I will be entombed far across the waters where I have helped to instill Christianity. Once I told the native people of Christ, they took it upon themselves to create countless numbers of perfectly round stones, as a sign of reverence to the one stone that covered Jesus’ tomb after the crucifixion. These hewn stones are spread in and around their village. The stone sphere with the creature of anonymity will lead to my tomb.
Tolen remained silent as he digested this information. Costa Rica? Even he had his doubts.
“You think the Joseph of Arimathea’s body is in Central America?” Diaz scoffed. “The very man who went to Pontius Pilate and asked for permission to take Jesus’ body after the crucifixion to prepare it, then placed the body in his own family tomb?”
“Let me be clear,” Jade responded. “I’m aware that the original family tomb where Jesus was placed was in Israel. After He was said to have been resurrected, Joseph of Arimathea’s family never used that tomb. What we found indicates he built a second tomb for himself in or near Costa Rica.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Diaz muttered.
Jade ignored him and went on. “We were in the process of looking for the stone sphere which would direct us to the tomb’s location when Phillip was murdered.”
The cockpit door opened, and Reba Zee sprang forth. “Let’s saddle up. We’re going top side. Time to ride the wind,” she said with a gregarious smile. Reba Zee was a top-flight pilot who loved to display her exuberance. Tolen had learned long ago to appreciate the woman’s talent, even if she sometimes required a translator to be understood.
Diaz and Jade stared at the woman dumbfounded.
Reba Zee returned to the cockpit and closed the door. Moments later, the jet engines revved, and the plane nudged forward before breaking into a steady taxi. Once they were airborne, the lights from New York City sparkled in the distance, illuminating the horizon to the east as the cabin lights were doused and the interior fell into murky darkness.
“Texas is in the United States, correct?” Diaz asked.
Tolen nodded.
CHAPTER 7
September 10. Monday – 11:58 p.m. Vinton, Virginia
It was a cloudless night and a pale moon hovered on the horizon against the backdrop of a star-filled sky. The streets were quiet.
Police transportation had been arranged from the Roanoke Airport to the crime scene. A uniformed officer had been waiting for them when the jet landed.
The squad car pulled to a stop at Maple and Union Street, and Tolen, Diaz, and Jade exited the vehicle. The streetlight cast a limpid glow over a bald man with a crinkled face and fair skin who approached them. He was dressed in slacks, a white dress shirt, and a sports coat. He wore what looked like a permanent scowl, and Tolen figured he must be a plain-clothes detective who was not enamored with pulling a long, late shift.
“Agent Tolen, Inspector Diaz, I’m Detective Maurice Shuski of the Roanoke PD,” he did not bother to offer a handshake. His voice was gritty. He glanced warily at Jade.
Tolen read his thoughts. “This is Dr. Jade Mollur. She’s assisting us.”
Shuski regarded her for a moment before continuing. “My captain told me to give you the red carpet treatment. Come on, and I’ll show you the crime scene. It’s two-and-a-half weeks old, but I thought you might want to see where the man’s body was found.” He paused, staring at Tolen. “I thought the CIA had no domestic police authority?”
“Our investigation has international ramifications,” Tolen responded as they began walking down the alley. Diaz and Jade trailed closely behind them. “Had Aaron Conin lived in Vinton for long?”
“A couple years. He worked in Roanoke at a medical laboratory and lived there until two years ago when he moved to the outskirts here. Vinton is practically a suburb of Roanoke.”
“How was he killed?” Diaz asked.
“Strangled, no prints.”
“The crime has been deemed a random mugging?” Tolen asked, as they reached a dumpster at the far end of the dark alley. A foul smell rose up to greet them. Jade covered her nose and gagged.
“It’s impossible to say if it was random, but his watch and wallet were taken,” Shuski pointed at the dumpster. “His body was found in there with the trash. He’d been dead at least 24 hours before the trash collectors found him.”
“So death occurred here in the alley?” Tolen asked.
