Shadows of the Stone Benders (The Anlon Cully Chronicles Book 1)

by K Patrick Donoghue

Anlon stared at her with mouth agape. Either I’m a total moron or she’s a total savant. I’m not sure which is more frightening, he thought.

  Pebbles continued, “Don’t you see? Pacal was purposely trying to scare us off. Why? Because he’s after one of the objects himself and doesn’t want us to find it before he does.”

  “How can you be so sure? It was incredibly stupid of him to wear the ring if that’s the case.”

  “But he didn’t know the Master Stone was here! Don’t you remember how surprised he was when he saw it. Remember too that he said he hadn’t viewed the black stone himself. So that means he knew about the other object from somewhere else. I’ll bet he’s been searching for it on his own.”

  “You’re out pretty far on a limb, young lady,” Anlon cautioned, “but…I have to admit, your theory sounds plausible to me. We won’t have long to wait to find out, right? If he doesn’t show up for fingerprints, you officially possess Spidey-senses.”

  “Oh, I’m right, you can count it, Doctor-Know-It-All,” Pebbles zestfully needled as she stood and hopped up and down. “I’m not out on a limb, I’m dancing on it!”

  “Is that a fact?” challenged Anlon, rising to face her, broad smile on his face. He dropped the ice bag on the floor and said, “How about a friendly wager?”

  “Ooh, I like. And I know exactly what you’re giving me when I’m right!”

  Anlon arched an eyebrow and said, “Oh really, and what might that be?”

  “The keys to a certain shiny, hot pink scooter that’s gathering dust in your garage!” Pebbles stated, shaking an invisible set of keys before Anlon’s face while continuing to hop up and down.

  “Perfect!” Anlon rejoined. “And what do I get when the limb gives way and you and your ego come crashing down?”

  Pebbles ceased hopping and withdrew her imaginary jingling fingers from Anlon’s face. He really was fun to be around. She was glad he didn’t get angry with her trash talk.

  She stroked her chin and furrowed her brow as if deep in thought pondering her side of the wager. Then it came to her and she grew a devilish grin and suggested, “Okay Anlon. In the remotest of scenarios where I might be slightly off base and he shows up for fingerprints tomorrow, then…”

  “Yes, yes, get on with it.”

  “I’ll waive that white flag and surrender to you,” she seductively winked.

  Anlon flushed a tad and his eyes fluttered a little as he visualized her naked surrender. He extended a hand and said, “You have a deal, demure Miss Eleanor.”

  “Uh, uh,” she admonished, “this deal gets sealed with a kiss not a handshake.”

  She stepped forward and circled his waist, pulling Anlon against her warm, firm body. Their lips tenderly danced as they tightly held one another with eyes closed. Pebbles felt triumphant. She thought, I win either way!

  Anlon, reveling in her embrace, prayed, “Holy Smokes, I hope I win!”

  When the lights extinguished throughout Devlin’s house, the burly hooded man crouching in the underbrush near the barn, exhaled a sigh of relief, “Whew, gone to sleep at last.”

  He waited another 20 minutes as a precaution before creeping quietly across the dewy grass to the low slung side of the building closest to the trees. He jumped and caught hold of the protruding awning with his gloved hands and hoisted himself atop the lower roof. Moving quickly and silently along the modestly sloped surface, he arrived at the backside of the barn.

  Holding the edge of the steep-pitched upper roof with one hand, he extended his body to reach one of two small, square windows that provided light to the barn’s loft. With gloved hand, he punched the glass above the inner latch, breaking a section of the upper pane’s glass.

  The muffled crack of the breaking window and the tinkle of shards falling on the loft floor were barely audible and, as he expected, no alarm sensors were on the upper floor windows. Even so, the hooded man rested in a prone position on the lower roof for several minutes, patiently watching and listening for signs of stirring from the main house.

  When none followed, he flipped the latch open, raised the lower pane and grasped the window ledge. Letting go of the edge of the steep-sloped upper roof, he stepped off the lower roof and dangled by one hand on the window ledge until joined by the other hand. He powerfully raised his torso up and slithered through the open window.

