Blackman's Coffin (25 page)
She bolted through the door.
“Can you hear me, Nathan?”
His tongue flicked between his dry lips.
“You’re going to be all right. And not a word about the gold and emeralds or my brother.”
His tongue flicked again. I put steady pressure on his wound.
For the first time in a long time I started praying.
“Would you like another cup of coffee?” Al Newland held the pot beside me.
“No, thanks. I’m all coffeed out.” I was back in the interview room at the Asheville Police Department, three-thirty, Thursday morning.
“Uncle Newly said to tell you Mr. Armitage is out of recovery. Looks like he’s going to pull through.”
“That’s good. Where is your uncle?”
“Talking to Ledbetter’s wife. How about a doughnut?”
In sharp contrast to my last visit, the men in blue had become valets whose sole ambition seemed to be my happiness.
“I’m fine. Really.”
“Uncle Newly always thought that Ranger Taylor was a little piss ant. He said it was divine justice that you pinned him like a bug.”
A knock came from the door and Detective Newland entered. “How are you holding up?”
“Tired and sore. I’d like to get my leg.” The med team had taken me to the hospital where I’d had my beaten face treated and bandaged. They’d wanted to keep me overnight but I’d thrown a fit. Newland had brought me here, given me a shirt, and listened to my story. Now I needed to get out and tie up loose ends.
“Ted’s on his way back from your apartment. He said he found everything you wanted.” Newland slipped into the chair across the table.
“Thanks. Can I see Nakayla?”
He nodded. “In a few minutes. Your statements are being typed now. You know the drill. Got to keep you separated till they’re signed.”
“Anything on Ledbetter’s wife?”
Newland smiled. “Everything. She’s babbling like a brook. She’s lived in fear of the guy for thirty-five years and isn’t going to jail to protect his memory. She knows the mine scheme goes back to her husband’s grandfather, but claims she doesn’t know about Elijah’s murder. I’m inclined to believe her.”
“The map we found in Georgia is proof enough for me. I figure Jamie Galloway killed Elijah in 1919 and started working the mine himself. Then as the park service took over, he had to find a way to sneak the emeralds out. When he got enough money, he bought land he claimed to be the source of the gems. I guess the family’s been working the real site a little at a time for over eighty years.”
“What about the gold?” Newland asked.
“Gold?”
“In addition to two emeralds, we found a small bar on Taylor’s body.”
I shrugged. “Interesting. I wonder if they had another mine.”
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.”
“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.