An Equal Measure of Murder

by B. T. Lord

  She shrugged. “I always assumed it was a misspelling of eagle.”

  “You’re not the only one who thinks that. But in fact, Eagla is Irish Gaelic for fear. No one knows why it was named that, but the Coffins have been shrouded for centuries in superstition and tales of supernatural occurrences.”

  “You mean like ghosts?

  “For starters.”

  Cammie wasn’t sure how she felt about the supernatural. After all, Twin Ponds was supposed to have been unofficially founded in 1692 by the real witches of Salem, Massachusetts. And she had experienced some things that couldn’t be so easily explained away. She was saved from having to respond when Ellis swung the boat about and she saw the outline of Redemption Island off in the distance.

  “So that’s Redemption, huh?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “A strange name for an island.”

  “Not really. In the early days of the settlement, those who broke the law were exiled to this island. It’s the most remote, and it was thought that remoteness would give the criminals more than enough time to contemplate their wrong doings and find redemption for their sins.”

  As the island grew nearer, Cammie saw how beautiful it was. Tall pines crowded together along the edge of the rocky coastline, while here and there she watched eagles soar above the treetops. It all looked pristine and untouched, a perfect oasis of peace and tranquility.

  Taking it all in, she was suddenly reminded of home. Of the lush forests of Clarke County. Of the abundant wildlife that lived in those forests. Of the pond she lived on. Of the land soon to be covered in white as the winter storms began to blow in from Canada. Before she could stop herself, an unexpected memory came up. The reminiscence of a day when those lush woods had been covered in snow and cold. A day when she’d almost died. In fact, she would have died if it hadn’t been for -

  The memory crashed into her. And triggered a bout of shaking she couldn’t stop. A scream bubbled up in her throat as the words that had haunted her for the past few weeks once again rushed up to torture and torment her.

  Don’t forget me.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God. She couldn’t let Ellis see her falling apart. She had to get herself under control. But nothing worked as the trembling grew worse. Desperate, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

  “I think I see something.”

  Without waiting for a response, she dashed from the cabin. Out on the deck, she wrapped her gloved hands around the railing and took in deep lungfuls of air. Tears stung her eyes which she angrily brushed away with the sleeve of her coat. Damn it, Jace had been right. Maybe it was too soon for her to be out here looking for a body. She should have stayed in the hotel and spent the day walking up and down the beach. At least then she’d be too exhausted to fall apart.

  She felt the tendrils of darkness pulling her back in. Crap, when was this going to end? She gritted her teeth as she refused to go there.

  She prayed Ellis wouldn’t come out on deck. She’d be mortified if he saw the condition she was in. She had to regain control.

  Cammie felt his eyes on her through the windshield. In an effort to look believable, she walked around the deck, leaning over the railing and pretending to peer at the waves. She’d then turn back to him and shake her head. She did this for almost five minutes. By the time she couldn’t deal with the frigid winds any longer, the shaking had stopped.

  “Sorry, false alarm,” she forced herself to smile when she re-entered the cabin.

  “I’m sure yesterday’s storm brought up tree limbs and other debris that can easily be mistaken for a floater,” he said as he swung the wheel around and brought the Whaler closer to shore.

  “Do you think we’ll find anything? It’s possible it’s already floated out to sea. Or been eaten by predators. Or,” she added mirthlessly, “Maybe Glenn and Maud are right. Maybe I am losing my marbles.”

  Ellis looked at her. “I believe you, Cammie.”

  It was her turn now to duck her head. She swiftly turned her face towards the island.

  “Is it true Redemption is uninhabited?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I wonder why. That’s prime real estate out there. You’d think someone would have snatched it up ages ago.”

  Ellis slowed the Whaler down until they were just off shore. “It wasn’t through lack of trying.” To Cammie’s surprise, he idled down and shut off the motor. “Now that we’re closer, take a good look and tell me if you sense anything.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Sense anything?”

  “Humor me.”

