by M Murphy
“It’s too simple.” She finally said.
“What is?”
“All of it. The KGC were supposed to be masters at hiding their treasure, if it is actually KGC clues we’re following then why are we going through them so quickly?”
“Maybe that’s just it. These clues are made to look like the KGC but in fact were planted by amateurs.”
“That’s a possibility. If someone like the Trenholms did steal the remains of the Confederate Treasury on their own, and without KGC approval, then they could have used a similar system to hide it.”
“Makes sense to me.”
Hannah looked at her screen for a moment. She was going between the photos she took at the wharf and at the school.
“There is a similar connection here between the wharf, school, and even 1 Broad. In all the carvings, a ghost figure can be found at every location. However, at 1 Broad Street there was a ship, which tells me it was pointing to the wharf. At the wharf I found an owl, which I believe was the locater for the school, however, with the school carvings I haven’t found too much that really stands out.”
“Nothing.” I said. I had a mouth full of steam bun.
“The only thing is that instead of one ghost figure, like at the other markers, there are two. That’s why I said these clues were too easy because I had already pinpointed a cemetery by aligning the cross with the map.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“Jack, don’t get me wrong I love being right, but I’m afraid we’ve missed something important and that’s why it’s been so easy. I’m starting to think that we are on a false trail.”
“Then why are people shooting at us if we are following the wrong clues?”
“Good point. Maybe that’s why they gave us warning shots instead of simply killing us.”
“No, I think it’s because they are afraid of the attention killing a visiting professor and a former FBI agent would bring. We are only dead if we actually find what they are hiding.”
“That’s reassuring.” Hannah said, with a large gulp of wine to wash it down. “So, off to the cemetery tomorrow?”
“Sure, and hopefully it will be the last time either of us has to go to one in a long while.”
Chapter 57
Life sometimes replicates film, or something you associate with a movie even though that picture never really existed. Somewhere out there in a Hollywood vault is a scene and it begins with a gentle breeze along a coastal river, blades of grass blow as it moves across the marsh, and the Spanish moss is caught up in the movement of the wind pulling and tugging at the ancient branches of an oak it calls home. The camera pans out and that one ancient oak tree becomes a hundred spaced across open land and speckled with magnolia trees in bloom. Moving down the camera reveals that the open land is a cemetery adorned with family mausoleums, statues of angels and children, and hand carved stones. Dirt paths wind through the cemetery, and there two people walk in a scene that is both haunting and reassuring to those that enter. As Hannah and I arrived at Magnolia Cemetery, I knew the scene, but I couldn’t remember the ending.
“This way.” Hannah said. She grabbed a map as we walked in.
We walked along the path, part dirt and part gravel, as it gently wove its way through the new section of the cemetery and into the old. Entering the original part of the graveyard brought with it a sense of importance. Here the trees grew thicker, their limbs stretched out longer, and the shadows cast made the area
feel a bit haunted. The family plots were adorned with large mausoleums, Greek-inspired statues, and extravagantly carved headstones. One was even topped with a giant squid. The Trenholm plot was not what I expected as we approached. Instead of competing with the neighbors, the Trenholms were marked with a simple stone and each individual with smaller headstones.
“I was expecting something a little more ostentatious.” I said.
“Maybe the plot was started before George A. Trenholm made all of his money, or maybe he didn’t think his life had been statement enough.”
We began to search the area for markings, but the Trenholm stones were small and lacking decoration, except for a name and dates. After about ten minutes of nothing, I sat down in the grass, feeling the warm sun on my face and the breeze coming up the hill from the water. It was quiet and the only sound came from branches rattling and birds feeding down by the marsh. I scanned around me from where I sat and could see a monument dedicated to those lost during the Civil War. It had recently been ornamented with flags representing both the North and South in commemoration of the 150th Anniversary.
“What about that?” I said to Hannah and pointed at the monument.
“Seems obvious, but okay. I’ve got nothing to go on here.”
Passing underneath the canopy of oak branches we moved towards the monument. Hannah stopped suddenly and her mouth opened slightly.
“What is it?”
“I don’t believe it.” She said.
I finally locked onto what it was she had seen. On a magnolia tree, sheltered between two large oaks, were carvings. Not the carvings of a teenager’s graffiti, but the familiar markings of the KGC. There was something different about these though and Hannah had realized it the moment her eyes caught sight of the magnolia tree. In the middle, the very center of the cluster of carvings was a pyramid topped with an all-seeing eye, and in the center of that eye was a hooked x.
Hannah had been quick to take pictures before, but this time she simply stood and stared for a few moments.
