Ax & Spade: A Thriller (Raven Trilogy Book 1)

by Kurt B. Dowdle

  Joseph Moore stood up and gestured politely to the door of his office, where two uniformed private security men stood waiting.

  Moore said, “These gentlemen will help you find the exit. Good day, Kamp.”

  THE MEN HURRIED KAMP down the stairs, through the lobby, and out the door. He walked down Third Street and took a left on Iroquois. He headed straight for the Monocacy and went in the front door. The lobby was empty, and the manager did not appear to block his path. Kamp climbed the stairs to the fourth floor and went down the hallway to the door where he’d seen Philander Crow dead on the floor. He knocked on the door, and the woman he’d met before, Elise, answered it.

  She said, “What a surprise.”

  “How are you?”

  “I’m fine, I’m fine.” She looked at his clothes, tattered and bloodstained and said, “How are you?”

  “May I speak with your husband?”

  “My husband?”

  “He’s here, isn’t he?”

  “Why, yes, he’s here. Please come in.”

  He followed her into the apartment.

  She said, “Please wait,” and she disappeared into a back room.

  Kamp surveyed the front room. The twin babies were sleeping in their cribs. Spring sunlight slanted down through the window and onto the Persian rug in the center of the floor. When Elise returned, a man followed her, a man he'd had never seen before. But Kamp knew who we was.

  The man said, “Kamp.”

  “James Shelter.”

  “It’s good to meet you.” James Shelter crossed the room and shook Kamp’s hand. “Why don’t we talk in my study?”

  He turned and walked down the hall with Kamp following. James Shelter sat down in a leather chair in front of the desk in his study.

  Shelter said, “Sit down. Please, please,” and he motioned for Kamp to sit in an identical chair across from him. He produced two pipes and a tin of tobacco. “May I offer you a smoke?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Well, I hope you don’t mind if have one.”

  James Shelter packed the bowl and struck a match. He took a few short puffs to get it burning and then he slid open the window next to him and sat back down. “She hates the smoke. Says it’s unhealthy. Imagine. Now, what would you like to talk about?”

  Kamp studied James Shelter. To say that his features were nondescript would have been an overstatement. He possessed an exceedingly regular face and regular build. He had no distinguishing features of any kind, except, Kamp noticed, that when Shelter spoke, a shimmering intellect radiated.

  “Mr. Shelter, I’ve been investigat—“

  “James.”

  “I’ve been investigating a series of crimes, beginning with the murders of Jonas and Rachel Bauer. “

  “Among other things.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve done other things besides investigate crimes.”

  “That’s not my point.”

  James Shelter settled into his chair and took a long, contemplative pull on the pipe. “Of course it’s not.”

  “During the course of my investigation, I’ve learned that the Jonas and Rachel Bauer were murdered for the sole purpose of covering up another crime, namely an intentional explosion in a coal mine that killed six men. The purpose of the explosion was to eliminate a man named Roy Kunkle, a highly vocal critic of the management of the mine.”

  “You’re saying, let me understand, are you saying this Kunkle was killed for being a troublemaker?”

  “No.”

  “Another man, Daniel Knecht, was summarily hanged for the murders of Jonas and Rachel Bauer, and while he was complicit in the plot, he did not carry out the crime and so was wrongly executed. The explosion in the mine was carried out by a chemist, an employee of Native Iron, Otto Vordemgentschenfelde. The chemist was responsible for at least one other explosion, the one that destroyed the home of Silas Ownby. The chemist also had a hand in the creation of silver coins that were delivered to Roy Kunkle and Silas Ownby with the intention of striking fear not only into them but also into the general populace who became aware of what happened to people who received such a coin.”

  James Shelter leaned forward in his chair. His eyes twinkled with revelation. “Go on.”

  “Kunkle was murdered because he stumbled onto the existence of a secret society. He’d been given a list of names that made up the partial membership of an organization called the Fraternal Order of the Raven. Since Kunkle knew that he would likely be killed, he gave the list to Jonas Bauer, and both men were murdered because they’d seen the list. In the course of my investigation, attempts were made on my life and on the life of my family. All of these attempts were unsuccessful.”

  Shelter sat in rapt attention. He said, “I love it.”

  “The Fraternal Order of the Raven is really just a shadow organization that exists for the purpose of carrying out criminal acts in order to expedite business dealings among seemingly legitimate business enterprises, namely Native Iron, Lehigh Railroad and your shipping company, Castor and Pollux. The three companies are being combined to form Black Feather Consolidated, a single entity that will effectively monopolize these industries in the region.”

  “Bravo.”

  “And I’ve learned, James, that you’re at the center of all of it. You’re in charge. The Fraternal Order of the Raven is, in essence, your creation, and ultimately the responsibility is yours.”

  James Shelter sat back in his chair and let out a long breath. He said, “Anything else?”

  “That’s it.”