  She did as he asked and turned her attention back to the tiny beach. With the boat gently bobbing up and down, she concentrated on not seeing the shoreline so much as feeling it. She was reminded of her friend, the shaman Paul Langevin repeatedly telling her there was energy in everything. She wasn’t sure this was what Ellis was alluding to. But as Paul showed her, she closed her eyes and allowed her senses to open up.

  Don’t judge. Don’t push. Be present. Allow the energy to speak to you.

  At first it was subtle. A tiny prickling running up and down her arms. Soon, the prickling turned to a sense of unease. As if something wasn’t quite right, though she couldn’t put her finger on just what that was. She opened her eyes and looked at Ellis with a mix of puzzled wonderment.

  “When I was first hired,” he explained, “I made it a point to spend time on each island. To get to know, not only its inhabitants, but the feel and lay of the land. I saved this one for last. Knowing it was uninhabited, I’d planned to camp out for the night.”

  “And?” she asked.

  “I think you’re feeling why I couldn’t. It’s the same gut feeling you get when you know you’re walking into an ambush. Or a situation is all wrong, but you can’t figure out why. I did some digging and discovered that several businesses, as well as private multi-millionaires, have tried to buy the island over the years and develop it. They’d get as far as starting to clear the land. Then the accidents would begin. Workers would get hurt. The ships bringing in the building materials would sink. Structures would collapse. Millions were spent trying to keep the project on schedule. But no matter what they did or how much money they spent, they couldn’t control the escalating disasters. Finally, facing bankruptcy, they each pulled out.”

  “Are you trying to tell me the island is haunted?”

  He shrugged. “The rumor is that the island is inhabited by the spirits of those exiled colonists. You see, the redemption of their souls involved making them fend for themselves. It goes back to the English punishment of dunking. Someone accused of witchcraft was thrown into the water. If they sank, they were considered innocent. If they floated, it was because they’d renounced baptism when they’d entered the Devil’s service. In this case, the colonists exiled here had to build their own shelters, catch their own food, fight for survival. On an island that’s only six miles long, they had to compete for the limited resources with others who were already here. The ones who didn’t die immediately were thought to have communed with darker forces to survive. Those who died soon after arriving were believed to have found redemption for their sins and taken straight to Heaven.”

  Cammie caught her breath. “You mean, being exiled here was basically a death sentence?”

  “It appears so. Many died from the elements, starvation or at the hands of each other. This island was meant to be an example to what happened if you didn’t toe the line. A determent, if you will, in the harshest possible way. Of course, no one knows if the stories are true. As you can imagine, the written record is pretty flimsy. Whether they ever returned or died out here, it became one more strange story in a host of strange stories that surround the Coffins.”

  “Jeez,” she muttered under her breath.

  “The survival of a colony was dependent on everyone. They couldn’t afford to have someone upset the order of things.”

  “Yeah, but to throw a man out here with no means of su
rvival. That’s barbaric!”

  “They would have seen it as sacrificing for the greater good.”

  “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Or the one.”

  Ellis nodded. “Profound wisdom.”

  “Mr. Spock was both very profound and very wise.” When he glanced at her, she added, “He says it in one of the Star Trek movies.” Before he could respond, Cammie suddenly gasped. Leaning forward, she pointed to a spot just off shore. “Look over there. Do you see it?”

  He followed to where she pointed and frowned. “I think we may have found your floater.”

  He quickly turned on the ignition and carefully maneuvered the boat towards the flesh colored mass bobbing up and down in the gentle waves. Cammie went out on deck and leaned over the side. “It’s right here!” she shouted as he brought the boat up alongside the body. Ellis turned off the engine again, lowered the anchor and hurried up on deck. He retrieved a grapple hook and after a few attempts, managed to hook it into the back of the orange sweater the victim was wearing. He pulled it up and over the railing, the body flopping down at their feet. Both he and Cammie stared at it in disbelief.

