Three Keys to Murder

by Gary Williams

  Fawn stared at the mass with its gritty features. The insinuation that Elizabeth Courtland’s father Lawrence had proclaimed to his daughter echoed resoundingly: “There is a curse on the male descendents of Osceola; a curse of retribution toward white men.”

  Hesitant, Fawn reached inside, grabbed the head, and gently removed it. It had a coarse feel. Residue fell away as she placed it atop another towel on the coffee table.

  “Jesus,” Ralston exclaimed, looking at the morose facial features, which were virtually intact. The skin was taut but without cracks. There were some teeth set in two craggy rows. Dr. Weedon had done a masterful job of embalming. What caught their attention were the eyes. The sockets appeared to have been dug out and enlarged, with uneven edges. It gave the face a horrid, otherworldly appearance.

  Fawn spoke. “Someone’s been looking for the key. Remember what the letter said: ‘It is hidden inside Osceola’s eye’?” She used the flashlight to investigate the enlarged ocular cavities while Ralston leaned forward, watching. Both cavities were empty. “And they obviously found it. We’re too late,” she said dejectedly.

  Then Fawn eyed the head and the oversized eye holes with renewed curiosity.

  “What is it?”

  “The key in the safe, the one my father had in his cigar box. It’s rather large,” Fawn said, spreading her thumb and forefinger for scale. “It wouldn’t fit in there,” she said, pointing at the socket. “It makes me wonder…”

  “Wonder what?”

  Instead of responding, Fawn leaned down to examine inside the mouth using the flashlight, peering through the missing teeth. A gleam caught her eye. She stared at it for a moment, then laid the flashlight on the desk and went to a back room. She returned a moment later with a thin pair of tweezers and a magnifying glass.

  “What is it?” Ralston asked.

  “I’m not sure.” Slowly inserting the tweezer tips inside, she carefully extracted a tiny piece of dingy, yellow substance. She held it at eye level and wiped it with her fingers. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she suppressed the fact she was removing organic matter with her bare hand. The thought would have been too creepy to stomach.

  “Gold?” Ralston asked.

  Fawn nodded. She picked up the magnifying glass and held it to the gold, taking a long look. Then she visibly shrank.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Here, hold this,” she said, thrusting the clamped tweezers into Ralston’s hand and laying the magnifying glass down. “Don’t let go.”

  Fawn left the room and returned a minute later.

  “Got it,” she said, holding up a thin stack of papers held together by a single staple and folded back to a particular page.

  Ralston was thoroughly confused. “It’s a filling, right? A gold filling?”

  She nodded.

  “What’s with the papers?”

  Fawn looked him in the eyes. “We don’t have Osceola’s head.”

  He looked down at the small piece of gold. “How do you know?”

  “Two years ago, I did a news report on the history of dentistry; not the most riveting of topics, but I did learn a few things.

  “It’s unlikely a Seminole Indian would have had formal dental treatment. If Osceola had, it would have been the short period between his capture and death from September 1837 to January 1838 when he was imprisoned,” Fawn said.

  “You just negated your own statement. So it was possible Osceola had a gold filling,” Ralston said, confused.

  “In the early 1800s, during the time of Osceola’s life, gold fillings were inserted in the form of pellets. The pellet was placed in the cavity and pierced in the center with a sharp instrument, adding more gold to the center until the filling was firm.

  “See these grooves?” she lifted the magnifying glass, positioning it for Ralston to see the enlarged view.

  He nodded, eyeing them intently.

  Fawn read from the paper in her other hand. “The technique of filling with adhesive gold foil began in the mid-1850s. The insertion of adhesive gold foil required a dry field and the placement of retention grooves.”

  “And those are the retention grooves,” Ralston said, staring through the magnifying glass.

