A lethal legacy, p.5
A Lethal Legacy, page 5
He brought a finger to his lips. “Upstairs,” he told them.
Kieran frowned. “You think there is someone else in this house?”
“No,” Danny said. “Maybe on the island, but not in the house.”
“Then?”
Danny lowered his voice. “It’s obvious to me that you’re suspicious. Either that, or you don’t trust other women.”
“I’m the psychologist, and I trust other women just fine,” Kieran said.
“Kids, settle down,” Craig put in, his voice hushed as well. “According to Finn, there were only the three of them on the island. That makes suspicion a natural thing.”
“So, we’ll talk upstairs,” Danny said. “I rest my point.”
Kieran let out a sound of aggravation and hurried into the kitchen. In quick order they threw away the paper plates, washed the glasses and casserole dish and had the kitchen back in order.
“Let’s find the attic,” Craig said.
They walked through the great hall, which was dimly lit and looking more like something that belonged in a Gothic novel than ever. They took the stairs to the second floor, Craig leading the way. The stairway to the attic was at the end of a long hall that passed by numerous doors, and once they had gone up, they found that the attic was very large—and appeared small only from the outside in comparison with the house.
The cupola was dead center; there were two doors on one side, and three doors on the other.
“Pick a place, I guess,” Craig said.
“I’m staying close,” Danny told him. “You pick, and I’ll take whatever is next to you.”
“Danny, are you scared?” Kieran asked him.
“No, I just believe that on a cave-filled island in the middle of the sea, it’s good to be next to the FBI agent with the big gun.”
“Go for it,” Craig told Kieran.
She shrugged and opened the door next to the cupola.
The rooms might have been servants’ quarters at one time and planned for employees now, but they had been remodeled very nicely. They weren’t overly large—perhaps ten by twelve feet—but the room Kieran entered had a queen-sized bed, a handsome dresser with a thirty-two-inch television on it and pretty little maple tables on either side of the bed. There were two wooden chairs by the one window. A wardrobe stood in one corner, and bottles of water had been left on the dresser. There was a door in the room and it led to a bathroom, be it a small one, but adequate with a sink, toilet and shower.
“Finn does seem to be a good guy, Craig,” Kieran said. “He wants his employees to be comfortable. That’s more than many a man would do.”
“Finn is a good guy, yes,” Craig said. He didn’t offer any more about his family, but turned to Danny. “Ready to talk?”
Danny looked around the room and pulled one of the chairs up by the bed, straddling it backward and leaning upon the curved back. “Wanna sit?” he asked.
Kieran and Craig perched at the end of the bed, close to him, waiting.
“You know about the bank robbers, right?” Danny asked.
“Yes, we both know. Two of them. Found dead—like Frank, right about where Frank was found,” Craig said.
“Well, before that, it was three Redcoats.”
“What?” Kieran said.
“Redcoats—British! Three of them. During the American Revolution.”
“There was a battle on the island?” Kieran asked skeptically.
Danny cast her a dry glare. “No, they had deserted—they were after the pirate treasure. And that’s because of the dead pirates.”
“Dead pirates,” Craig said.
“The Golden Age of Piracy!” Danny said. “An early New York governor, Colonel Benjamin Fletcher, was very corrupt—and very friendly with many pirates, as was many a man before 1700. Fletcher was removed in 1698, and by 1720, Navigation Acts changed things around, and it wasn’t so great to rail against pirates by day—and buy their goods in alleys by night. Supply and demand, entrepreneurs. Anyway, the pirate captain Reginald Grey was at work in the city, but apparently, he was causing problems for those in power in 1720. He was known to hide out on the east side of the island—in caves beneath the cliffs. He was found dead there—along with seven of his men—in 1728. Some people think that he buried a vast treasure on the island. But here’s the wild thing—”
“No. You’re not going to tell us about the Ark of the Covenant,” Kieran said.
