The student produced a digital camera. “Here, Professor, have a look for yourself.”
Wittenborn sat down and stared dumbfounded at the small screen. Dan followed suit and took a seat. The clearly shaken history professor handed him the camera. Burdett didn’t know what he was looking at other than a barren stretch of beach.
“What is this all about, Allen?” Dan asked a bit perplexed at the visible level of anxiety on the Professor’s face.
“The Narragansett Rune Stone is one of the most mysterious traces of ancient exploration we have. There are a series of runic markings which may date back to the time of the Vikings. The first symbol on the second line has what is known as the hooked X symbol.”
“And this is important?”
“Extremely! It has become synonymous with the Knights Templar. If nothing else, it puts other European explorers here well before Columbus.”
“But that has always been suspected.”
“True, but this carving, this marker, goes much deeper than whose footprint came first.”
“How so,” Dan quizzed.
“The hooked X, first dated on a Templar charter from the year 1128, is a reference to the Cross of Lorraine,” Wittenborn answered.
Dan realized this was neither the time nor the place for a history lesson. He patted Professor Wittenborn on the shoulder and got up to leave.
“Well, if nothing else, a mystery such as this may do wonders for a conference that tomorrow will have a presentation on the bloodline of Jesus.”
Wittenborn smiled. His spirits seemed on the rebound. “Indeed, Dan. This will add intrigue. By the way, the Cross of Lorraine is exactly that.”
“Exactly what?”
“The symbol of the Jesus and Mary Magdalene family bloodline.”
Dan shook his head in disbelief. At each turn, the story became more and more bizarre. He’d talk to Jack Beckham. Perhaps this was a coincidence. His mind then went to Captain Mick Beckham. He was a treasure hunter. But this? Best to stick to the task at hand. He’d made contact with Jack’s Harvard man. A meeting was set where he’d deliver a map. His work would be done on that account. Then it was on to find Pete’s killer. That would lead him to Papi. Dead or alive.
Nola again went over the public records she copied from the Duke’s County database. The latest census stated that the Elizabeth Islands were uninhabited. The Sinclair Family had devoted land on Penikese Island for a school for wayward children. Earlier in the Twentieth Century she had learned, to her surprise, that same land had been used as a leper colony. Still, no inhabitants. It struck her as strange. Then again, she figured, her brother and uncle were after treasure. X marks the spot. A deserted island made perfect sense. At least in the movies.
She neatly placed the papers back into her brief case and directed her attention to the lobster roll that had been placed in front of her. The Lobster Pot lobster roll. Best on the Cape which meant the best there was. Normally the rooftop view over Provincetown Harbor would be a cause for cheer. But that feeling would be a longtime coming. Pete was to be buried. Perhaps that was the best case scenario for Uncle Papi. A meeting had been set up. Somebody Papi and Pete knew well. Somebody she despised and had not seen in years. Her father.
“Quite an evening, Professor!” Anna exclaimed.
“The day wasn’t bad either,” Dan replied allowing himself to relax. “And, by the look of my watch, the night is still young.”
Anna let the cool bay breeze run through her hair. She knew that soon she would leave the Cape. A pang of sadness welled up in her heart as Cape Cod, its people, its culture, its food, was all she’d ever known. Her blood, her soul, her heart were Cape Cod to the core. The thought was daunting. It was also intoxicating.
“Dan, thank you for tonight.” Anna realized that on this very night the first steps of her journey were tread.
“My pleasure. Anna, you are a fine young scholar. It comes out in your writing. The passion that is. You should be ambitious, maximize your potential, and have the career you deserve.”
“So, if I may, a question. Why your career change? Don’t get me wrong, I love you as a lecturer. But, from what I gathered tonight, you were some hotshot lawyer. Didn’t you have the career you deserved?”
Dan glanced over at her. He wasn’t keen on reliving the past. Anna picked up on his hesitancy. “Sorry, look, I overstepped.”
“No, not at all,” Dan said as the cool bay breeze provided a soothing balm. “Historians should be inquisitive. Hot shot overstates it. Hard charging? Perhaps. Overstepped works well too. There is a thin line, in the prosecutorial profession, between what is legal, or should I say constitutional, and what is not. I bumped into that line too often. Even leaped over it on an occasion or two. Ethics, legally speaking, was an issue as well.”
