Plum Island

by Nelson DeMille

  My heart raced and my bladder almost let loose. I smiled. “Funny.”

  “Scared you, didn’t I?”

  She had on a blue tricornered hat and in her hand was a soft plastic cutlass.

  “Kind of surprised me.”

  “You looked more than surprised.”

  I got myself settled down and noticed she was wearing tan slacks today, a blue blouse, and sandals.

  She said, “I got this sword and hat in the gift shop. There’s a whole section of kids’ junk.” She went over to the armchair near the fireplace and held up a black pirate hat with a white skull and crossbones on it, a plastic saber, an eye patch, and something that looked like a parchment. She gave me the hat and patch, which she insisted I put on as she stuck the sword in my belt. She showed me the yellowed parchment on which was a map that said, “Pyrate Mappe.” There was the usual island with the palm tree, a compass, a fat face blowing a westerly wind, a dotted sea route, and a three-master plus a sea serpent—the whole nine yards, including the big black X that marked the chest of gold.

  Emma said, “This is one of our biggest sellers for children of all ages.” She added, “People are fascinated by pirate treasure.”

  “Are they?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “It’s interesting.” I asked her, “Was Fredric interested in pirate treasure?”

  “Maybe.”

  I asked, “Didn’t you tell me you taught him to read old English script?”

  “Yes, but I don’t know specifically what he was interested in reading.” We looked at each other awhile, then she asked me, “What’s going on, John?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Why are you asking me about Fredric?”

  “I’m jealous.”

  She didn’t respond to that, but asked me, “Why did you want to meet me here?”

  “Well … can I rely on you to keep this to yourself?”

  “Keep what to myself?”

  “Pirates.”

  “What about them?”

  It’s a balancing act between telling a witness what you want and why you want it. I changed the subject and said, “I met your employees. Janet, Ann, and …”

  “Warren.”

  “Right. I passed the test.”

  She smiled and took my hand. “Come look at yourself in the mirror.”

  She led me into the hall, then into the eighteenth-century bedroom. I looked at myself in a wall mirror with the pirate hat, eye patch, and sword. “I look stupid.”

  “You really do.”

  “Thanks.”

  She said, “I’ll bet you never did it on a feather bed.”

  “No, I never did.”

  “You have to keep the hat and patch on.”

  “Is this my fantasy or yours?”

  She laughed, then before I knew it, she was getting out of her clothes, which she left on the floor. She kept the cocked hat on, and holding it with one hand, she tumbled into bed, onto the quilt comforter, which was probably an expensive antique that had never had sex before.

  I played along with the game, leaving the hat and patch on as I undressed.

  As I said, she was tall with long legs, and the beds in those days were short, so her head and hat were at the head-board and her feet were touching the footboard. It looked kind of funny and I laughed.

  “What are you laughing at?”

  “You. You’re bigger than the bed.”

  “Let’s see how big you are.”

  Anyway, if you’ve never done it on a feather mattress, you’re not missing much. I can see why no one in those old portraits on the walls is smiling.

  CHAPTER 22

  Later, in the archive room, sans costumes, we both sat at the oak table. Emma had a mug of herb tea that smelled like rubbing liniment.

  She had gathered some material—original documents encased in plastic, some old books, and some reproductions of historical letters and documents. She was perusing her papers as she sipped her tea. I was in a typical male postcoital mood, thinking I should be sleeping or leaving. But I could do neither; I had work to do.

  Emma asked me, “What exactly are you interested in?”

  “I’m interested in pirate treasure. Is there any around here?”

  “Sure. Almost anywhere you dig, you’ll find silver and gold coins, diamonds and pearls. The farmers say it makes plowing difficult.”

  “I can imagine. But seriously.” I hate it when people are smart-asses.

  She said, “There are a number of pirate legends and truths associated with this area. Would you like to hear the most famous? The story of Captain Kidd?”

  “Yes, I would. I mean, not from year one, but as Captain Kidd relates to this place and to buried treasure.”

