Blood from a Stone

by David M. Salkin

  He didn’t look happy to see me. “I’m fine here, thanks.”

  “Aw, come on. There’s no sense sitting by yourself. Come have a beer with Amanda and me.” He hesitantly slid off his bar stool and walked to our booth. Amanda moved over and he sat next to her. She gave him a warm smile and he said a quiet hello.

  “Who was that cop?” Amanda asked. “Is everything okay with your dad?”

  He gave me a hard look across the table. “You been asking a lot of questions. Folks around here don’t like it. The cop was searching for Thomas. I think he wanted to know if Thomas talked to you.”

  “Where is Thomas?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. My dad went to go find him before that cop does.”

  “Does that cop mean trouble?”

  Mike shrugged. “Never saw him before.”

  “Isn’t that unusual? You know most of the cops around here?”

  “We don’t see many. They come over from Carteret County. Lots of new faces lately.”

  “Mike, why does everyone treat those murders like a big secret?”

  “Those murders? You mean a murder and a suicide,” he corrected me.

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “Why won’t anyone talk about it?” Amanda asked.

  He glanced around the bar and leaned closer. “My job on the ferry? Stone. The new pier and the new ferry itself? Stone. The bridge reconstruction? Stone. The beach restoration? Stone. The marina money? Stone. He owns this place. Everybody felt real bad about what happened. He let everyone know afterward that he never wanted it discussed. That’s just the way it’s always been. Nobody ever wanted to cross that man.”

  “You scared of him?”

  “Why would I be scared of him?”

  “You tell me.”

  Mike glanced at Amanda and slid out of the booth. “I best be heading home.” Amanda and I ate dinner but didn’t speak much. I paid the check and we went back out into the rain. When we pulled into the driveway, my front door was wide open. And I was pretty damn sure I hadn’t left it that way.

  “D-d-don’t go inside,” she stammered.

  “Bullshit. You stay here. Lock the car doors. Slide behind the wheel, and if there’s trouble, get back to Tuckers.”

  I grabbed Ice and hopped out before she could debate me on this. Ice was chambered, safety off and up in front in the make-a-mess position. I slipped into my house. Son of a bitch! I had just started to get the place cleaned up and somebody had come in and tossed it. I moved silently through my wrecked house, very much hoping to blow the head off some motherfucker who had rearranged my furniture without my permission.

  I was dying to check the basement and the diary but needed to check the bedrooms first. It was slow going, room to room, waiting for someone to take a shot at me. Bad memories from Iraq and Afghanistan… I was really missing my Delta boys at that moment—and grenades.

  The house was clear. I ran downstairs to the basement. It had been thrown around like the rest of the house, with my boxes of clothes dumped out everywhere. I reached over the small opening in the wall and felt for the diary. It was still there, thank God! I left it. I ran back up and got Amanda, who looked terrified. When she saw the house, she turned white and started crying.

  “Call the police!”

  “Call the police? Shit, Amanda! They’re probably the ones who did this!”

  That didn’t go a long way in allaying her fears. She started on me about leaving—right then! I relocked the doors—the locks weren’t broken—and checked all the windows. The lightning and thunder were getting worse, and I could hear the rain drumming harder on the windows.

  I called Kim’s cell and she picked up right away.

  “Hey, Cory, glad you got my message.”

  “What message?” I walked to the kitchen. There were zero messages on my machine. I was pretty sure there had been a couple of old ones on there when we left for dinner. “What did you say on the message?”

  “Just that I got home safe. Oh, and I tried to call Greller. No answer. I left a message.”

  Shit! “Kim, my house was just ransacked.”

  “They broke into your house?”

  “Yeah, we were at dinner. They made a mess, but we’re fine.”

  “The diary?”