“Trying to take bad guys off the street, no easy task. Tough on a marriage too I suppose.”
Dan chuckled. His flirtatious student had done her homework. “Look, I was a successful assistant district attorney with a high conviction rate. But I let the ends justify the means making me a bad lawyer. A bad husband as well. Got to live with it and own it. Now I have a new life, a sense of freedom, and I plan to not fuck it up.”
“Well, Professor Burdett, here’s to not fucking it up.”
Anna leaned over to the driver’s side and unbuckled Dan’s belt. He gripped the Jeep’s driving wheel tightly. A deep groan emerged as Anna lowered her head further.
“I’ll miss you, Dan Burdett,” she purred.
“Well, well,” Vasco Gomes said gruffly. “Strange stuff. Never thought I’d hear from my uppity daughter.”
“And I never thought I would need to spend time with you. Let’s get it over with. You have heard?”
Vasco glumly washed down a shot. He quickly ordered a second. “With a beer back this time,” he ordered. “Pete and I kept on terms. A good kid. Naturally I’ve heard. It is the Cape. News like that is carried on the wind. Foul play.” Vasco Gomes spoke in short bursts and if his voice was always gruff a heightened anger was easily detected.
Nola truly hated her father. The fury in her father’s voice was welcomed however. “You know these waters better than most. So tell me what you know about the Elizabeth Islands.”
He downed another shot, leaned his elbows on the table, and squinted at his daughter. “Know these waters better than all. Let’s start there. What do the Elizabeth Islands have to do with this?”
She was in no mood to dance with this man. “Can you please answer a simple question?”
“You see? Always uppity!” In truth, Vasco Gomes adored his daughter’s spunk. He was a bad dad. Any venom spit his way was payment due. “Simple. Owned by the Sinclair Family with the exception of a few parcels they’ve tossed the Commonwealth of Massachusetts over the years. Nonamesset is the closest to the mainland, Veckatimest is the smallest with Naushon Island being the biggest. There is a lot more I could add if I knew what you were looking for.”
The way he whipped off facts almost brought her to tears. She did have some good memories. Her Dad’s ability to entrance his children in fabulous stories of Cape Cod and the wicked sea beyond brought a snug feeling to her heart. Something in her memory stirred. “Ok. Tell me what you know of a buried treasure.”
She was expecting a derisive laugh. It did not appear. Vasco motioned for another shot. “I told him and your mother’s fool of a brother to stay clear of that.”
Nola’s eyes widened. “You knew!”
The moon’s reflection danced off the Bay. Dan drove slowly. Anna had been quite a surprise and she now sat back seemingly content with her work. He could not complain. She had provided quite a jolt for what he thought would be a run of the mill conference. A night cap with Bob and Pauline was the perfect ending to an event filled day. In the distance something appeared amiss. Flashing lights. He pulled up his Jeep just outside the gated yard of the Otis Thatcher Inn.
“Dan, what is it?”
“I’m not su
re, Anna. Stay here,” Dan ordered as he jumped out of his vehicle.
A policeman blocked his path halfway up the cobblestone walkway.
“This is a crime scene, sir.”
Dan looked at the young officer. Probably months out of the academy Dan assumed and his face appeared ashen. He noted the badge. Officer Kendall. “I am Bob and Pauline Corbett’s attorney, Kendall. Dan Burdett. Please, let me by.”
The officer seemed unsure as what to do. But the mention of ‘attorney’ hit a note. “Uhmm, ok. Burdett you say. Please wait here and I’ll notify my superior.”
Dan waited anxiously as Officer Kendall jogged up on to the Inn’s front porch. There was no sign of Bob or Pauline. A sickening feeling began to overtake him. Kendall huddled with a stoutly built uniformed man who shot Dan a menacing look. A decision had been made. Kendall strode off the porch. His superior followed training his eyes on Burdett. They drew their pistols. Dan saw the scene unfold as if in slow motion. He knew instantly. Bob and Pauline were dead. Murdered.
“Dan Burdett, you are under arrest for the murder of Bob and Pauline Corbett.”
