Fawn considered the climb out. She had the iron box, which required two hands. Bailey had the candle and pistol. The pistol could be tucked away, but then Fawn would be uncovered. The wall was not an easy climb; completely vertical, it required two hands.
How is he planning to do this? She wondered.
They reached the end of the corridor and stepped into the room where the handholds led up the wall to the opening.
“Put the box in that corner,” he ordered.
Fawn did as instructed and now understood. He wasn’t going to take the crown up now. He had to return to clean up the mess and leave Terrence’s fingerprints. He would gather the box at that time.
“Take the candle,” he said, shoving it toward her. “Start climbing.”
“I can’t climb holding a lit candle,” Fawn protested.
Bailey leveled the gun at her chest. “Yes, you will. Move.”
Fawn turned toward the wall. She started to climb, holding the candle in her left hand, but it was impossible. She couldn’t get a purchase in the brick cutout.
“I can’t do this.” Fawn felt a tear stream down her face.
“You will,” Bailey said, nudging the barrel of the pistol to the back of her head.
Fawn was breathing erratically, close to hyperventilating. She took a moment to calm, to think. Then she took the four-inch candle and placed the end in her mouth. She could feel the flame at the other end warming her lips, nose, and eyes.
The faster she went the better. She began to scale the wall precariously, clamping the candle between her teeth. It was difficult to keep it from bumping into the wall. Once, it touched the brick and nearly extinguished.
Several feet below her, Bailey screamed. “Don’t let that damn thing go out!”
Fawn gathered herself, bit down so hard on the candle she could taste bits of wax, and continued. Bailey rose directly beneath her. He had to be climbing with the gun secured in his waist band. If she could make it to the top, distance herself from him, she might be able to escape.
Fawn climbed quickly, but with the candle in her mouth, she was unable to look down. Melted wax began falling, brushing down her shirt, landing on her pants as she went. She could feel searing heat through the material.
“Stop when you reach the top,” Bailey said from below.
Fawn was several feet away from the sill at the opening. She had an advantage of being above him. Every idea she was considering had inherent risk. She could try kicking him off the wall, but what if he grabbed her leg, pulled her plummeting to the stone floor with him? She could use the lit candle as a weapon, but again, he might take her down with him. The one thing that was her weapon…the drop…was also her enemy. What she needed was a way to knock him down so he could not get a grip on her before he fell.
Fawn reached the top.
“Sit on the sill facing away,” Bailey barked. “I’ve got the pistol aimed at your head, so don’t try anything stupid.”
Fawn was unable to confirm that the weapon was tucked away and now feared he had somehow been able to climb with it in his hand. If he was telling the truth, her options were gone.
Then an idea came to her. Remembering that Bailey was right handed, Fawn lifted herself onto the right side of the sill. The candle was still burning in her mouth. Upon sitting, with her legs draped over to the stairwell side, she moved the candle to her hands.
It would only be a second or two before Bailey climbed from the shaft.
“Don’t move,” he said, sternly.
The words momentarily shook her, but she knew she had only one chance. Fawn used her peripheral vision to look at Bailey’s hands as he grasped the lip of the sill. He was not holding the gun.
With her pulse racing, she blew out the candle, plunging them into darkness. As Bailey was lifting himself up, Fawn stood and wheeled, bringing her right knee into the lower part of the opening. There was a ghastly crunch as her knee connected with something solid.
Fawn was conscious of a grunt of pain, then the sound of something scraping the brick wall before finally landing on the floor below with a thud.
A hand grabbed her shirt, clawing at her skin. “You bitch!” Bailey howled. “You broke my nose! I’ll cut your throat!”
Fawn struggled to free herself, dragging the man from the portal onto the stairs. He continued to grasp at her feet, her legs. She barely pulled free, running down the remaining steps and onto the dark bastion floor. She could hear the man behind her, stumbling down the stairs after her.
Fawn ran toward the dim, moonlit doorway that led to the ravine between the rampart and the curtain wall. There, she turned right and ran as fast as she could along the narrow, dark dirt path. The ground was uneven, and she struggled to run.
Ahead lay the Northwest Bastion. Fawn had a choice: she could continue around the ravine and take the bastion to the right, scaling the stairs to the top deck, or she could take the long bastion gallery to the left that led to the parade grounds toward the center of the fort.
Instinctively, she turned into the bastion and rushed up the stairwell, nearly slamming into the wall in the darkness. She spiraled up, reaching the top floor and making her way to the top of the rampart, sprinting in the direction of the Southwest Bastion.
She could still hear Bailey trailing behind her. If there were any doubts he was closing in on her, the flood of obscenities emanating from behind her removed them.
As she ran, she realized her one advantage was that the man had obviously dropped his pistol when she kneed him in the face. She had heard it fall, strike the floor below. His comment of cutting her throat, though, obviously meant he was still armed. The horrid thought of him closing in on her with a knife caused Fawn to push harder.
