A Treasure Deep

by Alton Gansky

  “And to know what he’s going through.”

  “Yeah, that too.” Montulli took a deep breath as if steeling himself for the onslaught of hurricane Anne. “You know that I’m closing the site down.”

  “I figured you would,” Perry said. “I need to ask that you open it again as soon as possible.”

  “Why?”

  “What we’re doing here is important,” Perry explained. “More important than you know.”

  “Now you see there, Mr. Sachs, that’s part of the problem. I don’t know what you’re doing here, and you have been less than cooperative in that area.”

  “I have my reasons.”

  “I’ll just bet you do, but that’s coming to an end.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that you’re going to be telling us exactly what you’re doing here, and you’re going to be telling us today.”

  “I can’t do that,” Perry said.

  “You seem to think you have a choice in the matter, but you don’t. A crime has occurred on your work site, a murder no less. What you’re doing here will be deemed as material to the case. You don’t want to obstruct justice, do you?”

  “Perry!”

  Someone shouted his name. Perry turned to see Jack motioning him to come to the grove. Even across the twenty yards of pasture that separated them, he could see that Jack was not happy.

  “May I?” Perry asked.

  “Yeah, but I’m going with you.”

  “Don’t trust me?”

  “The mayor doesn’t need to see this,” he said, motioning to the body. “And no, I don’t trust anyone.”

  Once in the shade of the oak grove Perry quickly assessed the mood of his friends. Jack’s jaw was set tight like a clamp, Gleason looked stunned, and even Brent appeared shell-shocked. Dr. Curtis simply looked bewildered.

  “May I have a moment?” Jack asked and started away from Montulli.

  “No,” Montulli snapped. “Whatever you have to say to Mr. Sachs, you can say in front of me.”

  Jack made eye contact with Perry, and the communication was clear: Something was wrong. “They’re gone.”

  At first the comment made no sense to Perry, but then meaning hit him like a tsunami. He snapped his head around and looked to the north end of the grove. A plastic worktable was where it had been the night before; a few baseball-sized stones rested on its surface, stones used to hold papers down against the unrelenting breezes that swept through the camp. Under the table was something that should not have been there: a gray, heavy plastic box the size of a footlocker. The lid was open.

  “Everything?” Perry asked.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “It’s my fault,” Gleason said. “I’m responsible.”

  “No,” Brent chimed in quickly. “I blew it. Mr. Lane told me to lock the stuff in the trailer, but I didn’t. I guess I was too caught up in what we found.”

  “I’m responsible for the documents,” Gleason said. He was morose. “I should have double-checked Brent. He’s my intern. The responsibility is mine.”

  “What?” Montulli asked, clearly confused. “What was taken?”

  “What about the duplicates?” Perry asked, too taken aback to be angry.

  “I have those back at my room,” Gleason said.

  “Someone had better fill me in,” Montulli said. “I’ve had enough of this cryptic talk.”

  Perry turned to the deputy. “That gray box over there is our secure document box. It contained the printouts of our surveys, among other things. It’s supposed to be locked in the trailer when we leave. We were planning around-the-clock work, but we sent the crew home early after we did our core samples.”

  “Didn’t want them around while you were digging, eh?” Montulli suggested.

  “Our crew is the best, but experience has taught us that a bad apple can get into any group.” Perry felt his ire rise. His site had been violated in several ways: trespass, theft, and murder.

  “So one of your crew may have stolen the documents.”

  “Probably the murderer,” Perry said.

  “How do you know they’re not the same person? Maybe one of your crew is the murderer. He, or she, would know exactly where to look for the documents.”

  “That doesn’t explain who the dead man is,” Perry said.

  “I’m so sorry,” Brent moaned. “I’m an idiot. There’s no excuse for such a bonehead mistake.”

  “Was there anything else of value in the box?” Montulli asked.

  “Nothing could be more valuable, Sergeant,” Perry said. “We have duplicates, but someone out there now knows everything about the site.”

  “Finally,” a woman’s voice said. Perry turned to see Anne Fitzgerald tromping through the grass. Walking in front of her was one of Montulli’s men. “Did I miss anything?”

  “Hello, Madam Mayor,” Montulli said. “Yes, I’d say you missed a great deal.”

  Perry found one of the folding chairs and sat down. The day couldn’t get worse.

  THE ROOM WAS cleaner than Perry had expected. The walls were white and appeared freshly painted. The floor was covered in cheap, uninspired brown vinyl tile. In the center of the room sat a gray metal table large enough for six people. The chairs were made of the same gray metal. On one wall was a large mirror. It didn’t take a genius to know that the mirror was a screen that allowed people in the other room to view interviews and interrogations. He resisted the urge to wave.

  Sergeant Montulli sat opposite him and seemed as comfortable as if it were his own dining room table. Next to him was an olive-skinned Hispanic man. A thin mustache decorated his lip. He wore a white shirt and silk tie. He’d also worn a blue suit coat when he entered the room. Once inside, though, he quickly removed the coat and set it on a chair. His shoulder holster dangled menacingly, but Perry recognized it as a cheap theatrical ploy meant to intimidate him. But Perry Sachs didn’t scare easily.