“There’s nothing to make us think otherwise,” Shuski responded defensively, wiping the skin atop his head. He cocked his head hard at Tolen. His tone hardened. “What exactly are you looking for? You think this was a premeditated killing? The forensics guys covered this alley like a blanket. Are you suggesting we missed something?”
“Not at all. I believe you and your team have handled this crime scene very well.”
“Then why did your director call my captain to get me out of bed to process the victim’s apartment sixteen days after we found the body?”
“Aaron Conin had been in contact with a man who is wanted for questioning in a case involving several overseas murders.”
“I see,” Shuski said, wiping a bead of sweat from his cheek. “So you think this wasn’t just a mugging?”
Tolen did not respond. He peered back down the alley where they had just been. It struck him as odd that anyone would come down this dead-end alley, unless of course they were throwing away or picking up trash. “Was anything unusual found with the body?”
“His keys to his apartment, car, office, oh, and Conin’s cat skulking around the outside of the dumpster. One of the officers felt bad for the animal and adopted it. As I said, there was nothing to suggest this was anything more than a brutal mugging.”
“Do muggers in Virginia often strangle people?” Diaz asked. His tone was flavored with cynicism.
Shuski took exception, turning to Diaz. His response was terse. “I’m running this investigation.” He glared back at Tolen. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”
Tolen could have easily pushed his authority, but decided instead to play on the detective’s moral compass. “The man we’re looking for is a former government operative.” It was a half lie: Ramsey was CIA but never an operative. “It’s imperative we discover his whereabouts as soon as possible. Lives are in imminent danger.” That part was the truth, for all they knew.
Shuski looked suspiciously from Tolen to Diaz and even to Jade, who seemed distracted, shuffling in place.
“Lives, huh?” Shuski finally said with an audible exhale. “What do you need from me?” he said resignedly.
“I understand the forensic team is processing Aaron Conin’s fourth-floor apartment as we speak. May we see it?”
“C’mon,” Shuski said, motioning with his hand. “It’s a couple blocks over.”
Shuski led the way. Tolen fell slightly behind.
Jade and Diaz pulled beside Tolen. Jade spoke in a low voice, “Seems like a mugging to me,” she hesitated, “but you’re not convinced, are you?”
Tolen spoke so Shuski would not hear, “Have you ever heard of someone living on the fourth floor of a building who allowed their cat outside?”
“You think he was killed at his apartment and moved here,” Diaz interjected softly, “and that’s how the cat got out?”
“Or someone broke into his apartment after killing him, but that doesn’t seem likely since his keys weren’t taken. Either way, the perpetrator didn’t want investigators led back to it.”
They continued down the still street where only an occasional passing car disrupted the silence. The air was warm, but there was a gentle breeze pushing against them as they left the narrow alley.
Tolen’s cell phone chirped, and he recognized the number. He slowed, motioning the others to go ahead so he could talk in private.
“Tolen,” he answe
red.
It was Morris Vakind. “Are you on site at Aaron Conin’s murder scene?”
“Yes, we arrived a few minutes ago. I believe this was more than a simple mugging,” he paused, speaking softer, “Morris, you don’t think Boyd Ramsey did this, do you? We both knew the man. He was not a fanatic. Even with his son’s death, I don’t believe it would have made him into a killer.”
“The evidence is stacked against him, although it does appear a little too convenient. By the way, how did you know about his son? Even the agency didn’t have that information.”
“He had confided in me,” Tolen paused again, then changed the subject. “Morris, Ramsey is an agnostic, but he has nothing against other people’s religious beliefs.”
“Nevertheless, continue to target Ramsey as the primary suspect. I have a call with Spanish authorities at 1:45 a.m. Give me an update before 1:00.” The phone went silent with a click.
