The irony is Elizabeth Courtland had been wrong. Her own brother, Terrence, was the killer. And the greatest irony of all was, for whatever reason, he had brutally ended her life.
CHAPTER 46
Detective Mayes joined FBI Special Agent Ustes at Fort Clinch at 6:30 a.m. Monday morning. Based on Fawn Cortez’s account last night during questioning, they used a hammer and block of wood and discovered the secret opening in the north bastion stairwell. From there, along with a team of lab technicians, they used a long ladder to proceed down to the room below, through the narrow corridor, finally reaching the inner room with the table where Fawn had said she found the skull in the jar and the letter from Sarah Courtland to her son, Coyle, dated 1865.
What the investigative crew actually found was far less interesting. The table was there, as were the blankets, and the candles standing in the corners, all as Fawn had described. Yet the technicians did not find Terrence Courtland’s fingerprints or any other evidence that could be used to support a conviction once they apprehended him.
Before leaving the underground corridor and ascending the ladder, Detective Mayes made an interesting discovery. In the wall to the side, a slight irregularity in the bricks caught his attention.
****
Despite her ordeal, Fawn slept soundly. She woke early, feeling refreshed.
True, they had not found any treasure, but she had gained her own pot of gold twice. First, her father had returned from the dead. Then, she discovered Mike was not involved with any of the sordid activities as she so ignorantly suspected. These two enlightenments far outweighed any treasure they could have discovered.
When she checked her voice mail, she had 27 messages from various news sources requesting interviews.
News travels fast, she thought.
She did not return any of the calls. Instead, she talked to Ralston and they set a lunch date. He was anxious to hear the full story of what happened at the shell mound.
Fawn considered calling her father and Mike at the hospital, but did not want to risk waking either of them. Instead, she spoke to a nurse for updates. They were both recovering as expected.
Fawn left her house and arrived at the hospital several minutes after 9:00. She went to visit Mike but, as she suspected, found him sleeping. He had been experiencing pain and had been given an extra shot of morphine. He was expected to sleep for a while.
Fawn went to her father’s room. He gave her a wan smile as she entered.
They talked for a while, Fawn occasionally fighting back tears. She was so happy to see her father alive. Yet she sensed his disappointment. Juan had spent decades searching for a treasure that ultimately did not exist, or, if it ever had, had been looted long ago. Only now was he forced to admit the time spent equated to years of futility. It was a bitter truth to have shoved down one’s throat.
Fawn felt his pain like never before. Probably, she realized, because she also had been caught up in the dizzying hunt for the treasure; in search of that ultimate prize, where men of the past gloriously give up riches to men of present.
The dream had crumbled with the opening of the empty iron container. In many ways, it had emptied Juan Cortez’s soul with it.
****
When she left her father, Fawn felt mixed emotions. For her, he had been miraculously returned to her life, yet his zest for living was harshly dampened. She wondered if he would ever fully bounce back.
Fawn returned to her house, then left ten minutes before noon on foot. Her house keys were on the counter next to the MH key that Mike had returned last night, and she had pocketed them together. She was to meet Ralston for lunch several blocks away at a small sandwich shop on Centre Street. Dread settled within her as she passed Lisa Fortney’s closed flower shop. She felt a deep sense of remorse knowing Terrence Courtland was still on the loose. The only other person who seemed to be linked to the killings—Tony Liáng—had been killed. His death was also a mystery. Someone had shot him at the shell mound and saved Fawn. No doubt it was Terrence, but why had he come to her rescue?
Fawn arrived at the sandwich shop feeling glum. Once she saw Ralston’s smiling face, though, and gave him a hug, things felt better. They talked while they ate, with Fawn relaying the details of what had happened.
When Fawn had finished, she made an offer that lit Ralston’s face even further. They agreed to collaborate on a story regarding the events of the last few weeks. Fawn would begin the outline this evening, and then tomorrow after Ralston’s class, they would meet to review. The story would have a more conclusive ending if they could account for Terrence Courtland’s arrest. With any luck, the police would soon have their man, and the final details would be added.
Fawn returned to her house and received a call from Englehoff. He advised Fawn that she was ordered to meet with St. Augustine authorities on Tuesday morning in association with the encroachment and vandalism at Castillo de San Marcos. Wednesday, they had to meet with the Coast Guard regarding the destruction to the Amelia Island Lighthouse. Given the extenuating circumstances—that all the activity was carried out in an attempt to rescue her kidnapped father—Englehoff assured her of leniency from criminal prosecution. She might be required to make some financial restitution with regard to her transgressions.
Fawn found it interesting that the exhuming of the Indian remains (including Osceola’s skull) at the ancient cemetery in St. Augustine had not been mentioned. She and Ralston had done their best to remove the top layer of sod then restore it as they had found it, but she had fully disclosed her actions at the cemetery when she relayed the entire story last night to FBI Special Agent Ustes and Detective Mayes.
