Yet, Anlon had noticed something in Malinyah’s visions that gave him the answer to the perplexing question. The lyktyl, the pendant that Pebbles wore so reverently as a physical reminder of Malinyah, was a fake.
Oh, it was a masterful replica, thought Anlon…with one flaw. During Malinyah’s vision, when she showed Anlon how to insert the lyktyl into the slot on the back of Omereau’s Sinethal, she did so with the medallion’s face fitting into the slot, revealing the back side of the pendant. Etched into the gold surface was a circle with six rays; the back of Pebbles’ medallion was devoid of any etching.
For the remainder of the flight, Anlon had pondered why Foucault had given Pebbles an imitation of the lyktyl, and why he had worn it himself. Once Goodwin delivered it to Muran, she would quickly discover it was a fake. What good would that do Foucault? It would only enrage Muran. And she didn’t have Omereau’s Sinethal to begin with. What had the conniving bastard been thinking? All he’d done was put Pebbles at extraordinary risk, and once Muran discovered the lyktyl was phony, she would take her anger out on Pebbles. Given what she had done to Anabel, and the carnage she left in New England, there was no doubt in Anlon’s mind what she’d do to Pebbles.
Antonio shook Anlon by the shoulder. “Hey, buddy, you all right?”
“Huh? Oh…sorry. Got lost in thought. Did you say something?” Anlon asked.
“Yeah, I said a lot, actually. And you didn’t hear a word of it, did you?”
“Uh…”
“Never mind, I’ll tell you later. Emerson called us over. Come on, let’s go.”
Albany, New York
Jennifer watched Agent Li examine the picture and inscription inside the open locket. “I see what you mean. The woman next to Simpson does look like the same woman in the café.”
As Li flipped it over in her gloved hand to inspect the locket’s casing, Jennifer scrambled to come up with a believable story to satisfy the FBI agent. There was no more time to waste. She needed to get out of the holding room, check her voice messages, call Anlon and find a new flight. She said, “There’s only one rational explanation I can come up with to explain the combination of the picture, inscriptions and date.”
“And that is?”
“It’s a stretch…”
Li lifted her head and frowned. “Come on, Stevens. Out with it.”
“Okay, let’s deal with the date first. 1862. The locket’s a family heirloom. The picture —Anabel liked the locket and put her own picture in it. If it was taken when Anabel was in her twenties, the other woman in the picture can’t be the woman in the café, right? Anabel was mid-fifty-ish when she died. So, maybe the other woman is a relative of Muran’s. Her mother? An aunt?”
The agent nodded while she continued to study the locket. “Close, but you’re off a bit in your generations.”
“Excuse me?” Jennifer asked.
Li placed the locket on the table and grabbed her cell phone. After a few swipes and clicks, she slid the phone to Jennifer. “Take a look.”
Before she picked up the phone, Jennifer could see a fuzzy, black-and-white picture on the screen. Even from a distance, she recognized Anabel. She reached for the phone and inspected the head shot more closely. It was Anabel at roughly the same age as in the locket photograph. Jennifer used her fingers to zoom out on the picture and discovered it was a thumbnail inside a newspaper article. The name Evelyn Warwick was printed beneath the photo.
Jennifer frowned and zoomed out further until the full article was visible. She noticed there were two other photos in the article, much larger than Anabel’s. One was a professional portrait of a young woman in a ball gown. Beneath the photo, the woman was identified as Miss Clara Ambrose. The other photo showed a volcano surrounded by a jungle. The caption beneath the photo read, “San Carlos Volcano, Fernando Pó.”
Jennifer read the brief article…
DAUGHTER OF ADMIRAL AMBROSE INJURED IN BRAZEN ATTACK BY SLAVER PIRATES
LONDON – April 17, 1842 – All of London society is in a state of shock upon news of the attack on Admiral Sir William Ambrose’s daughter, Miss Clara Ambrose. The afternoon ambush took place last week on the African island of Ferdinand Pó, where Sir Ambrose serves as Governor of Her Majesty’s anti-slavery outposts on the island.
