“You’re convinced they were stones?” Nickerson asked. “How about something ornamental? Faux rocks, maybe some kind of hollowed cast stone?”
“I’m not convinced of anything, but there were black flecks of rock inside the holes. The M.E. seemed to think they were metallic, so we did a sweep of the garden with a metal detector. The whole garden gives off magnetic readings, but they were strongest around each hole,” Hall answered.
Jennifer raised up and brushed the grass and dirt from her hands. Pushing a strand of blond hair behind her ear, she asked, “You called them markers. What do you think they marked?”
Hall stood and shrugged. “Beats me. They were arranged in a hexagon pattern. Six holes, spaced evenly apart.”
When they entered Anabel’s kitchen, Jennifer barely recognized the place. The cabinets were all open and their contents scattered on the shelves. Some of the china plates and cups had fallen and smashed onto the counter, while pieces of others littered the floor. The drawers beneath the counters had been pulled free and emptied onto the floor, then tossed aside into a haphazard pile next to the refrigerator.
Jennifer knelt down and spied the severed head of a Holstein figurine that had once served as a napkin holder. She looked at the smiling cow’s face and thought of sitting at the table with Anabel while sipping on enjyia.
Standing up, she turned and scanned the kitchen counter for Anabel’s rack of ornamental eggs. Among the debris and clutter on the counter, she spotted the mangled, empty rack. Stepping gingerly over piles of flatware, utensils, dish towels and broken glass, she moved closer to the counter and searched for the marble, egg-shaped Terusael among the wreckage.
“Geez, does the rest of the house look like this?” Nickerson asked Hall.
“Pretty much,” he said, shoving his hands in his pants pockets. “The kitchen, living room and her bedroom took the worst of it.”
“Fingerprints?” Nickerson asked.
“Yep, all over the place. Multiple sets. Whoever did this didn’t care about leaving fingerprints. Found a few hair fibers, too. Appears to be at least two people, possibly three,” Hall said. “We’ll know more after the fingerprint analysis is complete.”
“Have you been able to verify if anything was taken?” Jennifer asked, examining a pile of odds and ends by the kitchen sink. Still no Terusael.
“No. That’s another strange thing. Her purse was searched, but no cash or credit cards were taken. In the bedroom, she had jewelry in a box on her dresser. They went through it, but there are several expensive pieces still in the box. In the dining room, she had some signed Norman Rockwell prints. They’re each worth a few thousand dollars from what I’m told. They were taken down from the walls, and the paper on the back of the frames was slit open, but the prints are undamaged,” Hall explained. “There are other expensive items in the house, too. Antiques. Vintage clothing.”
“So, you’re thinking the perps were looking for a very specific item,” Nickerson said.
Hall nodded. “Yep. Something small. Something concealed.”
Jennifer overhead the comment and joined them. “Like what?”
“We don’t know. We’ve been kicking it around. Our Major thinks it’s a document. A couple of the other detectives think it’s a key. Could be something else entirely. But, whatever it was, it was something small. Come with me, I’ll show you.”
They walked into the small dining room on their way to the living room. As they passed through, Hall pointed out the Norman Rockwells stacked facedown on the dining room table, their paper backings slashed open. Jennifer looked at the tattered paper and frowned. So far, the house definitely appeared as if it had been burgled, and that didn’t gibe with the theory of “Anabel as Muran.”
When they arrived in the living room, Hall stopped and lifted an empty picture frame from the floor. “This is another oddity. Every picture frame in the house was emptied. Most of the photographs that were in them were just tossed on the floor. We’ve been able to find most of the photographs, but not all.”
“Hmmm…They took some of the photographs?” Jennifer asked. Another clue that could be read in two ways, she thought.
“Yeah. Too bad we don’t know which ones were taken. Suggests there was something incriminating in the photos,” Hall said.
“Maybe,” Jennifer said, recalling the photos she inadvertently left with Anabel during her August visit. It was also possible that Muran had taken photographs as sentimental mementos of her time as Anabel, she thought.