“Nope—I don’t believe it’s here, though I do believe the story that goes with it,” Danny said.
“What?” Kieran demanded.
Danny sighed, as if he were a teacher truly disturbed to have a student who was so sadly lacking in knowledge.
“Okay, the Biblical Ark of the Covenant disappeared. It was carried in battle, lost, regained and lost to the Babylonians, 587 BC. Some people believe it was spirited away before the battle—others believe that it was taken to Babylon. There is a claim that it’s now in Ethiopia, but scholars dispute that as well. Some say that it’s hidden in the Chartres Cathedral, or other locations in France. A group is fighting now for the right to dig in Ireland. It could be in Rome, or...it could have been found by the Knights Templar, spirited up to Scotland, and from there—made its way to the USA.”
“I know the Viking stories, but the first Viking raid was at Lindisfarne, off the northeast coast of England, and those raids were supposed to have died out by the eleventh century, especially since the King of Denmark was a king in northern England as well,” Kieran said. “Which leaves me to wonder—”
“How,” Danny broke in, “the Knights Templar—after Jacques de Molay’s death, March 18, 1314—wound up getting anything the Templars had to Vikings. Well, the Norsemen weren’t really attacking anyone, but they were trading. Okay, let me go way back. A band of Massapequa—part of the Lenape Tribe—came here long, long before the Europeans of any kind arrived. They were rumored to have fought a battle with an unknown rival group—another tribe from the area—and when they lost, the survivors were thrown off the cliffs that faced the eastern shore. That was right before the possible Viking exploration soon after—in the year 1000 or so, Leif Erikson arrived in North America, landing on what is now Newfoundland. In the years after, other Norse and Icelandic explorers knew about the North American continent, the Native inhabitants and so on. They found bones here, and didn’t settle the island, but many scholars believe, made use of it. So, you see, it’s not that farfetched that if the Knights Templar were holding any kind of treasure, by the 1300s—with the Christianization of most of Scandinavia, a Norseman might have brought some kind of treasure to the North American continent, a Christian Viking, if you will, trading here across the Atlantic, might have brought a treasure for a friend who was a Knight Templar.”
Kieran stared at her brother. “All right, this isn’t a history I know particularly well, but the way I always saw it, Philip IV of France was an extremely clever, conniving and manipulative man. And deeply in debt to the Templars. I believe that the pope was afraid of his power. It wasn’t just Jacques de Molay who was arrested and tortured—Knights Templar everywhere were hunted down and in the end, Philip condemned dozens to burn at the stake.”
Danny made a dismissive gesture. “Thing is, people have been dying on this island forever. Gianni Verrazano supposedly saw the island, and discovered more bones. When the Dutch came and began their settlement in the early sixteen hundreds, they found bones, and from there, pirates came, and then Revolutionaries and Patriots, and there is even a story that Confederates came, heading home from London with a shipment of gold, and managed to go off the cliffs as well.”
“And does any of this have to do with Frank Landon dying on the island now?” Craig asked, frowning. “Assuming that any part of it did happen.”
Kieran was looking at Danny. “What we believe can be more important than what’s real,” she said softly.
“Well, it might be real,” Danny said.
“You mean that people might have been killing people here for hundreds of years because of a belief that an ancient treasure might be buried here?” Craig asked. He shook his head. “Bank robbers had nothing to do with the Knights Templar or Norse traders—if the Norse did come this far south. We are a bit of a ways from Newfoundland.”
“Ah, but the Norse were magnificent seamen,” Danny said. “Which, of course, is beside the point. What’s true is that people might believe it. Many people, maybe like Frank, do believe that there is some kind of a treasure on this island. There have been many historical documents regarding treasure brought to the new world, and there’s no reason to discount those documents and manifests.”
“Which means...the bank robbers might well have been killed by someone who was searching for treasure a decade ago, who wants to be sure they’re the one who finds it,” Kieran said.