  “It’s safe. I had it hidden. Listen, Kim, whoever was here listened to your message and erased it. Do me a favor. Leave your house. Go stay with a friend or something. And don’t say where now on the phone. Just go. And ask your editor about what we talked about before. Don’t say anything on the phone now. Just talk to him as soon as you can, okay? Get somewhere safe and check in with me tomorrow.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Arthur McDade

  After I hung up with Kim, I called Dr. Greller, to warn him about Kim’s message being listened to by folks who weren’t invited into my house. I got his voicemail and told him to call me immediately. I tried his work number, even though I knew it was late. Again, I got voicemail and a message with the office hours. Starting to feel desperate, I called Arthur McDade to see if anyone had threatened him yet. Another voicemail. I was striking out all over the place and getting worried.

  Amanda walked in with a garbage bag full of what used to be a lamp. I’d hated that lamp anyway. She didn’t say anything, but I could see she was scared and probably not very happy with me. She dropped the garbage bag unceremoniously at my feet and went upstairs without a word.

  I turned on the television to check on the weather. We were due for shitty weather that would turn even shittier. Very excited meteorologists were discussing projected paths of Hurricane Eduardo. They lived for this crap. Something about storm bands moving in over the next few days, yadda, yadda, with all watercraft being told to find safe harbors. Great. That meant the ferry would be closed and there’d only be one way in and out of Harkers Island—over a bridge that could be easily watched by the same guy who had stopped Kim and taken her stuff. Just how far would these guys go? I looked around at my fucked-up house and said out loud, “Pretty far.”

  My phone rang. I got that feeling in the pit of my stomach again. A phone ringing never used to do that. I picked it up, waiting to hear today’s latest threat, but instead was surprised to hear Arthur McDade’s voice.

  “You must be rattling some cages down there on Harkers, Mr. Walker.”

  “I guess so.”

  “How are you doing? Everything okay out there?”

  “I’m okay. Somebody broke into my house and wrecked the joint, but other than that, I’m just fine. And you?”

  “Oh, I’m just fine. Hunting up in the mountains at the moment. But I think I had some visitors, too. A neighbor called me on my cell to give me a heads up. I called in for my messages and wasn’t surprised to find one from you. You stirred up a hornet’s nest down there, Mr. Walker.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s no turning back now, is there?”

  “I ’spect not. I been smiling all day, though. Keep picturing Earl Stone shitting his pants while he runs around the country shaking hands and kissing babies.”

  “You’re not worried about his people going after you?” I asked.

  He laughed out loud, like I’d said something hilarious. “Mr. Walker, I got more guns and ammunition than the sheriff’s department. I have a few real good friends up here that I’ve been hunting with for years. I don’t ’spect that Stone’s boys could find me where I am, but if they ever try, they’ll sure be sorry. I’ll hunt them down and mount their heads right next to the elk and bear. But you? You better start being careful. If they are looking for me, it means they’re serious. You might think about getting off Harkers Island. I warned you about digging around.”

  “Yeah, you did. But I’m not going anywhere.” Damn, I was sick of saying that. I was not being thrown out of Harkers Island.

  “Well, I was just calling you back to warn you, Mr. Walker. I hope they put Earl Stone in prison for a hundred years, but I wouldn’t count on it. And you better go real
slow, son. His boys are pros. And they will kill you without thinking twice if you got something that will put Stone away for murder. You take care now, hear?”

  He hung up. I pictured the former cop holed up in the mountains in a fortified cabin with a bunch of hillbillies and shook my head. Was this my future, too?

  Amanda walked into the kitchen with a duffle bag stuffed under her arm. “I’m leaving. Are you coming?”

  “Amanda! You are not leaving! First of all, there is a hurricane on the way and second of all, the same dirtbags that wrecked the house and stole Kim’s notes and camera are still out there! There’s only one way outta here right now, Amanda, and they’ll be sitting on it, waiting. Just chill until tomorrow.”

  “And what’s going to change by morning? Goodbye, Cory. When you’re finished playing detective, call me.”

  She stormed out through the kitchen, kicking stuff out of her way as she went. I chased after her, shouting, “Amanda!”

  Catching up, I grabbed her arm.