  Shelter squinted and looked at the ceiling. “Breathtaking, Kamp, just breathtaking.”

  “Did I get it all?”

  “You missed a few details here and there. For instance, I didn’t create the Order. And there were plans you couldn’t have known about. If Ownby hadn’t been killed in the explosion, for instance, we planned to burn him alive during the upcoming Black Feather celebration. We were going to set the viewing stand on fire by making it look like a mishap with the fireworks and then handcuff him to the stand. By the time investigators got to the scene, the handcuffs would have been gone. It would have appeared as if he’d tripped and been knocked unconscious and then, alas, consumed by the inferno. That type of thing. Exploding his house was just as good, albeit not quite as dramatic. Or satisfying. No one really remembers anything, though, not even the catastrophes. Everything changes too quickly these days.”

  “He was a good man. And none of the other people you had killed deserved what happened to them.”

  “I don’t disagree. But I gave you the opportunity to kill some people, too, and truth be told, you probably didn’t mind. All in all, I give you credit. You comported yourself with great vigor. And you solved almost all of the riddles. The gist, the machinery, the moving parts. You figured it out. I told them you would. I put my money on you. And I won.”

  Kamp said, “I can prove everything, too. I have evidence. Witnesses. I’m writing a report for the county and the state.”

  “That’s fine. I only have one question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Why bother telling me?”

  “Because I want you to leave me alone.”

  Shelter said, “You want to make peace.”

  “Tell Moore and Gray and all the assholes chasing me to stop.”

  “I already did, believe it or not. No one will bother you or your family, at least no one who works for me. And as for the bodies you’ve left strewn around the greater Bethlehem area, I can assure you that the police and probably everyone else has already forgotten about them.”

  Kamp said, “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why did you call them off?”

  “The Judge made a deal with me. You can ask him about it.”

  “What about Hugh Arndt, the man who killed Jonas and Rachel Bauer?”

  Shelter said, “Yes, well, you’re on your own with that one. Bit of a loose cannon, isn’t he?�
� Kamp stood up to leave. Shelter took a puff on his pipe and said, “I know it all seems personal. It isn’t.”

  Kamp passed Elise Shelter on his way out. He tipped his hat to her and said, “Goodbye,” and shut the door behind him.

  EPILOGUE

  IN THE DAYS FOLLOWING his conversation with James Shelter, it became obvious to Kamp that he was, in fact, no longer being opposed by the forces that had previously been arrayed against him. A week after the talk, and a year to the day after he officially became the detective for the Bethlehem City Police Department, Kamp tendered his resignation. He handed a letter to Sam Druckenmiller, who had been promoted to Assistant Chief. Druckenmiller said he would deliver the letter to the Chief of Police and said nothing else. Kamp noticed a brass plaque on the wall of the station that read, “Dedicated to the fallen Markus Lenz, Deputy Chief of Police. May the light of his integrity be a beacon to all.”

  From there, he visited the Judge one last time. Kamp asked the Judge about the nature of the deal that resulted in the cessation of hostilities against him. The Judge told him that he'd had to give Shelter three of his favorite properties and that all things considered, it was “a small price to pay” for Kamp’s well-being. The Judge did not say why he bartered for Kamp’s life in the end, or why Shelter took the deal.

  Rather than thanking the Judge, Kamp asked for the deed to the property as well as the Judge’s tobacco pouch. The Judge handed over both, willingly. He also presented Kamp with a check from the City of Bethlehem in the amount of one thousand dollars. The Judge said it was a bonus for “service far above and beyond the call of duty.” Knowing that he would try to refuse it, the Judge added that the bonus could not be considered “hush money,” as everyone knew that Kamp would freely share what he’d learned with anyone who cared to ask, as well as anyone who didn’t. Along those lines, Kamp wrote a lengthy and detailed report, including all the names, dates, and other relevant facts he’d amassed in the course of his investigation. In the finished report Kamp delivered to the state, he included the coin. He expected no response of any kind, and he received none. He tied up all the other loose ends he could think of as well, including the return of the unloaded Pepperbox pistol to Anton “Duny” Kunkle, who did not say thank you.

  On the day he returned to his property from delivering his reports, Kamp found Joe waiting for him next to the slaughterhouse. Joe extended his hand, and Kamp took it. He showed Joe the tobacco pouch, and the two men buried it at the base of a tree in the backyard. In the following weeks, He and Joe hauled away what remained of the house where he and Shaw had lived. They tore down the slaughterhouse as well. The hen house they left standing. Once everything had been cleared away, they chose another site on the property, back from the road and closer to the creek, for a new house. One by one, all of his neighbors appeared and began to help. Within days, the foundation had been dug, and Kamp used the money from the bonus to pay for all the materials. Over the course of the summer, they built the house.

  On the day they finished the front steps, Joe said, “Look who it is.”