Hall pointed to a small, empty writing desk in the far corner. “You can’t tell now — we boxed all the evidence — but there was paper strewn everywhere on and around the desk. Under the papers, we found about a dozen keys lined up. Found some more keys laid out on her bedroom dresser.”
Jennifer scanned the room and frowned again. Where was Anabel’s Terusael? “Can we see her bedroom?”
“Yep. This way,” Hall said.
They walked down a narrow hallway, past a sparsely furnished guest bedroom, a small bathroom, a linen closet and an open ceiling panel leading to the attic. The guest room and hallway closet had been ransacked to the same degree as the rest of the house. When they arrived at Anabel’s bedroom, the first thing that caught Jennifer’s attention was the clothing tossed about the room. Piles and piles of clothes were everywhere: atop the small bureau, hanging out of drawers, on the floor by the open closet and on the bed. The volume of clothing was surprising given the small size of the dresser and closet. Equally bizarre was the makeup of the scattered wardrobe. Most of the items on the bed and by the closet looked more like costumes than they did clothing. And none of it looked like anything Jennifer had seen Anabel wear.
“What’s with all the costumes?” she asked.
“Heck if I know,” Hall answered. “But the M.E. said they aren’t costumes. They’re ‘vintage’ dresses and such. Most of it is from the 1800s. There’s some World War Two–period clothes, too.”
Nickerson asked, “Where did it all come from? That closet doesn’t look big enough to hold all this stuff.”
“There are four empty steamer trunks in the attic,” Hall said.
Different period clothes? Mark another clue for the body-switch theory, Jennifer thought.
As Nickerson milled about the room, Jennifer scanned the contents of the open jewelry box. Much like the odd mix of clothes, the jewelry was a mishmash of styles, too. The main compartment held everyday jewelry, mostly earrings and necklaces with pendants, including several featuring Holsteins. Below the main compartment were two small drawers. In the left drawer, there were several classical pieces including a strand of pearls, two sets of diamond earrings and a few gemstone rings. In the right-hand drawer, there were vintage broaches of rose gold, several cameo pendants and a round, gold locket. It was facedown and she could see there was an inscription on its casing, but it was too faded to read at a distance.
Curious to read the inscription, Jennifer was tempted to pick it up, but she knew it was a no-no to touch anything that might be evidence. Hall had been decent enough to allow her to join Nickerson’s tour of the crime scene, something he didn’t have to do given Jennifer was no longer a detective, so she didn’t want to do anything to betray his trust.
She pulled out her cell phone and activated its flashlight. She leaned forward and pointed the flashlight at the casing. While she endeavored to read the inscription, she thought back to her last visit with Anabel. Had she worn any jewelry that day? She visualized Anabel sitting at the kitchen table, pouring from the pitcher of enjyia, but couldn’t recall any earrings or other jewelry. The flashlight illuminated the italicized inscription. It was in English, but Jennifer had a difficult time making out the words given the extravagant flourishes of the lettering.
In the background, Hall and Nickerson discussed the vintage clothes. Peeking over her shoulder, Jennifer couldn’t resist the temptation. With her back turned to block Hall’s view, she used her fingertips to lift the locket from inside the jewel
ry box. Holding the flashlight as close as she could without touching the casing’s surface, she was finally able to read the inscription: Forever One.
Aw, thought Jennifer. Devlin was so sweet for such a rakish bachelor. She shoved the phone back into her jacket pocket. After checking over her shoulder again, she flipped the locket over to look at its face. She whispered, “Whoa…”
Jennifer had expected to see Anabel’s engraved initials or an embossed heart or some other sappy, sentimental ornamentation. Instead, the front of the gold locket looked like a mask or a shield. At its center was the face of a man or woman wearing an elaborate headdress. Jennifer smoothed her thumb across the face’s raised surface. While some of its features looked more masculine than feminine, the ears were adorned with large earrings. To Jennifer, they appeared similar to modern-day gauges. But when the earrings were combined with the shaping of the eyes, they gave the face a distinctly feminine appearance.