Fawn had one more call to make this afternoon. She had promised Dr. Curt Lohan an explanation as to why she had needed his help. She intended to keep that promise.
****
Detective Mayes sat at his desk in the police station. He had just ended another call with FBI Special Agent Ustes and was looking at the ceiling reflectively.
Tony Liáng’s rented house in Cedar Key had been searched. They found nothing to link a second accessory to the kidnapping. Fawn’s claim that Tony Liáng had said her fiancé, Mike Roberson, was the serial killer made no sense.
It had been three days since the body of Lisa Fortney was found draped over the historical marker in St. Augustine and the killer had not struck since. This gave him no comfort, however. The timing of the killings had always been sporadic; anywhere from several days to a week had passed between each attack.
The inconsistency between Elizabeth Courtland’s murder and the other five victims was pivotal. Mayes was now certain of it.
Why would a serial killer change his pattern in the middle of his string of victims? What was the motivation for Terrence to kill his sister?
Mayes thought about the chronology of events. There had been three murders prior to Elizabeth Courtland’s. Then, following the finding of Ms. Courtland’s body, the FBI held a press conference revealing the details of the murder victims. So why, only in the case of Elizabeth Courtland’s murder, had Terrence not left a name underneath the half-red face or scalped her?
As if a faucet slowly opened, an idea began to form in the mind of Detective Mayes.
****
Fawn hung up with Dr. Curt Lohan at 2:20 p.m. As expected, Curt had a litany of questions. Fawn requested his confidentiality of the story and also his permission to include his name in the upcoming article.
Afterward, having grown weary, she took a short nap.
Fawn awoke at four and drove to Jacksonville to retrieve her cell phone. She found it at Alpine Groves Park tucked securely underneath the board where she had left it. There was a missed call from Mike that had come in shortly after noon on Saturday, just as Mayes had said.
It was seven o’clock before Fawn returned to the island and arrived at the hospital to visit Mike and her father. Both
were doing well, physically. Mike’s spirits were upbeat, while Juan was struggling with his disappointment. Fawn told her father of the upcoming wedding, and he seemed pleased, even giving his daughter a smile.
But it was a forced smile.
Dusk was falling quickly by the time Fawn reached her house. She got out of her car, and her cell phone rang.
“Hello.”
It was Mike. “Fawn, are you home?”
“Just got here. What’s up?”
“I want you to go to Elizabeth…my mother’s house. There’s a door key underneath a large beige rock on the right side of the porch.”
Fawn started down the sidewalk. “Do you need something there?”
“In a manner of speaking.” His tone sounded apprehensive.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine. I want you to check something.”
“Give me a minute.”
Fawn reached the door, keeping the phone to her ear. Last time she was here, she had witnessed the gruesome remains of the poor woman. Fawn had retched on this very front porch. A shiver ran over her.
Fawn found the key underneath the rock and unlocked the front door.
The scent inside the aged home caused the bitter memory to sweep through her. She forced herself to push past the doorway, flipping the lights on.
“I’m in. What do you need?” She closed the door behind her. She was uncomfortable here. She was anxious to get out.
“Fawn, you mentioned you were knocked unconscious at Fort Clinch. That’s when Sarah Courtland’s letter to her son was taken from you, right?”
“That’s right.”
“So you based your search on what you remembered of the letter.”
“That’s right. I have a good memory.”
“No question there, but are you sure, are you absolutely positive, the letter said the treasure would be found at the shell behind the white wall?”
“No.”
“No, you’re not sure?”
“No, that’s not what it said. It said, ‘You will find the treasure at the shell against the white wall.’ The message was referring to that Indian mound. That’s where we found the iron container…empty.”
There was a long silence. “Fawn, I don’t want to get you excited, but where are you standing?”
“In the entryway foyer. Why?”
“Look ahead, on the right.”
Fawn gazed down the hallway. The serving table was against the right wall, a painting above it. Otherwise, the hallway was barren. “What am I supposed to be looking at? I see the serving cart and that bad painting of a conch shell.”
Something caused Fawn to stare at the painting. In an instant, she recalled the conversation with Elizabeth Courtland on the morning the woman had shared the information regarding her lineage to Osceola. The words rang in Fawn’s mind:
“It’s an eyesore, but it’s been in the family since the house was built in 1860. It’s an original by one of my ancestors; unfortunately, one with not much artistic talent.”
“Mike, I’ll call you right back.” She hung up before he could protest.
She leaned over the serving tray, looking for the artist’s signature but found none. She lifted the painting from the wall and found it surprisingly light. Fawn carried it to the dining room table where she laid it down and turned on the overhead light. The frame was thin, rudimentary, constructed of light-colored wood. The painting had been done on canvas paper and moved freely with a push of her fingers. Fawn gently eased the bottom of the paper from the frame, revealing a signature.
