A Murder In Passing

by Mark de Castrique

  I planned to put my oilskin into the empty hole, break up the removed stone into smaller pieces, and then reseal the space the best I could. But the hole was already deeper than the rock I dislodged. I reached in and my fingers grabbed an object about the size of a hardback novel.

  Electricity ran up my spine. All of the preparation Nakayla and I made had been for naught. Jimmy Lang had beaten us to it. I suddenly had the uncanny feeling that the connection between me and the skeleton in the log had been more than just my physically crashing into his remains. I had tapped into something beyond coincidence, something that had guided and shaped my thoughts from the moment I tumbled through those mushrooms and into an unfulfilled dream from nearly half a century ago.

  And this gift that I held in my hands would finally set things right.

  I was superstitious enough not to want to leave the Kingdom in case someone would somehow arrive in my absence and destroy my discovery. But in this desolate location, I had no cellphone service so my only option was to drive to the main road and seek a spot with a decent signal.

  I’d gone about a mile when the bars on my screen came to life. I pulled to the side of the road and speed-dialed Nakayla.

  “Did it go okay?” she asked.

  “It’s there. The real deal.”

  “What?”

  “Wrapped in plastic but I can feel the frame.”

  “Then the story you made up—”

  “Wasn’t fictional,” I interrupted. “It’s so true it’s scary.”

  She paused a moment, thinking over the implications. “What are you going to do?”

  “Go with the plan. Except now I don’t need to worry about Newland. I’m not planting anything.”

  “Are you coming to Nathan’s?”

  “No. I’m going to set things in motion now.”

  Another pause. Nakayla wasn’t happy with the accelerated timetable.

  “What about Nathan’s supplies?”

  “I’ll go without them.”

  “You’ll do no such thing!”

  Her voice was so loud I had to move the phone a few inches from my ear.

  “You listen to me, Sam Blackman. Lucille lost Jimmy on that spot. I’m not going to have history repeat itself. I’m coming there.”

  I knew Nakayla well enough that trying to dissuade her now was pointless. She’d have to be incorporated into the plan.

  “Okay. But you can help best by being in position to give me a warning. Tell Nathan there’s no phone service on the site and get his suggestion. We’ve got about two hours till dark. Come as soon as you can. I’ll make the calls, and we’ll abort if I can’t connect with everyone.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m on the shoulder about a mile from the property’s entrance.”

  Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I love you.”

  “I love you too.” The words swelled up from inside my chest with a power that surprised me. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”

  My next call went to Detective Newland, who listened patiently and then agreed to follow my advice.

  The net needed to be inclusive enough to safeguard against any undiscovered motives. I’m a firm believer in the axiom that what you don’t know that you don’t know will get you killed.

  Timing was critical so I waited in the CR-V until six-thirty when I figured it was safe to set things in motion. I placed the first call.

  I reached Jennifer Lang at the gallery and prefaced my question with the rationale that her father seemed uncooperative with my investigation. I wondered if he’d ever mentioned to her that his brother might have had a favorite spot on the Kingdom property.

  “My grandfather told me the case against Miss Montgomery has been dropped,” Jennifer said. “The victim was a black man.”

  “Yes, that’s correct. But I’m still looking into the theft of the Ulmann photograph. I’ve reason to believe your uncle took it, not for any personal gain, but for a completely innocent purpose. And he might have hidden it on the Kingdom.”

  “That sounds bizarre,” she said. “Whatever for?”

  “It’s too long a story to get into over the phone. I think he was planning a surprise involving some of the legends of the place.”

  “Legends? Sorry. My father never mentioned anything of the kind. I first heard of the Kingdom when Marsha asked me to look for that photograph.”

  She sounded genuinely perplexed and I apologized for bothering her.

  John Lang didn’t answer his phone. That threw a monkey wrench into the whole scheme. I checked the time and realized at six forty-five he was probably at dinner. Nakayla’s background check revealed he was a member of his local country club. I called information and they dialed the number directly. The woman who answered promised to have someone check the dining room and either Mr. Lang or she would call me back.

  Ten minutes later, my cell rang.

  “What’s this about?” John Lang demanded.

  “I found the photograph.”

  Silence. I waited for him to steer the conversation. Whatever he was thinking, he was proceeding cautiously.

  “Are you sure?” he asked at last.

  “Yes. Two adult women, Loretta and Lucinda. Three children, Lucille, Jimmy, and you.”

  I heard the wheeze of his sharp intake of breath.

  “Lucille told you that?”

  “No. She kept your secret. I figured it out on my own. Hewitt Donaldson told me that when he reported to Lucille that the remains were of African descent, she started sobbing. Donaldson and Marsha thought it was from relief that the charges had been dropped. You and I know it was from grief. Her worst fears had been confirmed.”

  “What proof is that?”

  “None. But when I confronted Lucille, she couldn’t deny it. I know about Lang Syne Plantation. About you and Jimmy coming with Doris Ulmann, John Jacob Niles, and Julia Peterkin to have your picture made on the site of the Kingdom. And frankly, I don’t care. What I do find disturbing is that you don’t care either. You don’t care that your brother was murdered.”

