everything was going on, when the FBI was seeing Dad, and the Marshal’s Service was trying to help me. I’m happy if there is something that I can do in return.”
Craig produced a card and handed it to her.
The ball hit him again. He laughed, caught it up off the ground, and rolled it back.
Little Alfie giggled delightedly and tried to kick it back. Craig ran a few steps to catch it, and kicked it gently to the child.
“He’s going to love you forever!” Jenny told him. “Alfie, you have to let the man go now, he’s busy. You have to play with me!”
But the ball rolled back to Craig.
“Alfie...”
“It’s okay,” Mike told her, amused. “We have to hang around this area anyway. Craig used to play ball. Maybe he’ll remember a little bit about the game!”
* * *
“Did they look like murderers?” Craig asked.
Kieran turned to glare at him. It wasn’t a serious question—but he’d posed it anyway.
“And what does a murderer look like?” she asked him.
When they’d arrived back at the Douglas house, it had been quiet. Only Victor Eider had been up, waiting for their return. He’d let them in, greeted them pleasantly and gone off to bed, presumably.
Now, up in the room, they were alone. Danny had gone straight to his own room; he and Kieran and Craig and Mike had discussed what they had discovered—and not discovered—on the boat trip back.
“Well, you have a few looks in murderers,” Craig said. “The wild-eyed Charles Manson look. Then, you have the guilty look. And there’s also the pleased look. That comes from someone who is usually a psychopath or a sociopath, feels no remorse whatsoever, and is simply proud—nonchalantly proud—because they believe they’ve gotten away with murder.”
“I gave you the list of everyone in attendance,” Kieran said.
“I’ve already gotten it to Egan,” Craig told her.
“They all looked...normal, I guess. They were an interesting crowd,” Kieran said. “Jay and Dallas—long haired, casual, look like friendly guys. Valentina—Dallas’s girlfriend, pretty, enthusiastic. There are the Steins—Rudy and Judy, older and more tailored. Ben Garcia—looks like he might have been military or a bodyguard. Grace and Nick Tanaka—nicely dressed in their jogging clothes, and Priscilla and Ells Chapman, the oldest in the group—a couple who look like they belong in a yacht club setting. No crazed eyes among them. They were all just excited about their research. They did come up with some interesting papers. When they meet, they show each other what they’ve been working on for the week. I have copies of everything. But it doesn’t tell me anything about what’s going on today.”
“Egan will check out their names. At this point, we’re looking for any kind of link we can work with,” Craig said as he shed his gun, holster and shirt. “If we can find someone who was associated somehow with the bank robbers, we might have a way to go.”
“Oh—Jay Harding is delighted to come to dinner tomorrow night.”
“I thought he would be.”
“What about John Smith and Annie Green?”
“Yep, Mike called Mr. Smith and chatted and said that Finn would be delighted to have him out tomorrow night.”
He was restless, pacing over to the window.
Kieran walked over to join him. She slipped her arms around his waist.
“And how are you doing?”
“I’m hoping we have an ID tomorrow on the woman we discovered,” he said, turning to face her. “And we can have the Believers out here. With John Smith. If nothing else, between them, it will be lively dinner conversation.”
He shifted slightly and as he did so, Kieran’s view out the window was clear.
A light flashed out in the darkness.
And then it was gone.
“Craig, the light...”
He turned around. Naturally, the light did not flash again.
“We have to stay out there at night!” she said. “I swear to you—I just saw a light again!”
He smiled. “I never suspected that you were making it up. Well, other than last night, and that was a stellar performance.”
“Craig, I think that someone is working out there, and the light is usually hidden in the tunnel or the caves.”
“Or,” he said softly, “someone is sending a signal—and the flash of light means that it’s safe to come in.”
He stared out the window reflectively.
“What are you thinking?”
“Tomorrow night,” he said softly.
“We’re going out there, by night?”
“Bracken. Bracken and I will keep watch. After our guests have been sent back...we’ll head out as soon as the house has grown quiet.”
“I’ll go with you.”
He shook his head. “You and Mike and Danny stay here.”