  She spun around, removing my arm and leaning forward practically spitting her words. With her finger pushed against my chest, she began ripping me a new one. “Don’t you touch me! There’s an army of crazy people coming here to kill you, and you just want to stay here and play superhero? This isn’t Afghanistan, Cory! This isn’t how it works for normal people! I’m leaving. I’ll go to my mother’s or a friend’s or anyplace but here. And if you gave a shit about our relationship, or your life, you’d come with me!”

  “Amanda! I love you! But this is our house! We’re not getting chased out by anyone, and that piece of shit doesn’t get to be the next President if I…”

  “You have fun playing soldier!”

  She threw the front door open so hard that I thought it would come off the hinges. I wanted to grab her, but what could I do? I followed her out to her car and stood in the rain as she started the engine. When I banged on her window, she rolled it down only about an inch and gave me a hard look. “Are you coming or not?”

  “No, I’m not going anywhere. Just please drive safely. And call me the second you get to your mom’s or wherever it is you’re going. The weather is only going to get worse. Please, Amanda, keep your phone plugged in, okay? I love you. Just stay hidden for a day or two until I can get this all figured out.”

  She rolled up her window and peeled out of the driveway into the street. She sped off through the rain and never looked back. Shit. Well, maybe it was better that way. Stone and his thugs were after me and the diary, not Amanda. At least she would be safe off Harkers Island.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Mark?

  I went inside and wiped the rainwater off Ice. The safety was back on, but there was a round pumped into the chamber, which I was leaving there. “Make my day.” The phone rang. I prayed it was Amanda calling to say she was coming back. No such luck.

  “Hello?”

  “Cory Walker? We haven’t had a chance to speak yet, but Kim probably told you I’d be calling. It’s Mark Rosman, from the Inquirer.”

  “Oh, hi, Mark. Yeah, Kim said you’d want to talk to me.”

  “Quite a fantastic story you have there, Mr. Walker. We don’t print something like this without incontrovertible proof.”

  “Of course not. I understand. Kim sent you the photos of the diary. You saw them, right?”

  “I saw the pictures, yes. But that’s not enough for a story like this. I’ll need to see the original. You have it there with you now?”

  My hair stood up. Literally. Like a few times when I was on a goat trail in Afghanistan or in house to house fights in Iraq—sometimes I just knew when someone was in a room waiting for me. I don’t know how, but I knew something was wrong.

  “No, Mark. I don’t have it here.”

  A brief awkward silence. “Oh? Kim said you had it there in the house…”

  “Yeah, well, I did, but then some asshole tore my place up looking for it, and I thought I’d better find a safer place.” I had said asshole real loud, in case they were listening to my call.

  “Good thinking. But you can get to it quickly, right? I mean, I’d like to get started on this story, and I need to see it personally and have it tested for fraud before I put this on the front page. You realize how big a story this is, I’m sure. We can’t make any mistakes with something like this.”

  “I can have it within twenty-four hours. When do you want to meet?”

  “I can come out there tomorrow morning,” he said eagerly.

  “Tell you what… Why don’t you call me in the morning, and we’ll figure out exactly when. I have to get it back. I’m sure you know the weather out here is a mess.”

  “Okay, that’s fine. Raining pretty good here, too. I’ll be in touch tomorrow morning.”

  He hung up.

  I pulled my cell phone out and called Kim. I was begging her to pick up when she answered. “Hey!” she said happily, “I was just going to call you. I’m sitting here with my editor. He wants to talk to you. I’ll put you on speaker phone.”

  “He’s there, right next to you, right now?” As I spoke, I picked up Ice and took the safety off. Son of a bitch. I was waiting for the door to burst open and twenty guys to run inside my house.

  “Excuse me?” asked Kim, puzzled.

  “A guy just called my house two seconds ago and said he was Mark Rosman. He asked me if I had the original diary on me right now.”

  “You’re on speaker phone, Cory, but it’s my cell, so you have to speak up and talk slowly. The storm is messing up the reception. You want me to call you on your land line?”