  “That’s not true!” His voice was a harsh, raspy whisper. Lang must have stood in some alcove in his exclusive club, a place where he never would have been allowed to join if the truth had been known. “I want justice for my brother.”

  “Then tell me why he was shot. Tell me why he was even at the Kingdom.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Here’s what I think, Mr. Lang. Jimmy was going to bring Lucille there. A spot that held so much history for both of them. I think he was going to commit to revealing his racial heritage and eliminate the last obstacle keeping Lucille from marrying him. And I think he placed that photograph and maybe other things as symbolic treasures to be pulled from the final ruins of the Kingdom. Only someone killed him first.”

  “It wasn’t me. And I’ll be god-damned if I let you spread that rumor around.”

  “I haven’t told anyone anything. I plan to return to the Kingdom tomorrow,” I lied. “To find evidence of what I told you.”

  “I don’t care what you find. I didn’t kill my brother.”

  “Do your son and granddaughter know about your ancestry?”

  “No. No one but Lucille. And now you.”

  “So they don’t know that the remains belong to Jimmy?”

  “No. As far as they’re concerned, there’s no way it could be Jimmy.”

  “Then I’ll leave it that way for the time being. At least till I get more information. Fair enough?”

  I heard a sigh of defeat.

  “What choice do I have?”

  “Mr. Lang, you’ve always had a choice. Don’t kid yourself into thinking otherwise.”

  I hung up.

  My last call went to William Peterkin Lang. He was the person I expected to have difficulty lo
cating on a Saturday night. Fortunately, he’d phoned me at the office from his cell and I’d retained the number. He wouldn’t recognize mine, which might mean he wouldn’t answer an unfamiliar one. My worries were unfounded.

  “Lang.” He sounded annoyed by the interruption.

  “Mr. Lang, this is Sam Blackman.”

  “Yes, Sam.” His mood instantly changed, as if we were old pals. “Any luck finding who shot that poor vet?”

  “No. I’m afraid the police haven’t had a break yet.”

  “Terrible thing,” he said. “Go through the hell of war and then have that happen.”

  “Yeah, it is. But that’s not why I’m calling. I’m still looking into your uncle’s death.”

  “Oh, is there a new suspect?”

  “No. Not yet. But we might have a fresh angle. You told me you overreacted when you thought your uncle’s body had been discovered and you blamed Lucille.”

  “Yes. And I’m not proud of jumping to conclusions.”

  I chose my words carefully, knowing I had to balance speculation with factual evidence. “Lucille told me Jimmy was supposed to pick her up the day he disappeared. He’d talked about a new start and a real treasure. I think he might have been going to surprise her with some gift. Maybe a peace offering at a special place.”

  “If what she’s saying is true.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “It’s not a certainty, but it’s all I’ve got. Maybe he re-framed that Ulmann photograph of Lucille’s family. Or made some arrangements for little Marsha. Maybe he was leaving, but was going to make provisions for his child.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You used to hunt with him. Did he have any favorite spots, a lake or a nice mountain view where he might have planned something special?”

  There was a long pause. “Nothing comes to mind. How do you think finding it would be helpful?”

  “Because I believe your uncle is dead and maybe he was killed on that spot. Maybe for the ten thousand dollars he’d taken from his bank account. Maybe for another reason. But it might have happened at that location. Before I press Lucille further, I wanted to check with you.”

  “Wish I could help. I really do.”

  “Thank you. I’ll speak with her tonight and start following up tomorrow.”

  “Don’t hesitate to call me if you think I can help,” he offered.

  “Thanks,” I said. “But we’re probably chasing ghosts. Or at least a ghost.”

  I ended the call. The players were primed.

  And then I got the word from the Chief Warrant Officer at Fort Bragg. Donnie Nettles’ role became crystal clear.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  The pink tinge of the western clouds faded to gray. I lay in a depression in the shadows about twenty yards to the east of the stone chimney. The trail from the pasture rose below. Anyone climbing would have trouble peering through the murky underbrush shielding me, whereas their silhouette would stand out as long as faint vestiges of daylight remained in the sky. After full darkness, I’d have to use starlight and the abrupt silence of the night creatures to know when I was no longer alone.

  “Are you all right?” The tinny sound of Nakayla’s voice came through the small earpiece.

  “Yes,” I whispered. “At least I’m not dealing with Iraqi sand flies. I’m just anxious to get this over.”

  “Patience,” she cautioned. “And no unnecessary chances.”

  “Copy that, and patiently lying by.”

  Within five minutes, the forest reverberated with crickets and a host of other insects that could fill a naturalist’s handbook. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted, preparing for a night of hunting. I wished us both success.

  Dusk turned to night.

  Static burst in my ear. “Car approaching,” Nakayla whispered. A few more seconds of static. “It’s turning in.”