Craig was quiet a minute, looking at them. Then he nodded. “That same person from ten years ago could well still be active. He or she—or they—might have been searching since.” He shrugged. “Part-time, maybe. Maybe they manage to hold down a full-time job and take weekends and holidays to treasure search.”
“And to kill,” Kieran added softly. She looked over at Craig. “Then it is possible. The same person who murdered years ago might well have murdered Frank Landon now.”
“Or we have a new killer on our hands,” Craig said. “I’ll also call in and get our research team looking into Frank’s past. At the moment, I don’t know of any business enemies the man might have had, but I will get my office checking to make sure. Then again, with all we know, Frank might have stumbled onto something. Or disrupted someone. Someone who watched Frank. Afraid he was getting too close. Afraid he was a danger.”
“Someone who just had to send Frank over the cliffs as well,” Kieran said softly.
CHAPTER THREE
CRAIG SAT AT the foot of the bed. He had chosen the FBI; he had chosen a life that exposed him to some of the worst humanity had to offer. He was trained, he knew what he was doing.
He couldn’t help but be bothered by their current situation.
Three people known to be on the island—just three—other than the dead man.
Though it was absolutely possible that someone else had been there—was there even now. Either way, they might be stuck on an island with a killer.
“Okay.” Kieran had popped her head back out from the bathroom. “Your cousin didn’t lie—this room is set up. Soap, shampoo, razors...and, most importantly, toothbrushes and toothpaste. We’ll just have to wear dirty clothes in the morning.”
“You can borrow something from Elayne,” he suggested.
She stared at him, frowning. “Elayne is—at best—five foot one. I have her by seven or eight inches!”
“Ah, then Margie.”
Kieran grimaced. “I’m not so sure I want to ask Margie for anything. She’s just stepping into her first stages of grief. The world will be harder for her before it gets better.”
“How long do you think she’d been seeing Frank?”
“Longer than Elayne has been seeing Finn,” she told him, taking a seat by him. She was watching him intently. He knew he owed her an explanation.
And she was waiting. Patiently...
“So, I’m not related to Jamie Douglas—just Finn,” he said.
“You’re related through his mom,” she said. “Deedee.”
He nodded. “Delores McCloud Douglas. Jamie Douglas has been married three times—he just divorced his third wife, I believe. I hadn’t really paid much attention in a long time.”
“And Deedee was his first wife?” Kieran asked.
“Yes.”
“Three marriages. But Finn is his only child?” Kieran asked.
“He is. My mother and Finn’s mom were very close. They were the same age, and grew up with each other. They stayed almost like sisters and so I grew up around Finn. I’m three years older, and, back then, he was like the little kid who followed me around, and, of course, I was the hotshot, teaching him the ropes. Then,” he said, reflective, and paused for a moment, “about a decade ago, Deedee was diagnosed with breast cancer. Doctors said that her best chance was a double mastectomy. Jamie Douglas didn’t stay by his wife’s side, caring for her—he filed for a divorce. The cancer spread. Deedee didn’t survive. She died surrounded by people who loved her, but heartsick at the desertion of the man she’d assumed to be the one who loved her most.” He paused again. “I could never stomach Jamie Douglas after that. I don’t care how much he gave to charity, what other good works he did. Finn hated his father for abandoning his mother, but... I’m sure Jamie told him that they had been falling apart already or some such thing. And...well, I guess he eventually forgave him. I never could. And so Finn and I drifted apart.”
“Craig, I’m so sorry,” she said, slipping her arm around him and leaning against his shoulder. “I guess all I knew about Jamie Douglas was how generous he was to local charities. It’s really a shame that he has the financial power that he does...and yet can behave in such a cruel manner to family. But... I’m glad you’re willing to give Finn a chance.”
He nodded. “I never meant to lose Finn.”
“Obviously, he very much believes in you—and you’re here for him now.”