  “No. I don’t trust the phone.”

  “Cory Walker? This is Mark Rosman.” He sounded a lot different from the Mark Rosman I had just spoken to a few seconds ago. “This is the first time we’ve spoken. You need to understand that.”

  “Yeah,” I mumbled, moving around my own house carefully with Ice at the ready, safety off. “I believe you.”

  “I suggest you get to a different location, Mr. Walker. You know that Kim was stopped by someone claiming to be a cop, correct?”

  “Yeah, she told me what happened.”

  “I filed a formal complaint with the county. No one there knows anything about it. I have a contact for you with the FBI. I suggest you get someone there to listen to you directly. I wouldn’t trust the sheriff’s office. You realize the sheriff and Earl Stone are old friends, right?”

  “So I gather. You saw the diary?”

  “I saw parts of it, and I read what Kim has put together so far. Quite frankly, I’m speechless, and trust me, I’m never speechless.”

  “When are you going to run the story?”

  “I can’t do it tomorrow. I need to see the original diary. We need to speak to some of the people Kim mentioned to me. This is huge, Cory, but we really need to get our ducks in a row on this. We mess this up, even a little, and I’ll be delivering newspapers from my bicycle on the moon.”

  “Maybe tomorrow I can drive up and bring the original, but honestly, I’m worried about being stopped by a cop and having it taken from me.”

  “I understand. Is there any place you can go that’s safe?”

  “Not really. The only way off the island is by bridge at the moment. They probably know my car. If I have the diary on me, they get it. If I leave it, maybe they come back and find it.”

  “Call the Feds, Cory. Any neighbors out there you can stay with tonight?”

  The only neighbor I knew was Agatha Miles, and there was no way I was getting that little old lady involved in this mess. She’d have a heart attack.

  “I’m cool here. I’ll call your guy and see what we can come up with.”

  “Cory—it’s a hell of a story. I want to thank you for giving Kim the exclusive.”

  He gave me the name and number of his contact at the FBI. I tried calling Amanda first but got her voicemail, which worried the hell out of me. One of the downsides of being in love with someone? You worried about them all the
time. Now I genuinely understood Mom’s tears when I’d left for boot camp. Sorry, Mom. I left a message asking Amanda to please call me, then dialed the number Mark Rosman had given me.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  FBI

  I called the cell number of Special Agent George Bauman, over in the Carteret field office. It was already after nine but he picked it up, sounding very official.

  “Special Agent Bauman,” he snapped.

  “Agent Bauman, my name is Cory Walker. Mark Rosman gave me your number. I have evidence of a double murder that was committed on Harkers Island twenty years ago, and I need your help.”

  I have to admit, Bauman was a pretty cool customer. “I know Rosman. What type of evidence, Mr. Walker?”

  “A diary. It’s more than just a double murder. It was a series of sexual assaults from a father on his stepdaughter, a rape, a few hundred good beatings of his wife then a double murder. And the guy who did it is a sitting United States congressman.”

  “On Harkers?” I could hear his wheels turning.

  “That’s right. You getting an idea of where this is going?”

  Everyone knew Earl Stone’s life story on Harkers Island. “What kind of evidence?”

  “This congressman,” I began—then I thought, oh fuck it. “Earl Stone.” There, I’d said it. “His stepdaughter Casey’s diary. It tells the story of a teenage girl who was sexually abused by her stepfather.” In my head, I added that Sick Fuck, who was also beating his wife.

  “And you believe the congressman killed his wife and stepdaughter, Mr. Walker?”

  “Now you’re tracking.”

  “And does the diary mention any threats of murder?”

  “No. But it gives you way more details than you want to know about what was going on in this house. Oh, I should tell you… I live in the Stones’ old house. I just bought it. That’s how I found this diary…by accident.”

  “You are the current owner of Earl Stone’s former summer house on Harkers Island?”

  Holy crap, am I speaking Chinese? “That’s what I just said.”