  “Are you kidding me?” she asked rhetorically. “It’s a damned mannequin.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Rick sat at his desk, silently tapping his upper lip with his fingertip. He’d been sitting that way since returning from the Graham property. Forensics had scoured, not only the shack, but the entire yard, but they’d found nothing more. Part of him was relieved. The very last thing he wanted was for them to uncover a body in John’s backyard. He was also relieved that, upon closer inspection, the hatchet looked ancient. Not ancient as in colonial-era ancient, but certainly not from at least the last twenty years. Just that summer, they’d solved a murder that taken place ten years before. But Cammie was here to lead the investigation. Now he felt very much alone. At least he could take consolation that the hatchet pointed to something that happened a long time ago. Heck, the blood and hair could very well be that of an animal.

  Then why hide it in a strongbox and bury it in a shed?

  Oh, shut up, he scolded that damned voice in his head that wouldn’t go away. For now, there was nothing he could do anyway. Not until he received the report from Forensics telling him there was something to worry about.

  Still, there was a niggling feeling in the pit of his stomach that the hatchet was just the beginning of something bigger. Something he was going to find himself smack in the middle of. Maybe Gran had some kind of mojo she could use that would turn him into Super Detective. Without the cape of course.

  “You want some coffee?”

  He jerked his head up to see Emmy standing over him. Her eyes betrayed her concern. It didn’t blow away the cobwebs of doubt and worry, but he felt a little better knowing he wasn’t in this alone.

  “Actually, I could do with some hot cocoa.”

  “With whipped cream?”

  His eyes lit up. “You brought whipped cream?”

  “Of course. You can’t have a good cup of cocoa without whipped cream.”

  As she bustled off to make him the cocoa, he returned to his brooding. Or, as he liked to call it, contemplating the contemplatable.

  Perhaps he was worrying about nothing. The hatchet could be a gazillion years old. Maybe the owner went all serial killer on some rabbits and didn’t want his kids to see the gory aftermath. He shoved it into the strongbox to clean up later and forgot about it. Or maybe he started feeling guilty about offing the Easter bunny and hid it away. Out of sight, out of mind.

  Whatever happened, Rick missed sitting down with Cammie and discussing it. She had a way of instinctually knowing which clue to follow, which string to unravel to get to a conclusion that made sense. Even when she was wrong along the way, she still managed to get the ending right.

  Except for her last case. No one saw that coming. Not even her.

  “You shouldn’t worry so much, you know,” Emmy said as she sat down in the chair next to his desk and placed the cup of steaming cocoa in front of him. “If the hatchet was used in a murder, it could have happened eons ago. Look how long it’s been and nobody’s ever figured out who really killed Charles Lindbergh’s baby, or the Black Dahlia, or even the Princes in the Tower.”

  “Prince was in a tower? Is that where he wrote Purple Rain?”

  Emmy rolled her eyes. “No, you dope. It has to do with King Richard III of England and the death of the real heir to the throne and – oh, never mind. The point I’m trying to make is that not everything gets solved.” She leaned forward. “I’m not sure even the Sheriff could solve this if it turns out the murder happened a hundred years ago.”

  He glanced at her. “You’re just saying that to cheer me up.”

  “I’m not!” she protested. “I’m just telling you that it’s too early to give yourself a headache worrying about whether you can solve a case that we’re not sure is even a case yet.” She stood up. “And if it does turn out to be a case, you’re not a stupid person. Everybody knows you were the brains behind Sheriff Bannon when he was in charge. And since Sheriff Farnsworth was voted in, you’ve been right at her elbow, helping her solve every case that’s come our way. She really couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “Now you’re exaggerating.”

  Emmy pursed her lips. “Am I? Think about what’s gone on the last few years while you’re drinking your cocoa.”

  She turned on her heel and walked back to her desk. Rick took a sip of the delicious cocoa and smiled. Emmy knew how to mix the right amount of milk and chocolate to make a perfect cup. Not too chocolaty, not too milky. Perfection. The whipped cream was the proverbial cherry on top.