Craig rose and caught Kieran’s hands and pulled her to her feet, into his arms. He held her there for a moment, feeling his own heartbeat, feeling hers.
He could never, ever lose her.
She had become his life, his breath and his soul.
He pulled away, smiling as he looked down into her eyes.
“Wanna fool around in the servants’ quarters?”
“I need a shower.”
“We can shower together.”
“Actually, no, we can’t. Evidently, servants weren’t supposed to mess around together. There isn’t room in that shower for two,” Kieran told him. “It is very, very small. But... I will be right out!”
She turned and headed to the shower, casting off clothing as she did so. Finn doffed his jacket, shoes, socks and holster, and followed her.
But she wasn’t lying. The shower was seriously tiny, wedged into a space that might have traditionally had just a wash basin. Determined, he stepped in, and Kieran laughed because there wasn’t room to move their arms, and they were literally flush against one another.
It felt very, very good, but was absolutely frustrating, since movement was quite impossible.
“I had actually planned on using soap,” Kieran told him, her hand on his chest as they crushed together.
He laughed, and said, “Okay, fine. You, and then me.”
With a towel wrapped around his waist, he walked out to the one window in the attic room. From it, he could look out toward the great cliff that dominated the island, with the jagged edges that fell to the rocky shoreline below.
The moon was full—high over the cliffs, it sent down a strange glow that created a massive and ominous darkness where the cliffs cast shadows over the landscape. Maybe it was that darkness and the crippling danger of the rocks that had created a haven here for criminal activity.
“Your turn,” Kieran called, heading out in her towel.
He didn’t linger long, soaping down and rinsing quickly in the tiny space. When he emerged, Kieran was waiting, stretched out in a movie diva pose, grinning, on the bed.
He made an exaggerated leap and crashed down next to her.
Her skin was warm and damp from the shower, with a sweet lingering scent of soap. She pulled him in for a deep kiss as he ran his hands in a liquid journey over the curves and perfect angles of her body. He was fully aroused in seconds, and soon they eased together, breathing in gasps, hearts beating hard.
After, with her in his arms, he slept.
* * *
Kieran didn’t know what awakened her. It was still late—or early. Glancing over at the clock on the side table, she saw that it was about 3:00 a.m.
Craig seemed to be deeply asleep at her side. He woke easily, and for long moments she lay still, not wanting to disturb him. But then she rose, and headed to the window. Looking out, she saw the moon glow over the cliffs. It was a strange scene, both haunting and ethereal, and natural as well. Beautiful, if it weren’t for the evil it all seemed to encompass.
She blinked. She didn’t know what the source was—but some kind of light burst briefly out of the shadow. Then it was gone just as suddenly.
There were no storms plaguing the area; no lightning was bursting down from the night sky.
Had she imagined the lights? She couldn’t see anything now.
“Aliens.”
She almost jumped. No matter how quiet she had been, she had wakened Craig. She turned to see that he was staring out the window, just as she had been doing.
“Aliens?” she asked him.
“I’ll show you,” he said, picking up his jeans from where they lay by the bed and digging in the pocket for his phone.
“It’s been bugging me. I don’t know if I saw it right, but I took a picture. I think that Frank wrote the word in the sand, there on the beach. Maybe while he was dying. I don’t think that Frank did fall. I think he was...beaten, broken, first—and then dragged out so that it would look like he had fallen off the cliff. The autopsy will tell me if I’m right.”
“Craig, you don’t really think that...aliens have anything to do with this?”
He stared at her with aggravated patience.
“No...no, I don’t believe that alien life forms came to Earth and murdered Frank. The thing is, I’m pretty sure that he wrote the word in the sand.”
He brought his phone over to her, keying up his picture gallery.
She stared at the picture.
At first, she saw nothing but sand and scratches in the sand. And then, the word did seem to appear. It hadn’t been sketched out in cursive...rather painfully set forth in awkward angles and disjointed letters.