Tolen hung up. He caught up with the rest of the group, and they entered the apartment building. Shuski advised them that the elevator had been inoperable for some time, and they would be forced to climb the rickety stairs. The air was heavy with the smell of lacquer as they made their way up. They reached the apartment at the far end of the fourth floor minutes later. It was cordoned off low across the open doorway with the signature yellow crime-scene tape. Shuski stepped over it followed by the other three. They stopped inside where the entry hallway opened to the living room.
There were four forensic technicians decked in white coats and plastic gloves ambling about. One of the technicians turned to Shuski upon seeing the intruders. He appeared to be in charge.
“Shuski, we’re working here,” he said in an annoyed tone. His nametag read ‘Fulton McCray.’ It seemed Mr. McCray had also been awakened this evening for extra duty and was also in a sour mood.
“McCray, this is Samuel Tolen with the CIA. This investigation may fall under their jurisdiction,” Shuski said.
“May?” McCray responded.
Tolen stepped forward. “Mr. McCray, we need to determine if Aaron Conin’s death is linked to a man we’re after.”
“Well, I can tell you we’ve been here for over an hour now and, so far, have found nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Do you mind if we look around?”
“Knock yourself out. You know the protocol,” McCray said, handing them three sets of gloves. Tolen took two, returned one set to McCray and pulled two gloves from his inner coat pocket. He handed the other two sets to Diaz and Jade, respectively. Jade looked at him in confusion. She leaned in and whispered, “I know nothing about forensic work....and I really have to use the bathroom.”
Tolen turned to Shuski. “Bathroom?”
“In there.” Shuski pointed.
Tolen asked again, “For personal use?”
“First floor, near the broken elevators.”
Jade did not wait. She scurried out of the apartment and vanished down the hallway.
Tolen and Diaz donned their plastic gloves. Tolen looked over to where two technicians were dusting the long coffee table for fingerprints. He moved before an open doorway. “I’ll check this bedroom,” he said to Diaz. “It looks like Conin’s. You check the guest room.” Tolen pointed to a door down a brief hallway off the other side of the living room. Diaz nodded, and moved in that direction.
Tolen entered the bedroom and was met with the subtle aroma of lilac. The bed was unmade. The nightstand and dresser held small lamps, some decorative pieces of art and a few scattered Post-it Notes. He read each one. Reminders of to-do items: pick up dry cleaning, change oil in car, pay bills; nothing out of the ordinary. He opened the closet door. Clothes were hung up, shoes on the floor, sweaters folded on a top shelf; again, nothing unusual.
Tolen retreated from the closet to the living room. McCray was busying himself dusting for fingerprints at the kitchen counter. Detective Shuski was nowhere to be seen. Tolen had smelled cigarette smoke on the man’s coat. He was probably outside satisfying his addiction.
Tolen heard a subtle mechanical whirl and spotted the source: a contraption in the corner of the living room. It was low and square, and his curiosity drew him to it. Only after he came closer did he realize it was a high-tech litter pan with a plastic doorway and a connecting receptacle to sift through the litter and filter out the excrement periodically; more proof the cat was an indoor pet.
Tolen turned toward McCray. “Mr. McCray, have you found any prints besides Conin’s?”
“Not unless you count the cat. There are feline pawprints everywhere; more than Conin’s fingerprints.”
Tolen returned to the master bedroom. He moved to the adjoining bathroom. The doorknob caught his eye, and he bent down to examine it.
“Find anything interesting?” Jade called as she walked up from behind.
“Maybe,” Tolen said. He had not heard her enter the room. “The keyhole has what appears to be scrape marks, as if someone was trying to unlock it forcefully.”
“If Conin’s the only one who lived here, why would he lock the bathroom door?”
Tolen gave her a knowing look with one eyebrow raised as if to say, “Exactly.”
She answered her own question, suddenly recognizing Tolen’s reasoning, “Be...cause…he was on the inside and someone was trying to get at him?”
Tolen stepped into the small bathroom. Jade stood in the doorway observing him.