“I see a lot of the same carvings as the other spots, mostly ones that are nonsense…at least I hope. The major differences are there are no ghost outlines here, and of course that dominant pyramid. I’m not sure how much it would have stood out to the casual observer, but I know for sure that wasn’t on anything else we’ve seen.” Hannah said, finally pulling out her phone. She began to take pictures, but kept talking. “There also doesn’t appear to be any numbers or dots that could represent a distance. I’m truly not picking up any indicators of what or where these markings point to.”
Hannah was hunched over taking shots closer to the base of the tree. In the back pocket of her jeans, she had stuck the information pamphlet on the cemetery. Four pictures graced the side of the pamphlet that I could see. One was a shot of the Civil War monument, another was the main cemetery building, and the third was that of a large mausoleum. The fourth picture was what had caught my eye. It was of another mausoleum, but it was shaped like a pyramid.
“I think I know where we need to go.” I said to Hannah.
“How?”
“By staring at your ass.”
Hannah looked as if she was going to slap the sarcasm right out of me, but then she realized what I had meant and pulled the pamphlet from her pocket. A smile appeared on her face as she checked the interior map for the crypt’s location.
“Let’s go.” She said. “We might have gotten lucky again.”
Chapter 58
A large stone pyramid stood crowded among effigies, headstones, and palmetto trees. Two large marble stairs flanked with ornately carved urns led to the main entrance. The entrance itself was guarded on each side by a pair of swords carved from stone, and a copper door, green from the years, stood locked before us. The door, however, was not solid and was designed to allow light to pass entirely through the pyramid from the stained glass window on the opposite side. When I approached, the light shown through bright and a bountiful array of color came descending towards me. I realized that the copper doors were more like gates, allowing visitors to see the contents of the mausoleum without disturbing its residents. Straining myself to look inside, I could see that each wall was lined with three lavishly designed sarcophaguses, but it was the stained glass window and its vibrant light that drew my eye…because it too had an eye staring right back at me.
I left Hannah at the front of the pyramid and went to the backside to get a better view of the window. When I did the silence and tranquility of
the cemetery was suddenly broken by the sound of a motor. Over my shoulder, from where we had just come, a truck came down the path filled with lawn care equipment. Ignoring the grounds crew, I took a page from Hannah’s book and began taking pictures of the backside of the pyramid. It was very ordinary compared to the front, except for the window. The
stained glass was in a triangle shape and designed in the image of the sun rising over the land, with the sun being the all-seeing eye. It was the same eye that graces the American dollar and conspiracy theorists loved. Within the stained glass window the words Rhymed Intro were scrolled into the top above the all-seeing eye, and along the bottom Carolina. I couldn’t wait to hear Hannah’s opinion.
After a dozen or so shots with my phone’s camera, covering every angle I thought Hannah might need, I headed back around to the other side. Instead of peering inside the tomb, I found Hannah kneeling before the urns at the front of the stairs. Her head turned from one to the other and then back again.
“What is it?” I asked, approaching.
“The urns hide the clues. There are markings like we’ve seen before on each of them, but they are mixed in with the artistic designs carved from the stone. It’s genius because approaching the pyramid it would simply look like the work of a very talented stone carver, but up close there is more to it. Also, I found the hooked x.” She pointed towards the door.
“Where?”
“The sword on the right hand side of the door has a hooked x carved into its hilt.”
“Nothing on the left?”
“Nothing, only the right one.”
I thought for a moment. “Maybe that means we are only supposed to use the clues on the right urn then.”
“That’s actually a good thought.” Hannah began taking pictures of the urn on the right hand side of the stairs. Within a few short minutes, she had her shots. “In case your theory is
wrong though….” Hannah trailed off as she began snapping pictures of the left one as well.
I moved behind where she was taking photos and began slowly to walk backwards staring at the mausoleum. With the phone in hand I attempted to get a shot of the whole scene, part for its beauty and partly because we may have missed something in the bigger picture. Snapping once then twice, I began to zoom in on an object towards the top on the capstone. It was something I hadn’t seen from up close and now was struggling to see with the cheap image adjustments of my phone. Pulling the phone down from my line of sight I suddenly felt dizzy and the pyramid began to sway in front of me. My knees buckled and I went down.
Chapter 59
When I awoke, I was still lying on the ground in front of the pyramid. My view was foggy and I could still feel that I clutched my phone in my hand. Sitting up, I realized that Hannah was gone, and so was the urn from the right side of the pyramid. The sound of an engine awakening made me turn to see a truck full of lawn equipment hurriedly driving towards the entrance of the cemetery.
“Hannah!” I yelled, to no response. “Hannah!” No response again.
Between the dust from the drive and my cloudy vision I couldn’t make out the plates on the rusted old truck, but it was white so I had something to go on. How many old, rusty, and white pickups could there be in the Lowcountry…probably more than I could count.
