by David Wood
Bones put his hand on the glass of the counter and met McLeod’s eyes. “Why don’t you just tell us why we can’t see it?” He made no threat, but everything about his posture suggested things could quickly get ugly for the shopkeeper.
McLeod didn’t hold the stare for more than a second. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down a couple of times as he swallowed. “I sold it three days ago.”
Dane looked at Bones who raised an eyebrow to confirm he was thinking the same thing. Could the timing of the attacks on them be tied to this? On the surface that made little sense, but then again, none of it really did.
Bones nodded. “See, that wasn’t so hard. And how big was the one you sold?”
“Maybe four inches, a round silver medallion.”
“Who did you buy it from?”
McLeod was shaking his head as if to himself. “Why does everyone want to know where I got it?”
Dane felt the tingling in the back of his skull, which he sometimes got when a piece of a puzzle was about to fall in place. “What do you mean everyone?”
“You know what most people want the Celtic cross for, right?”
Bones held up his fingers and counted off as he spoke. “Neo-nazis, KKK, other radical fringe groups.”
Dane understood some of the man’s discomfort now. “And you’re worried that’s us, right? I bet us wearing fatigues doesn’t ease your mind any, given how many of those wannabes like to play at being soldiers. You can relax on that score; we’re looking for people, not a medallion.”
McLeod didn’t look convinced, but some of the tension in his shoulders and face dissipated. “I’ll tell you what I told her, I don’t get names when I buy something. It’s much easier that way, people getting rid of stuff with sentimental value. Names make it more personal. I bought it from a scrawny guy, maybe fifty with thick glasses and a high voice. He lived in Philadelphia, I got that much.”
“How do you know he lived in Philadelphia?”
“The initial bargaining involved me offering a truly low value, which he didn’t accept. The guy said something about his apartment was only twenty minutes away and he could take it back there. I think he thought he was being a tough negotiator.”
“You said something about ‘what you told her.’ What did you mean?”
“I mean someone came in here two days ago and asked about it. An old woman. And before you ask, she wore a dark jacket with the hood up so I could hardly see her face. She was white and old, that’s about all I can tell you.”
“And you told her what you just told us?”
“Yeah. She didn’t say a word, just nodded and shuffled out of here. Kind of gave me the creeps dressed in all black like that. And she didn’t dress like an old woman, it was more like. . .”
He paused. “More like in one of those Kung Fu movies with the baggy pants.”
McLeod looked up at Dane. “I know, I know, that sounds crazy. I’m just saying, she was different.”
Bones nodded. “We have an aging pencil-necked geek and a geriatric female Bruce Lee. So far I’m not feeling threatened. How about video cameras? Any chance you caught either one of them on video?”
“It’s funny you mention that. Night before last, my cameras were stolen. Someone broke in and didn’t take anything except the cameras and the tapes that go with ‘em.”
Bones said, “Interesting coincidence.”
McLeod frowned. “I don’t know about coincidence, I just hope the insurance company pays.”
For a moment, no one said anything. Dane sensed that the guy was still holding back on them. He figured he’d give one more shot at asking nicely before Bones started flexing his muscles. “Anything else you can tell us about the seller?”
“About the seller? No.”
“Look sir, we’re trying to track down something here, and if I told you more it would just put you in danger. The medallion is a piece of that mystery. If there’s anything you know that might help us, however small, we’d appreciate it.”
McLeod’s eyes dropped to Dane’s chest for just a second, and Dane suspected he was reading the name stitched on the fatigues. Civilians often did that. When the man looked up, his eyes were bright. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with national security, would it?”
Dane opened his mouth to answer, but Bones beat him to it by stepping around the counter and putting an arm around the man. “We’d love to answer that, but if we tell you we’ll have to kill you.”
McLeod stared at Bones, who smiled and put his index finger to his lips. Fear danced around the edges of the McLeod’s mouth in return.
“Okay then. Thing is, I actually bought two things off the guy. In addition to a medallion, there was an envelope. Clearly really old, nineteenth century probably. It didn’t look like much, but they guy came by the next day and thought it might be worth something. I got the medallion for a steal, so I slipped him an extra fifty for the envelope.”
Dane asked, “Do you still have the envelope?”
“Sure do. Follow me.”
He came out from behind the counter, locked the front door and put up a Be Right Back sign. They followed him through a door, which led into a narrow hallway and an area that made the public section of the store look clean and new. Off the hallway Dane noticed a small room containing a toilet and a sink with some dishes in it; and he made a note to himself not to use it no matter how badly he needed to go. At the end of the hallway was a storeroom piled high with every sort of junk imaginable.
Other than the scant strip of floor leading to it, the wooden desk in the corner was the only surface clear of debris. Bones looked around. “And I suppose you know where everything is here, right?”
McLeod guffawed. “More like I just pray every time I come in here it doesn’t come down and bury me alive. You boys may find this hard to believe, but I didn’t always plan on being a junk dealer. Things just sort of got away from me. Anyway, here it is.”