Everything was in perfect order: the toothbrush was secure within a plastic travel case, a folded washcloth on the edge of the sink, a stick of deodorant, dental floss, Vaseline, and an electric shaver spaced apart with precision. This was a problem, Tolen realized. The arrangement of everything was too precise.
“What is it? What do you see?” Jade asked.
“Let’s get Diaz and be on our way. It’s a long flight to Costa Rica.”
CHAPTER 8
September 11. Tuesday – 1:24 a.m. Roanoke, Virginia
At the Roanoke Regional Airport, the tarmac was dark. The outside air had cooled considerably. Commercial airline traffic had ceased hours ago. There were no other private jets in sight, leaving the Learjet 85 as the lone aircraft on the taxiway. Jade, Tolen, and Diaz sat comfortably aboard the private jet waiting for departure. Jade looked out the window. A light rain had begun falling several minutes before, misting the glass and blurring the outside world. An ethereal glow of lights escaped from the terminal windows in the distance.
Over an intercom, Reba Zee advised them they would take off within minutes.
“You think Conin’s murder was premeditated?” Jade asked Tolen.
“Yes, I believe the killer trapped him in the bathroom and then killed him. The toiletry items were probably in disarray after the struggle, but the murderer arranged them back in place too precisely. Conin’s body was then moved to the alley to stage a mugging.”
Diaz looked confused. “This doesn’t appear to have anything to do with our... mission. Boyd Ramsey made one call to this lab technician. For all we know, he might have misdialed the number. There is no other evidence linking him to Boyd Ramsey.”
Tolen’s cell phone rang, and he answered. “Yes, Ms. Bar? I see,” he said after a moment of silence. “Thank you.” Tolen hung up.
Tolen looked to Jade. “Dr. Cherrigan’s PC and other personal files were missing from the crime scene. Are you sure they were in his motel room?”
She felt her spirits sink. “Absolutely.” Then a terrible thought struck her. “We can’t go to Costa Rica!” she blurted out.
“Why not?” Diaz asked.
“Because whoever killed Dr. Cherrigan and stole his notes now knows where to look for the clue which will lead to Joseph of Arimathea’s tomb…and that clue is here, in the United States.”
“I thought you said these, these�
��” Diaz made a circle in the air, swirling his finger theatrically, “…Costa Rican stone spheres hold the clue?”
“They do. Or should I say, one does,” Jade said, reaching to the side and sliding a laptop PC from her bag. She propped it in her lap and booted it up. “Remember what I said about the deciphered text: The stone sphere with the creature of anonymity will lead to my tomb? Phillip...I mean…Dr. Cherrigan and I didn’t know what ‘creature of anonymity’ meant—I still don’t—but we searched every stone we knew to exist in Costa Rica for an image or etching of a creature on it. It was a daunting task, given the 300 or so spheres in and around Palmar Sur and the numerous ones dispersed throughout the country.”
The engines roared to life, and the plane taxied slowly toward the runway. Jade felt pressure to make her case, so she pushed on. She spun the PC toward them so that they could see the screen. It was a map of Costa Rica with plotted red points, primarily grouped at Palmar Sur, although some were quite a distance away. “Ultimately, we were disappointed. None of the stones contained a picture of a creature.”
“What were you expecting to learn from this stone if you had found it?” Tolen asked.
“That’s just it. I won’t know until I find it. I assume it will be directions, or possibly a map, to Joseph of Arimathea’s tomb,” she said, turning the screen back toward her.
“In Costa Rica?” Diaz asked.
Jade nodded.
The plane turned and came to a halt. A quick glance out the window confirmed they were in position on the runway for takeoff. It would only be a minute or so before Reba Zee gunned the engine and they went airborne southward toward Costa Rica. She needed to convince them quickly.
“Look,” Jade began, “Joseph of Arimathea was a very wealthy man; possibly one of the richest men of his time. He made his fortune as a metals dealer. Many scholars have theorized he traveled to South and Central America as part of his trade business.”
Indisputable Proof Page 5
