Blackman's Coffin

by Mark de Castrique

  Newland cocked his head and looked skeptical. “Any other ideas?”

  “Have a good geologist examine it.”

  “Right.” His eyes told me he had more questions but he let them go. “We found Peters’ files and the journal in Taylor’s house.” Newland paused and cleared his throat. “I know you’ve had some rough cards dealt you, Sam, but you did a hell of a job on this case. The whole force is in your debt.”

  “I’m sorry I had to hold things out on you.”

  Newland grinned. “Yeah. Like I really wanted to know you were digging up a grave in Georgia.”

  “Fake grave.”

  “I’m just glad it was Nakayla’s family. Chief Buchanan will be making a request that the Georgia authorities look the other way.”

  “Thanks.”

  Newland clasped his hands in front of him and rubbed his thumbs together. “I’d appreciate a favor.”

  “What?”

  “The chief wants to hold a news conference at ten. This story is going to break across the nation.”

  “I don’t doubt it. An emerald mine in a federal park, a crooked ranger, a murdered police officer.”

  “You’ve got a national reputation, Sam. For not backing down to anyone.”

  “For being a hothead I think someone said.”

  Newland laughed. “That too.”

  “I promise I’ll stay clear.”

  “No. Chief Buchanan wants you there. You and Nakayla. He wants you to tell the whole story. You’re a trained investigator, not an amateur who solved a case.”

  “I get it.” The police chief had a legitimate concern. How inept would they look if some local yokel broke the case?

  “We’re not trying to tell you what to say, but we want to minimize any impression that you were a suspect.”

  “The sawdust.” In the aftermath of my confrontation with Taylor and Ledbetter, I’d forgotten the police had been searching for me. “You found sawdust in Peters’ car.”

  “Yes. You told us you hadn’t been in the car. We matched sawdust from the front and back seats to particles we collected in your apartment.”

  “Ledbetter killed Peters and then got Taylor to move the body just like he did with Tikima. They tried to set me up by luring me to the cemetery.”

  “Looks that way.”

  “And when Nakayla hit a genealogical link from Ledbetter back to Galloway, we stopped searching. Jamie must have had two daughters.”

  “Yes. Judy Ledbetter confirmed her husband and Taylor were cousins. So, are you okay with the press conference?”

  “Yeah. If you’ll get me to my apartment in time to catch a few hours sleep.”

  “I’ll take you there and pick you up personally.”

  I passed on Newland’s offer of a ride to the press conference, telling him Nakayla would bring me. He didn’t know her car was in Birmingham with Stanley and I wanted to keep it that way.

  At seven, I called a taxi. I’d told Nakayla to be ready at nine, but I had a few things to do before then.

  The driver took me to a Waffle House. He promised to return in an hour.

  Nakayla’s cell phone and the apartment’s landline could be monitored, but I doubted if any surveillance extended to the graffiti-covered pay phone by the jukebox at the Waffle House.

  I placed an order for a waffle with a side order of link sausages, and then asked the cashier for five dollars in quarters. The first call went to Stanley. I told him to watch cable news and keep Nakayla’s car out of sight. He should also tell his wife no one must know about his trip to Gainesville. Then I asked him for Walt Misenheimer’s home number. My call to Stanley lasted less than two minutes.

  My conversation with Walt was even shorter. “Can you get hold of the Galaxy lawyers and their insurance company reps this morning?”

  “Maybe. I’m headed to the office now.”

  “Tell them to watch the news. If they haven’t settled our case by tomorrow, I’ll be making a public statement about the death of my parents. The suit is now six million.”

  “What’s going on, Sam?”

  “I am. At ten.”

  My last call was to Harry. I gave a summary of what had happened and said we were keeping his name out of it.

  “Fine with me,” he said. “As long as you and Nakayla got them.”

  “The truth will come out. What was your father’s name?”

  “Luke. Why?”

  “Cross-checking some things in the journal for the police.”

  “I guess Tom changed it because he’d used Luke for his brother Fred.”