According to Foreign Office officials, the precocious debutante was waylaid by a band of pirates while on a nature hike. Miss Ambrose was gravely injured in the attack, and only escaped due to the quick actions of her handmaiden, Evelyn Warwick.
Warwick told officials the two women were exploring a volcano on the island when the pirates surrounded them and took them as prisoners. Warwick said the pirates intended to sell them into slavery in retribution for the recent sinking of slaving ships by Sir Ambrose’s fleet. Warwick managed to break free and ran to the outpost at San Carlos.
Sentries from the outpost were dispatched and came across the injured Miss Ambrose near the base of the volcano. They brought her to the San Carlos outpost, where she received medical attention. An extensive land and sea search to apprehend the pirates was ordered by Sir Ambrose, but they have yet to be captured.
No details were provided regarding Miss Ambrose’s injuries; however, officials deemed them “serious,” and indicated she will return to London within a fortnight for further medical treatment and rehabilitation. Sir Ambrose will accompany his daughter back to England and take a new post in the Royal Navy’s staff offices.
When Jennifer finished reading the article, she looked up to see Agent Li using her finger to slide the picture from its frame inside the locket. Li turned it over, and Jennifer saw a note scribbled on the back. Li read it aloud. “C.A., E.W., 1862.”
“That’s crazy,” Jennifer said, returning to view the newspaper article pictures. “Where did you get this?”
“We had HQ do a search on the name Evelyn Warwick. Bank records showed she listed her previous address in London. The account was opened in 1942, by the way. Safe-deposit box rental goes back that far, too. Though the bank’s changed names and moved since the original account was opened,” Li said.
“You had this the whole time we were talking?”
“Uh-huh,” she said. “Had it this morning when we met in the hospital.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t say anything,” Jennifer said, pushing the phone back across the table.
“I’m in the information-getting business, Stevens. Not the information-giving.”
“Nice,” Jennifer scoffed.
Li smiled. “Take any other evidence from the Simpson house?”
“No,” Jennifer said. “Are we done?”
“Not quite,” Li said.
“Why? Sounds like you’ve got your answer about Muran. She’s a descendant of Clara Ambrose. I’m sure you’ve got HQ researching her family members right now. What do you need me for? You’ve also got the connection with Anabel Simpson and Evelyn Warwick, and I’m sure it won’t take long to track down links with Goodwin. I don’t see what else I can do for you.”
“Talk to me about Goodwin,” Li said.
“There’s not much to tell. I went to visit him at the museum where he works. He’s an ass hat, by the way,” Jennifer said.
“When was this?”
“Uh…about two months ago. Don’t remember the exact date, but I can get it for you.”
“Was your visit about the stones?”
“Yes, I went to show him some pictures of pieces in Devlin Wilson’s collection on behalf of Anlon Cully. Anlon wanted to know if Goodwin was familiar with the pieces.”
“What led you to Goodwin’s museum in the first place?”
“They’d sold Devlin an artifact made by the same civilization. We were trying to find out where Devlin purchased the artifacts. It was a total flier. I visited a few other museums for the same purpose.”
“What did you find out from Goodwin?” Li asked, flipping up a completed page of notes to continue on a fresh sheet.
“Very little. He said he d
idn’t recognize the pieces. He showed me some others they had in their collection and gave me some background info on them. That was it. Lasted about thirty minutes. Haven’t seen or talked to him since.”
“Did this meeting happen before or after you first learned about Muran?”
“A few weeks before.”
Li stopped taking notes and laid her pen on the table. With a blank stare, she looked toward the wall. A few minutes later, she returned her attention on the portfolio pad, flipping back several pages. She ran her finger along as she scanned the notes. Then her finger stopped, and she looked up at Jennifer. “Who is Malinyah?”
“Uh…”
“The Nevada police said Goodwin, or whomever abducted your friend Pebbles, left a note that said, ‘Malinyah for the girl.’ Who’s Malinyah?” Li asked again.
How am I going to answer this one? Jennifer thought. “Um…”
“The detective in Nevada I spoke with said the name refers to a black stone that Cully owns. A stone that looks a lot like the one Muran took from the bank,” Li interjected.
