The Secret of the Stones

by Ernest Dempsey

  Morris went on, “If they were here, they either didn’t find what they were looking for, or they found it quick.”

  “What if they didn’t come here?”

  It was certainly a possibility. “Okay. Let’s review,” he started as he turned to head back to the vehicles. Will took the signal and joined him walking across the grass. “What reason would Sean Wyatt have for getting rid of Schultz?”

  “Money,” Will stated. “He would have complete control of the IAA and its finances. And they have a ton of money.”

  “Right. But doesn’t the timing just seem really odd?”

  “How so?”

  Morris looked off into the trees, watching the wind push around the leaves. The dense forest was alive with critters of several types busily gathering their stores for the winter.

  “I’ve been thinking about this since we left the McElroy place. Tommy was about to have a press conference. What was it for?”

  “Nobody is really sure. But the rumor is that he’d been looking for something big. Speculation was he found it or something to do with it.”

  Trent stopped walking for a second. They were standing at the edge of the parking lot near a light pole. “Yeah. So, what, exactly, was it that he was looking for?”

  His younger partner looked thoughtful for a minute. “I don’t know,” he finally answered with a shrug. “Did you hear something?”

  Trent nodded slowly. “I didn’t hear much. But I did hear something about Schultz looking for some huge treasure, had to do with some golden rooms or something. Now, I don’t know anything about that kind of stuff, but that is what I heard.”

  “Golden Chambers?” Will appeared clueless.

  “Yeah. Beats me. Sounds like another city of gold hunt to me. But from what I did hear, it sure seemed like it would be the discovery of a lifetime.

  “The other thing I heard was that it is some kind of ancient Native American treasure.”

  “So you think that’s what this is all about?”

  “Schultz finds something and sets up a press conference. He goes missing. A professor who is a friend and contemporary gets killed. Now it seems like his best friend, our prime suspect, is visiting historic Native American sites with an expert in ancient Indian history. Then, Wyatt gets himself into a high-speed shootout with two unidentified gunmen. If I was a betting man, I would say Wyatt is looking for whatever it was that Schultz was onto, and someone doesn’t want him to find it.”

  “All right, I’m listening,” Will replied. “But what does that mean? Are you saying that Wyatt isn’t behind all of this?

  “No. He’s still at the top of my list.” Trent smirked, “Okay, he is the list. But something just doesn’t seem right about this whole scenario.” Bracing his shoulder against the light pole, he reached down to tie a shoelace that had become undone.

  As he finished tying the knot, something on the ground caught his attention. Half-doubled over, Trent reached down and picked up the metal cylinder. He looked at the object and then started scanning the parking area, suddenly more alert.

  “Is that a bullet casing?” Will asked as he stepped closer to see what Morris had found.

  Trent nodded, flipping the small cylinder to his partner, who caught it with one hand. “Nine millimeter.”

  It only took them a second before they started noticing the shells lying around on the pavement. “They’re everywhere.”

  “Another shootout?” the younger cop posed.

  “Sure looks like it.” Bending at his knees, Detective Morris stared closer at the light pole he’d just been leaning against only a few moments before. He removed a pen from his jacket and scraped a mark on the metal. Then he looked down and found another mark, this one on the concrete base of the metal post.

  Will stepped over to see what his partner had found. “These shots came from over there,” he pointed back across toward the other side of the parking lot.

  Nodding, Trent stood and walked with him about thirty feet away, both sets of eyes closely examining the ground for more clues. “There are some more,” he stated, as if the bullet casings were right where they belonged.

  Both cops bent down to see the remnants from the firefight. “Forty cal,” Will confirmed.

  “Yeah,” Morris agreed. “There was definitely an exchange of fire here.”

  “So, my question is this: Who was doing the shooting? There must have been a second group involved that wasn’t part of the shootout on the road.”

  “No way to know that right now, but we do know they were here.” He looked down the road that went up over the hill from the way they’d come just a few minutes earlier. There were two spots with heavy concentrations of empty bullet shells in separate locations. If Sean Wyatt was involved with this whole thing, then someone else didn’t want him there. “We need to find out exactly what it was that Tommy Schultz was looking for and what he found.”

  “The guy was secretive, didn’t really tell anybody what he was doing except for Wyatt and Borringer. And I don’t think either one of them are going to be very helpful at the moment.”

  Trent nodded. “There has to be someone else who knows what he was up to. I find it hard to believe that he was traveling around all over the state on some treasure hunt, and no one knew what he was looking for.”

  Aggravation had reached its boiling point. He took a few deep breaths and ran his hands over his head from front to back and then to the top where he stopped and dropped them back down to his hips, exasperated. “Every time it seems we’ve found something that will help us, more questions pop up.”

  Will just stood quietly, letting his partner vent. They may have been a relatively new pair, but the young cop already knew enough not to say anything when Trent was frustrated.

  Detective Morris was at his wit’s end. With resignation on his face, he turned and said, “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Where we goin’, boss?” Will threw his arms up, not yet ready to give up the search.