I was up and my feet began to move quickly towards the front of the cemetery to where we had left the rental car. My head was now throbbing so I knew that I had taken a hit from someone. We had walked so far through the cemetery that it took me a good five minutes to run back to the car at a full sprint. By the time I had gotten there the dust from the speeding truck had settled and it was long out of sight. Once in the car, I headed back towards
downtown, and got stuck in the cruise ship traffic that lined East Bay Street. While I waited in the stop and go jam of tourists I called Colin, my former partner at the FBI, to tell him about Hannah being taken. He would have the connections and sway that I no longer did, and any help from the Bureau would get Hannah back faster.
My call with Colin was short and to the point. He needed to get moving quickly and I could update him with all the little details later. It took me ten minutes in traffic to drive the half-mile from the Calhoun Street intersection to Market, where the cruise ships docked, and then traffic began to move a little better. I ignored my usual turn onto Church Street and instead headed one block further up Broad to Meeting. I took an aggressive pissed off left and made a beeline for George Trenholm’s mansion.
The drive was of course gated and the front parking was designated for horse carriage tours only, so I was forced to go down by White Point Gardens and walk back to the house. I rang the buzzer at the gate impatiently and finally simply held it down until someone answered.
“May I help you?” The voice of Trenholm’s butler asked.
“I’m here to see Mr. Trenholm. It’s Jack Francis.” Like he didn’t already know.
“Mr. Trenholm is not in at the moment.”
“Tell him to get in touch with me….Immediately!” I screamed into the call box.
Trudging off like a scorned child, I returned to my rental car and drove back to the carriage house. What was I supposed to do? I had no idea who took Hannah, even though I assumed Trenholm and his cronies were involved, but I had no way to find her. Something was there. Someway or some explanation that
could lead me to her, but I needed to calm down and think. Getting back to my place, I poured four fingers of bourbon into a glass and called Colin back. Telling him the details, hearing them out loud, the whole story all at once might help me realize something I missed. Something maybe both of us missed, or maybe someone.
Chapter 60
After talking to Colin, he put me in touch with Special Agent Chris Meadows at the Bureau’s office in Columbia. It wasn’t the FBI’s jurisdiction yet, put they could put pressure on the local cops to get an APB out on the pickup. Charleston PD wouldn’t have bothered with it until Hannah was missing for forty-eight hours if it weren't for the Bureau’s pressure. I hadn’t actually seen anyone take her, so instead of kidnapping the local boys would have labeled it a missing person. It was good to have friends in high places when you needed a little backup.
I drank enough bourbon to calm my nerves and help me fall asleep without waking up with a hangover. It was a particular skill I had developed over the years, and was thankful for the early start it allowed me on mornings when shit needed to get done.
Colin had insisted on flying down, so I was off to the airport to pick him up…along with his badge and gun. Finishing my coffee, I strapped my Glock inside my jacket and headed for the door. When I got downstairs and to the driveway, I could see that someone was waiting for me. Tommy Makem was sitting on Mrs. Legare’s front porch having coffee with the woman.
“Tommy.” I said cheerfully. It was for Mrs. Legare’s benefit and not his. “What are you up to this morning?”
“Like I was telling your lovely landlord here, I came over to check on an old Cleveland pal.”
“Great. Why don’t you put your coffee down and jump in the car with me? I’m picking up a friend flying in from Ohio.”
Tommy said a polite goodbye to Mrs. Legare and I smiled and waved to her before getting in my rental car.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked Makem, as we backed out of the drive and pulled onto Church St.
“Came to talk. I heard about Hannah.”
“Trenholm send you?”
“Actually, he did.” He could see the anger rising in my face. “We’re not part of this Jack. I’m not. Trenholm’s not, or any of his associates.”
“I’m not in a position to believe you. Especially, after being shot at and given a warning by you.”
“That’s understandable and that’s why I’m here. Trenholm figured there would be no talking to you without it turning into a shouting match, so he sent me. He felt our ties would help things along.”
“So talk, and tell me why I should believe yo
u.” I stared straight ahead as we moved north towards the airport on Interstate 26.
“We’ve known about you and Hannah snooping around for a while, but you two weren’t the only ones. From the very beginning, Trenholm understood that the death of his son and the woman in the park meant that someone with old ties was after him. He knew, and so did others in the neighborhood, what those
killings meant. The connection was too obvious for him not to ignore.”
I played dumb for a moment. “What connection?”
“Both victims, his son and the woman, were descendants of the owners of the Fraser, Trenholm, & Company. More exactly George A. Trenholm and Charles Fraser. Those two men had control of the business during the Civil War, a time when there were a lot of personal vendettas played out with the backdrop of the war.”
