LC 04 - Skeleton Crew

by Beverly Connor

  So far, Gina and Juliana's skeleton was an arm and a hand. "It looks to be in as good a condition as the others," commented Lindsay.

  "Might be better," said Gina. "These are deeper in the mud. Look at what Jeff found."

  At Jeff's excavation unit, several crew were working on different parts of a skeleton that lay in a fetal position. Jeff held a brush in his hand, gently whisking dirt from what looked like iron. Lindsay and the others squatted to get a closer look. It was iron in contact with bones. Lindsay saw a talus and a jumble of tarsals.

  "He's in irons," exclaimed Trey.

  "That's what it seems," agreed Jeff. "Maybe he's the perp." He looked up and grinned at Lindsay. She was surprised at his sense of humor.

  "Poor guy," said Trey.

  "This ship has quite a few stories to tell," said Lewis. "I'll have to nudge Harper about the translation."

  Trey and Lindsay made eye contact. Lewis, it seems, was "nudging" everyone.

  "By the way, Lindsay. I got your drawing. I like it. The Atlanta Journal and Constitution is anxious to do a story."

  "I just hope Denton's death doesn't overshadow the drama of the wreck."

  "I'll try to see that it doesn't. That reminds me, I need to find a sculptor to do the faces."

  Lindsay was amazed that the discovery of a body virtually on their doorstep hadn't slowed Lewis down. Actually, she was glad of it.

  "Somebody said the police want to talk to all of us?" Jeff asked.

  "Just routine," Lewis told him.

  "We don't know anything."

  "Just tell them that," Trey said.

  "I was told this would happen," Jeff said glumly.

  "By whom?" asked Lindsay.

  "Do you know Gerri Chapman?"

  "Yes," said Lindsay, "I know her. Is that where the Angel of Death thing came from?"

  "We were at a meeting three months ago. She told us about your proclivity for finding dead bodies."

  "I don't think we can blame Lindsay for somebody getting drunk and drowning himself," responded Lewis.

  "Is that what happened?"

  "We think."

  Lindsay was anxious to change the subject. She stood. Trey and Lewis stood with her.

  "I meant to tell you," she said. "When I was doing the drawing last night, Mike Altman, one of the biology people, came to the lab. Said he saw the light on, and it was the only time he could get supplies. But I don't know how he could have seen the light. He's staying at the ranger station and you can't see the light from the lab from over there. Anyway, he left with some graph paper. It looked suspicious. I thought you might want to ask the guard to be sure to watch the lab closely."

  "That is odd," said Trey. "What do you think he was up to?"

  "I couldn't tell. But some of the biology people are very hostile."

  "That's my fault," said Lewis. "I suppose I sort of bulldozed them. Do you think he was up to something?"

  Lindsay shrugged. "I don't believe he made his way from the ranger's station through the woods in the dark to get graph paper."

  John brought Ramirez over to the excavation and Lindsay showed him the bones that Gina and Juliana had uncovered.

  "So he was a Spaniard heading for Havana?" Ramirez asked.

  Lewis nodded. "Most likely."

  "Poor fellow, never made it. Wonder what he was doing way up here?"

  "That's one of our research questions," said Trey.

  Ramirez scanned the site, looking at the excavation as a whole and moved his head back and forth. "This was a ship." He said it as if he couldn't believe it. "It was big. You have found other remains?"

  "Two more. The first one was a Spaniard," said Lindsay. "Perhaps an officer or an official. He was in good health, and his bones don't show evidence of hard work."

  "No, we officials don't work very hard," said Ramirez.

  "Manual labor," said Lindsay with a smile.

  "Ah. And the poor fellow drowned. Possibly like our fellow in the alligator pond?"

  "Well, uh, actually," answered Lewis. "He appears to have been murdered."

  Ramirez looked up at him, then at Lindsay.

  "Blunt instrument to the head," she said. "Three blows."

  "But don't worry," Jeff called over to them. "We got the guy in irons."

  Jeff seemed in a very good mood. Lindsay was glad of it, for him as well as for the rest of the crew.

  "You know who did it?" Ramirez asked.

  They led the FBI agent to Jeff's find.

  "No," answered Trey. "There were many reasons sailors got put in irons, but it's certainly suggestive."