  Once inside, he knelt on the floor and carefully swept away the shards he could sense with his gloved hands. He unhooked the slimline pack strapped to his back and retrieved a lightweight pair of night vision goggles. Reaching in the bag again, he extracted and then slipped on fabric shoe covers over his boots.

  He paused for another few moments to allow his eyes to adjust to the greenish light of the goggles before beginning his exploration. As much as he wanted to quickly grab what he came for and flee, he knew it would take some time to find the articles among Devlin’s artifacts.

  He reminded himself to be patient. He would only get one crack at this. Once the break-in and missing pieces were discovered, Cully would install more elaborate security and the opportunity to handle matters stealthily would be history.

  Slinking down the loft stairs, he first concentrated his search on the two tall storage racks where rows of shelves held trays with a variety of relics. With methodical purpose, the hooded man started along the top row of the first rack removing each tray and inspecting its contents, ever-vigilant to avoid making noise.

  30 minutes into his search, he was frustrated. So far, no Stones, no statues and no map. He replaced the last tray on the lowest shelf of the second rack and turned his attention to the bank of wide cabinets in the main room. The locks were childishly easy to pick and soon he was sliding wide, thin shelves out to reveal smaller trinkets and documents. The documents would not be readable with the goggles, so he reached in his pocket for a thin flashlight with adjustable beam, and raised the goggles atop his head, pushing away the hood.

  Another 30 minutes into the search and the burly man was outright livid. He searched every shelf, every cabinet and every drawer. No sign of any of the pieces. He knocked on walls and scanned the floorboards for signs of a hidden safe or storage.

  The only things left to inspect were two laptops. The laptops would definitely have passwords and that meant it would take time to crack their codes. Looking at the glowing face of his watch, he realized he didn’t have time to try now. But there was a dilemma.

  He only had room in the slim backpack for one of the two laptops. At first he considered tossing the second one from the window but thought the fall would damage it and was concerned it might make noise hitting the gravel bed below the backside of the barn.

  So he had to make a quick decision about which one to take. Scanning the desks for clues, he opted to take the computer on the desk that was piled with documents written to Devlin versus the one with papers addressed to Dobson.

  The thief paced as he pondered what to do with the second laptop. He thought of smashing it, but again worried about the noise. It was possible they had glass break sensors on the first floor that might activate with an attempt to destroy the laptop. He didn’t have anything magnetic that would wipe the hard drive with him, and he rightly assumed they probably had back up files anyway. He reasoned it was more important than any other consideration to know what was on Devlin’s computer before Cully discovered the break-in.

  So he stuffed Devlin’s laptop in the backpack, scanned around the shop to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind and scurried up the loft stairs to exit the loft window.

  “The map better be on the computer,” he angrily spat to himself as he disappeared into the woods, “or this is going to get uglier fast!”

  X

  CHASING SHADOWS

  “No dice Stevens,” Gambelli barked, arms folded across his chest. “There is zero chance I’m walking into the Lieutenant Colonel’s office or the DA’s office upstairs with the story you just told me and request a search warrant. Not happening.”

>   The following morning, Jennifer sat expressionless across from Gambelli’s desk in the Pittsfield office of the Berkshire Detective Unit and absorbed the tirade. She was no fool; Jennifer knew before she told Gambelli about Pacal’s demonstration it would be hard to believe, but she thought she could still finesse her way into a search warrant of Pacal Flores’ home. In retrospect, she wished she’d had the presence of mind to video the demonstration on her cell phone.

  “Pacal promised to come in today to give us fingerprints, hair and DNA samples. If I get a ping from any of those matching physical evidence we have from the crime scene, will you reconsider?” Jennifer inquired.

  “If you have a witness or some sort of physical evidence directly linking Mr. Flores to the crime, I can go to bat for you. But right now, we have no witnesses for Matthew Dobson’s death, very little physical evidence to pursue — none of which, by the way, points at Mr. Flores currently — and no credible motive for the crime, other than Dobson’s inheritance from Devlin Wilson. Heck, even if the story you told me is true, Dobson didn’t die of a knock on the head. He died from CO poisoning. We’re speculating he was placed in the car unconscious, and we don’t even know that for sure! I need more to go on besides stones that can make people fly by humming on them! Come on, Detective, you know better than that.”