  “Okay … first of all, Captain William Kidd was a Scotsman, but he lived in Manhattan with his wife, Sarah, and their two children. In fact, he lived on Wall Street.”

  “Still full of pirates.”

  “Kidd was not really a pirate. He was, in fact, a privateer, hired by Lord Bellomont, who was then governor of Massachusetts, New York, and New Hampshire.” She took a sip of tea. “So, with a royal commission, Captain William Kidd set sail in 1696 from New York harbor to search for pirates and seize their plunder. Bellomont put up a lot of his own money to buy and outfit Kidd’s ship, the Adventure Galley.There were also rich and powerful backers of this enterprise in England, including four English lords and King William himself.”

  “I see trouble coming. Never go into a joint venture with the government.”

  “Amen.”

  I listened as she related this tale by heart. I wondered if Tobin knew this story, and if so, did he know it before or after he met Emma Whitestone? And why would anybody seriously think a three-hundred-year-old treasure could still be buried and/or found? Kidd’s treasure, as I’d discovered by talking to Billy at Mattituck Inlet, was a dream, a child’s story. Of course, the treasure may have existed, but there was so much myth and legend surrounding it, as Emma had said in the Cutchogue Diner, and so many false maps and clues, that it had become meaningless over the last three centuries. Then I remembered the guy who found Charles Wilson’s letter in the Public Records Office … so maybe Tobin and the Gordons had tumbled on to some real hard evidence.

  Emma went on, “So after a lot of bad luck in the Caribbean, Kidd sailed to the Indian Ocean to search for pirates. There, he plundered two ships owned by the Great Mogul of India. On board were fabulous riches, worth in those days about two hundred thousand pounds. Today, that could be twenty million dollars.”

  “Not a bad day’s work.”

  “No. Unfortunately, however, Kidd had made a mistake. The Mogul was allied with the king, and he complained to the British government. Kidd defended his actions by saying the Mogul’s ships were sailing under French passes, and England and France were at war at the time. So even if the Mogul’s ships weren’t pirate ships, they were technically enemy ships. Unfortunately for Kidd, the British government had a good relationship with the Mogul through the British East India Company, which did big business with the Mogul. So Kidd was in trouble, and the only thing that was going to get him out of trouble was the two hundred thousand pounds’ worth of loot.”

  “Money talks.”

  “Always has.”

  Apropos of money, Fredric Tobin popped into my head again. While I wasn’t exactly jealous of Emma’s past relationship with him, I thought it would be nice if I could get Freddie fried in the electric chair. Now, now, John.

  Emma continued. “So, William Kidd sailed back to the New World. He stopped in the Caribbean, where he learned he was a wanted man himself, charged with piracy. Thinking ahead, he left about a third of his booty in the West Indies in the care of a person he could trust. Many of his crew wanted no part of this problem, so they took their share of the loot and stayed in the Caribbean. Kidd then bought a smaller ship, a sloop called the San Antonio, and sailed back to New York—to answer the charges. On the way, mo
re of his crew wanted to be put ashore with their share, which they were, in Delaware and New Jersey. But Kidd still had a fantastic amount of treasure on board, worth today perhaps ten or fifteen million dollars.”

  I asked, “How do you know that he had that much treasure on board?”

  “Well, no one knows for sure. These are guesses based partly on the Mogul’s complaint to the British government, which may have been inflated.”

  “Moguls lie.”

  “I suppose. You know, aside from what the treasure is worth ounce for ounce, consider that some of the jewelry must be museum quality. Consider, too, that if you took a simple gold coin of that era, worth maybe a thousand dollars, and put the coin in a presentation case with a certificate authenticating that it was part of Captain Kidd’s treasure, you could probably get double or triple for it.”

  “I see you took marketing at Columbia.”

  She smiled, then looked at me a long time. She said, “This is about the Gordon murders, isn’t it?”

  Our eyes met. I said, “Please continue.”

  She stayed silent a moment, then went on. “All right … we know from documents and public records that Kidd then sailed into Long Island Sound from the eastern end, and that he landed at Oyster Bay, where he made contact with a James Emmot, who was a lawyer famous for defending pirates.”

