Crown of Serpents (28 page)

Jake cleared his throat. “Just that short paragraph in the paper this morning when they released Ashland’s name. No details though. I haven’t even turned on the TV. Been trying to catch up on sleep.”

She checked her watch, then grabbed the remote control on the end table to turn on the TV. “It’s just before noon. They’ll have it at the top of the hour.”

Within a few minutes a local news station aired the murder as a top story to start the segment. A yellow crime scene tape graphic appeared over the male anchor’s shoulder. Rae and Jake both stood in front of the television set. She placed her hand inside of his arm as they listened in. Jake liked it. He felt comfortable.

“Breaking news from the murder in Dansville of Doctor Stephen Ashland of the Army’s Military History Institute. We’ve just been told that there was actually a State Police Investigator who was
shot
when trying to apprehend the suspect last night. A fifty thousand dollar reward has been issued for his capture. Let’s go live to Amanda Linder who is on the scene where the murder and cop shooting took place. Amanda?”

“Wow!” exclaimed Jake. “Fifty grand. They must really like you.”

“Shut up you,” replied Rae in a playful way. “And watch the news. Let’s see if they get everything right.”

A younger female reporter dressed in a purple hat, matching coat, and scarf stood stern-faced with her microphone in hand. The second floor balcony of Hogan’s Inn was plainly seen just over her shoulder. Yellow and black crime scene tape fluttered around the perimeter.

“That’s
right
Chuck. I’m here live at Hogan’s Inn in Dansville, just off of Route 390 and we have some more details from the brutal murder that took place around eleven last night. A high-ranking law enforcement official told me that State Police Investigator Rae Hart was
shot twice
in the chest as she approached the room where the murder had taken place, not minutes before. She
was
wearing her bulletproof vest and survived without serious injury. She is currently on administrative leave as is the policy when a shooting occurs.” The reporter paused for effect, nodded, and sighed heavily with rising shoulders to accentuate her act of genuine concern.

“What a joke,” replied Rae.

“Now to the murder suspect,” said the reporter. “He was caught on a security camera casing the victim — Stephen Ashland’s — car in search of something. Let’s roll that video if you could.”

Videotape of the large Indian looking into the small sports car appeared on the screen. Then Kantiio’s mug shot from his first arrest many years back filled the set. A wide smile exposed his gold front teeth.

“The suspect has been positively identified as Ray
The Mouth
Kantiio, an ex-convict who lives in the Catskills. The Mouth nickname obviously comes from his gold front teeth. The picture on screen has been photo enhanced to reflect a gain in weight and age. He is a Native American from the Mohawk tribe. Has black hair he wears in a pony tail. Stands six foot tall and weighs approximately two hundred and fifty pounds. He was dressed all in black and drove a dark colored Lincoln Navigator with New York plates M-T-H-4-3-7-8. He is considered armed and dangerous. Anyone with information leading to his capture can collect the fifty thousand dollar reward.”

An illustration of a Revolutionary War era rifle appeared next on screen.

“And
this
is what the victim was apparently murdered over. A
musket
from the Revolutionary War. This musket was…”

“It’s a rifle. Not a musket,” said an irritated Jake.

“Sshh!” interrupted Rae, smacking him on the arm.

“…stolen earlier in the day from a library in Upper Exeter, Pennsylvania by none other than Ashland himself. It is said this particular musket could fetch almost
one hundred thousand dollars
on the antiquities black market.”

The television screen cut back to the security video as the reporter continued to narrate. “Later that night, the security video showed the suspect holding Ashland at gunpoint, going to his car, taking out this musket, then walking away behind the hotel.” The screen cut back to the reporter who was now reading from her notes. “It is assumed that the suspect put the musket in his SUV at that point, then brought Ashland back to his room and
murdered
him with a bullet to the head. This looks like a theft and buyoff deal gone bad.”

She looked up at the camera. “And it’s at that point when the state police walked up to the room. They had been tracking Ashland since the theft occurred and were closing in to make the arrest, but were literally
surprised
by the presence of Kantiio. That’s when the shooting of Investigator Hart took place. The suspect then fled the scene. Chuck, that’s everything we have at this point. The investigation continues. Back to you.”