  “You and Captain watch today’s news, and remember, mum’s the word. We’ll be out to see you soon.”

  Chief of Police Ty Buchanan set up a platform in front of the station. At nine-thirty, reporters, cameramen, and TV microwave trucks were already assembling beside Pack Square. I was struck that we stood at the spot Harry Young had witnessed Asheville’s young men rallying for World War One. Along the square’s perimeter had once stood W.O. Wolfe’s monument shop. I felt history closing in a circle around me.

  Four chairs were behind the podium. Detective Newland, Nakayla, and I were called by Chief Buchanan to join him. He opened the press conference by revealing the killers of Tikima Robertson and Detective Peters. He commended the diligence and professionalism of his department and then announced the case couldn’t have been broken without the assistance of Nathan Armitage of Armitage Security Services, Nakayla Robertson, Tikima Robertson’s sister and an investigator for the Investigative Alliance for Underwriters, and Sam Blackman, former Chief Warrant Officer for the United States Military and fearless advocate for what is right and just. “I’d like for Sam to share in his own words what happened yesterday in the dramatic encounter with the men who murdered Miss Robertson and our beloved Detective Roy Peters.”

  I stood and walked to the podium, completely at ease with my leg and with what I had to say.

  “Eighty-eight years ago, a terrible crime occurred…”

  ***

  Detective Newland whisked Nakayla and me into the privacy of the police station and away from the barrage of questions Chief Buchanan and his public information officer fielded. I knew from the embrace the chief had given me that he was thrilled with my performance and was delighted to reclaim center stage.

  “Can I take you up on that offer for a ride?” I asked Newland. “We took a taxi here.”

  “My pleasure. I forgot we still have the minivan registered to your brother.”

  I’d figured that fact would pop up. We’d left Stanley’s vehicle at Pink Beds. “He let me borrow it. I’m supposed to move to Birmingham.”

  “Think twice about that. The chief would hire you in a heartbeat.” Newland pressed the exit bar on a door and we stepped out into a side parking lot.

  “I do have a favor to ask you,” I said.

  “You got it.”

  “This case isn’t closed.”

  Newland stopped. “The gold?”

  “Luke Young.”

  “Who?”

  “The man who drove the coffin to Georgia. A few weeks later he was killed in a car crash. No witnesses, just a charred wreck at the bottom of a ravine near Brevard.”

  “That’s close to the emerald mine,” Newland said.

  “Yeah. And I don’t like coincidences. We’ll never know for sure but I think Jamie Galloway was an army deserter hiding in the forest. His father knew Luke Young had taken Elijah to Georgia, and Luke had probably asked old Galloway about the pack missing from Elijah’s mule. Luke Young was the only loose end who could tie the Galloways to Elijah.”

  “What’s your evidence?” Newland asked.

  “I don’t have any. That’s why I’m counting on you to find some.”

  ***

  Newland stopped the unmarked police car in front of the Kenilworth’s front door. “Let us know if you need anything.” He twisted where he could see me in the back seat. “I’ll get your other leg back as soon as I can.”
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  “And the journal,” I said. “That belongs to Nakayla.”

  She sat beside Newland in the front. He offered his hand. “That’s a promise.”

  “One more thing,” I said. “Can you keep this address from the press? I’d like to sleep about four days.”

  “No problem. If something comes up, how shall I reach you?”

  “My cell,” Nakayla said. She opened the door. “Call anytime.”

  For a second, Newland appeared surprised that Nakayla wasn’t going to her house. He quickly recovered. “Thanks. And if anyone bothers you, let me know.”

  We watched him circle the wide lawn and disappear.

  “What now?” Nakayla asked.

  “Call a taxi. We’re going to the hospital.”

  ***

  Nathan Armitage had been moved out of intensive care, a good sign that the bullet must have passed through with minimal damage.

  I knocked on the door and someone called, “Come in.”

  An attractive woman with short brown hair sat by the bed. “You’re Sam Blackman.”

  “And this is Nakayla Robertson. Are you Mrs. Armitage?”