  “My name is Detective Tony Sanchez,” the officer said, with just a hint of an accent. He struck Perry as an intelligent man who was confident in his skills. “I’m with the Homicide Division of the Kern County sheriff’s department. I assume you already know Sergeant Montulli.”

  “Yes,” Perry said.

  Sanchez pushed a button on a small tape recorder in the middle of the table. “We will be recording our conversation, Mr. Sachs.” It was a statement of fact. Sanchez was not seeking permission. He first gave his name as well as the names of Montulli and Perry. He then stated the time and the date.

  “Mr. Sachs, you understand that this conversation is being recorded,” the detective continued.

  “I do.”

  “Do you also understand that we have asked you here as part of our ongoing investigation into a murder?”

  “Yes.”

  “Although you are here at our request, you understand that you are not under arrest at this time and that our goal is merely to gain information that will help us solve this case. Is that true?”

  “It is.”

  “Although you are not under arrest, we have taken the precaution of reading you your Miranda rights. Have you been advised of your rights?”

  “I have.”

  “And do you understand those rights?”

  “I do.”

  “For the record, please state your name and occupation.”

  “My name is Perry Sachs.” He spelled it. “I reside in Seattle, Washington. I am the vice president of Sachs Engineering and the director of field operations.”

  “Sachs Engineering is a family operation.”

  “Partly,” Perry said. “It was founded by my father, who still serves as president and CEO.”

  “How long have you been associated with Sachs Engineering?”

  “Since high school. I came on full time after graduating from college.”

  “And which college is that?”

  “I took an architectural degree from MIT and did post-graduate work in civil engineering.” Perry
saw Sanchez raise an eyebrow.

  “I went to Yale, myself,” Sanchez said.

  “I’m sorry,” Perry said with a grin.

  “I played baseball. Did you play sports?”

  Perry knew he was attempting to establish common ground, make the interviewee feel comfortable. He would be more likely to make a significant slipup. “Lacrosse.”

  “Ouch,” Sanchez said. “Rugby with sticks.” He leaned over the table and continued. “You are currently involved in construction work on the property of Hector and Rose Trujillo. Is that correct?”

  “No.” Perry said and waited a moment for the surprise answer to sink in. “Exploration and excavation. There’s a difference.”

  “Really?” Sanchez probed.

  “Construction has to do with building. We are erecting no structures.”

  “All right then, I sit corrected. You are currently involved in excavation and exploration on the property of Hector and Rose Trujillo. Is that correct?”

  “It is.”

  “Are they aware of the activities you are conducting on their site?”

  “They are.”

  “How are they aware of those activities?”

  “We entered into a contract with them that allowed us exclusive rights to undertake our survey and exploration.”

  “Were they recompensed for the privilege you received?”

  This man talks like a lawyer, Perry thought. “We were happy to pay for the privilege.”

  “How much were they paid?”

  Perry shook his head. “Since that’s a personal matter, I would feel uncomfortable divulging that without receiving permission from the Trujillos.”

  “We can subpoena that information,” Sanchez shot back.

  “I’m sure you can,” Perry said evenly. He said nothing more.

  Sanchez nodded, seemingly unperturbed by Perry’s remark. “This morning you found a body on the site. Is that correct?”

  “It is.”

  “Please explain how you came to find the body.”

  Perry did, beginning with the early morning visit to the site, the removal of the tarp, and the discovery of the corpse. He also related the events that followed up to the moment he was asked to sit in the interview room.

  “The body was found in a pit dug by you and some of your crew. Why did you dig there?”

  “Our surveys revealed an object underground. We investigated.”

  “And what did you find?”

  “The same thing you found when the coroner removed the body. I assume the coroner has removed the body?”

  “He has. I must admit it gave him quite a jolt. He was expecting only one body. You could have warned us about that.”

  “I was already down here, Detective. Sergeant Montulli was interviewing us then.”

  “Did you kill the man found in the pit?”

  It was an abrupt question, and Perry knew it was meant to throw him off guard. “No. Neither one of them.”

  “Do you know who killed the victim? The one not inside the coffin, I mean.”

  “No.”

  “There was a trowel in the man’s back. Do you know to whom that trowel belongs?”

  “It’s one of our tools,” Perry said. “In fact, I was using it the night before.”

  “So your fingerprints would be on it?”

  “I doubt it. I was wearing work gloves.”

  “What are you searching for up there?” Sanchez asked bluntly.

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “You don’t have that choice, Mr. Sachs,” Montulli piped in.

  “I have the right to remain silent. You said so yourself.”

  “Such a tactic might imply guilt on your part,” Sanchez said.

  “Implied guilt is not the same as guilt, Detective.”

  “Sergeant Montulli tells me that word around town is that you’ve found some kind of treasure trove. That could be a powerful motive to kill a man.”

  “I didn’t kill him.”

  “Where were you last night?”

  “After I left the site, I went to my room to do some paperwork.”

  “And you stayed there the whole night?”

  “No. I went out once. About eight, I think it was.”

  “You went out? Did you meet anyone? Where did you go?”