On the rampart, the moonlight was brighter, helped by dismissive clouds that had finally decided to move on. When Fawn reached the Southwest Bastion, she took the spiral stairs down, skinning the palms of her hands as she used them for guidance. When she reached the bastion floor, Bailey was right behind her. He was so close she could hear his gasping breath. The broken nose was making it difficult for him, yet he was still drawing nearer.
She ran out of the bastion, across the grass and into the gallery. It stretched out before her like a dark train tunnel. She flew through the portal opening and into the blackness, praying to reach the light at the other end where it shone through from the parade ground.
She finally burst through the egress and screamed.
Two dark figures stood before her with their arms outstretched. “Freeze! Police!” one shouted.
“I’m Fawn Cortez! The killer is behind me!”
“To the side!” one of the men directed her.
She saw the dark shape of the drawn pistol in his hand. She also saw one of the officers was uniformed. A wave of relief slipped over her. She quickly moved from the opening and pointing back down the tunnel. “He’s there!”
The uniformed officer raced inside the gallery.
The other man approached Fawn. “Ms. Cortez, it’s Detective Mayes.”
“Ralston Gabeil. He’s the killer. The guy who I thought was a teenager. He’s muscle for a loan shark in Atlantic City.” She was nearly breathless. Mayes gave her a comforting hug, trying to calm her.
“The boy who was helping you find the keys?”
Fawn nodded.
“We’ll get him.”
Then he eased her away. “Ms. Cortez, is Mike here?”
“Mike? My fiancé? No.”
“He left his hospital bed. I found out some things about his time in Connecticut in training that appear to be discrepancies.”
A harsh scream silenced Fawn before she could speak.
Mayes ran inside the gallery and stopped. “Phinian?! Phinian!”
No response.
Mayes called again. “Phinian?”
&nbs
p; Still no response. Fawn’s skin began to crawl.
Mayes lifted a walkie-talkie. He called for Phinian but received no response. He immediately called dispatch for backup, with instructions to seal the Fort Clinch area and notify FBI Special Agent Ustes.
“C’mon. Stay behind me.” Detective Mayes said to Fawn before proceeding through the blackness of the arched gallery with his gun drawn. “Is he armed?”
“He had a gun, but dropped it down the shaft.”
“Where those underground rooms are?”
“Yes. But I believe he still has a knife.”
”Stay close.”
They reached the end of the long gallery. Mayes cautiously stepped into the grassy area before the entrance to the bastion. The moonlight had become increasingly brighter.
Fawn followed, and they both craned their heads from side to side, up and down, all over to make sure they weren’t about to be ambushed. Content, Mayes pointed to the right, along the ravine.
“The rooms are back that way. He may go back for his gun,” Mayes said.
“And the treasure.”
Fawn could tell Mayes wanted to ask, but he refrained for the moment. “Let’s go.”
They had only gone ten yards when they saw the shapeless mass crumpled against the curtain wall. Fawn looked away.
“Godammit,” Mayes said. “It’s Phinian.” He bent down, taking a moment to understand the body’s position. The head was to the ground, with his arms and legs bowed to support the torso in an upward position. Mayes felt the man’s neck. He cringed as he was met with warm fluid, and felt the tattered, split skin. There was no pulse.
Mayes rose, and the two continued.
They made their way past the Northwest Bastion entrance, and approached the North Bastion with the entrance to the secret rooms.
Mayes’ walkie-talkie crackled to life, causing Fawn to jump.
Backup had arrived at the gate. Mayes ordered them inside the park and to surround the fort. He informed them the serial killer was inside and an officer was down.
A clinking sound came from the bastion. They saw a flash of light then it was gone.
Mayes turned his radio off, fearing it had already alerted the killer of their presence.
“Go back to the parade ground,” Mayes said.
“Hell no. It’s safer with you.”
Another sound came from somewhere inside the bastion.
“Then stay close,” Mayes ordered.
The two crept through the doorway into the dark space. The walled stairs were on the left and carried a faint glow. Mayes flicked on his penlight, checking the bastion. It was empty.
He moved toward the stairwell and took them slowly. Fawn stayed snuggly against him. They reached the opening and peered down the shaft. Light was resonating from somewhere out of sight, possibly from the long corridor.
“He’s down there. When we left, there was no light.”
Detective Mayes seemed to contemplate this for a moment. “You stay here. I’m going down.”
“Shouldn’t you wait for others?”
“This sonofabitch has been wreaking havoc for too long. Now he’s just killed a police officer. I want him.”
It was apparent from Detective Mayes’ body language he was not entertaining any more objections. He slid over the sill, and began descending. “Keep an eye out for me below. If you see the light growing brighter, let me know.”
Fawn watched as the man used the handholds to climb down. He was nearing the base when a monstrous noise erupted and Fawn jumped backward, almost falling down the steps.
The wall was moving! It quickly sealed with a solid jarring, and the rumbling stopped.
She could hear the muffled shouts of Detective Mayes far below behind the solid layer of brick.
Fawn turned to see a dark figure spinning a knife several steps below her. Even in the darkness, she saw the crazed look in Bailey’s eyes.
She tried to scream, but the fear was overwhelming. Nothing came out.
“I tried to play nice, but no, you wanted to be superwoman. Now I owe you for this goddamn nose!”