  After the tour, Lindsay, John, Trey, and Lewis walked Agent Ramirez to the top of the dam, explaining that John would give him a lift back to the island and they would wait and go later with the barge.

  "Thank you, this has been most educational. My wife's been reading about the project. She'll be thrilled when I tell her I've been here." He turned to Lindsay. "You probably thought your skeleton fellow was drowned, until you got a good look at him and discovered he was murdered. Wouldn't it be interesting if we had a parallel?"

  No, thought Lindsay, that wouldn't be interesting at all. It would be darned awkward.

  The first half of debriefing that evening was taken up by the body found in the alligator pond and what it meant for the site. Lewis told everyone not to concern themselves with it.

  "The authorities will sort it out, and it has nothing to do with us," he said.

  Lindsay doubted that it was true. Accident or foul play, Hardy Denton had been at the research station for some reason.

  To break up the talk of Denton, Lewis showed the picture Lindsay had drawn of the HSkR1. That spurred discussion of the day's skeletal remains, especially the one that appeared to be in leg irons.

  "We may get the answers in the journal," said Trey.

  "What exactly was this journal guy doing on the ship?" asked Steven Nemo. "I mean, he seems to be some kind of spy. Do we know his name?"

  "No," said Trey. "So far we don't know who he is on the manifest. Nor have we found any mention in the Spanish archives about whatever mission he was on. Unfortunately, his name does not appear on the journal. One thing we do know. He mentions several people by name in the journal and they do appear on the ship's manifest, so we can now say with assurance that we were correct in assuming that the journal matches the archival information. As to how the journal came to be boxed up and bricked in a closet in a house in St. Augustine, we haven't a clue. We assume that the writer of the journal, after surviving the shipwreck, made his way down the coast and eventually took up with the Spaniards who founded St. Augustine."

  "What about the second skeleton? The one you found, Dr. Lewis?" asked Sarah.

  "What about it, Lindsay?" asked Lewis. "Trey tells me you took it to Savannah. What was that about?"

  Lindsay stood, leaning with her back against one of the support columns. "This guy's Asian," she said.

  "Indian?" several people asked.

  "No. From the eastern coast of China, apparently-" She hesitated. "He may be Valerian's servant. The journal mentions that Valerian had an Asian servant when the ship picked them up in the Canary Islands. And he was found with the chess set, which indicates that the location of the remains may have been Valerian's cabin. Maybe as we read on, there'll be something in the journal to verify the identity."

  "Really-the skeleton I found?" Lewis looked like a pleased kid. "That's the first possible match we've been able to make between the journal and skeletal remains."

  "It's a good possibility," Lindsay said. "I was excited."

  "What did you do with him in Savannah?" asked Steven.

  "His bones show some rather severe pathology. I took them to an orthopedist to see what he thought."

  "And?" asked Trey.

  "Well, it was funny really. It looks identical to other conditions I've seen in photographs and X-rays, but never firsthand. Dr. Rosen, who at first didn't understand that these weren't modern b
ones, thought the same thing."

  "Which was? Are we going to have to pull this out of you, Chamberlain?" Trey asked.

  "Dysbaric osteonecrosis." All the divers in the room looked at her wide-eyed.

  "Well, that can't be," said Nate.

  "Why?" asked Gina. Lindsay explained what dysbaric osteonecrosis is.

  "Oh. How odd."

  "There are many diseases that can cause bone necrosis," said Lindsay. "I'll have to make some thin-sections of the bone for microscopic examination."

  "But it is strange that it looks like it's from scuba diving," said Juliana.

  "Well, that can't be," repeated one of the other divers.

  "No, it would appear to be impossible," agreed Lindsay, and continued her description. "At the time of his death, his condition was such that he must have been confined to bed during the storm. Was there any indication of that during the excavation?"

  Lewis shook his head. "There was a lot of wood, some fabric, though not much, and some rope. He was a bit of a jumble. I believe the sea chest that was found earlier was basically on top of him."

  Lindsay couldn't help but wonder if he was excavated too quickly and some good data were lost. However, she didn't say anything.

  Two other crew had found the capstan. They pointed it out on Steve's cross section. It was exactly where it should have been. They were quite proud of their find. Slowly, the ship and its story were being exposed and mapped. Lindsay thought it would be instructive to have a model of the ship and add on things as they found them. Like we all don't have enough to do, she thought. The debriefing ended on an upbeat note-the body found in the alligator pond temporarily forgotten.