“Hey,” she said softly. “Danny and I have been the ones finding—”
“Corpses.”
“And ancient stones and wall scratchings.”
“But we won’t be searching for clues. We’ll be searching for whoever may be out there...searching for Frank’s killer. And I’ll need Mike here, and you and Danny, to see who here just may be slipping out by moonlight, aiding and abetting that killer.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Thursday morning
EGAN REALLY WAS a force of nature when he got going. Craig received the call from him just after 7:00 a.m.
He’d arranged the paperwork. The bank robbers would be disinterred from their plots in the potter’s field on Hart Island at 10:00 a.m. Detective Brice intended to be involved and a police cutter would be coming by for Craig in about thirty minutes.
Kieran stirred as Craig got up. He explained what was going on.
“You’ll be out most of the day?” she asked him.
“Yeah, I’ll be there for the disinterment, and I’ll accompany the corpses to the morgue. Dr. Hodges will start on them tomorrow. I’ll be back out here as soon as possible.” He hesitated. “I’m going to ask Mike to stay behind. Bracken will be in the caves.”
“And, I’ll be...sunning at the pool?” she asked him.
He sat at the foot of the bed. “Yes—using your talents. Trying to see if you can get anything out of anyone here.”
“Elayne is a spoiled brat, Margie is grieving and Finn works all day. Evie is creepy. Victor seems okay, but he is in good shape and could easily climb around caves.”
“You know that you can get me more than that.”
She smiled.
“What time is dinner? Do Finn, Evie and the others know?”
He nodded. “Finn is all for anything that could help. And Evie thinks that a dinner party would be a very good idea.”
“Well, then. Have you spoken with Bracken yet?”
“No, right now, I’m going to wake Mike. Ask him if he’d mind staying around here. The closer we get to something, the more I worry about what goes on around here.”
“But we haven’t gotten close to anything.”
“I beg to differ.”
“Someone on the island is involved—and someone has been searching for treasure. That’s what we’ve got,” she said.
“But things will break soon. We’ll get an ID on the woman you found in the caves. We’ll make a connection somewhere.”
“Of course,” Kieran told him. She smiled. “You always do.”
He loved her look. Especially in the morning. Hair tumbling all around her shoulders. Eyes bright and soft at the same time, covers falling from her naked flesh.
He stood quickly, kissed her on the forehead and hurried out.
He tapped lightly on Mike Dalton’s door; his partner opened it immediately. Mike was already dressed.
Craig told him about Egan’s call.
“And you want me to stay here?” he asked.
“We won’t learn anything. I’ll be the representative when Templeton and Borden are dug up—I’ll be there when they’re brought in.”
“I am on guard,” Mike told him. “I swear. Like the best German shepherd ever.”
Craig grinned in return. “Tonight...”
“Dinner party with the wackos!”
“Hey, won’t we all be surprised if those wackos are right, huh?”
Craig glanced at his watch—he had about five minutes left before the cutter would arrive at the docks.
He hurried downstairs to check in on Finn.
His cousin was seated behind his desk, studying plans on his computer.
“Hey!” Finn said, looking up at Craig.
“You’re up early.”
“I keep moving forward. I don’t know what else to do.” He brightened suddenly. “I love your setup for tonight, though. A scholar—and a guy with a...different belief!”
“Sparks may fly.”
“I hope so,” Finn said. He managed a smile. “Do you really think that a scholar could be involved—or even an ancient-alien theorist?”
“Someone is involved,” Craig said. “Mike and Bracken are here. Kieran and Danny. I’m going to be out for several hours, but I’ll be back in plenty of time for dinner.”
* * *
That morning, once Craig had gone, Kieran couldn’t sleep. She rose to make sure the door was locked. She curled back in bed, but sleep eluded her.
She rose, checked the door again and decided on what she hoped would be a long and invigorating shower.
She cranked up the water delightfully hot and just let it roll over her.
But then she thought she heard something.
The door to the room jiggling.
She stood still, listening. She heard nothing other than the water hitting the tiled floor.
Leaving the water running, she stepped out of the shower and cracked the door to her room.