“Yes, that’s right,” Jennifer said.
“Is Malinyah one of the artifacts in the pictures you showed Goodwin?”
Jennifer’s face twitched. “Oh, my God. I tipped him off.”
Li nodded. “Looks that way to me.”
The agent ran through her theory. There was a lingering dispute between the descendants of Clara Ambrose and Evelyn Warwick that went back a long way. Probably back to the two women in question. A dispute that had something to do with the artifacts — specifically, a dispute over ownership. Given that Evelyn was Clara’s handmaiden, it seemed reasonable to assume that Evelyn had taken the artifacts from Clara or Clara’s family. Li suggested that Muran, a descendant of Clara Ambrose, discovered that Anabel, a descendant of Evelyn Warwick, possessed the disputed artifacts and made a play to take them back. Li speculated Jennifer’s visit to Goodwin was the catalyst that rekindled the dispute.
“The only thing missing to complete the picture is to sort out the connection between Goodwin and Muran,” Li said. “How did they know each other? How did Goodwin know of the dispute? Why did he get involved in it?”
Before Jennifer could answer, Li stood. Holding up the locket, she said, “I’ll be back in a minute. This is going into evidence.”
Jennifer had listened attentively to Li’s theory. While the agent was way off in her belief that Muran was a descendant of Clara Ambrose, the heart of her hypothesis was compelling. Jennifer didn’t believe for a moment that Anabel was a descendant of Evelyn Warwick. She was Evelyn Warwick. She had taken Muran’s Tyls and had gotten away with it. When she took them, and why she took them, Jennifer didn’t know. But, at some point before or after taking the Tyls, Anabel met Devlin Wilson. And for some reason, within the last year, she decided to give him Malinyah’s Sinethal. Why?
While Jennifer couldn’t deny Li’s speculation that her visit to Goodwin was the catalyst for the most recent events, Anabel’s decision to give Devlin the Sinethal was really the first act that ignited the whole tragedy.
After Indio Maiz, Jennifer had strongly suspected Anabel was Muran. Even when she first learned of Anabel’s death, she thought Muran had simply chosen a new body and discarded Anabel’s. But the forensic evidence collected from Anabel’s home and her body clearly showed she had been a victim of a callous murder, a murder steeped in revenge.
If Li was right, the reason for the revenge seemed clear: payback for taking Tyls from Muran. Yet, Jennifer wondered if it might even go beyond that. The locket’s inscription and picture suggested Anabel’s relationship with Muran was more intimate than servant and master. Muran crushed her heart, for heaven’s sake, an act Jennifer now interpreted to mean, “You crushed mine, so I’m crushing yours.” Personal. A crime of passion.
Jennifer allowed herself to consider a possible answer, one that had been bubbling in the back of her mind the past twenty-four hours. Was it possible Anabel had been a Munuorian herself? That, just like Muran, she had extended her life repeatedly by switching bodies? Had they been in it together? Forever one.
The root of her speculation? Anabel clearly had more than superficial knowledge of the Tyls, and she certainly had been using enjyia for a long time given the age of the photograph in the locket. If she had simply been Muran’s handmaiden, why would Muran have shared the Tyls’ secrets with her?
Further, whose Sinethal had Muran removed from the safe-deposit box? Had it been Anabel’s? Foucault had given them the impression at Indio Maiz that all Muran lacked to switch bodies again was a Tuliskaera. If that were true, why had Muran taken the Sinethal from the safe-deposit box? And now that she had it, why was she determined to also acquire Malinyah’s Sinethal?
And why had Muran been so upset when she finished fishing around in the boxes? Earlier, Jennifer had been sure Muran was upset because there was no Tuliskaera in the box. But then she unleashed the Tyl at Ticonderoga. So, what else had she expected to find?
Whatever the answers, Li was wrong. The key to solving the mystery at this point was not the link between Goodwin and Muran. It was the link between Anabel and Muran. Either way, in Jennifer’s mind, solving the mystery ran a far second place to getting Pebbles back.
When Li reentered the room, Jennifer said, “Look, I can’t help you with the link between Muran and Goodwin. I met him once, and I don’t know any more about either of them beyond what I’ve told you. Now, can I please go? I need to go help get my friend back.”