  Three questions all at once. Sanchez was getting eager. “Yes. Yes. A place called O’Tool’s.”

  Sanchez looked at Montulli. “A pub just off the main drag. Pretty nice place.”

  “So you felt the need for a couple of beers after a hard day of tomb digging?”

  Perry sighed and pursed his lips. “Did you learn your sarcasm at Yale or the police academy?”

  “Just answer the question, Mr. Sachs.”

  “I felt no need for beer, Detective. I don’t drink. I went there because someone asked me to meet there.”

  “Who was that?”

  The image of Anne Fitzgerald seated in the booth drinking scotch straight up flashed in his mind. For some reason, he felt a need to protect her but couldn’t avoid the direct question. It was wasted chivalry, he decided. O’Tool’s was a public place, and the mayor drank there by her own choice. “Anne Fitzgerald.”

  Again, Sanchez looked to Montulli. “She’s the mayor and a local real estate broker.”

  “You met with the mayor? If I asked her about it, would she confirm that meeting?”

  “I can’t speak for what another person will or will not do. However, I know of no reason why she wouldn’t.”

  “Did anyone else see you there?”

  “Everyone in the room, I suppose, but I know none of their names. You could talk to the cocktail waitress. She would remember me. She was amused that I ordered orange juice.” Perry described her.

  “I’ll do that,” Sanchez said. “I understand that you had some things stolen from the site.”

  “Some survey documents.”

  “Who would want to steal them?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe someone who read the local paper. It seems everyone thinks we’re sitting on a cache of gold.”

  “Are you?”

  Perry shrugged. “I doubt it.”

  “Then what’s so valuable that an engineer from Seattle would bring in thousands of dollars of equipment and men?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “Can’t or won’t.”

  “Both.”

  Sanchez leaned back in frustration. Perry could see that he was about to speak again when the door to the room opened. A uniformed deputy stood at the threshold and motioned for Sanchez and Montulli to step outside.

  The best he could tell, Perry was alone for the moment, depending on who, if anyone, was standing on the other side of the mirror. Not prone to depression and familiar with setbacks, Perry nonetheless felt an overpowering despair. He had been

  so close, and now mountains of obstacles stood in his way. But there was more to what he was feeling than depression; there was a sense of foreboding, something he was unfamiliar with. Something was wrong; something evil was at work, and he couldn’t identify it.

  In many ways Perry felt as if this journey of discovery had been plotted out for him—and as if someone was dedicated to making him fail. Too many coincidences; too many unexplained events. Coming upon the attack on Dr. Henri in the early morning six months ago; meeting his wife, Claire, and her exceptional child, Joseph; the mysterious satchel and the life-changing item it contained; the interference of the mayor; the sensationalist newspaper article; the crowds and a murder. There was darkness surrounding this light, and for a moment, it seemed that the darkness might win.

  He closed his eyes and tried to drive the uncertainty away. He was not beaten, not yet at least, and, God willing, he wouldn’t be. This work was a mission, and God wouldn’t let him down. Not now.

  Still, despair tried to ease into his life, pushing through the tiny cracks of doubt that threatened his courage. He took a deep breath and let the image of the room disappear from his
memory. Once that evaporated, he pushed away all other thoughts. “Trust God or don’t,” he told himself. “Make up your mind. Is God in control or not?” Perry reminded himself that God had not given up on him. And he wouldn’t give up on God.

  A silent prayer floated from his mind.

  The door opened with a whoosh and slammed against the wall. Perry jumped at the sound of it.

  Sanchez plowed in like a steamship crushing through a wood pier. Montulli was on his heels. “Guess what we found, Mr. Sachs.” The detective threw several Polaroid snapshots on the table. “Know what these are?”

  Perry pulled the pictures closer. “Binoculars, for one. The other looks like a parabolic dish with a microphone. It’s probably a listening device. What does this have to do with anything?”

  “They were found at your site.”

  “My site?”

  “Yup. We had deputies searching the area. They found this about a hundred yards from the pit you dug. Someone had you under surveillance.”

  “You’re not suggesting I killed him, are you?”

  “It’s a good motive. You’re working, talking about your treasure or whatever it is you’re hunting for, and then learn your secret is out, that someone has found out.”

  “Let me get this right,” Perry said. “I find out that someone has been watching us, I kill him with one of my own tools, carry his body a hundred or so yards across an open pasture, dump it in the very place I’m trying to protect, then forget to go back for his equipment. Is that what you’re suggesting?”

  Sanchez said nothing, but Perry could see that he got through.

  “Then how do you explain it?”

  “Have you identified the victim?”

  “He had no ID on him, but we will discover who he is—was—soon enough.”

  Perry stood. “Gentleman, I’ve been patient, and I’ve tried to be helpful. I have spent hours waiting on you to do your work. That’s fine, but I’m not under arrest; I’m calling it a day.”

  “Don’t go far, Mr. Sachs.”

  “I’m not leaving the area, Detective. I need this resolved more than you do.”

  ANNE GAZED THROUGH the two-way mirror and watched Perry Sachs stroll out of the interrogation room. A moment later the door to her observation room opened, and Montulli entered. “Satisfied?” he asked.