  "You know," whispered Bobbie as she and Lindsay were leaving the lab, "the journal would make a good movie. You think Lewis is talking to Hollywood?"

  "It would not surprise me at all if Steven Spielberg showed up at the site next week." Lindsay grinned at her. She fervently hoped Denton's death would turn out to be an accident. This was such a wonderful site, with all the finds and that journal. She didn't want it spoiled by murder.

  They caught up with Harper, who stood waiting with her arms folded.

  "You're doing an amazing job of translating the journal," Bobbie told her. "We all love it."

  "I'm going to publish the translation after the dig is over. Lewis has already talked to the UGA press, and they're enthusiastic. It'd be nice to know who to give credit to for the original."

  "I didn't get a chance to thank you for letting me stay in your apartment," said Lindsay. "I was late getting to bed and had to be up early."

  "Maybe we can do it again. I was looking forward to some wine and girl talk. Did you have any trouble getting in?"

  "No, not at all."

  "I was concerned that you might, because we changed the locks on the doors. Sometimes mine sticks. I usually have it bolted. I may be getting paranoid, but a couple of times about two weeks ago I thought someone was trying to break in. I could have sworn I heard the knob rattle. The security guard said he hadn't seen anything suspicious. The second time, it was two o'clock in the morning. I called Trey and the poor guy motored over here from the barge."

  "That's strange." Lindsay related the visit by Mike the previous evening.

  "That guy gives me the creeps," said Bobbie. "He and Tessa really hate us. The others are all right. They're even interested in what we are doing."

  "Well, some of the archaeology crew are egging them on," said Lindsay. She told them about the planting of false rumors.

  "That letter she had the other day when Boote fell in the water," said Bobbie. "That was from Carolyn and Nate?"

  "Apparently."

  "Well, they shouldn't have believed such a stupid story anyway," said Bobbie.

  "Well, no," agreed Lindsay, "but we need to lay off. It will be easier on us in the long run if they don't think we're going to lay waste to the barrier islands."

  "What are you guys doing for dinner?" asked Harper.

  Lindsay shrugged. "I haven't heard from John. What about Trey?"

  "He and Lewis are having a meeting. Why don't we go to the mainland, or maybe St. Simons, and have dinner?"

  "Sure, I'd like that," said Lindsay.

  John entered the lab and pulled Lindsay aside. "How was the interview with Ramirez?" she asked.

  "Routine. Thanks for the warning. Look, I've got a meeting with Lewis and Marcus-"

  "That's fine, I'm going out with Harper and Bobbie. We're going to St. Simons."

  "Want me to get one of the guys to take you?"

  One of the guys?"

  "One of my crew."

  "I think Bobbie and Harper probably have it covered."

  "Call me when you get back."

  "Sure, if it's not too late. Everything all right? I mean with the FBI agent?"

  "As far as I know. He was interested in the confrontation the other night. I told him there was nothing to it, that you got the pirate lady to kick his butt."

  "Yeah, I wonder how Evangeline Jones is fairing with Ramirez."

  "She's probably spinning him a yarn." John kissed her cheek and went to Lewis's office.

  "Nice-looking guy, that John West," said Harper as they left the building and headed for the dock.

  "Yes, he is." Lindsay smiled to herself. John was the first guy other than Derrick in a long time that she was truly interested in.

  Harper was piloting the boat. Like Bobbie, Harper was a long-time scuba diver and boater.

  "Ever go sailing?" Harper asked, yelling above the sounds of the motor. "That's what I love. It's like flying over the water."

  That's what it felt as if they were doing now. Lindsay's hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but it still whipped back and forth, hitting her face. She couldn't keep the stray tendrils out of her eyes.

  "I love this job," continued Harper. "I usually work in libraries and archives. This is the first job I've had where I get to combine everything I enjoy. It's great."

  It was about the same distance to St. Simons as it was to Fernandina Beach where she and John had eaten a few nights earlier. But Harper was a faster driver, and they arrived at their destination quickly. She slowed considerably as she piloted to a dock and cut the engine. Bobbie and Lindsay jumped out and tied the boat.

  "OK," said Harper. "We have several choices. We've got seafood-which I confess I'm getting a little tired of-Chinese, Italian, French, and probably some others."