Bess Chadwell waited as her uncle moored the twenty-five foot Bayliner. She glared disapprovingly at her scantily clad underling, the newest addition to the force, lounging lazily on a deck chair. She hoped Chief Nickerson’s retirement arrived before an inevitable sexual harassment suit.
“We found a car,” she said acidly.
Nickerson climbed over the boat’s railing. He had put out a missing person’s report earlier in the day. Foul play was his presumption. Rebecca Leary’s disappearance, or demise, would be solved and avenged. He needed proof. “Where?”
“Provincetown. A girl’s night out, according to a colleague, dinner and drinks at Jimmy’s Hideaway.”
“Any sign of a struggle?” The Chief asked. His mind raced elsewhere however. ‘A girl’s night out.’ Is that what Becca called it? Jimmy’s Hideaway was their rendezvous. A quiet table in the corner. Romantic. A daunting thought suddenly overtook him. He was most probably the last person to see her. Chief Nickerson would be a person of interest. In a case he opened no less.
“Not sure,” Bess answered noting her Uncle’s distracted look. “But her car is back at the station. I did note a small drop of blood on the passenger seat. It could be something or simply accidental.”
“Bess, great work.”
“Same for you, Uncle. How did the orientation go with the new cadet?”
Anna stood in shock. What had happened? Bob and Pauline dead? Dan was being led, his wrists bound in handcuffs. “Dan Burdett is innocent you morons,” she screamed. “I’m his witness!”
“Anna,” Dan snapped. “My phone,” he urged craning his head towards his Jeep. “Yaz, YAZ, my password. Call Brick Cleary. The card, number on the back. Now!”
“Of course I knew! They wanted me to join the venture. ‘Captain Mick Beckham’s venture’ they told me. I guess that was to prove they were legit.” Vasco Gomes shook his head in disgust. “Beckham doesn’t mean much to me.”
Nola noted that the Beckham and Sinclair names had both come up. “What would Beckham want over on the Elizabeth Islands? And why the mystery? Those islands are uninhabited.”
Vasco chuckled. “Who told you that?”
“The latest census,” she answered.
“Henry Sinclair took up residence there over forty years ago,” he corrected. “On Naushon Island that is. My dad, Papa, took me out there as a kid. A large German Shepard came after us. A vicious thing. We scurried up back into the boat.”
“Private property,” Nola shrugged. “Nothing against protecting your property.”
“True. But protect what? Papa pointed to the small hill as we trolled around the island. ‘Man made’ he was convinced.”
“And you? As you say, you know these waters and islands better than everybody.”
Vasco leaned back in his chair and gave her question thought. “A hill is a unique feature to the Elizabeth Islands. That being the only one. There is something else. Naushon Island is now the home to two people.” He reached into his knapsack and produced several photos.
Nola looked at them intently. “I thought you had little interest in this scheme?”
“I said I had no interest in their venture. But, I must admit, that excursion with Papa left an impression.”
“I can keep these?” she asked in way of a statement.
Vasco nodded. “I have copies.”
With that, without a word, he rose and left. Some things never change she fumed silently.
Molly Cleary put the phone down and calmly walked into Brick’s office. “We’re heading to Buzzards Bay. Do you want me to pack your swim trunks?”
Brick washed down his glass of whiskey. He looked out his window down to the harbor. About ten he figured. The clock confirmed his suspicion. “Into the orange schnapps, my baby?”
“Not a drop. Dan Burdett is in jail.”
“Jail!” Brick said bounding from his chair. He took his redheaded ball of fire in his arms. “For what, Baby?”
“Murder. Come, we’ll need to get a move on.”
Brick went to turn off his computer. He gave one hard last look at the image on the screen. Henry Sinclair. Harvard Class of 1951. A master’s degree from Yale in fifty-four. Medieval Studies. Numerous articles, a well-received book, Tales of the Norsemen, in fifty-seven. A rising academic star. And then, nothing. Henry fell off the map. Much like Sinclair, the screen faded to black. Brick had an idea where the elusive scholar may have been hiding for the past several decades.
Dan sat pensively in the Westport Police Station. His mind raced. Though the handcuffs had been removed, the words rung though his head: “You are under arrest for the murders of Bob and Pauline Corbett.” The words were delivered in an assured decisive manner. It was as if the Sheriff had caught a killer red-handed.