He pulled open a drawer in the desk and handed the envelope to Dane. The envelope did indeed appear old, and it had no writing on it that he could spot. It did have something embossed on the flap, some sort of complex logo in colors of red, black and gray.
The logo contained a cross in the middle, though it didn’t have the circle of the Celtic cross. On the horizontal part of the cross were three horseshoes, and in additional to various ornamentation, the logo contained an armored helmet above the cross.
Bones pointed to the top of the logo, above the helmet. “Is that a bat there, Maddock?”
Dane squinted. “Hard to tell. Those could be wings, but this is too small and worn to know for sure. The question is, what does this logo tell us?”
McLeod said, “Well it’s a Scottish coat of arms, that much I know.”
They looked at him and he shrugged. “I’ve seen a few of ‘em. We Scots are very big on clans and family history. I figured at some point I’d go look up which one it is, but I haven’t had the chance yet.”
Dane stuck his hand inside the envelope, careful not to tear it. He found nothing inside. He turned to McLeod. “You have a photocopier here? I’d like to get a copy of this.”
“Sure, up in front.”
Bones reached out his hand to take the envelope from Dane. “May I?”
He held it up to within six inches of the single bulb hanging from the ceiling. “There’s writing inside.”
Gently he squeezed it so it turned into a sort of bowl, exposing most of the surface area of the inside. Letters were scrawled at an angle, in a clear and easy to read hand. The single word, however, did not make the picture any clearer.
It read: Hamiltonban
CHAPTER NINE:
“Tell me, are we surrounded by idiots?”
“I do hope you’re not including me in that assessment, O’Meara.”
O’Meara looked at the old woman, shaking his head. These past weeks had been the first time he’d worked directly with her, as she lived in Philadelphia and he in Boston. He had heard of her before tha
t, but the loose structure of the Sons of the Republic meant that a lot of people went their own way and only met when circumstances conspired for them to work together. Finding the Franklin Legacy was one of the main things driving him, so when the first real clues in two decades turned up in Philadelphia, they had joined forces.
“Honestly, there’s only so much we can blame on others. You and I have now contributed to two destructive incidents in the past few days.”
“Three if you count Long.”
O’Meara nodded. “Three if you count Long, although we don’t know that she revealed anything. In any case, it’s difficult to avoid concluding that you and I also bear some blame.”
The old woman regarded him, her brown eyes barely visible under the hood. She inclined her head slightly, perhaps in agreement. “Be that as it may, I assume you’d like me to keep telling you about Marshall?”
O’Meara gestured with the back of his right hand for her to continue.
“I did not ask for the surveillance video from the pawn shop. The owner didn’t seem the type to agree willingly, and I concluded it would be child’s play to steal the video that night. Which proved to be the case.”
O’Meara interrupted. “I know all that. I want to know how we managed to kill our prime lead before getting any information out of him.”
The woman continued as if she had not heard. “We easily identified the transaction with the medallion and printed the face of the man who sold it. A run against DMV photos by one of my sources confirmed him to be one Cornelius Marshall, who lives in the University area of the city. A couple of my guys went to talk to him—I did not go myself.”
“I know all that. Then they killed him.”
“They questioned him. They swore they didn’t lay a finger on him. They were a minute into talking to him after sitting down at the table and he just keeled over. No pulse, no breathing. Cornelius Marshall apparently had a weak heart.”
“And you believe them?”
“I certainly believe they didn’t do anything violent enough that it should have killed him. But this story has a happy ending.”
“Not for Mr. Marshall.”
“Which is really not our concern. We looked up his family and found a couple of things. First, he has a twin brother Octavius, who also lives in the area. But we didn’t turn up anything at his last known address, which is the same one DMV and his credit cards have. A couple of my people are still working on it.”
“The bigger thing is that back in the nineteenth century during the civil war, his family lived near Gettysburg. There are three potential properties associated with the family.”
O’Meara ran his hand over the graying stubble on his chin. “And you want us to go check them out. That’s certainly better than nothing. But what do we expect to find there?”
“We’ve been over this, O’Meara. There have always been rumors in my family, rumors about Hawthorne’s body. My great-great-grandfather went back twenty-four hours after Hawthorne was killed, and the body was gone. Someone must have taken it, probably to steal whatever they could find. Times were hard during the war. That person must have taken the medallion.”
O’Meara sighed. “You’re probably right. And I know people didn’t discard things the way they do today, so the document may still be around. It’s certainly the best lead we have. Also. . .”
“Yes?”
“I heard something about one of your guys disappearing?”
“This is true. I sent them back this morning to see if they missed anything. I got the impression they didn’t stick around long after Marshall died, so I wanted to make sure we didn’t miss anything. One of them had to leave before the other and he reported that they didn’t find anything new.”
“So where is the missing guy?”
“I have no idea. Perhaps you can use your vast array of police connections to see if the police got him.”
O’Meara dug the heels of his hands into his eyes; when he removed them, the old woman still stood in front of him with an inscrutable expression. “Perhaps. This whole thing just looked a lot more promising when we had a live person to tell us how he got the medallion.”
