Three Keys to Murder

by Gary Williams

  Fawn idled closer, her adrenaline flowing.

  A man walked from the shore onto the dock. He was of Asian persuasion, in his late fifties with dark, rugged skin. He had long, matted hair, most of it drawn back in a ponytail. Gray wisps hung in his face. He wore small, round-framed glasses with smoky lenses concealing his eyes. This was obviously not Terrence Courtland.

  The man moved to the end of the dock as Fawn approached. He was holding a pistol by his side. Fawn could now hear her own heart beat.

  As she neared the dock, she could feel the man watching her lewdly, roving his eyes over her body. Fawn held his gaze, determined not to show fear. The man pointed to the ladder, and Fawn idled toward it. She pulled alongside, threw the boat into neutral, and grabbed a rung. She stared upward, nearly blinded by the midday sun.

  “Where’s my father?” Fawn said, defiantly, using one hand to block the light.

  “Shut up,” the man growled. “Here’s the way this works. You leave the two keys in the boat on the seat. Then get on this dock. Then–”

  “I want to see my father or you’ll never get your goddamn keys!” she yelled withdrawing the two keys from her pocket and threatening to toss them in the middle of the deep creek.

  The man walked to the edge of the dock and looked down at Fawn with boiling anger. He bit his lip hard then spoke in a hostile whisper, “You wanna see your father? He’s right over there. Daddy’s waitin’ on you.” The veins in the man’s forehead bulged, and he screamed, “SO SHUT UP AND LISTEN!”

  Fawn found herself cringing, her stoic veneer lost. His tone had shaken her. She looked in the direction the man pointed but saw nothing.

  Suddenly, movement in the rowboat moored at the other end of the dock caught her eye. She realized a man was lying flat, extended across the three bench seats. The figure, bound and gagged, pivoted back and forth. He had medium-length, thinning gray hair and a thick, gray beard.

  It was her father.

  Fawn felt air leave her lungs and refuse to return. Since the ransom demand, she had hoped, prayed, her father was still alive. It had sounded like him on the phone, but it was possible his voice had been faked. It was a sure way to get her attention. Yet a part of her had feared the terrible emotional price she would pay if it were only a ploy. In self-defense, she had continued to maintain a modicum of doubt that Juan Velarde Cortez was still alive.

  A short distance away, at the far end of the dock, the absolute proof had just appeared.

  “Now as I was saying…” the oriental man snarled down. “Tie your boat off and climb up here. Leave the keys on the seat.” He raised the pistol and pointed it at Fawn.

  Fawn turned and laid the keys on the seat. Then she wove the lead rope around the ladder. She ascended the stairs, shaking. She had already handed over her bargaining chips: the keys. There was nothing to stop this madman from shooting her and her father now. Even though she was armed, she knew very little about guns, and the pistol tucked in her back had the safety on. She had done it on purpose, fearful of shooting herself. Now she lamented that decision. Even if she could get the weapon drawn, it would take a second or two to get the safety off. And that was enough time for this man to place a bullet in her head.

  She rose to the top rung and stepped onto the dock, facing the Asian man. He was short, barely taller than Fawn.

  Suddenly, the stark truth slammed her. He had called from Lisa Fortney’s cell phone. This must be the serial killer!

  The urge grew. She wanted to know. She had to know. Without consideration, the words came out. “Why did you kill Lisa…and those others?”

  “Me?” the man said as if the accusation were a shock. “Not me. That was your boyfriend, Mike.”

  Fawn could not mask the horror that flushed her face.

  “He’s a nasty boy. Likes to kill just to kill. But enough of this. Get over to daddy and row up the creek.”

  The words were crushing. Fawn had held out hope that somehow, even with all the mounting evidence, Mike was not a part of this madness. But there it was.

  “Get going.” The man leveled the gun, aiming it at Fawn’s head. She instinctively raised her hands like a prisoner. Conscious of the gun tucked in her back, knowing it would be obvious underneath her shirt, she pivoted and faced the man as she went.