  When he finished, Jennifer asked, “What about Devlin Wilson’s death?”

  “Again, you have no definitive connection between the two deaths, and it’s not in our jurisdiction anyhow. Wilson’s death was ruled by the coroner as an accidental fall and Meredith PD’s report gives no reason to think otherwise,” he railed, slapping the desk to emphasize his point, causing his Patriots bobble-head collection to start a chorus of head shaking.

  Jennifer questioned, “And the GPS device I found in the rocks above where his body was found? I think we should send it to forensics for fingerprints.”

  “Nope,” Gambelli admonished. “It was an excellent piece of detective work to find it, I give you that, Stevens, but it’s not our death to investigate, and not in our jurisdiction, as you know very well. Send it to the Meredith PD and let them deal with it. If Wilson’s prints are on it and it changes their view about his death, then it’s up to them to pursue the lead. Look, I’m not trying to beat you down here, but you’re grasping at straws Stevens.”

  She was disappointed with his answer, but Jennifer half expected the denial before she opened her mouth. Her face reddened with frustration and she looked away from her boss to the GPS in the evidence bag in her lap. Jennifer was confident it was a valuable clue and now she’d have to give it away before she knew if it held anything of importance.

  Gambelli softened his tone and said, “I know this is a tough case Stevens. There’s very little to go on, but rather than get wrapped up in conspiracy theories and phantom weapons, you need to follow the leads you have. Find out if Dobson had a will, find out who benefits from his death. Search his house again for evidence. The first search focused solely on any physical signs of entry or theft that might connect to his death. I’d also take a look through Wilson’s office to see if Dobson left something there we can chase down, or if there’s anything connecting the two deaths. Those are your best bets and the trail is getting cold Stevens. You need to pick up your game.”

  “Okay Cap, I hear you loud and clear,” Jennifer replied on her way out of Gambelli’s office.

  Returning to her cubicle, she took a moment to compose herself. Even though she couldn’t argue the bases of Gambelli’s rejections, Jennifer was convinced Devlin and Dobson’s deaths were connected and that Pacal and the stones were mixed up in it somehow. She would follow the Captain’s recommended course of action, but she wasn’t giving up on pursuing her own line of investigation.

  Flipping open her notepad, Jennifer found where she’d scribbled Officer Keller’s cell number. After a few rings, he answered, “Keller.”

  “Hey there Sam, it’s Jennifer Stevens from the Mass State Police. We spoke yesterday,” she said in a friendly voice.

  “Oh, hello, Detective. What’s up?”

  “Well, I’ve got something that might interest you. I decided to go have a look at where Devlin Wilson’s body was found and while I was hiking, I found a GPS tracking device,” she casually mentioned, hoping her snooping around their crime scene didn’t irritate him. She was sure she would need his help and didn’t want to alienate him.

  “Really? Close to where the body was found?” the surprised officer queried. “We were very thorough combing the area.”

  Quick to avoid the appearance that she was questioning their professional search skills, she added, “Actually, no. I found it about 300 feet higher than the spot on the trail where it appears he fell from.”

  “Hmmm…it’s probably not his then. Lots of people drop things along the trail,” a disinterested Keller reasoned.

  “I hear you, and under other circumstances I’d agree, but this device has his name written on the back of it.”

  There was a silent pause on the other end of the line as Keller processed Jennifer’s comment. Finally, he said, “You said about 300 feet above where we think he fell from? But the trail doesn’t bend back around at that elevation.”

  Jennifer realized she was treading on delicate grounds by pressing the matter. “Yes, I know. I did a little rappelling down the rocks on the face of the cliff from higher up.”

  “That’s pretty dangerous, Detective, even for an experienced climber,” chastised Keller, his voice developing a hint of annoyance.