She didn’t know if she was imagining things—but she thought she heard another click.
There was no one there; nothing seemed to have changed. But... Was her robe right where she had left it? What about things on the dresser? Her handbag?
She checked the door—it remained locked. Stepping back in the tiny bathroom she turned the shower off.
She must be paranoid.
She and Craig had been out all day yesterday. If someone wanted to search the room, they could have done so easily then, without any fear of being discovered.
What was in the room that might not have been in there the day before?
Her papers! She thought.
The papers she had acquired last night at the meeting of the Believers.
She quickly checked her large handbag.
The papers remained. She couldn’t be sure, but the things in her bag seemed messier than usual.
Doubting herself, she couldn’t help but wonder if someone had been in there. Someone who lived in the house, who might have a master key.
But if the Believers were part and parcel of what was going on, why would they need to find papers? They would all have the same information.
It was the house, she thought. The island.
Kieran didn’t believe in curses, and she didn’t believe that aliens were commanding bad things to happen through an ancient communication device.
She did believe very much in the evil that could live in the hearts of men.
She dressed hurriedly and went downstairs. It wasn’t quite 9:00 a.m.
Not that early—but she wished she was still sleeping.
It was going to be a very long day.
* * *
Hart Island was on the western end of Long Island Sound.
A man named Thomas Pell purchased the island from Native Americans in 1654. It was purchased from another man named Edward Hunter by the City of New York in 1868, but even before the city had officially owned the island, it had been making use of it. The very first “public” use had been at the end of the Civil War when it had been used as a training ground for the United States Color Troops in 1864. It had also served as a prison for Confederate troops—over three thousand had been held there; over two hundred of those had died. In 1870 it had been a place of quarantine for victims of a yellow fever epidemic. It had served as a psychiatric facility, a prison now and then, and was still under the jurisdiction of the Department of Corrections.
Soldiers had been buried there, from the North and South, Civil War and onward. Soldiers were separate from the potter’s field.
More than a million dead were buried on the island. Many records had been destroyed due to fires through the years.
It was, to say the least, a depressing place. Not due to the number of the dead, but due to the fact that in the potter’s field, there were so many dead buried in trenches, one atop of the other, no memorial to the fact that they had lived and died, nothing that spoke of humanity.
Because Templeton and Borden had not been claimed by relatives or loving friends, their bodies had been sent to Hart Island. Because their burials hadn’t happened that long ago historically, the records were intact. When they had been buried no one had cared enough to make other arrangements, so no one cared now that they were being disinterred.
Craig stood next to Detective Teddy Brice, watching as the diggers and cranes went to work. The morning held a chill, and Craig kept his hands in his pockets. As the earth was moved, the air was redolent with old dirt and dampness.
Dr. Hodges had come out to supervise; with bodies such as these, chain of custody was important.
Detective Brice turned to Dr. Hodges. “You really think that Frank Landon might have been stoned to death?” he asked.
“There is that possibility,” Hodges said, nodding.
“And these fellows might have been stoned to death,” Brice murmured. “Interesting, and very sad—not because the pair were good people. They weren’t. They were killers themselves. But...”
“That would mean that the killers took the bank haul?” Craig asked.
“It could. But stoning! Who the hell stones people to death? We’re not in the Middle East.”
“The ancient Hebrews were never quick to mete out the death penalty, but stoning was one of their methods,” Craig said.
“You think a group of modern day Hebrews—”
“Nope. Not for a minute,” Craig said, cutting him off. “I think that there may be a group interested in the island—though they hold very different beliefs, and might be using the method because it’s ancient. Or because they can make it look as if the victims simply fell off the cliffs.”
“Hodges, I can’t remember,” Brice said. “Who did the original autopsy on Templeton and Borden?”
“Dr. Lane Freely—who passed away about two years ago. But I do have all the original records from the initial autopsy. I’ll be working with them.”
The giant claw of the digger bit into the earth.
There was a crunching noise, and someone cursed; a coffin had been breached.
Workmen hustled to check on it. They were lucky—the damage hadn’t been to one of the two coffins they were seeking.