He wasn’t worried about the charges. In fact, his Miranda rights had not been given. But the Sheriff’s tone gave him pause. Still, Anna provided him with all the alibi he would need. The citation for public nudity served as support. Yet, he was being set up. And it stood to reason the Bristol County Sheriff was complicit. The peace man was a pawn however. And Dan would use him as such. He now had two homicides to solve.
“My name is Neil Coughlin,” a rather rumbled figure of a man said as he entered the interrogation room. “I am the County Prosecutor and you have met Sheriff Sisson. We have some serious business to discuss.”
Dan Burdett sat with his arms folded across his chest. He looked both men directly in the eye. It was an unusual place for him. Usually he found himself on the other side of the table. Dan was confident Anna had made the phone calls he was counting on. It was time to turn the table. Burdett began the interrogation of the Prosecutor and the Chief.
“First of all, I have not been read my Miranda Rights. Then again, that will not be necessary.”
Sisson sneered. “You’ll be read your rights soon enough. This is an open and shut case.”
Coughlin looked on less sure. He rubbed his eyes and motioned for Sisson to be quiet. “I’ll just begin with a few questions to establish a timeline, Mr. Burdett.”
Dan reached into his back pocket and produced his wallet. He produced the Horseneck Beach citation issued earlier that day. “Your timeline can start here, Neil.”
Coughlin took it into his hand and methodically traced his pencil down the slip. He handed it to Sisson with a frown. The Sheriff tossed it back on the table without a glance.
“Look,” Sisson snarled, “My men are searching Burdett’s vehicle now. All the evidence we will need to lock up this scum bag will be found shortly.”
Dan and Coughlin shot the confident law officer a curious look. “I’ll let you lawyers chat,” he huffed and then stormed out of the room.
“And how would Constable Sisson know evidence will be found in my Jeep?” Dan questioned.
Coughlin pursed his lips unsure of what quagmire he now found
himself in. Dan noted his hesitancy.
“Look, Neil, let me tell you what is going to happen,” Dan began casually. “A man, an important man, is going to walk down that hall and verify my activities on this night. You are going to release me. No charges will be filed. But, and here is the tricky part, a murder has been committed. My two friends, not to mention my clients, are now lying on a slab in the coroner’s office. You have a Chief of Police intent, without investigation, trying to hang the rap on me. Ask yourself, why? When you answer that question you will then understand you have created a dangerous enemy. Me.”
It was a voice Chief Nickerson had not heard in years. The staccato delivery was unwelcome. The last thing he needed, at the present, was a conversation with Cape Cod’s ‘made man.’
“Vasco Gomes. I have neither the time nor the disposition for a chat with the likes of you. Unless, that is, you’ve mistaken me for your confessional priest.”
A spit of laughter shot through as a reply. “Tomorrow night. Eight o’clock. You and me. Time for a chat. No confession. I do, however, have some info that could save your sorry ass.”
Nickerson thought to hang up. Regardless of reputation or occupation, Gomes was a serious man. Also, his son had recently died in the Chief’s custody. Vasco Gomes was dangerous.
“Why would I meet you in any place other than a court of law?”
“Jimmy’s Hideaway. Back booth. You can figure out the why.”
Nickerson put down the phone and slumped in his chair. Gomes knew. The clandestine lover’s arrangement between Becca and He had been carried out far from the professional glare of the office. What interest would that be to a man like Gomes? Blackmail no doubt the Chief reasoned. He opened his desk’s top draw and reached for his revolver. Then he went through the slow ritual of ensuring the steely chrome weapon was in working order. The chamber was full. He would arrive prepared for the next evening’s showdown.
The wind howled and swept over small Naushon Island. A dangerous tropical storm was beginning to make its presence felt. Hurricane season was in full bloom. The telephone line was down and his sturdy Cape abode without electricity. But the stiff winds couldn’t dislodge Henry Sinclair as he sat atop his majestic hill. He was the keeper of a legacy. The guardian of a bloodline. He had finally been called to serve. Even the Gods had signified his impending triumph. What an auspicious sign. He lifted his head into the whipping rain. Tropical Storm Henri had arrived.
Vinland: A Dan Burdett Mystery (The Cape Cod Mystery Series Book 1) Page 11