The screen cut back to the news anchor in the studio.

“Nice work Amanda. It sounds like quite a mystery indeed. Now to our next top story. Buffalo Bills quarterback P.J. Cain has—” The screen went black. Rae had shut off the television set and tossed the remote onto the bed.

“No mention of the scalping, no mention of me being there,” said Jake. “Looks like your brass leaked exactly what they wanted. Not a bad move actually.”

“We have top-notch investigators on the case, even though it burns my ass not being involved,” replied Rae, her brows furrowed. “I’ve got to get back on this case somehow.”

Jake held up his hands. “Take it easy there. Don’t go cowboy on me just yet. Let’s at least go downstairs for some lunch and think this over. I’m starving and could use some company.”

Rae nodded her immediate approval, grateful for the distraction. “Actually, I need an ice cold beer.” She stood up and retrieved her coat from the closet, throwing it over her arm.

Jake grabbed his black leather jacket out of the closet and put it on. Rae was already in the hallway. On the desk next to his laptop he gathered his phone and room key. He picked up his wallet and with his back to Rae, opened it to check on a mini-DVD. This would be with him at all times until he got home, he decided — a precaution in case Nero’s boys came looking for his laptop. The DVD held all of the Boyd digital photos he had transferred off the laptop. This disc was his only back up copy, made as soon as he had checked in after the interviews this morning. He placed the wallet in the rear pocket of his jeans, then followed Rae down the hall to the lobby restaurant.

Seating themselves at a corner booth in the bar area, Rae looked troubled. After they each ordered a beer she started out with, “I’ve got to apologize for the way I treated you in the interview last night. I had to appear to be on the state’s side, just so you know. It’s just that with the discovery of the Indian grave, the accidental death of the trapper, the arson, the rifle theft, and now the murder of your boss, well, we couldn’t help finger you as a key suspect in all of this.”

“Material witness, not suspect. Besides you said I’m clear,” Jake looked up with questioning eyes. “Right?”

“Yes. Yes. But—”

“But what? The grave accident has nothing to do with Ashland’s murder. That’s just sheer coincidence. Like I told you and the other investigators, I think Ashland was simply going after the gold once I planted that seed in his head from Fort Niagara.”

“But all this Indian stuff is linked somehow to Nero.”

Jake went silent, looking away. As he pondered whether he should tell her the whole truth about the Crown of Serpents he didn’t notice a Native American man that entered the restaurant and sauntered up to the bar for a drink. The man wore sunglasses and had several fresh bruises on his cheeks.

“Look, at MHI we are researchers and historians,” Jake retorted, somewhat fired up. “We gather information and expose history. It’s what we do for a living. Ashland had the same clues from Boyd’s journal entry of September 12th that Alex Nero and I had. That’s the link you’re after. Ashland simply deciphered it first and took off down the path. It was rather easy with the help of the Internet. He had a one day head start before I even thought about pursuing it.”

“So, as soon as Nero saw the journal, he too could have acted on it,” asked Rae.

“Right. That’s what I explained to your brass.”

“I’m really sorry,” Rae’s eyes softened. “I mean it Jake. We just have to analyze ever little nuance.”

“I know and you hung by my side, which I do appreciate. All I’m saying is Nero found out about the journal’s contents the same day Ashland found out. And Nero is an avid collector too, so he knew what he was doing. So, either they were in on the rifle theft together or acting alone and happened to cross paths. That I don’t know.”

Rae looked down. She nodded to herself.

“Hey, our drinks are here.” Jake glanced at the waitress holding two beers. Just beyond her the man at the bar walked out, catching Jake’s eye for a fraction of a second.

“Sir, your drink,” said the waitress, recapturing his attention.

“Oh, sorry. Thanks.”

Rae also thanked the waitress and grabbed her frosty mug by the handle. Jake raised his glass and clinked it against Rae’s. She went to sip her beer when Jake announced, “Here’s to bulletproof breasts. I mean vests! Vests! Oh jeeze!”

In a snorting chuckle, Rae blew the foamy head out of her mug, spraying Jake in the face.

“That came out all wrong. I’m sorry, still got a couple of things on my mind,” Jake embarrassedly said, as he wiped foam from his cheek.