  She nodded and then started crying. “The doctors said you saved Nathan’s life staying with him in that cave.”

  “He had the keys to the car,” I said.

  She laughed through her tears.

  Armitage rolled his head on his pillow. His complexion was pasty and his face unshaven. IVs went into both arms and a chest drainage tube dripped pink fluid by his waist. He opened his eyes and struggled to focus.

  “Sam?” he whispered hoarsely.

  “I’m here. Nakayla’s with me. Don’t try to talk.”

  He shook his head. “They told me you got them.”

  “We got them, Nathan. You, Nakayla, and I. I know you took that bullet just to avoid the press conference.”

  He gave a weak smile and then turned to his wife. “Helen, give us a moment.”

  She frowned. “The doctor doesn’t want you to exert yourself.”

  “Fine. I won’t do any heavy lifting.”

  She got up.

  “We’ll keep it short,” I promised.

  Helen closed the door behind her.

  Armitage licked his dry lips. “I haven’t given a statement yet.”

  “Good. Nakayla and I made no mention of Stanley, Harry, or the gold. We said we found a map in the empty coffin and two emeralds. The police don’t know about the others. I said Elijah must have given everything to his kinfolk. The police are testing the two coffin emeralds and the ones Ledbetter claimed to have found on his property. They’ll all be tied to the Pisgah mine. Newland and the police chief will have rock-solid evidence to close the case. Stay with our story and we’ll be fine.”

  Nakayla stepped beside me. “Where’s this going, Sam?”

  “To you, I hope. The emeralds and gold belong to you. We’ll find a way to convert them into cash.”

  “But we were all in this together.”

  “Harry,” Armitage whispered. “Give my share to Harry.”

  “And Stanley and I will be fine,” I said. “Harry’s father performed an act of kindness for Elijah. You and Harry should split it.”

  “Will he take it?” Nakayla asked.

  “Probably not. So you’ll have to throw him one hell of a one hundred and first birthday party, the likes of which this town has never seen.”

  Armitage coughed, and then motioned us closer. “Better make it a one hundred and a half. At one hundred, Harry shouldn’t buy green bananas.”

  ***

  Nakayla spent the night at the apartment. We figured the press would be camped outside her door. I threw a blanket and pillow on the sofa and insisted on sleeping there. As I lay trying to surrender to my exhaustion, my mind wouldn’t let go of one prickly fact: emeralds and gold aren’t found at the same source. Why had Elijah left a map to the emeralds but not his gold? I visualized the parchment unfolded from the oilskin, pressed flat on the Holiday Inn table with the creases dividing the hand-drawn treasure map into four sections—four quadrants. Looking at each one isolated from the other, I saw lines, curves, and circles, a pattern I’d seen on four gravestones in Georgia, a pattern repeated in miniature that I’d held in my hand.

  “Nakayla?”

  “Yes?” She answered from the bedroom, no trace of sleep in her voice.

  “Bring me the bracelet in the Bible, please.” I’d laid my prosthesis on the floor and didn’t want to hop across the room to her door.

  She came out wearing one of her sister’s oversized tee-shirts and holding the bracelet. “What is it?”

  “Get me some sheets of paper and a pencil.”

  I copied the designs from the four segments of the bracelet onto four pieces of paper. Then I matched the drawings like dominoes, connecting lines wherever they lined up. The result yielded a circle with an X at the center and a series of lines and curves around it.

  “What are we looking at?” Nakayla asked.

  “The site of your great-great grandfather’s gold mine. He’d carved segments of it on the family tombstones and then duplicated it on the bracelet.”

  “But where is it?”

  I pointed to a thick line across the top of the joined papers. “I think this is the French Broad. The circle with BH split across the upper pages is the Biltmore House. This wavy line is the entrance stream and the circle with the X is the mine. It’s beside the spot where the stream veers to the right from the road.”

  “On the estate?”

  “Yes. The stream Elijah and Olmsted diverted. The one Elijah discovered held a secret in gold.”

  “What do we do?”