In another hour, the plain boxes were out of the ground.
Brice turned to Craig. “If those two were killed, the bank haul could still be on the island. The killers could be out there now. They bided their time, and now they think they can pick up the booty. Not one of the numbered bills taken in the robbery has ever been recovered. Not a single numbered diamond has shown from the jewels taken from the vault. There’s more than enough for someone to kill for.” He hesitated a minute. “The FBI was always in on the bank robbery. I’m glad you pursued this. Anything on the island?”
“The dead woman yesterday,” Craig said dryly.
“But nothing more?”
“Indications of human presence through the centuries. But trust me, if I’d found the bank haul, you’d know.”
“Yeah, I figured.”
Craig heard his phone ringing. He excused himself and answered it.
Egan.
“We have an ID on the woman you found. Angie Tremaine. She went missing over ten years ago—about five months before the bank robbery.”
“Did she do time? Any suggestion she might have known the bank robbers?”
“None that we can find. She was from Cleveland. Her parents—who reported her missing—died three years ago. She’d worked at a boutique that went belly-up—employers and friends have scattered across the country. We’re still working it.”
“She a scholar by any chance? Did she spend any time at a university?”
“Two years junior college. If she was a scholar, we haven’t found anything on her yet. We’ll keep digging. We’re going to post her picture and ask for help. We were able to get a yearbook picture of her—she did get her associates of arts degree, back in Ohio.”
“Thanks, Egan. Brice is here with me. I’ll give him the news.”
“I already informed the NYPD,” Egan assured him.
And so he had. Brice was on the phone, too. Talking to his people.
“You heard?” Craig asked.
Brice nodded. “I’ll work on that angle. You’re heading back to the island? I hear you have some ace guy working out there with you, a specialist in caves and cliffs.”
Craig caught the ball, and rolled it back. Alfie chased after it happily.
“Thanks for that,” Jenny said. She sighed. “Honestly, I don’t remember a lot, but my dad did write letters to me. I’d be happy to go through them, see if he ever talked about anyone else’s visitors, or if they had prison buddies or anything relevant. It would be my pleasure to help you.”
“That’s good of you,” Mike told her.
“Really. Thank you,” Craig agreed.
“Mr. Egan—I don’t know his title now—was so good to me when everything was going on, when the FBI was seeing Dad, and the Marshal’s Service was trying to help me. I’m happy if there is something that I can do in return.”
Craig produced a card and handed it to her.
The ball hit him again. He laughed, caught it up off the ground, and rolled it back.
Little Alfie giggled delightedly and tried to kick it back. Craig ran a few steps to catch it, and kicked it gently to the child.
“He’s going to love you forever!” Jenny told him. “Alfie, you have to let the man go now, he’s busy. You have to play with me!”
But the ball rolled back to Craig.
“Alfie...”
“It’s okay,” Mike told her, amused. “We have to hang around this area anyway. Craig used to play ball. Maybe he’ll remember a little bit about the game!”
* * *
“Did they look like murderers?” Craig asked.
Kieran turned to glare at him. It wasn’t a serious question—but he’d posed it anyway.
“And what does a murderer look like?” she asked him.
When they’d arrived back at the Douglas house, it had been quiet. Only Victor Eider had been up, waiting for their return. He’d let them in, greeted them pleasantly and gone off to bed, presumably.
Now, up in the room, they were alone. Danny had gone straight to his own room; he and Kieran and Craig and Mike had discussed what they had discovered—and not discovered—on the boat trip back.
“Well, you have a few looks in murderers,” Craig said. “The wild-eyed Charles Manson look. Then, you have the guilty look. And there’s also the pleased look. That comes from someone who is usually a psychopath or a sociopath, feels no remorse whatsoever, and is simply proud—nonchalantly proud—because they believe they’ve gotten away with murder.”
“I gave you the list of everyone in attendance,” Kieran said.
“I’ve already gotten it to Egan,” Craig told her.