Rae kept on laughing, a loud, true natural laugh. She shook her head and rolled her eyes, now much more relaxed. “You are something else, Major,” she said with a wide grin, holding up her beer. “Alright, here’s to bulletproof breasts.”

“I’ll drink to that!”

They clinked glasses once more and sipped their beers. Another round and some bar food later, Rae sighed. “I have to get back home to Seneca Falls, I really need some sleep.” She confided in him that even though she was on leave she was still going to follow up on the arson case and anything else that led to Nero. Jake paid the bill and held up her coat. She turned around and put her arms through the sleeves.

She faced him. “What are your plans?”

“Going to check out, then head over to my uncle’s house on the reservation. Spend the night there with family. Then tomorrow afternoon I’ll head back home to Carlisle.”

“I see,” she said, disappointed.

“But if I’m traveling through Seneca County I’ll stop by your station, if you don’t mind.”

Rae lit up. “You sly dog. Of course I don’t mind. Give me a shout tomorrow, about an hour’s notice if you could.”

“Absolutely.”

He took her hand in his arm and walked her out to the front lobby.

“You have a safe trip home now,” said Jake.

Rae stopped, leaned into him, and gave him a quick kiss on his lips as a goodbye.

21

Route 390 South. Near Avon Exit #10.

“G
OOD NEWS MR. NERO,” said Rousseau in his cell phone headset. He sat in the back seat of a black Hummer, a bandage across his forehead protecting the deep cut suffered from the gauntlet. An open laptop computer sat on a tray across his lap, the battery recharge cord plugged into a traveling office console socket. He followed a green dot over a roadmap displayed on the laptop’s monitor. “He’s on the road. We’ve been tracking him from his hotel in Rochester for about twenty minutes now.”

Sitting in the front seats were his other two security agents. The man driving the Hummer, Mr. Kay, the Mohawk, nodded his head. He had observed Jake at Fort Niagara and had just placed him in the Strathallan restaurant. Sunglasses now off, two black eyes were revealed where the late Kantiio had elbowed and broken his nose. He tried to steady the Hummer as wind gusts whipped the vehicle.

“Very good. Where is he headed?” asked Nero, on the other end of Rousseau’s line.

“We’ve got him pulled over right now on Routes 5 and 20 off the Avon exit of 390 south. He’s been heading in the direction of where you said he’d be going. Maybe he had to take a piss or something.”

The agent in the front passenger seat chuckled and smiled back at Rousseau. It was Mr. Jasper, the Oneida. He sucked on a cigarette and exhaled the smoke through the crack in his window. Every time he gulped though, his throat ached from where Kantiio had choked him.

“Do you have a visual on him?” asked Nero.

“Negative sir,” answered Rousseau. “We don’t want to spook him. We’re tracking him about three miles back. He has no idea.”

“Get a visual of what he is up to then back off again. I want another report in twenty minutes. I’ll check back as soon as I get out of this lawyer’s office and close the deal on the Depot.” The phone call disconnected.

Between Conesus and Hemlock Lakes.

Having met at McDonalds where his uncle transferred two long duffel bags of equipment into his parked SUV, Jake asked, “How did you make out with the recon?”

Joe grinned from ear to ear. “The land where the old village sat was just purchased by a white woman. She bought the house and surrounding property. She was very cooperative to say the least. Even made me coffee.”

“Made you coffee?”

“Let’s put it this way. She was about as big as me, alone, and simply needed someone to talk to.”

“You charmed her you old goat,” Jake smiled.

“Runs in the family,” Joe chuckled, taking out the digital camera. “Here let me show you what I found out.” The first photo showed the creek. It was no more than eight to ten feet wide and probably a foot deep at the most. On the bank of the shallow creek sat a two-story country style home and a brown barn. “She also has a barn and horses out back.” The next photo showed three horses within a wooden fenced-in pasture. Beyond the horses was the start of a ridge on the eastern slope. “Her horse field is fenced in and basically takes up most of the land in the flats, between the two creeks. It’s to the east of the main road.”

“Good work.”

“Check out this next photo. Surprise!” Joe switched to an image of three beach ball-sized rocks, covered in moss. “The three boulders placed east, west, and south. Just as Boyd said they’d be.”