  Her adrenaline was racing. If the man frisked her, he would find the weapon. Her last defense would be gone. God knows what he would do to her; to her father. Remarkably, she passed by him without incident. The man did not stop her; not even a touch. With a silent sigh of relief, she backed up ever so slowly, until she reached the other end of the dock, keeping her eyes locked to his. The whole while, the man kept the gun trained on Fawn’s head.

  Fawn stole a quick glance downward. Her father was writhing in the boat, rolling this way and that. The gag was tight enough to silence most of his moans; sounds, not of pain, Fawn sensed, but of concern.

  “Get in the boat. Leave!” the man said.

  Even as Fawn backed down the stairs, she wondered why they were being let go. Their captor was not wearing a disguise. Or was he? Maybe the hair is a wig, and the glasses, fake. Surely, though, her father could identify the man, and whoever else may be involved. This man had confirmed Mike was the serial killer. Somehow, these two are working in tandem, but what do the killings have to do with the treasure?

  She reached the lowest rung and stepped into the rowboat. The Asian man walked to the edge of the dock to look down at them. The gun was now tucked in his pants against his stomach.

  “After we’ve rowed some distance away, I’ll yell back the rest,” Fawn said.

  “The rest?” the man said, twisting his face.

  “The order of use for the two keys.”

  “Oh, of course.” He released a sardonic laugh. “I almost forgot.”

  There was something strange in the man’s tone.

  Fawn turned and looked at her father. Only then did she notice it: her father’s right arm was gone.

  She gasped and knelt down beside him. She gently stroked his face and saw the deep pleading in his eyes as she started to remove the duct tape that sealed his mouth.

  “DON’T!” the man shouted. “Leave that on until I’m gone.”

  “But why? He may be having trouble breathing. Please let me take it off,” Fawn begged.

  “I said NO! Not till I’m gone. Now push off. Head up creek!”

  Fawn grabbed a paddle as the man leaned down and untied the bow rope. He slung it into the boat, and it landed carelessly over Cortez’s chest.

  “Bastard,” Fawn growled under her breath, brushing the thick rope off her father. She used the paddle to push away from the dock and began to row toward the middle of the creek channel.

  Her father continued his muted moans, words that were indistinguishable. Fawn watched the man on the dock make his way back to the far end, where he paused, fishing something from his pocket. It was a small square box of some sort.

  The man looked up at Fawn. “Keep going!” he shouted.

  “You got your keys, now leave us alone!” Fawn screamed. She was shaking with anger, wondering what this monster had done with her father all this time.

  She again looked at her father. His face was flushed, and he was sweating profusely as he continued to expel muted words. There was genuine fear in his eyes.

  “It’s okay. It’s over. That bastard won’t hurt you again.”

  There was an unrelenting look in his eyes. If there had been fear before, it was now absolute terror.

  Fawn looked to the man standing on the dock, then down again at her father. Her father was so excited, he was shaking.

  Disregarding the possible repercussion, Fawn reached forward and ripped the duct tape from her father’s mouth. He panted mightily, but kept his head on the plank. Fawn looked up to see the Asian man was preoccupied and had not reali
zed what she had done.

  “Fawn,” her father gasped. His voice barely audible. “Shoot him! Shoot him now, or we’ll both be dead!”

  “What?”

  In a breathless voice, he whispered. “Shoot Liáng! Shoot him! There’s dynamite!”

  Fawn’s mind raced. She pulled the gun from her back, keeping it low in the boat.

  Tony Liáng was halfway down the ladder when the planks splintered on his right, followed by the report of gunfire. The small black box flew from his hand, skidding across the dock.

  “Jesus Christ!” he yelled. He wheeled on the ladder and returned fire. The round smacked into the gunwale at the rear of the rowboat.

  Liáng began to climb to retrieve the black box.