“They all looked...normal, I guess. They were an interesting crowd,” Kieran said. “Jay and Dallas—long haired, casual, look like friendly guys. Valentina—Dallas’s girlfriend, pretty, enthusiastic. There are the Steins—Rudy and Judy, older and more tailored. Ben Garcia—looks like he might have been military or a bodyguard. Grace and Nick Tanaka—nicely dressed in their jogging clothes, and Priscilla and Ells Chapman, the oldest in the group—a couple who look like they belong in a yacht club setting. No crazed eyes among them. They were all just excited about their research. They did come up with some interesting papers. When they meet, they show each other what they’ve been working on for the week. I have copies of everything. But it doesn’t tell me anything about what’s going on today.”
“Egan will check out their names. At this point, we’re looking for any kind of link we can work with,” Craig said as he shed his gun, holster and shirt. “If we can find someone who was associated somehow with the bank robbers, we might have a way to go.”
“Oh—Jay Harding is delighted to come to dinner tomorrow night.”
“I thought he would be.”
“What about John Smith and Annie Green?”
“Yep, Mike called Mr. Smith and chatted and said that Finn would be delighted to have him out tomorrow night.”
He was restless, pacing over to the window.
Kieran walked over to join him. She slipped her arms around his waist.
“And how are you doing?”
“I’m hoping we have an ID tomorrow on the woman we discovered,” he said, turning to face her. “And we can have the Believers out here. With John Smith. If nothing else, between them, it will be lively dinner conversation.”
He shifted slightly and as he did so, Kieran’s view out the window was clear.
A light flashed out in the darkness.
And then it was gone.
“Craig, the light...”
He turned around. Naturally, the light did not flash again.
“We have to stay out there at night!” she said. “I swear to you—I just saw a light again!”
He smiled. “I never suspected that you were making it up. Well, other than last night, and that was a stellar performance.”
“Craig, I think that someone is working out there, and the light is usually hidden in the tunnel or the caves.”
“Or,” he said softly, “someone is sending a signal—and the flash of light means that it’s safe to come in.”
He stared out the window reflectively.
“What are you thinking?”
“Tomorrow night,” he said softly.
“We’re going out there, by night?”
“Bracken. Bracken and I will keep watch. After our guests have been sent back...we’ll head out as soon as the house has grown quiet.”
“I’ll go with you.”
He shook his head. “You and Mike and Danny stay here.”
“Hey,” she said softly. “Danny and I have been the ones finding—”
“Corpses.”
“And ancient stones and wall scratchings.”
“But we won’t be searching for clues. We’ll be searching for whoever may be out there...searching for Frank’s killer. And I’ll need Mike here, and you and Danny, to see who here just may be slipping out by moonlight, aiding and abetting that killer.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Thursday morning
EGAN REALLY WAS a force of nature when he got going. Craig received the call from him just after 7:00 a.m.
He’d arranged the paperwork. The bank robbers would be disinterred from their plots in the potter’s field on Hart Island at 10:00 a.m. Detective Brice intended to be involved and a police cutter would be coming by for Craig in about thirty minutes.
Kieran stirred as Craig got up. He explained what was going on.
“You’ll be out most of the day?” she asked him.
“Yeah, I’ll be there for the disinterment, and I’ll accompany the corpses to the morgue. Dr. Hodges will start on them tomorrow. I’ll be back out here as soon as possible.” He hesitated. “I’m going to ask Mike to stay behind. Bracken will be in the caves.”
“And, I’ll be...sunning at the pool?” she asked him.
He sat at the foot of the bed. “Yes—using your talents. Trying to see if you can get anything out of anyone here.”
“Elayne is a spoiled brat, Margie is grieving and Finn works all day. Evie is creepy. Victor seems okay, but he is in good shape and could easily climb around caves.”
“You know that you can get me more than that.”
She smiled.
“What time is dinner? Do Finn, Evie and the others know?”
He nodded. “Finn is all for anything that could help. And Evie thinks that a dinner party would be a very good idea.”
“Well, then. Have you spoken with Bracken yet?”
“No, right now, I’m going to wake Mike. Ask him if he’d mind staying around here. The closer we get to something, the more I worry about what goes on around here.”