  “Hey, my ex-wife works for that firm. They’re still in the same business.”

  She ignored this and continued. “At some point, Kidd contacted his wife in Manhattan, who joined him on board the San Antonio. We know that at this time all the treasure was still on board.”

  “You mean the lawyer didn’t get it yet?”

  “Actually, Emmot was paid a generous sum by Kidd to defend him against the piracy charge.”

  I watched Emma Whitestone as she spoke. In the lamplight of the archive room, with papers piled in front of her, she looked and almost sounded schoolmarmish. She reminded me of some of the female instructors I know at John Jay—self-assured, knowledgeable, cool, and competent in the classroom, which somehow made them seem sexy and sensual to me. Maybe I have this schoolteacher hang-up from the sixth grade, specifically Miss Myerson, who I still have naughty dreams about.

  Anyway, Emma continued, “Mr. Emmot went to Boston on Kidd’s behalf and met with Lord Bellomont. Emmot delivered a letter that Kidd had written to Bellomont, and also gave Bellomont the two French passes that were on the Great Mogul’s two ships, proving that the Mogul was double-dealing with the English and French, and therefore the ships were fair game for Kidd.”

  I asked, “How did Kidd know that when he attacked the ships?”

  “Good question. It never came out in his trial.”

  “And you’re saying that Kidd’s lawyer turned over these passes, this important defense evidence, to Bellomont?”

  “Yes, and Bellomont, for political reasons, wanted Kidd hanged.”

  “Fire that lawyer. You should always give photocopies and keep the originals.”

  She smiled. “Yes. The originals were never produced at Kidd’s trial in London, and without those French passes, Kidd was convicted and executed.” She added, “The passes were found in the British Museum in 1910.”

  “A little late for the defense.”

  “For sure. William Kidd was basically framed.”

  “Tough break. But what happened to the treasure aboard the San Antonio?”

  “That’s the question. I’ll tell you what happened after Emmot went to Lord Bellomont in Boston, and since you’re a detective, you tell me what happened to the treasure.”

  “Okay. I’m on the spot.”

  She went on, “Emmot, not a very good attorney apparently, got the impression from Lord Bellomont that Kidd would be treated fairly if he turned himself in at Boston. In fact, Bellomont wrote a letter to Kidd which he gave Emmot to deliver. The letter says, among other things …” She read from a reproduction in front of her, “ ‘I have advised with his Majesty’s council, and they are of the opinion that if you be so clear as you have said, that you may safely come hither and be equipped and fitted out to go and fetch your other ship, and I make no manner of doubt but to obtain the King’s pardon for you.”’

  “Sounds like royal poopy to me,” I said.

  Emma nodded and continued from Lord Bellomont’s letter to Kidd, “ ‘I assure you on my word and on my honor I will perform nicely what I have now promised, tho’ this I declare beforehand that whatever treasure of goods you bring hither, I will not meddle with the least bit of them, but they shall be left with such trusty persons as the council will advise until I receive orders from England how they shall be disposed of.’ ”

  Emma looked up at me and asked, “Would that get you to come hither to Boston to answer a hanging charge?”

  “Not me. I’m a New Yorker. I can smell a rat a mile away.”

  “So could William Kidd. He was a New Yorker and a Scotsman. But what was he going to do now? He was a man of some substance in Manhattan, he had his wife and two children on board the sloop, and he felt he was innocent. More importantly, he had the money—a third of it down in the Caribbean and the rest on board the San Antonio. He intended to use this treasure to bargain for his life.”

  I nodded. It was interesting, I thought, how little some things had changed in three hundred years. Here’s a situation where the government hires this guy to do its dirty work, he does part of the job but by mistake he creates a political problem for the government, so they try to get not only their money back, but also his fair share, then they frame him, and finally hang him. But somewhere along the line, most of the bucks slipped through their hands.