  “Yes,” Fawn said. “You see, this skull can’t be Osceola’s. He died in 1838. This technology for filling cavities didn’t come around until the 1850s—fifteen to twenty years after his death.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Late that afternoon after talking to Mike, Fawn set out for a walk to clear her mind. The phone conversation had been awkward, and Fawn felt an emotional chasm growing between them. She had decided earlier in the day to keep the discoveries between Ralston and herself a secret, especially given Mike’s irrational disposition before the funeral Monday. Fawn sought other topics during their call, but found Mike’s lack of interest to anything she tried to discuss patronizing. When she attempted to understand his sullen attitude, he had become defensive. The call had ended with simple, if not indifferent, goodbyes.

  With daylight as her ally, she strolled north several blocks to historic Centre Street, then west until she reached the wooden walkway of the docks that overlooked the Amelia River. It was warm, with a light wind blowing across the island from the east.

  For a while, she leaned over the wooden rail and stared at the rolling blue-gray surface of the water. Fawn still could not shake the disappointment. Sure, she had found a hidden room at Fort Clinch; a discovery that would be of staggering magnitude to historians. On the other hand, the 1865 letter from Sarah Courtland to her son, Coyle, Osceola’s son, had been taken from her. To cap it off, what they thought was the head of Osceola turned out otherwise.

  Obviously, she and Ralston were not the first ones to be fooled by the skull. Someone else had attempted to find a key inside the head. Someone else had read Sarah’s letter with Osceola’s message to Coyle about a key to a treasure being in his eye.

  In his eye. The phrase now sounded utterly ridiculous to Fawn.

  There was a positive side, though. Since the head had turned out to be someone else, it meant the key had not been found inside it. Could it be the key from her father’s cigar box, now in Mike’s safe, was the key mentioned in the letter?

  Not for the first time, she also wondered where her father had obtained it.

  The alignment of facts had been uncanny. Sarah Courtland’s letter referencing a man named Simpkins; the exact name on the felt writing that had come from the underside of the Madagascar tortoise her father had owned; the tortoise said to have been found on the west coast of Florida; the mention of treasure, just like the writing on the felt. And then there was the reference to keys. The only thing she and Ralston had confirmed conclusively that afternoon was that one of the characters mentioned in the letter, Black Caesar, who was one of the men torturing the injured man on the ground before being killed by Osceola and the other brave, was the name of an infamous pirate who sailed the Florida Straits in the early 1800s, and whose demise was undocumented.

  Fawn withdrew her cell phone from her pocket. She pulled out a piece of paper, read the number and began dialing the 850 area code. There was ringing on the other end.

  Ten years ago, Fawn had met Jonathan Pierce while researching a story on Mel Fisher’s fabulous find of the Spanish galleon, Atocha. Since retiring from the Navy 20 years ago, Pierce, who currently lived in Pensacola, Florida, had made a hobby of researching seafaring history in the southern United States dating back to the 1700s.

  In 2008, upon Fawn’s encouragement, Pierce had published The Seas of the South, a non-fiction account providing insight into the nautical events occurring in the southern waters of the United States, particularly around Florida, during the last 300 years.

  Since, Fawn and Jonathan Pierce had remained friends, and he happily obliged with information as needed. The man was now in his early seventies,
but he remained fit with a sharp mind.

  Pierce answered on the fourth ring. After formalities, Fawn got to the point.

  “Mr. Pierce, what can you tell me about treasure and pirates in the early 1800s?”

  “That’s a pretty broad spectrum, Fawn,” Pierce chuckled, respectfully. “Are you looking for generalities?”

  “Specifics.”

  “Does it involve treasure found or treasure lost?” Pierce asked.

  “I’m assuming never found.”

  “Truth or legend?”

  Fawn hesitated.

  “I’ll assume legend,” Pierce said. “Any particular pirate?”

  “Yes. Black Caesar.”

  “Ah, the Pearsaw legend rears its head again,” he said with another slight chuckle. “By legend, I mean there is no historical proof it ever existed. The SS Pearsaw was said to be a state-of-the-art U.S. warship out of New Orleans.

  “Before I tell you about the Pearsaw, though, let’s get to Black Caesar. What do you know about him?”

  “Practically nothing,” Fawn responded. She inserted a hands-free headset, freeing her hands to jot down notes.