“We may still if we can find Octavius. In the meantime, we need to go check out the Marshall connection. This is all consistent. Someone takes the body and keeps the possessions in the family for generations. Even after one generation, families get attached to things. Eventually, someone needs the money and sells something. If there are clues to be had, they will be in Gettysburg.”
O’Meara said, “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll go myself this time.”
She nodded. “I was expecting that you’d say that. I will join you.”
He regarded her for a moment, taking in the frail figure.
“Believe me, O’Meara, appearances can be deceiving.”
He decided not to say anything. After the professionals and the younger Sons had completely botched the last few tasks, he wasn’t going to suggest she would do worse. He hoped she could keep up with him if they had to move quickly, but then he considered his leg. He might just be the one who had trouble keeping up.
“Do we drive or fly?”
“Fly, of course. I have no desire to rattle around inside a car in the dead of winter for three hours. The forecast is clear for the next three days. Bring two men you can trust and meet me at the airport at six o’clock tonight. I’ve arranged for hotel rooms and two rental cars with all-wheel drive. We’ll head out at first light and split up to look at the first two properties separately. If nothing pans out, we’ll check out the third together.”
Right, thought O’Meara. What are the odds you’ll tell me if you find something?
He said, “Sounds like you’ve got the full court press on. You must really think this is it.”
She moved closer, closer than he could ever remember her getting since they first shook hands several weeks ago. He could see her face now, wrinkles everywhere. Somehow even with that and the wisp of white hair snaking out of the hood, the energy of the woman suggested she wasn’t as old as she appeared.
“O’Meara, I know this is it. I can feel it in my bones.”
He blinked from the intensity of it and tried to regain his equilibrium. “You really think the document is enough to change things?”
“You’ve been looking for it most of your adult life. What do you think?”
He shook his head. “Not by itself, no. But it will be disruptive, which will open the door for other things. People would be shocked to learn how many of the founders knew that America wasn’t simply going to cruise along with its new Constitution. Forget about the Civil War, they knew we’d have to have another revolution. If we find even half the things we’ve got leads on—”
She held up a hand.
“One thing at a time, O’Meara. We’ve got one lead to focus on now. Tomorrow’s work lies in Hamiltonban.”
CHAPTER TEN:
“Tell me again why we’re freezing in central Pennsylvania when we could be sitting in front of the fireplace at the hotel?” Bones rubbed his hands together to keep them warm, then put them over his mouth and breathed. He and Dane had woken at five in the morning, hopped in the Mustang, and driven nearly three hours west to Gettysburg. With temperatures dipping below twenty overnight, Dane had for once not needed to convince Bones to keep the top up. They were stopped at a gas station just outside of town.
“We’re trying to find the people who have been shooting at us?”
“I mean besides that.”
“You sure you can handle the truth?”
“Maddock, was that supposed to be a Jack Nicholson impression?”
Dane ignored him. “You said it yourself a couple days ago. The truth is, we can’t let go of a mystery once we’re on the trail. Neither one of us.”
“Whatever. Just tell me what we’re going to do now that we’re here.”
“It was your idea. We’re going to head for the VFW. Find some retired Navy guys
. See if there’s anyone from Hamiltonban or at least Fairfield. Ask about the Marshall family.”
Bones considered the plan. “I liked the idea when I came up with it, but I think not all guys of the generation you’re bound to find at the VFW on a weekday morning will want to talk to a redskin like me.”
Dane shrugged. “We’ll deal with that when and if it happens.”
After leaving the pawn shop, they had reached the library before it closed. It took them less than an hour looking through books on Scottish Coats of Arms to find a match for the logo on the envelope. The logo was for the Randolph family. Given the references they found in the warehouse to “Randolph’s copy” and Ben Franklin, they tentatively associated it with Edmund Randolph, one of three delegates who refused to sign the final Constitution. This envelope might be a clue to whatever document “Randolph’s copy” referred to.
They also discovered that Hamiltonban was a town just west of Gettysburg, part of the larger town of Fairfield. That left them with a lot of clues and no way to make sense of them. So they called up Jimmy Letson and this time he answered. He was able to run a search that tied a descendant of Edmund Randolph named Hawthorne to a family named Marshall in Hamiltonban.
The connection was pretty weak – just a single letter of correspondence which had only managed to survive because it contained three one-cent Ben Franklin stamps from the post-civil war era. Letson had found it by cross-referencing Edmund Randolph with Hamiltonban and discovering an image uploaded to the internet by a collector six months earlier. According to Letson, it wasn’t the kind of connection a normal search would have turned up, but the former Navy man claimed to have access to more powerful tools.
The letter itself suggested some sort of conflict between the two men, with Hawthorne wanting to “take possession of my father’s effects.” But Letson found no evidence of follow-up or further correspondence. That didn’t mean none happened, of course. So the Marshall family in Hamiltonban was the best lead they had at this point.
They arrived at the VFW and headed inside. The air smelled of cigars as they made their way into a sitting area occupied by a number of old men, some in uniform and some not. Dane and Bones had chosen to just wear fatigues, figuring any sort of more formal uniform might seem too direct an attempt to gain favor.