  Emma continued, “Meanwhile, Kidd kept his ship moving, sailing back and forth through the Sound, from Oyster Bay to Gardiners Island and as far as Block Island. It was during this time that the ship apparently got a little lighter.”

  “He was dumping the loot.”

  “That’s what seems to have happened, and that’s how all the legends about buried treasure got started.” She said, “Here’s a man with about ten or fifteen million dollars’ worth of gold and jewels on board, and he knows he can be captured at sea at any time. He’s got a small ship with only four cannon. It’s fast, but no match for a warship. So, what would you do?”

  “I think I’d make a run for it.”

  “He’s got almost no crew left, and he’s short on provisions. His wife and children are on board.”

  “But he’s got the money. Take the money and run.”

  “Well, that’s not what he did. He decided to turn himself in. But he’s not stupid, so he decides to hide the loot— remember, this is the share that Bellomont, the four lords, and the king are to get for their investment. This treasure now becomes Kidd’s life insurance.”

  I nodded. “So he buried the loot.”

  “Correct. In 1699, there was very little population outside of Manhattan and Boston, so Kidd had thousands of places he could land and safely bury treasure.”

  “Like Captain Kidd’s Trees.”

  “Yes. And farther east, there are Captain Kidd’s Ledges, which are probably a section of the bluffs since there are no actual ledges or cliffs on Long Island.”

  I sat up. “You mean, there’s a part of the bluffs called Captain Kidd’s Ledges? Where?”

  “Someplace between Mattituck Inlet and Orient Point. No one really knows for certain. It’s just part of the whole myth.”

  “But some of it is true. Right?”

  “Yes, that’s what makes it interesting.”

  I nodded. One of those myths—Captain Kidd’s Ledges— was what prompted the Gordons to buy Mrs. Wiley’s acre on the bluffs. How clever.

  Emma added, “There’s no doubt that Kidd dumped treasure in several spots, either here on the North Fork, or on Block Island, or Fishers Island. That’s where most accounts put the buried treasure.”

  “Any other locations?”

  “One more that we know is true. Gardiners Island.”


  “Gardiners?”

  “Yes. This is documented history. In June of 1699, while sailing around trying to make a deal with Lord Bellomont, Kidd anchored off Gardiners Island to get provisions. The island was then called the Isle of Wight on maps, but it was, and still is, owned by the Gardiner family.”

  “You mean, the people who own the island now are Gardiners, and this is the same family who owned the island in 1699?”

  “Yes. The island has been in the same family line since it was given to them by King Charles the first in 1639. In 1699, John Gardiner, the Third Lord of the Manor, lived there with his family.” She added, “The Captain Kidd story is very much a part of the Gardiner family history. In fact, on Gardiners Island is Kidd Valley and a stone monument that marks the spot where John Gardiner buried some of Kidd’s treasure for him. The whole island is private, but the present lord of the manor will sometimes give you a tour.” She hesitated, then said, “Fredric and I were guests of the gentleman.”

  I didn’t comment on that, but said, “So there really wasburied treasure.”

  “Yes. William Kidd showed up in the San Antonio, and John Gardiner went out in a small boat to see who was anchored off his island. It was by all accounts a friendly meeting, and the two exchanged gifts. There was at least one more meeting between the two, and on that occasion, Kidd gave John Gardiner quite a bit of loot and told Gardiner to bury it for him.”

  I said, “I hope Kidd got a receipt.”

  “Better yet, Kidd’s last words to John Gardiner were, ‘If I call for it and it is gone, I will take your head or your son’s.”’

  “Better than a signed receipt.”

  Emma sipped her tea, then looked at me and said, “Kidd, of course, never returned. Having received another nice letter from Bellomont, he was ready to go to Boston and face the charges. He landed there on July first. He was allowed to remain free for a week to see who he associated with, then he was arrested on Bellomont’s orders and put into chains. His ship and his Boston lodgings were searched, turning up bags of gold, silver, and some jewelry and diamonds. It was a lot of treasure, but not as much as Kidd was supposed to have, and not nearly enough to cover the cost of the expedition.”