The headdress depicted a bird, like an eagle or a hawk, with its beak protruding above the face’s forehead. Surrounding the face was an intricate, circular design that reminded Jennifer of Mesoamerican art she’d seen the previous month during her research of Devlin’s “fish-man” statuette. She was not expert enough to tell whether it was Olmec, Mayan, Incan or Toltec, but it was definitely related to one of those cultures. Jennifer opened the locket. She blinked and mumbled, “What the…”
“Jen?” Nickerson asked.
She clasped her hand around the locket and turned toward Nickerson. “Yeah?”
“Find something interesting?” he asked.
“Oh. Um, not really,” she said, slowly moving her hand behind her back. “Just surprised they left the diamond earrings.”
Nickerson frowned. Jennifer could feel her face turning red. Change the subject quick! she thought. She asked Hall, “Did you find her cell phone?”
“Yep, we have it. She also had a tablet and a laptop. All three are with our forensics team,” said Hall. He paused and then asked Jennifer, “Now that you’ve been through the whole crime scene, any suggestions as to what the perps were after?”
Jennifer crouched down to examine some of the clothes piled on the floor. As she scanned a collection of sweatshirts and sweaters, she slid the locket into her jacket pocket. She said, “Well, if it was a document, it could have been a map. The people who killed Anabel’s lover were looking for a map. It was in Anabel’s possession for a little while, but I know for a fact she passed it on to someone else back in May.”
“What kind of map?” Hall asked, scribbling a note.
“It was hand-drawn. About the size of a folded newspaper. It marked some archaeological sites,” Jennifer said, careful to avoid the words “Waterland Map.”
“Was it common knowledge that she had the map?” Hall asked.
“At the time she had it? I would say no,” Jennifer said, standing to join Hall and Nickerson. “But I know at least two people became aware of it after she gave it away.”
“Names?” Hall asked, pen poised over his notepad.
Nickerson said, “The two guys I told you about on the phone: Thatcher Reynolds and Pacal Flores. Reynolds is missing. Flores is dead. He’s the one who kidnapped Ms. Simpson last May.”
“Ah, right,” Hall said, jotting down more notes. “You also mentioned a brother and sister in our call. The brother’s in prison. The sister’s missing. Did they know about the map?”
“Margaret and Kyle Corchran,” Nickerson said with a nod. “They knew the map existed. They were after it, too. But as far as we know, they didn’t know Ms. Simpson had it.”
“Don’t forget about Klaus Navarro,” Jennifer called out over her shoulder as she left the room.
“Klaus who?” Hall asked.
While Nickerson detailed Navarro’s connection with the Corchrans and the Argentinian’s pursuit of Devlin Wilson’s artifacts, Jennifer snuck back into the living room. Looking behind her to ensure they hadn’t followed, she opened the locket again and tried to make sense of the photo and a second inscription inside. She squeezed her eyes closed. Opening them again, she stared at the sepia photo and wondered if her mind was playing tricks. Before she could examine it more closely, she heard the two detectives approaching. She shut the casing and quickly returned it to her jacket pocket.
Her face flushed as she moved across the room to the writing desk. When the men arrived in the living room, Jennifer overheard Hall say to Nickerson, “So, it’s possible someone came looking for the map, unaware that Ms. Simpson no longer had it.”
“Or…maybe the person thought Anabel kept a copy,” Nickerson replied.
With her back turned toward the others, Jennifer pretended to examine the desk while exhaling slowly through pursed lips to calm her heartbeat.
“Hell, maybe she did keep a copy,” Nickerson said. “What do you think, Jen?”
Jennifer leaned forward to spy into each of the empty cubbyholes of the shelf attached to the desktop. She said, “It’s possible. I caught Anabel in some lies when I met her here last month. One of them was about the map. She claimed to know nothing about it other than saying Devlin asked her to hold it for him, but I’m pretty sure she knew a lot more than she let on.”
“Well, one way or another, it sure sounds like the map’s a possible motive for at least the burglary,” Hall said. “I know there was no map in the papers we collected, but maybe she kept a copy on her computer.”