  “Back to Atlanta,” his voice was resolute. “We’ll search every scene again. Maybe something will turn up.”

  “Trent,” Will pleaded, “maybe we should double check here. There’s got to be some kind of clue that could show us where they went.”

  Morris shook his head. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but this wild goose chase has gone on long enough. Wyatt has disappeared. We’re not experts in archaeology or ancient mysteries. You heard the park ranger. People from all over the world have been coming here for decades trying to interpret those stones, and not a single one of them has been able to do it. You and I probably couldn’t get any more out of those drawings than a three-year-old.”

  That last part was a good point, Will thought. “So we’re just going to head back and retrace our steps?”

  “Unless you got a better idea or someone that can tell us where the hell those guys went…yeah.”

  There was nothing Will could say. He just shook his head.

  “Then we head back.” Trent pulled his keys from inside of his pants pocket as he strode angrily toward the Charger. Will was on the other side of the cars, opening his own door when the cell phone in Morris’s pocket began ringing.

  “Jeez, what is it now?” He reached into the coat and pulled out the silver phone. After a quick glance at the caller ID, he slid the phone open and said, “This is Morris,” his voice sounded irritated.

  “Detective Morris?” the man on the other end of the line clarified.

  Maybe they didn’t hear the way he answered the phone.

  “Yes. This is Trent Morris. Who is this?”

  From the sounds coming through the receiver, the caller must have been in a vehicle driving down the road. Even with all the background noise, he was still able to hear the answer. “This is Sean Wyatt.”

  44

  Blue Ridge Mountains

  Detective Morris stood next to his car, dumbfounded. Wyatt had disappeared a little over twenty-four hours ago, which only made him seem mo
re like the prime suspect. Yet here the man was, actually calling him.

  “Sean,” Trent started off with an overly friendly tone while inside, his mind raced. “You’re a tough man to get ahold of. I had some more questions I needed to ask you.”

  The voice on the other end seemed unimpressed. “Well, sorry about that. Someone made it rather difficult to stay around.”

  “And who would that someone be?”

  Will had closed his door when Trent motioned for him to come closer. He’d walked around the car quickly to see what was going on. Morris mouthed to him, “It’s Wyatt.”

  Scribbling down the number of the cell phone that had appeared, he then handed it to the younger cop. Will knew exactly what to do and stepped away to a safe distance so Wyatt couldn’t hear him speaking to the department on his own phone.

  Sean replied coolly, “Check the bottom of the mountain near Brasstown. They should still be there.”

  “Oh?”

  “Don’t play coy with me, Morris. I’m sure you heard about that accident by now.”

  He decided to at least play along. “So, who were they?”

  “How should I know? They didn’t introduce themselves when they started shooting at us.”

  “Why don’t you meet me, Sean? Then we can sort all this out. I’ll come to you. Where are you right now?”

  There was a pause on the other line. “Look, Detective. We just got shot at twice this morning. That makes three attacks since I talked to you the other day. No offense, but I am not sure exactly who I can trust at this point.” His voice was emphatic.

  “Yeah. I know. I don’t blame you. But if you will meet up with me, maybe I can help you. We can figure it out…” Hesitation lingered in the phone’s receiver. “What did they look like, the guys who were after you?”

  There was something muffled on the other line, like Sean was giving directions to someone.

  “What?” He clearly didn’t hear the detective’s question.

  “I asked what the men who attacked you looked like.”

  “I gotta be honest, Trent. I didn’t really stop to take a good look at the guys in the ravine. Probably woulda taken me a few hours and a lot of rope to do that.” Obviously, killing the two passengers in the other car was something Sean felt was justified. “But the other guys later on…yeah, I got a real good look at them. Two of them looked like they were twins, except that one was taller than the other. Both of ‘em had flattop haircuts and wore matching suits like they were some pop star’s bodyguards.”

  On a pad of paper he’d removed from his car, Trent was busily taking down a few notes about the men who had supposedly attacked his main suspect. “Anyone else?”

  “The guy who was holding Tommy was tall, probably several inches over six feet. He had blond hair. Dressed like he was going to a trendy nightclub or something. Very European.”

  This last bit of information came as a bit of a shock. “Did you say a tall, blond European guy?”

  “I don’t know if he was European. Just said he dressed like it. You know, like a German or something. I couldn’t get close enough to ask him where he was from or how he came to America.”

  Again with the sarcasm, Morris thought. “We had reports of a guy named Jurgenson that was posing as one of our own running around town.”

  “Yeah, Mrs. Borringer said that he came by.”

  Another shock. “You went to Borringer’s house?”

  “Yep.” Sean decided not to share the drama that had unfolded the night before when they had been hidden in the bathroom while the detective was downstairs.

  “When was that?”

  Ignoring the question, Sean began again, “Look, Detective, all I know is this guy is bad news. I’m not sure if he is the one who is pulling all the strings, but it sure seems probable. If I had to put my money on it, I’d say he was the one that killed Frank.”

  “What happened during the firefight with those men?” Morris continued to string the conversation out.

  “I put a couple of rounds directly into the flattop twins, right in their chests.”