  Kamp stood up, wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and turned around. Shaw was there with the baby strapped to her back. Tears rolled down both cheeks. He ran to her and hugged her and kissed the baby.

  “You’re here.”

  Shaw said, “We’re here.”

  The next morning Joe told him he’d had a dream, and in the dream he’d been given the baby’s true name. As such, they could proceed with the traditional naming ceremony, which Joe would lead. Kamp, Shaw and Joe found a suitable place, a clearing on top of the mountain on the property for the ceremony, and on the afternoon of the day Joe chose, the four of them gathered there for the sacred ceremony.

  WHAT THEY DIDN’T KNOW was that a hunter was stalking them. Ever since he vacated George Richter’s home, Hugh Arndt had been waiting, waiting for everyone to forget that he’d gone missing. And waiting for Kamp to let his guard down. He hadn’t traveled far from Bethlehem, no farther than Easton. And during the two weeks prior to the day of the ceremony, he’d been living in a tent just beyond the border of the property. Each day he’d watched them from the woods at the tree line. He blamed Kamp for everything that had gone wrong for him since the day Daniel Knecht died. He’d watched with a loaded rifle at his side, waiting for the right moment to exact his revenge on Kamp as well as his family. In his opinion the whole lot of them deserved to go.

  When he saw the family walking the trail up the mountain, Hugh Arndt realized the moment had arrived. He waited until they’d walked a safe distance ahead, then started to follow, knowing that with each step, they’d walk farther and farther from where anyone could see what was about to happen. The family reached the clearing. Joe started a fire and smudged Kamp’s and Shaw’s faces with the sacred smoke. He invited the Seven Directions, and then he asked Shaw to let him hold the baby.

  When he’d come within a hundred feet of Kamp and his family, Hugh Arndt circled around behind them, searching for a place with a clear line of sight. He kept his eye on them as he moved, stepping lightly and watching the ceremony from a distance. He noticed their full attention was on each other. Their guard was down for sure. When he’d found the right spot, Arndt leaned against a tree to steady himself and he sighted the first of his targets, that son of a bitch Kamp.

  Shaw handed the baby to Joe, who lovingly cradled her and whispered in her ear. He then held her up with both hands. Arndt saw him do this and thought it would be fitting to shoot the baby first, and then Kamp. He shifted his aim. What Arndt didn’t know was that another hunter was in the woods that day and that a different rifle barrel was pointed at him.

  Nyx Bauer had woken up that morning, knowing that the day for Hugh Arndt to pay for his sins had come. She dressed carefully and wove her hair into a tight braid so that it wouldn’t blow across her face at an inopportune moment. Kamp had invited her the previous day to the naming ceremony, and she had declined, sensing that she might need to protect him and his family. Since she knew where the ceremony would take place, she’d scouted the area early that morning, looking for the place where a sniper would most likely set up. She’d watched from a distance when Kamp and his family started up the trail, and she wasn’t surprised to see Hugh Arndt stalking them. So focused was he on them that she had no trouble following him up the trail without him noticing. And when he selected the place she knew he’d fire from, she was already in her own spot.

  At a distance of fifty yards from Arndt, Nyx sat cross-legged on a flat rock. She found this position to be the most relaxing for shooting. Nyx had cleaned and loaded the Sharps earlier that morning, and now she raised it to her shoulder. Nyx felt her breathing slow as she looked down the barrel at her parents’ killer. She didn’t want to disturb the ceremony any more than necessary, and so in spite of her urge to make the man suffer, Nyx resolved to finish him with a single shot. Besides, if she fired a second time, Kamp would know where to find her. As Arndt raised his own rifle and quieted his body, Nyx squeezed her trigger gently. The Sharps erupted, and the bullet struck Hugh Arndt in the left temple. He crumpled silently to the soft ground beneath him.

  Kamp and Shaw were startled by the gunshot, and Joe held the baby close to his chest. They all waited a minute and then assumed that it was just a hunter passing through the woods. Joe lifted the baby to the heavens, and in a voice choked with emotion, he spoke her true name. After that, Joe passed the ceremonial pipe. They sang and danced and celebrated the child, and their ceremony was complete.

  That night, Kamp sat in a chair on the front porch, watching the day going down to dusk. Both Shaw and Joe noticed that although his work was finished and his family intact, Kamp had a troubled expression on his face. They stood on either side of him, and each put a hand on his shoulder.

  Shaw said, “It’s over.”

  Joe said, “Their world is no longer your world. Let them go.”

  That night in bed, Kamp lay close to Shaw with his sl
eeping daughter on his chest. He felt a powerful and all-encompassing fatigue overtake his body. Shaw heard him murmuring.

  “I got it,” Kamp said, “I remember it.”

  “Remember what?”

  “That poem. I remember the whole thing.”

  Then Kamp went silent, and Shaw thought he was asleep.

  He opened his eyes one more time and said, “When I was in the war, we walked everywhere.”