“Yes. But I’m coming with you,” Li said.
Needles, California
Goodwin gripped the steering wheel and watched the descending airplane. As soon as he saw the crimson-and-gold trim on the plane’s tailfin, he exhaled a sigh of relief. The escape from the motel had been harrowing, but Goodwin managed to get on I-40 without being spotted, and by the time police alerts began to broadcast over the radio, he had already pulled into the airfield and parked without incident. But the hour since then had been excruciating, especially after the alerts began broadcasting his name.
At first, he had been dumbfounded. How had the police discovered his involvement? As far as anyone at the museum knew, he had taken a few days off to “catch some fun in the sun.” Kora had flown him to California on Aja’s plane, and she had rented the car at the airport he used to transport the girl from Tahoe. He’d used cash when he checked into the motel. He was using a prepaid cell phone and a tablet registered to one of Aja’s companies. The gun wasn’t registered. He’d used gloves at Cully’s house and had worn the hoodie while driving the car. Yet, despite all his precautions, the police had identified him as a person of interest.
When he later learned the reason from a news update on the radio, he seethed anew at Aja’s recklessness. Why had she drawn their attention to the fort? Why couldn’t she have just tossed the girl’s body in the lake? Why did she insist on meeting at the fort in the first place?
Once the plane had landed and taxied off the runway, he grabbed his phone and rattled off a quick text. “Here, and ready to go.”
“Good,” Aja replied. “I will call you once we’ve parked.”
The plane slowly rolled toward a large flattop area near the garage-sized building that served as control tower and terminal. When it came to a stop, Goodwin’s phone rang. He pressed “answer” and held it to his ear. “Hi. Ready?”
“Not yet,” Aja said. “Kora’s coming out to check the plane and chat with the airport manager. We want to make this look like a normal turnaround.”
“Okay, got it,” Goodwin said.
“Where are you?”
“You see to the left of the building, underneath the trees? Near the junkyard of plane parts.”
“Yes, I see you now. Where is the girl?”
“In the trunk. Tied and gagged.”
“Get her in the front seat. We don’t want the tower to see her pulled from the trunk.”
“Okay. I’ll do it when Kora’s ready to go. Just
let me know.”
“It’ll be a few minutes. I’ll text you,” Aja said, and she ended the call.
Goodwin spied the plane door open and the steps unfold. Kora exited the plane and casually walked across the tarmac, hands in her jeans pockets, baseball cap covering her head and aviator sunglasses perched on her nose. A man emerged from the building and approached her. They shook hands and conversed for several minutes. Her manner was so relaxed. She smiled, stretched her arms and yawned while the man spoke. They laughed about something and then she pointed at the plane. The man seemed to ask her a question, because Kora shook her head and then looked at her watch. A minute later, they shook hands again and she walked back to the plane.
“Time to go,” said Aja’s text.
Goodwin opened the backpack sitting on the passenger seat. He first checked to make sure the lyktyl was still inside and then retrieved the gun. Stepping out of the car, he opened the rear door and tossed the backpack inside. He looked around to make sure no one was watching before opening the trunk. With the gun in one hand, he popped the trunk with the key remote and pulled up the lid. The girl was awake. He leaned down and placed the gun against her head. She recoiled, her eyes wide and body trembling. Through the gag, she pleaded. He snapped, “Be quiet! I’m putting you upfront. Don’t fight me or I will shoot.”
Pebbles was complicit as he yanked her from the trunk and dragged her to the passenger-side door. After shutting the door and trunk, Goodwin hopped in and started the car. A two-hundred-yard drive later, Goodwin pulled the car beside the plane.
Kora stood waiting by the steps and opened the passenger door. Looking down on Pebbles, she said, “Jesus, what did you do to her?”
“Just get her on board,” he said.
They quickly dragged Pebbles up the steps and into the cabin. Shortly after, Goodwin emerged. Kora followed moments later with a screwdriver in her hand. “Wait up.”
Curse of the Painted Lady (The Anlon Cully Chronicles Book 3) Page 24