There was no mistaking the name.
Sarah Courtland.
“Oh my god,” Fawn said. She looked at the picture of the conch shell. Then she quickly turned the frame over. Using her fingernails, she was able to pry up the thin metal strips that held the backing in place.
“Please…” she said aloud. Fawn lifted the back board, exposing the underside of the canvas. She gasped when she saw the writing. There was a diagram underneath the writing. It was the unmistakable five bastion design of Fort Clinch.
My Dearest Coyle,
Your father, Osceola, intended for you to retrieve the treasure from the west coast of Florida where he found it. Worried that others might lay claim to what your father left you, I visited the place and discovered that the hold had been breached. There was no treasure. Your father obviously never knew this.
I was able to retrieve a small iron box near the large container. Whether there is anything of value inside, I can’t say. It’s secured by a lock. But I have left it for you as your father wished. Using the map, you will find the box behind the wall. It will be centered between the four black bricks. What I ask is that you remove the iron box, then bury your father’s remains in the dirt beyond. In this way, your father’s wishes will be fulfilled.
May you live a long and joyous life,
Mother
Fawn did not need a map to tell her where the four black bricks were. She recalled them on the wall in the alcove down the shaft in the stairwell of the North Bastion.
Fawn realized the irony in Sarah Courtland’s closing salutation: Coyle had not lived long enough to read it. He died of a gunshot wound near Osceola’s grave in Charleston, South Carolina.
Fawn’s cell phone rang. It was Mike.
“Hey, don’t keep me in suspense. I remember my mother once told me that painting was from the time the house was built. That correlates to when Coyle Courtland and his wife lived there. Did you find anything behind the picture?”
“Did I ever…” Fawn began. “Mike, Sarah Courtland went to the shell mound in 1838 after Osceola’s death. The treasure was gone but she found a small, locked box that she hid in Fort Clinch.”
“What’s in the box?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”
“Fawn, you should probably…”
Fawn hung up. She felt a touch of regret for doing so, but her resolve was set. She turned her cell phone off.
****
He was busy packing clothes and vanity items into a suitcase. It was time to leave. All the effort, all the trouble, had gone unrewarded.
Across the room, on the desk, a red light began flashing on a small black communicator. The man eyed it curiously before crossing the room and turning on the speaker.
Someone was in Elizabeth Courtland’s house. It was Fawn Cortez. She was talking, but no one was responding. It became apparent she was on the phone.
“No, that’s not what it said. It said, ‘You will find the treasure at the shell against the white wall.’ The message was referring to that Indian mound. That’s where we found the iron container…empty.”
There was a long silence.
“In the entryway foyer. Why?”
There was nearly a minute of silence.
“Mike, I’ll call you right back.”
For several minutes all he heard were rustling sounds.
A phone rang.
Silence.
“Did I ever…” Fawn began. “Mike, Sarah Courtland went to the shell mound in 1838 after Osceola’s death. The treasure was gone but she found a small, locked box that she hid in Fort Clinch.”
Silence.
“I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.”
****
It was quarter past nine, and the duty nurse, Lena Kennedy, was making her rounds.
She came to room 322: Mike Roberson, multiple gunshot wound patient.
The door was closed. Hmm, unusual. Patient doors were normally left partially open at night once visiting hours concluded. She knocked several times lightly then turned the lever and pushed inside.
The bed was empty.
“Mr. Roberson?” She moved to the closed bathroom door and knocked. Why was he out of bed? The man wasn’t strong en
ough. She noticed his bedpan lying on the floor.
There was no answer. She knocked again. “Mr. Roberson?”
Still no response. She turned the handle and slowly opened the door.
The bathroom was empty.
****
Fawn parked at a closed business along A1A and made her way onto Fernandina Beach. Six days ago, when she had breached the fort, she had gone inside during visiting hours and hidden until the park closed. Only later did she consider Fernandina Beach might afford a far easier access to the fort.
Fawn reasoned she could reach the fort by walking the several miles of beach north. There might be a barrier, but she would find a way past, even if she had to circumvent it by swimming around.
As before, she wore dark clothes. She had a hammer and flashlight hidden underneath her shirt and a small block of wood in her hand. A small metal wedge and a pack of matches sealed in a plastic bag were in one front pocket; a tape measure, cell phone, and a pencil in the other.
It was an overcast night. Scant moonlight filtered through the cloud-laden sky. There were few people walking the beach. To the north, the shore stretched away into darkness.
She walked near the waterline where the ground was firm. It would make the going easier if she could stay on the hard beach. She soon found herself moving along a deserted shoreline. The only sounds were the waves breaking on her right, along with the constant cascading of water washing over earth in a tranquil dance. The moon fell behind a thick knot of clouds, and Fawn found it necessary to turn the flashlight on. The light licked the glistening sand, returning glints from broken seashells. Salt air filled her lungs as a breeze kicked up.
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