  Juan Cortez was turned so he could see. “Shoot again, Fawn! He’s going for the trigger!”

  Fawn rose, holding the gun with two shaking hands and fired again. While she missed badly, she did pin Liáng against the ladder, halting his climb. She let loose another round, this time barely missing his head. He returned multiple shots without aiming. Liáng was obviously more concerned with retrieving the small box. The two shots struck the water before the rowboat, sending spray onto her father as Fawn cowered. Fawn fell backward across him, trying to avoid the shots.

  This gave Liáng the time he needed. He reached the dock and quickly picked up the little black box.

  Fawn, still wedged in a sitting position, lifted the 9mm and squeezed off two more rounds. The first went wide, but the second found Liáng’s shoulder. He fell, dropping both the box and the gun. The box somersaulted across the planks, coming to rest several feet away. The gun flittered over the deck and plopped into the water.

  Obscenities filled the air, then silence as Liáng lay still.

  “I got him!” Fawn screamed excitedly.

  “Untie me quickly,” her father instructed.

  Fawn pulled out her pocketknife and quickly freed the man.

  “There’s dynamite inside the bench seat,” he said. He grimaced as he sat upright. “Below me. He’s going to set it off remotely.” Suddenly her father’s eyes ballooned.

  Before she could speak, her father pushed Fawn out of the boat into the water, with his full weight bearing down on her. They had barely submerged when a thunderous noise ripped their underwater environment. It shook them with a harsh jolt. The percussion dazed Fawn and she felt herself sliding into a world of darkness.

  The next thing she knew, Fawn felt water rushing past her. She was flopping against something hard. Her lungs burned. She was vaguely aware her father was pulling her with his only arm, swimming with his legs. With each kick, Fawn was hitting against his knee.

  Amazingly, she had had the presence of mind to hold air when her father had knocked her from the rowboat, but it had been a shallow inhale, and now her lungs ached.

  She began tapping her father’s side. He must have understood, and he surfaced.

  “Fawn, are you okay?” Juan called to his daughter. He was fighting to tread water.

  “What happened?” Fawn asked, breathing heavily as she paddled in place.

  Her father looked behind. She turned, following his eyes.

  A short distance away, a blaze streaked over the water. It reached across the channel. The rowboat was nowhere in sight.

  Against the bulkhead, the dock was little more than a shell. The piles rose from the water but the main body of the structure was gone. Charred boards floated in the channel, while others had been thrown onto land in splintered heaps. Fire was lapping up one pile.

  With hair sloshing into her eyes, through the fire and smoke, Fawn could see the oriental man in the boat racing away, cutting north into the main body of the St. Johns River.

  The gunshot wound Tony Liáng had sustained had not been as incapacitating as she had hoped. He had been able to reach the detonator trigger and set it off. Fawn’s father had seen him and had forced Fawn into the water. A millisecond later, the rowboat was obliterated by the blast.

  Fawn and her father swam toward shore. It would be impossible to climb the bulkhead because of its height, so they aimed for a point farther down where the shore was heavily vegetated.

  The prospect of traipsing through swampland was less than appealing to Fawn but there was little choice. Her father was laboring to remain afloat with his one arm. There was no telling how exhausted he was from his ordeal; he looked haggard.

  They slowly swam to the water’s edge where tree limbs hung over the surface. Only at the bank of the channel did the deep water give way to abrupt shallows, and they gained footing. A stale smell of earth and river water met them. They grabbed tree limbs and pulled their way past, sloshing through mud and buttress roots. Each step took effort. Their shoes sank into the saturating mud and then pulled free with a slurp. Vines and limbs clawed at them.

  Fortunately, the land soon hardened, and they moved at an incline through the underbrush. Away from the bank, the trees became taller and more spread out. Their clothes were dripping wet but walking became easier.

  Within minutes, they cleared the woods and found themselves on a dirt path. To the left, the path led to the cleared property with the now destroyed dock and bulkhead. They went right. With any luck, it would lead to a main road where they could get help.