  “Tomorrow we check it out.”

  Nakayla stroked the side of my head where Ledbetter had pounded me with his fist. “And tonight?” she whispered.

  “We put this bracelet back in the bedroom.”

  “We?”

  I gently wrapped my hand around the nape of her neck and pulled her to me. “We.” I kissed her lips, then whispered, “if you’ll help me.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The cell phone kept ringing, but I couldn’t tell its location. When the Saints Go Marching In seemed to be coming from everywhere. I sat up in bed. Light streamed through the window. The clock read nine. I’d slept for nearly ten hours.

  I patted the sheet beside me. The warm spot told me Nakayla had been there only a few minutes ago. Then I heard the banging of pans in the kitchen.

  The phone started again and I found the culprit on the desk by Tikima’s computer. “You want me to get that?”

  “Yes. Tell them I’ll call back. How do you want your eggs?”

  “Scrambled.” I snatched up the phone. “Hello.”

  “Sam. Misenheimer just called.” Stanley sounded giddy.

  “Yes.”

  “There was a fax waiting for him at his office this morning. Six million dollars, Sam. Galaxy is settling for six million dollars.”

  “An insult. I hope you told Misenheimer they could stick their offer where the sun don’t shine.”

  Silence, as if Stanley had disappeared from the face of the planet.

  “Hey, brother, I’m kidding.”

  ***

  “So you want me to pick you up later?” The cab driver turned in his seat, hoping to secure a guaranteed fare.

  “No,” I said. “You can take us back now.”

  His eyes widened in amazement. “That’s it? You’re not going in for tickets?”

  I looked out over the valley where the stream of cars and the stream of water split. Then I looked at the building beside me, constructed on land excavated and leveled from the side of the hill. Visitors flowed in and out in a non-stop procession, leaving money at the Biltmore ticket counters and buying a glimpse into the gilded age of days gone by.

  “Some other time,” I said.

  “Tomorrow’s Saturday. It’ll be even worse,” the cabbie warned. “This place is a gold mine.”


  ***

  Nakayla parked her Hyundai in a Golden Oaks visitor spot. The day before, Stanley had picked up his minivan and left both her car and its contents. We’d leased a public storage place and in a few weeks I’d travel to New York City where gold and gem buyers knew a value and didn’t ask a lot of questions.

  I clutched the plastic evidence bag close to my side and followed Nakayla into the lobby. Captain and his harem weren’t in their usual positions by the television. Just as well. Nakayla and I wanted to see Harry without any fanfare.

  I knocked on his door.

  “It’s open.” Harry called out the same greeting as the first time.

  He sat on the sofa, the morning paper in his lap and his wheelchair within reach. His face lit up. “Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson.”

  “More like Laurel and Hardy,” Nakayla said.

  “You’re not in the news today.” He tossed the paper into the seat of his wheelchair.

  “It’s been a week,” I said. “The snarling pack moves on.”

  Nakayla joined him on the sofa and I brought the evidence bag from behind my back.

  “Detective Newland loaned me something. He’s violated policy so don’t say you saw it here.”

  Harry stared at the bag, uncertain what to make of it.

  “Detective Newland found this in a cigar box in Phil Ledbetter’s house. Something his wife said belonged to his grandfather.”

  I opened the bag. The silver was black with tarnish.

  Harry reached for the pocket watch, a slight tremor running through his hand. He pried open the case. I knew what he’d read inside: “For Luke on his eighteenth birthday. This watch is a gift from his parents. Time is a gift from God.” Harry ran his forefinger over the etching.

  Nakayla and I let him cry. Even after all these years, the pain of knowing his father had been murdered must have cut through him like a knife.

  After a few minutes, he handed the watch back. “Do you think they’ll give it to me?”

  “Without question.”

  “Sam made sure,” Nakayla said. “He’s receiving a substantial insurance settlement for his parents’ death. Part of the money’s going into a trust for Detective Peters’ children. The police will be very appreciative.”

  Harry shook his head. “How many generations have suffered because of the Galloway family’s greed?”