Bailey rushed her, but somewhere behind in the blackness, arms restrained him. Bailey broke loose and spun, facing Mike Roberson. He slashed at Mike with the knife, barely missing his target. Mike lost his balance and sprawled out onto the stairwell. He did not move. Bailey took one step downward to finish him but stopped and turned his attention back to Fawn.
Fawn smashed into the wall, trying to climb the stairs. She felt an agonizing tear into the back of her left thigh, and, letting out a cry, she instinctively kicked with her right leg. She felt the sharp object withdraw from her thigh as she made contact. Bailey tumbled down the steps.
The pain in her left leg was excruciating. She could barely move. She placed a hand on the area and felt the tear. The flush of blood had already saturated her jeans.
She was panting wildly as she tried to push up. Behind, she could hear Bailey growling as he made his way to his feet.
She had to move to the top of the bastion. There, she could scream for help. Other officers had to be nearby.
She limped up, holding her leg. Bailey was coming up the stairs close behind her. If he reached her, she knew her life was over. Tears were rolling down her face from fear and pain. She willed herself to go on.
She arrived on the deck and fell face down. The wind coming from the bay howled across the bastion.
In morbid fear, she rolled over to see Bailey hovering above her. She tried to kick up, catch him in the groin, but he blocked her shot. Blood from his nose dripped onto her shirt. His hair fanned out wildly, and his breathing labored. Moonlight cast shadows across his face, creating deep craters. His white eyes remained transfixed on Fawn like a lion ready to pounce.
He raised the knife into the air, and with two hands started to come down, but abruptly stopped. He raised his eyes. His attention was drawn to something ahead of him; something Fawn couldn’t see. His expression morphed from one of hatred to that of utter surprise.
“How the hell did you do that?” he snorted.
Fawn strained to look back. From an upside down perspective, she saw a man standing defiantly on the deck. He had a pistol leveled at Bailey.
“Brash words when a knife is up against a gun, wouldn’t you say?” Even in her awkward position, Fawn recognized the voice of Detective Mayes. “You’re under arrest. Drop your knife and step away from Ms. Cortez.”
Bailey stared at Mayes indecisively then he looked down at Fawn, re-gripping the knife he still held over her head.
“Don’t do it,” Mayes warned.
Bailey eyed the detective. In an instant, he flipped the knife over, grasped the blade, and reared back to hurl it at the man.
Mayes fired with precision, sending a bullet into Bailey’s hand. The knife fluttered away harmlessly on the deck.
“Shit!” Bailey shouted. He stepped away from Fawn, holding his wounded hand. “Okay, you got me. Take me in so my boss can post bail and get me off. I promise neither one of you will live to see your next birthday. You’ll finally get to see your baby brother again, Mayes.”
Mayes’ eyes narrowed and he seemed to ponder this for a moment.
Bailey raised a truculent jaw toward the detective. “What? You’re going to kill me in cold blood in front of a witness?”
Fawn stood, grasping the wound on her leg. She thought of Elizabeth Courtland, of Lisa Fortney. She looked at Bailey with unrelenting hatred. Then she turned away so that she could not see either man. “What witness,” she said through clinched teeth.
Bailey suddenly turned to flee down the stairs. Fawn instinctively raised her right leg and hooked his, tripping him. He spilled downward into the darkness. The tumbling sound continued for several seconds. Then there was silence.
Below, they heard a
male voice shout. “Don’t move! FBI!”
****
At the bottom of the bastion stairwell lay the wilted, mangled body of Thomas Bailey. FBI Special Agent Ustes bent down to examine him and found his neck broken.
The man was dead.
Another body lay on the stairwell: Mike Roberson. The man was injured, but alive.
Moments later, Detective Mayes and Fawn descended the stairs. Mayes was assisting Fawn, who was injured.
CHAPTER 50
Fawn lay in the hospital bed two days later recovering from the knife wound to her leg when she again considered the questions that had nagged at her.
She had wondered why Tony Liáng did not check her for a gun that afternoon when she had arrived at the creek to exchange the keys for her father’s life. The reason was now clear. Ralston Gabeil, a/k/a Thomas Bailey, who had dropped her off at Alpine Groves Park, was unaware Fawn had a gun in her purse. If he had been, he would have warned Tony.
Similarly, the answer to how Tony Liáng knew where to dig for the treasure was easy. Bailey had killed Terrence Courtland and taken Sarah’s 1865 letter from him. Like her father, Bailey also deduced the terms “shell” and “white wall” referred to the shell mound outside Cedar Key.
Later that afternoon, Juan came by to visit her. He informed Fawn the Aztec crown had been turned over to authorities. Since it was discovered on state property, neither Fawn nor any individual could lay claim to it.
Nonetheless, Fawn read her father’s eyes. He was whole again, invigorated with life. When he told her how proud he was of her, Fawn broke down and sobbed in his arms.
Juan Velarde Cortez might not own the Aztec crown, but its discovery finally vindicated his decades-old search. No one could ever take that away from him.
Three Keys to Murder Page 39