  “They dead?”

  “No,” Sean sounded irritated. “Pretty sure they had vests on. Makes me wonder how available those things are to the general public.”

  It was a well-known rumor that some less-than-ethical police were selling some of their equipment on the black market to drug dealers and gangsters, something that seemed to happen in nearly every major city. Trent ignored the implication. “I’ll look into it. But there are a lot of places to get those things now days. What about the blond, Jurgenson?”

  “Don’t know. Didn’t hit him. He was using Tommy as a human shield.”

  “How did they get away?” Morris felt like he was asking a lot of questions, but the longer he kept Wyatt on the line, the easier it would be to triangulate his cell phone signal. He hoped that whoever Will was talking with was working quickly.

  “They drove.”

  “Of course.” Trent set himself up on that one. “But you don’t know where they were going?”

  “Hard to say. We’re trying to figure that out at the moment.” It was a half lie.

  Trent paused a moment, trying to think of what to say next. He looked over at Will, who was mouthing that they had not got a location on the signal yet.

  “Listen, Sean. Why don’t you meet up with me, and we can try to figure this out together. I’ll meet you wherever,” his voice sounded uncertain, and he was starting to repeat himself.

  There was no reaction from the other end of the phone line for a few contemplative seconds. Then, “No can do, Detective. We’re too far away from the city at this point, and we can’t afford to lose any more time. For all we know, they may have killed Tommy and left him in a ditch. I don’t think those people will kill him until they have what it is they are looking for. But I can’t risk it.”

  “And what is it that they are looking for?”

  “Sorry, Detective. My phone is…what did you…” The connection started cutting out.

  “Sean. Can you hear me? Sean?”

  “We…mountains…” Then the line went dead.

  Trent pounded the phone in his fist. “Did you get the signal?” he looked pleadingly at his partner.

  Will shook his head. “No.”

  “Why not? It shouldn’t have taken that long.” Morris was boiling at this point.

  “I dunno, man. Maybe he has some kind of signal isolator on his phone. But HQ said they were having problems locking onto it.” He stood next to his car with arms open, as if begging for forgiveness.

  “It’s not your fault,” Morris sighed.

  Sunlight poured down on the two of them as they stood next to their cars, wondering what the next move should be. Suddenly, his phone rang again. “Sean?” he answered the phone without looking at the caller ID.

  “Is this Detective Morris?” It was a woman’s voice.

  “Yes,” he said dejectedly as his shook his head at his partner to indicate it wasn’t who they’d hoped.

  “My name is Marla Tinsley. I work at the public library in Dahlonega.”

  Trent looked over at Will with an eyebrow raised, wondering what this call was about.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he responded politely. “What can I do for you?”

  “Well,” she began, “About an hour ago, an odd little group of people came into the library here wantin’ to use the computer. We are a public library, ya know. So, I pointed them to the computers that we have available so they could get what they needed. I figured they wanted to use the Internet. Hardly ever get people in here doin’ research with books anymore.”

  Her nostalgic demeanor was wasting his time.

  Morris tried to be patient with her, not quite sure where this was going. “Ma’am, you said there was a group that came into your library? What did they look like?”

  The woman sounded irritated at his disinterest in the walk down memory lane. “Well, there was a girl and two men. She was kinda tall
with brown, curly hair. One of the guys was probably in his late twenties or early thirties. The other man seemed to probably be in his forties. Hard to say about him.”

  Trent’s interest was piqued. There was no way his luck could be this good. “What did these people want?”

  “Said all they needed was to use one of the computers. I told them to go ahead. Seemed harmless enough. But something seemed mighty suspicious about ‘em.”

  “What did they need a computer for?”

  “Didn’t tell me. But they did have a digital camera that they hooked up to it. Overheard them talking about stones and ancient Indian symbols.”

  He’d been staring at the ground, concentrating on listening to what the woman was saying, but when he heard this last little fragment, his eyes shot up to his partner. “We got something,” he mouthed silently.

  “Can you tell me what they found?” He went back to the lady on the phone.

  A moment of quiet came over the line before she answered. “Yeah, the older guy started looking at this Indian painting that we have hanging up. He was gazin’ at it for a couple of minutes before something musta struck him about it. They talked for a few minutes about what it meant. The picture must be real old, been here as long as I have. Anyway, something about that painting made them real excited. They went back over to the computer for another minute or two and then started talking about the old Cherokee capital.”

  “Cherokee capital?”

  “Yeah. They said something about going to a place called Red Clay. Sounded like that anyway. Never heard of it myself. As soon as they walked out the door, though, I called Sheriff Jenkins’s office. For all I know, they coulda just been travelers passin’ through, but like I said, something struck me funny about ‘em. A few minutes later, the sheriff put me through to Atlanta, and that’s how I came to talking with you.”

  Morris had been busily writing down notations of what the old lady had been saying. He had to really focus on what she was saying in her thick Southern drawl to make sure that he got all the details right. “Was the man in his thirties tall, dirty-blond hair, blue or gray eyes?”