Jennifer didn’t want to dissuade Hall from the notion, but the fact the computer was left by the thieves made it seem doubtful the forensics guys would find a file containing the map. Then again, she thought, if the thieves searched files on the laptop, the forensics team might find evidence of the search. As she scooped another loose strand of hair behind her ear, a different thought occurred to her. She mumbled, “Keys.”
“Eh?” Hall asked.
“Oh, sorry,” Jennifer said, turning to face Hall. She pointed to the desk surface. “You said earlier that there were keys lined up here.”
“Yep, and there were others on her bedroom dresser,” Hall said.
“What kind of keys? How many?” she asked.
“There were ten on the desk and six on the dresser. A mix of different sizes and types. Why?”
“Any of them look like locker keys? Safe-deposit box keys?”
“We thought of that, too,” Hall said. “A couple of the keys look like contenders for a storage locker or padlock.”
Nickerson joined the conversation. “I see where you’re going. You think she might have hidden the map off-site?”
Jennifer scanned the room again. She thought of the missing Terusael and said to Nickerson, “Maybe. But I think we’re getting a little too focused on the map. There are other possibilities that stand out to me. For instance, I know Anabel had a collection of rare artifacts, or at least she said so. Anlon told me they were worth several million dollars.”
Hall’s pen froze in midstroke. He looked up at Jennifer with a surprised expression. “Say what? We didn’t find any artifacts.”
“Yes, that’s curious, isn’t it? An archaeology professor with no artifacts,” Jennifer said. She briefly considered telling Hall about the Terusael but decided against it. It would have meant opening up the whole can of worms about the Munuorians, the Lifintyls and Muran. Which, in turn, meant discussing the possibility of Anabel being a ten-thousand-year-old woman who could switch her mind from one body to another.
Jennifer looked through the open doorway leading to the dining room. In a soft tone, she said, “I should have noticed that when I was here in August, but come to think of it, we met in the kitchen and out by the garden. We never came in here.”
“Do you know what these artifacts look like? How many there are?” Hall asked.
She darted a brief look at Nickerson and said, “No, I don’t.”
“Well, she didn’t have an alarm system. Pretty bold if you’re keeping Rockwells and expensive jewelry in the house, let alone stuff worth mil
lions,” Hall said.
“What about the steamer trunks?” Nickerson asked. “The ones in the attic. They have locks, right? Could they have been looking for keys to open them? Maybe Anabel kept her artifacts inside the trunks?”
Hall stopped taking notes for a moment and scratched at his beard, pen in hand. A swoosh of blue ink marked his cheek. “They definitely have locks. We found the keys on the dresser.”
“So, maybe they found what they were looking for in the trunks,” Nickerson said.
“Hmmm, I don’t know, Dan,” Jennifer said. “I’m more in favor of an off-site storage place.”
“You’re probably right,” Nickerson said. “But, then again…”
“Then again, what?” Hall asked.
Nickerson pointed in the direction of Anabel’s bedroom. “Presuming the retro clothes came from the trunks, why haul them all out, bring them down from the attic and go through them in the bedroom? Why not just go through them in the attic?”
“I’m not sure I follow you, Dan,” Jennifer said.
“The mountain of clothes in the bedroom gives the impression the killers searched the clothes looking for something. The empty cases in the attic give the impression the clothes were the only things in the trunks. But what if the artifacts were hidden in one or more of the trunks, maybe wrapped up in the clothes or hidden underneath them?”
Nickerson’s theory was plausible, Jennifer thought. Anabel might have wrapped the artifacts inside the clothes and stored them in the trunks. If only she knew more about the artifacts in question. To Jennifer’s knowledge, Anlon had never seen them and the only one she had seen herself was the Terusael. And she was pretty sure Anlon had said Anabel’s artifacts were gifts from Devlin, and not necessarily Munuorian Tyls. The others might be pieces of jewelry, pottery or God knows what else. If the pieces were small enough, the trunks might have indeed made for decent hiding places.
“Definitely seems possible,” Hall said. “I’ll have forensics come back for the trunks and vintage clothes.”
He lowered his head and jotted several more notes before closing his notepad. “Anything else either of you noticed?”
Curse of the Painted Lady (The Anlon Cully Chronicles Book 3) Page 2