  “Black Caesar was a former slave who escaped to the west coast of Florida in the 1790s. He became leader of a band of pirates and built his base on Sanibel Island, where they primarily raided ships near Key West and the Florida Straits and enjoyed a long history of plundering. One of the intriguing aspects of Black Caesar is that no one knows the circumstances surrounding his death, or when he died, for that matter. Around 1820, he vanished, along with the pirates who had served him. Rumor has it he lived out the rest of his years on an island somewhere.”

  Fawn felt the first tinge of hope at the mention of the date 1820. It corresponded to the date Sarah Courtland mentioned Osceola had encountered Black Caesar and Simpkins.

  Pierce continued, “Black Caesar’s name is mentioned synonymously with the legend of the SS Pearsaw.”

  Fawn heard the turning of pages. Then Pierce spoke. “Here it is. The story goes that Black Caesar and his men captured a Spanish Galleon, Zaile, in 1805.”

  Fawn’s breath caught. Zaile not going home in its large, iron box. The name of the ship mentioned in her father’s text from the underside of the Tortoise!

  “The Zaile was en route to Spain from Vera Cruz, Mexico, carrying a massive horde of Aztec gold when pirates captured it. Black Caesar was said to be so heinous, that when he buried the treasure on the Dry Tortugas Islands 70 miles west of the Keys, he forced the Spanish sailors to dig a massive hole then buried them alive in the pit with the treasure.”

  “1805? Mr. Pierce, wasn’t the plundering of Aztec treasure by Spain in the 1500s and 1600s?”

  “That’s correct, but in 1805 the Spanish found and excavated a series of caves in Mexico filled with exquisite Aztec treasures. It had been hidden there in an obvious attempt to keep the riches from the Spaniards centuries before. And just in time, apparently, since a mere five years later, in 1810, Mexico gained its independence from Spain.”

  “Interestingly, there is no documented account of the Zaile being captured. As part of the folklore, the contention is the Spanish did not want to admit to the other world powers of the day that a black man had captured one of their galleons, not to mention one laden with Aztec gold.”

  Fawn looked thoughtfully over the water as Pierce paused. That was the reason her father’s research never confirmed the galleon carried treasure.

  “The legend goes that the vast treasure remained buried on the Dry Tortugas for 14 years. Like most pirates, Black Caesar had no desire to cash in the gold for its monetary value; it was ownership that mattered.

  “Then, in 1819, U.S. military attention was drawn to the Dry Tortugas islands due to their strategic location in the Florida Straits. As plans were being made to build a massive fortress on one of the islands, a survey group from the military discovered the Aztec treasure and unearthed the gold, still in its original Spanish crates.

  “The treasure was moved via U.S. military ship to New Orleans and secretly hidden at a heavily fortified military installation. With crates bearing the insignia of Spain and the ship’s name, Zaile, the Americans knew they had the Spanish treasure taken from the Aztecs and pirated by Black Caesar in 1805. Its location on the base in New Orleans was a deeply guarded secret. Only a few in the command knew.

  “When discreet word reached the White House of the military’s acquisition of the Spanish treasure, it was said to have given President James Monroe an idea. With the support of Congress, President Monroe had an attaché begin negotiations with Spain for the acquisition of Florida. Within the year, Spain agreed to sell all land rights to the United States.”

  “Wait…” Fawn cut in. “How is this connected to the Zaile’s Aztec treasure?”

  “Before I answer, I need to tell you about a U.S. Naval Commander named Richard Zimkems. He was–”

  “Simpkins? Could it have been Simpkins?”

  “It’s just a legend. I’ve never uncovered a shred of evidence to support what I’m about to tell you regarding this man. I’ve found nothing regarding a U.S. Naval officer named Zimkems during that time.”

  “Please continue,” she responded.

  “For your sake, I’ll call him Simpkins. Commander Simpkins was said to be the scourge of the Navy. Based out of Boston Harbor, he had climbed the ranks quickly, but he had come under scrutiny for mistreatment of his crew and other sundry charges. He avoided severe reprimanding, primarily because he was said to have an uncle in Congress.”