“But we haven’t gotten close to anything.”
“I beg to differ.”
“Someone on the island is involved—and someone has been searching for treasure. That’s what we’ve got,” she said.
“But things will break soon. We’ll get an ID on the woman you found in the caves. We’ll make a connection somewhere.”
“Of course,” Kieran told him. She smiled. “You always do.”
He loved her look. Especially in the morning. Hair tumbling all around her shoulders. Eyes bright and soft at the same time, covers falling from her naked flesh.
He stood quickly, kissed her on the forehead and hurried out.
He tapped lightly on Mike Dalton’s door; his partner opened it immediately. Mike was already dressed.
Craig told him about Egan’s call.
“And you want me to stay here?” he asked.
“We won’t learn anything. I’ll be the representative when Templeton and Borden are dug up—I’ll be there when they’re brought in.”
“I am on guard,” Mike told him. “I swear. Like the best German shepherd ever.”
Craig grinned in return. “Tonight...”
“Dinner party with the wackos!”
“Hey, won’t we all be surprised if those wackos are right, huh?”
Craig glanced at his watch—he had about five minutes left before the cutter would arrive at the docks.
He hurried downstairs to check in on Finn.
His cousin was seated behind his desk, studying plans on his computer.
“Hey!” Finn said, looking up at Craig.
“You’re up early.”
“I keep moving forward. I don’t know what else to do.” He brightened suddenly. “I love your setup for tonight, though. A scholar—and a guy with a...different belief!”
“Sparks may fly.”
“I hope so,” Finn said. He managed a smile. “Do you really think that a scholar could be involved—or even an ancient-alien theorist?”
“Someone is involved,” Craig said. “Mike and Bracken are here. Kieran and Danny. I’m going to be out for several hours, but I’ll be back in plenty of time for dinner.”
* * *
That morning, once Craig had gone, Kieran couldn’t sleep. She rose to make sure the door was locked. She curled back in bed, but sleep eluded her.
She rose, checked the door again and decided on what she hoped would be a long and invigorating shower.
She cranked up the water delightfully hot and just let it roll over her.
But then she thought she heard something.
The door to the room jiggling.
She stood still, listening. She heard nothing other than the water hitting the tiled floor.
Leaving the water running, she stepped out of the shower and cracked the door to her room.
She didn’t know if she was imagining things—but she thought she heard another click.
There was no one there; nothing seemed to have changed. But... Was her robe right where she had left it? What about things on the dresser? Her handbag?
She checked the door—it remained locked. Stepping back in the tiny bathroom she turned the shower off.
She must be paranoid.
She and Craig had been out all day yesterday. If someone wanted to search the room, they could have done so easily then, without any fear of being discovered.
What was in the room that might not have been in there the day before?
Her papers! She thought.
The papers she had acquired last night at the meeting of the Believers.
She quickly checked her large handbag.
The papers remained. She couldn’t be sure, but the things in her bag seemed messier than usual.
Doubting herself, she couldn’t help but wonder if someone had been in there. Someone who lived in the house, who might have a master key.
But if the Believers were part and parcel of what was going on, why would they need to find papers? They would all have the same information.
It was the house, she thought. The island.
Kieran didn’t believe in curses, and she didn’t believe that aliens were commanding bad things to happen through an ancient communication device.
She did believe very much in the evil that could live in the hearts of men.
She dressed hurriedly and went downstairs. It wasn’t quite 9:00 a.m.
Not that early—but she wished she was still sleeping.
It was going to be a very long day.
* * *
Hart Island was on the western end of Long Island Sound.
A man named Thomas Pell purchased the island from Native Americans in 1654. It was purchased from another man named Edward Hunter by the City of New York in 1868, but even before the city had officially owned the island, it had been making use of it. The very first “public” use had been at the end of the Civil War when it had been used as a training ground for the United States Color Troops in 1864. It had also served as a prison for Confederate troops—over three thousand had been held there; over two hundred of those had died. In 1870 it had been a place of quarantine for victims of a yellow fever epidemic. It had served as a psychiatric facility, a prison now and then, and was still under the jurisdiction of the Department of Corrections.