  "How about Chinese?" Lindsay suggested.

  I love Chinese food," Bobbie agreed.

  They walked past the marina for a few hundred yards to the Chinese restaurant. They were seated in a booth-Harper and Bobbie across from Lindsay. They ordered egg rolls, garlic chicken, Mongolian beef, sweet-and-sour pork, and rice.

  "This is a feast," said Harper, filling her plate. "Bobbie, I'll bet you need to eat a lot, doing so much diving and swimming."

  "I need to eat a lot whatever I do. My mother tells me to enjoy my metabolism while I'm young, because it'll leave me when I get older."

  "So, Harper," said Lindsay, "any previews on the upcoming journal entries?"

  "Nope, you have to wait along with everyone else. So far I haven't run across any mention of another Asian. Poor man. You said he was ill?"

  ,'Very."

  "What about the first one? He was murdered?"

  "Seems so."

  "I haven't run across anything like that, either. So far, everything's like a happy outing."

  "What I want to know is, what's the author up to?" Bobbie asked.

  Harper shook her head. "Lindsay, you going to do drawings of all the remains?"

  "If there aren't too many. Lewis wants to use them for newspaper articles."

  "I thought they might be nice illustrations for the book."

  "Lewis is going to hire a sculptor to do the faces from the skulls. You might want to use photographs."

  "Or both."

  They talked their way through all the Mongolian beef and garlic c
hicken, three quarters of the sweet-and-sour pork, and two plates of rice. Bobbie explained what a Lumbee Indian was to Harper, and Harper told them what it was like growing up in Singapore. Lindsay told Harper and Bobbie about her archaeologist grandfather and some of the early trips she went on with him.

  "I'm stuffed," said Harper at last. "This has been fun."

  It was dark when they walked back to the dock. Bobbie and Lindsay untied the boat as Harper started the motor and turned on the running lights. She piloted the boat easily out to the ocean and took off. The ocean air was cool and Lindsay put on her jacket. Bobbie and Harper both seemed to enjoy the wind in their faces.

  They were twelve miles from their dock at St. Magdalena and two miles from the shore on the opposite end of the island when the motor began smoking and stopped.

  "What in the... ?" exclaimed Harper over the whine of the engine as she tried to restart it.

  "Well, damn."

  She reached for the radio. The cable had been yanked out.

  Chapter 16

  .'Passenger's 'Diary: Part III

  From a voyage on the Spanisli Jalleon 'Estrella de 'Espana, c. i>>S

  -'Translated by .Harper Latham

  .. »..,,.».... .,! - ....... ._.......... AFTER THE STORM we did not immediately set sail. We first buried the poor sailor, which amounted to Father Hernando saying a few words over the body, then throwing it overboard with a cannonball sewn inside the shroud. After that, the ship required a few minor repairs, which consisted of caulkers pounding oakum into the separated seams, carpenters nailing lead sheets over gashed places in the hull, and sailmakers repairing torn sails, or hoisting new ones.

  The ship's hull below the waterline had to be examined by sailors who cannot only swim, but can hold their breath for an extended period of time. They dived into the water, looking for damage and making necessary repairs. Valerian's servant, )en, helped in this task. It turns out that he was a pearl diver in his land. The men were glad for his assistance. This is not a favored task, and jen can stay underwater for a long time.

  Three days after the storm, I stood by the grate on the weather deck, hoping to overhear something else, but there was only the steam and aroma of salted pork. The crew around me went about their incessant tasks, as though there had been no fatal storm days before. The page had turned the sand clock and said the third prayer of the morning, when I saw the three of them-Valerian, Lopez, and Captain Acosta-pass me going toward the captain's cabin. I waited until they disappeared, then casually strolled from my post through the arched doorway past the large brass cannons tended by soldiers intent on their own conversation. The few sailors scrubbing the floor ignored me as I passed. They were dressed in ragged clothes and most had bare feet, such a contrast to me in my fine robes and shoes. Some of the crew bid on the clothes of the fallen man, so poor are they that an extra set of rags is considered a fine thing. The money, I understand, will go to the unfortunate man's widow. Such a paltry sum would hardly be worth it to Luisa, but will be a good sum to the poor woman and her children. Such is the disparity between them and me. I am a fortunate man.