  “I have so many questions, I don’t know where to start,” Fawn said, stopping and turning toward her father. Before she uttered another word, she embraced him, clinging tightly. “I thought you were dead all this time.” Tears streamed down her face.

  “Shhhh. It’s okay,” he said, stroking her hair. “I’m not dead yet, although, at times I wished I was.”

  “Who is that man? What did he do to you?” She was crying between words, a combination of hatred for the oriental man and elation at having her father back. She was soggy and reeking, yet she could not recall being this angry and happy in a long time.

  His eyes focused on Fawn, unblinking. “Fawn, when Tony Liáng finds out you gave him fake keys, he will come after us. We’ve got to get out of here and get to the authorities.”

  “But they’re not fake.”

  “What?”

  “They’re real, Father. They’re the keys to open the real iron container that holds the Zaile treasure.”

  “But how? After I lost my arm, I barely made it back to my boat and stashed the key inside the cigar box. How did you get the second key?”

  Fawn gave a weak smile. “Keys.” She clarified. “The same way you found the MH key embedded in the wall over the fireplace in the Gonzalez-Alvarez House in St. Augustine.”

  “How did you know? What do you mean the real iron container? Keys…?”

  “The ship transporting the Zaile treasure in 1820 had two massive iron containers. One, you found in the Gulf of Mexico. That one was a fake, maybe even a decoy. I’m not sure.”

  Fawn continued. “The real iron container, the one holding the Zaile treasure, washed up on shore, I believe when a hurricane struck the ship.”

  “My God, Fawn. How do you know all this?”

  “That’s a long, long story.”

  “There were more keys?”

  “Three in all. One was in the Amelia Island Lighthouse. The other was in the fort in St. Augustine. It was all part of a plan to transport the Zaile treasure to St. Augustine and hand it over to the Spanish as payment, at least partially, for Florida. The emissary also left a coded message as to their exact use. The iron container was impenetrable without the keys. For that matter, it may have been booby-trapped.”

  Her father spoke. “Like the way the decoy container was booby-trapped to snap closed after I opened it.”

  Fawn now realized this was how her father had lost his arm.

  “I’m so sorry, Father,” Fawn said, her eyes again welling with tears.

  “Don’t be. I’ve got one good arm to get me th
rough,” he said with a tired smile. “Fawn, how did you find the other two keys? And how did you find the code you mentioned?”

  “It doesn’t matter now, since that man has them, although I never did tell him the code,” she suddenly remembered.

  Cortez closed his eyes, and swayed. Fawn steadied him. “Let’s get you to a hospital and contact the police.”

  With Fawn’s help, the two began walking up the dirt road. They had only gone a short distance when her father spoke.

  “Fawn, stop.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Tell me, though. You said the real iron container was blown on shore during a hurricane in 1820.”

  “That’s what we believe.”

  “We?”

  “A friend. I’ll explain later.”

  “Did you find the iron box?”

  “No,” Fawn replied.

  “Then that Chinese man must know where it is.”

  “It stands to reason.”

  “But where are you getting your information about a hurricane?”

  “It’s complicated, Father. We found a letter. A firsthand account by the Seminole Indian, Osceola.”

  He gave her a puzzled look. “Osceola? Did it give any clues as to where the treasure might be?”

  “It was vague. Osceola mentioned it was at the shell against the white wall.”

  “Shell against the white wall. Shell against the white wall,” Juan repeated, rubbing his forehead and staring at the ground. “My god, Fawn! I know where it is!”

  CHAPTER 43

  The revelation of the location of the iron container had given Juan Velarde Cortez renewed energy. He convinced Fawn they still had a chance to foil Tony Liáng. She argued that he needed to be admitted to a hospital but to no avail. To be honest, a part of her, the piece that had become embroiled in the treasure hunt, understood her father completely. The hunt for the Zaile treasure had been his passion. Once she had a taste of it, she finally understood why.