  “Can you tell the make?”

  “Too far away. All I see are headlights. My guess is a sedan. Should I close in behind?”

  “No. Too soon. Let’s see what develops. I’ll lock transmission when there’s contact.”

  “Got it,” she said. The earpiece went quiet.

  A sedan would take longer to navigate the rugged road than my CR-V. Nakayla had driven me to the pasture and then returned my vehicle to the safety of her vantage point along the main highway. The approaching car would see no sign that anyone else was on the premises.

  For the next five minutes, the forest returned to its nocturnal cacophony. Then brief flashes of light winked through the narrow gaps between the trees. I never saw the car, just the reflected glow of its headlights along the final stretch.

  Again, the woods were swallowed in darkness. I flattened into the dry pine needles, the ground covering I’d sought because it was less noisy than the leaves of the neighboring hardwoods.

  My visitor made no attempt to mask the sounds coming up the trail. Halting footsteps mixed with the swishing of brush being knocked aside. The beam of a flashlight swung between the path underfoot and the top of the knoll as if the owner was anxious to see the destination.

  Stepping into the small clearing, the figure appeared stooped. The flashlight was in the left hand and a cane in the right. The back spill of the halogen beam illuminated a face marked by grim determination.

  “John Lang,” I whispered, and locked down the radio’s transmit button.

  The old man played the light over the chimney from base to top like an archaeologist who stumbled upon an ancient monolith. He leaned against the cane as if the very sight of the Kingdom’s remains sapped the strength from his body.

  I waited for him to make a move, to take some action that connected his presence to the death both of us knew happened here so many years ago. So far, trespassing was John Lang’s only provable crime.

  The chimney and surrounding area grew brighter as a cloud blew clear of the half moon. I could now see he wore a tan canvas hunting jacket over matching pants. His boots were brown leather and cut a few inches above his ankles. He had come prepared for the hike.

  Like the opening of a door or turning on of a front porch light, the emerging moon broke Lang from his rooted stance and bestowed permission to come closer. He tapped one of the larger base stones with the tip of his cane, and then shifted the flashlight into the same hand so that he could place his free palm flat against the rocks. He held that position for at least a minute as if summoning courage to continue his mission.

  He leaned his cane against the chimney and slowly slid his fingers across the rock surface like a blind man reading a braille tablet. His hand passed under the loose stone and I thought I’d masked its location too well for the old man’s eyesight. He went beyond it, but the outer edge of the beam must have caught the deeper depression around the stone’s perimeter. I could see him dig his fingernail into the moss. He transferred the flashlight into his left hand and pulled a hunting knife from a sheath beneath the canvas jacket. The blade gleamed in the light as he wedged it into the crevice and repeated the maneuvers I’d made with the chisel and crowbar. Within a few minutes, he’d extracted the stone and pulled the packet from its hiding place.

  Jimmy Lang’s plastic had disintegrated in my hand, so I’d soiled and stressed the oilskin before re-wrapping the original articles. John Lang was too anxious to see the contents to think about the authenticity of their protective covering. He knelt down using his cane for support, spread the oilskin like a picnic blanket, and stared at the three items his brother had planned to show Lucille.

  First, he picked up the ring. The scattered refractions of the small diamond danced on the pine needles like sparkling fairies. Then he examined the Ulmann photograph, the actual print Julia Peterkin had sent Lucille’s grandmother eighty years ago. Finally, he opened a manila envelope and pulled out a stack of one-hundred-dollar bills and two sheets of legal paper folded to the
same size as the currency. He read the handwritten words I’d seen a few hours earlier. Even from my hiding spot in the woods, I could see tears streaking his weathered face.

  Now was the time to confront him. The evidence of Jimmy Lang’s threat to him lay undeniably before him.

  I lifted myself to all fours, preparing to stand and make a dramatic entrance as if I’d materialized out of thin air.

  The dramatic entrance shocked John Lang almost as much as it shocked me because the dramatic entrance wasn’t mine.

  “You’d better give me those.” William Lang gave the order in a calm, firm voice.

  I froze.

  John flipped up his flashlight to reveal his son standing on the path at the edge of the woods. William wore a light camo jacket and black jeans. For a second, I couldn’t understand why Nakayla hadn’t warned me. Then I remembered I’d locked the transmit key in the on position. She couldn’t get through.

  William Lang moved across the clearing with ghostly speed and silence.

  The old man clutched the papers to his chest. “These belong to your uncle.”

  “Then destroy them.” William stood over his father, holding out his hand. He snapped his fingers impatiently, demanding the document.

  John Lang recovered from the startling appearance of his son. His eyes narrowed. “How did you know to come here?”

  “Sam Blackman told me he’d be checking the chimney tomorrow. I didn’t know why, but I suspected it was in our best interest to learn what he expected to find.”

  I rose to my feet and stepped behind the large trunk of a neighboring white pine. “That’s a lie, William.” I bellowed the words toward the woods behind me, hoping to mask my exact location.