  “And another thing,” she called out from across the room. “This is probably the only situation out of the ordinary you’re going to have to deal with until the Sheriff gets back anyway. So if I were you, I’d chill.”

  Her words made him feel better. She was right. He was getting his underwear in a twist over what could potentially be nothing. He’d put all his worrying aside and wait for the Forensics report.

  After all, what else could go wrong?

  Two days later, Rick kicked himself for asking such a question. He should have known better. You never tempt the universe by asking that kind of question. Now the Gods had repaid him for his stupidity.

  He’d just come in from doing his rounds when Emmy told him Colin Haskell had called. Colin was the head of the Forensics team and had been on site for the investigation on John Graham’s property. Rick suddenly felt nervous as he slipped off his coat and hung it up on the coat rack.

  “How did he sound?” he asked.

  “Like he always sounds. Like he’s got twenty-four hours’ worth of work that has to be completed in thirty minutes.”

  It was a perfect analogy to describe the disheveled man who seemed to operate at no less than two hundred miles per hour.

  Rick sat down and stared at his phone. When he heard Emmy gently clear her throat, he picked up the receiver and dialed. “Emmy said you called,” he replied when Colin came on the line.

  “Yeah. I’ve got some preliminary results on the contents of the strongbox. The baby blanket was of a kind manufactured in the early 1930s. The piece of leather actually appears to have been cut from a jacket. There are some red and gold threads near what would have been the left breast pocket. I’m thinking it’s what’s left of some sort of emblem, but I’m hoping the lab will be able to figure it out. The box itself was clean. We’re running tests to see if it can be dated. Now, onto the pièce de résistance. The hatchet was manufactured by a company out of Portland named Darwin Tools which went belly-up in 1949. The hair and blood on the blade are human. We were lucky enough to extract DNA from both, but we won’t get those results in for a few weeks yet.”

  “What you’re basically saying is that the hatchet was used to whack someone over the head with.”

  There was a pause on the other end before Colin replie
d. “Actually, it appears that it was used to whack several someones over the head with. We found different colored hair strands.”

  Rick’s blood turned cold. “Shit,” he muttered.

  “We’ll know more in a few weeks.”

  “Do you have any idea how long the box has been in the ground?”

  “According to the forensic archeologist, they estimate it was placed in the ground at least within the last 75 years. If we go by the rest of the articles found in the box, you’re looking at a potential crime that was committed way before you or I were a twinkle in our parents’ eyes.” Colin chuckled at his own joke. “Speaking of solving old crimes, have you heard from Cammie at all?”

  “Not since she left for the Coffin Islands.”

  Colin sighed. “I hope going to a place with such a disturbing name doesn’t prevent her from finding the rest she needs. If you talk to her, give her my best.”

  Rick slowly hung up the phone and sat back in his chair with a thud.

  “Bad news?” Emmy asked as she approached him. He shared the findings. When he was done, she gave him a confident look. “If Colin’s dates are correct, you’ve got nothing to get upset about. Whoever used that hatchet is probably long dead by now.”

  “Or alive with both feet practically in the grave.” He chewed his fingernail as he looked at Emmy. “What I don’t like is the possibility that it was used on more than one person.”

  “That is pretty nasty. But again, you’re fretting over something that took place a long time ago.”

  Rick looked at her, aghast. “Emmy, doesn’t it bother you that a couple of people were potentially cut up like firewood?”

  “Of course it does! It’s just that –”

  “It doesn’t matter if it took place yesterday or a hundred years ago. A murder is a murder. We owe it to the victims to figure out who did this to them. We owe it to their families, if they’re still around, to give them closure. Use your magic to research ownership of John’s property. Go back as far as you can and work your way forward. If the killer didn’t live in that house, I bet you they at least were familiar with it enough to bury the hatchet in the shed.” He got up and strode over to the coat rack where he grabbed his coat.