  “Again, I’ve researched and found no Congressman in history named Zimkems,” Pierce hesitated briefly. “But it was said that once his uncle left Congress, Simpkins’ security blanket was gone. He was demoted and sent to New Orleans to work the naval docks.

  “New Orleans was a busy place, with private and commercial shipping coming in and out of the port guarded with the support of the U.S. Naval contingent. It was on these docks where Richard Simpkins worked, and he was a bitter man for it.

  “In 1819, Simpkins was approached by a man offering money in exchange for information regarding ship departures, particularly those commercial ships leaving the port of New Orleans carrying valuables. Still boiling with resentment toward command, and without asking who would be the recipient of the information, he began selling details of valuable cargo and shipping schedules.

  “Five times, vessels out of New Orleans were plundered in the Gulf of Mexico by unknown pirates who killed entire crews, leaving no witnesses.

  “Then in late 1820, President James Monroe was able to strike a deal with the Spanish for the purchase of Florida. Arrangements were made for a U.S. warship to carry gold bullion as payment that would leave the port of New Orleans, sail along the west coast of Florida and around the Keys, before heading east following the coast for delivery to the Spanish settlement in St. Augustine. The name of this U.S. warship was SS Pearsaw.”

  Fawn continued to scribble notes rapidly.

  “It was a very guarded mission, but Richard Simpkins knew the Pearsaw would be departing from New Orleans in late October carrying $5 million in gold.

  “When Simpkins met with his contact several days later, he was prepared to sell the information, but at a much higher price than in the past. He required an advance payment of $50,000, an extraordinary amount of money at the time. This would be his last deal. With the money, he’d go AWOL and retire somewhere up east.”

  “Simpkins’ request for the fifty grand was countered with a quarter of a million dollars if Simpkins could get himself commissioned aboard the Pearsaw and work on the inside, helping to capture the ship. He agreed.

  “The SS Pearsaw pulled into New Orleans in early October, and Simpkins immediately asked his superiors for assignment aboard ship. With a skeleton crew of 12 bringing her into port, another nineteen sailors were needed for a full com
plement, and Simpkins’ request was granted.

  “Now, there were several things Richard Simpkins didn’t know about the people to whom he was selling information. True, he realized by this point they were somehow associated with pirates. What he didn’t know was he was dealing with a man directly linked to Black Caesar. He also didn’t know the payment going to the Spanish in St. Augustine in three weeks was considerably higher than $5 million, and somehow, Black Caesar knew its true value.

  “As it turns out, when the U.S. Navy had made off with Black Caesar’s treasure from the Dry Tortugas islands a year ago, the pirate had gotten word of what had happened; that it was being stowed in New Orleans under heavy fortification. This had, of course, infuriated the pirate. He’d sent spies to New Orleans to keep 24-hour surveillance on the roads leading away from the garrison in case the military tried to move the treasure by land. Attacking the land-based military fortification would have been suicide. His instincts told him the treasure would be moved to the American east, most likely by U.S. military ship.

  “Black Caesar then discovered Richard Simpkins, a disgruntled Navy man, ready to be bribed. When Simpkins provided the information about the $5 million gold bullion payment to Spain to be delivered by a U.S. warship, Black Caesar’s instincts told him there would be additional cargo delivered farther north: his Aztec gold. Otherwise, the payment to the Spanish would have originated from the northeast, not New Orleans.

  “But some time prior to the SS Pearsaw setting sail in late October, Richard Simpkins also came to know the ship would be carrying the Zaile’s Aztec treasure. He also figured out Black Caesar was the pirate he was supplying information to.

  “Simpkins realized that Black Caesar knew the Aztec treasure, the gold the pirate had taken from the Zaile, would be on the SS Pearsaw. This was why he had been bribed to disclose information about ships leaving New Orleans over the last year. It wasn’t for the pittance the pirates had acquired so far. Black Caesar had been waiting for the big score, his opportunity to reclaim his prize, the horde of Aztec gold.