Soldiers had been buried there, from the North and South, Civil War and onward. Soldiers were separate from the potter’s field.
More than a million dead were buried on the island. Many records had been destroyed due to fires through the years.
It was, to say the least, a depressing place. Not due to the number of the dead, but due to the fact that in the potter’s field, there were so many dead buried in trenches, one atop of the other, no memorial to the fact that they had lived and died, nothing that spoke of humanity.
Because Templeton and Borden had not been claimed by relatives or loving friends, their bodies had been sent to Hart Island. Because their burials hadn’t happened that long ago historically, the records were intact. When they had been buried no one had cared enough to make other arrangements, so no one cared now that they were being disinterred.
Craig stood next to Detective Teddy Brice, watching as the diggers and cranes went to work. The morning held a chill, and Craig kept his hands in his pockets. As the earth was moved, the air was redolent with old dirt and dampness.
Dr. Hodges had come out to supervise; with bodies such as these, chain of custody was important.
Detective Brice turned to Dr. Hodges. “You really think that Frank Landon might have been stoned to death?” he asked.
“There is that possibility,” Hodges said, nodding.
“And these fellows might have been stoned to death,” Brice murmured. “Interesting, and very sad—not because the pair were good people. They weren’t. They were killers themselves. But...”
“That would mean that the killers took the bank haul?” Craig asked.
“It could. But stoning! Who the hell stones people to death? We’re not in the Middle East.”
“The ancient Hebrews were never quick to mete out the death penalty, but stoning was one of their methods,” Craig said.
“You think a group of modern day Hebrews—”
“Nope. Not for a minute,” Craig said, cutting him off. “I think that there may be a group interested in the island—though they hold very different beliefs, and might be using the method because it’s ancient. Or because they can make it look as if the victims simply fell off the cliffs.”
“Hodges, I can’t remember,” Brice said. “Who did the original autopsy on Templeton and Borden?”
“Dr. Lane Freely—who passed away about two years ago. But I do have all the original records from the initial autopsy. I’ll be working with them.”
The giant claw of the digger bit into the earth.
There was a crunching noise, and someone cursed; a coffin had been breached.
Workmen hustled to check on it. They were lucky—the damage hadn’t been to one of the two coffins they were seeking.
In another hour, the plain boxes were out of the ground.
Brice turned to Craig. “If those two were killed, the bank haul could still be on the island. The killers could be out there now. They bided their time, and now they think they can pick up the booty. Not one of the numbered bills taken in the robbery has ever been recovered. Not a single numbered diamond has shown from the jewels taken from the vault. There’s more than enough for someone to kill for.” He hesitated a minute. “The FBI was always in on the bank robbery. I’m glad you pursued this. Anything on the island?”
“The dead woman yesterday,” Craig said dryly.
“But nothing more?”
“Indications of human presence through the centuries. But trust me, if I’d found the bank haul, you’d know.”
“Yeah, I figured.”
Craig heard his phone ringing. He excused himself and answered it.
Egan.
“We have an ID on the woman you found. Angie Tremaine. She went missing over ten years ago—about five months before the bank robbery.”
“Did she do time? Any suggestion she might have known the bank robbers?”
“None that we can find. She was from Cleveland. Her parents—who reported her missing—died three years ago. She’d worked at a boutique that went belly-up—employers and friends have scattered across the country. We’re still working it.”
“She a scholar by any chance? Did she spend any time at a university?”
“Two years junior college. If she was a scholar, we haven’t found anything on her yet. We’ll keep digging. We’re going to post her picture and ask for help. We were able to get a yearbook picture of her—she did get her associates of arts degree, back in Ohio.”
“Thanks, Egan. Brice is here with me. I’ll give him the news.”
“I already informed the NYPD,” Egan assured him.
And so he had. Brice was on the phone, too. Talking to his people.
“You heard?” Craig asked.
Brice nodded. “I’ll work on that angle. You’re heading back to the island? I hear you have some ace guy working out there with you, a specialist in caves and cliffs.”