  And what makes you think I’m not an experienced climber, she thought, but she let this comment go uncontested. Jennifer suspected that Keller considered Devlin’s death a closed case and was starting to resent her poking around.

  Nevertheless, she pressed on. “Well, when you told me the coroner thought he fell from a greater distance, I decided to check it out. I’m going to send it to you by overnight express. I bagged it so you can run forensics on it. It may end up being a waste of time. If he climbed up that sheer face, I can easily see how he could have slipped and fell. But, just to be sure, I think it’s worth checking for prints.”

  Keller reluctantly agreed. “Okay, no harm in checking, but seems like a long shot. I’ll let the coroner know. Even if there’s someone else’s prints on it though, I don’t know if it proves anything. Some random hiker could have found it and tossed it there.”

  Jennifer didn’t want to denigrate his speculation, but someone throwing a handheld device nearly straight up 300 feet was impossible, and why would any hiker toss away an expensive GPS device? She passed on the opportunity to correct him and pleasantly said, “Thanks Sam. I’ll send it tonight. Would you do me two favors after you receive it?”

  “Depends. What’s on your mind Detective?” Keller warily asked.

  “Could you let me know if you find any prints on it besides Devlin’s so we can compare them with prints we have from the scene of Dobson’s murder to see if there’s a match? I know it’s a longshot.”

  “Okay, that shouldn’t be a problem. And the other favor?”

  “I didn’t handle the device before I bagged it and its battery was dead when I found it. After your forensic people get done with it, can you have someone power it up? It has a mini-USB port on the side for charging. I’d be interested to know if there’s anything helpful on the device once its powered.”

  “Like what?” the Meredith PD officer suspiciously asked.

  Obviously, Officer Keller was not a rappeller, hiker or mountain climber. The device might show multiple interesting things. It could show the path Devlin took, it might show his planned destination, it might show how long and how far he’d hiked or the last recorded point of his hike, and it might just show if he shared his intended route with anyone. Jennifer earlier wrote down the make and model number of the device to check out the possibilities later.

  “I’m not sure,” she falsely answered, “but if you get it powered up will you let me know if y
ou found anything? It’s also a longshot, but it might have a bearing on our investigation down here.”

  “Okay, will do. Thanks for the lead Detective.”

  Munching on doughnuts for breakfast, Anlon and Pebbles went over their plans for the day at their table in Stockbridge’s Main Street Diner.

  “So I say let’s divide up and get twice as much done today, agreed?” Anlon proposed, watching Pebbles devour her second chocolate-covered glazed doughnut. The bulge of food wedged in her cheek while she chewed looked like a wad of chaw in a baseball player’s mouth.

  She nodded in agreement, exhibiting the social grace not to speak with a mouthful of food, but her eyes were glued on the third chocolate-glazed doughnut on the plate between them and not on Anlon.

  He said, “I called over to Devlin’s attorney, George Grant, before we drove over here and let him know you might be stopping by his office to pick up another copy of Devlin’s will instead of me. I gave him a description of you and your full name. He said you’ll need to show him your driver’s license to get the document.

  “Grant also gave me Anabel Simpson’s address again over the phone. I’ll concentrate on her this morning. She lives up in Bennington, Vermont, so the drive to and from will eat up a good chunk of the day, assuming I can reach her by phone and arrange to meet her today.”

  Pebbles, after washing down the doughnut with a tall glass of skim milk, said, “Man those are good! Nothing like bakery-fresh doughnuts. Your plan sounds good to me. Is there anything else you want me to follow up on?”

  “Yes, you might ask Grant if he was able to track down Dobson’s will or attorney. And I could use your help finalizing a couple of things for tomorrow’s funerals. I asked the funeral home director to arrange the reception afterwards at the Two Lanterns Inn. It would be great if you could check with the inn manager, Mrs. Neally, to make sure everything’s all set,” Anlon requested.

  “Okay. I can handle all that, but isn’t there a pretty important task we should tackle first?” Pebbles tentatively questioned, finally breaking her concentration on the third doughnut to look up at Anlon.