Three Keys to Murder

by Gary Williams

  Mayes continued. “So why do you think Mike Roberson is involved? The man’s been out of town the last two weeks at a training class in Connecticut. We’ve already confirmed this with his company and the hotel where he was staying. He did make one day trip home last Monday for a funeral then immediately returned to Connecticut.”

  Fawn looked confused. “I called his hotel room Thursday night, and they said he wasn’t there.”

  Detective Mayes removed a note pad from his inside coat pocket. He flipped several pages until he found what he was looking for. “Records confirm he was staying at the Hilton in Danbury—”

  “That’s right,” Fawn cut in excitedly, “and when I called there Thursday evening, he was not registered.”

  “As I was saying,” Mayes continued, “Mike Roberson was staying at the Hilton in Danbury, but a clerical mix-up shortened his reservation, and he had to move to the Hyatt.”

  Fawn rebutted. “I found out Mike doesn’t shave.”

  “So you shot him?”

  “No, that’s not what I mean. He’s of Native American descent.”

  “That’s some temper. Are you prejudice?”

  “No, you don’t understand. He never told me.” She paused then changed direction. “Okay, then what was he doing in Cedar Key? His flight was supposed to land yesterday morning in Jacksonville.”

  “I spoke to him early this morning. He tried calling your house Friday night and then again Saturday morning from a friend’s cell phone. His phone died, and he’d lost his charger between moving hotels. Phone records confirm he made the calls. He left messages on your home answering machine. Didn’t you get them?”

  Fawn shook her head no, remembering she had not returned to her house. She had slept at Mike’s place instead.

  Mayes continued. “Then, Saturday morning, he was delayed on a connecting flight out of Charlotte. He tried calling your cell phone just after noon from a payphone at the Charlotte terminal. Again, I’ve confirmed the phone call was made. The delayed flight was eventually canceled, and he changed to a later flight that came into Orlando at 6:30 yesterday evening.

  “I didn’t have my cell phone on me. I had left it in the park per Liáng’s instructions.” She sighed. “You still haven’t answered my question. Why was Mike in Cedar Key at the shell mound working with Tony Liáng? I saw him. He went into the hole with a shovel. He was digging out the iron container.”

  Detective Mayes smiled. “When Mr. Roberson landed in Orlando, he tried your cell phone again then your house phone. As a last resort, he called his home phone to retrieve messages since he was concerned he had not heard from you. He had a message from a man named Curt for you. It mentioned the Seminole text you gave him was probably referring to the ancient Indian shell mound outside Cedar Key. Concerned, Mike rented a car and drove over.

  “Before you ask, the reason you didn’t see his rental car was he parked inside the trailer park, not along the road as you had done.

  “Apparently, Liáng had been working on that hole for several nights. He hid a wheelbarrow nearby and dumped the dirt into the estuary. By day, he used plywood to cover the opening, camouflaging the wood with dirt and ground debris.

  “When Mike Roberson reached the shell mound last night, Tony Liáng surprised him at gunpoint. There was a last bit of earth to clear out, and Liáng forced your fiancé to dig.

  “From what Mike says, he had just climbed out of the hole when Liáng turned and started shooting in the woods at something unseen. He then rapped Mike on the head, and Mike fell into the pit. When he came to, he saw someone else in the pit. You. He approached, and you shot him. Twice.”

  Fawn was speechless. While Mike might have lied about his relationship to Elizabeth Courtland, and his underlying lineage to Osceola, she realized with deep regret she had sought too hard to validate his guilt. She had jumped to conclusions, spurred on as much as anything by his attitude the day of Elizabeth Courtland’s funeral. His mother’s funeral. In retrospect, his irrational behavior was likely based on his suppression of the truth. She still wanted to know why he had hidden the secret of his real mother from her.

  Another thought occurred to her. “That man, Tony Liáng. He told me Mike was the serial killer.”

  “The man wanted in questioning for the murders is Terrence Courtland. We have conclusive evidence. So unless your fiancé can be in two places at once—Florida and Connecticut—he has nothing to do with these crimes.”

  “Oh my god,” Fawn remarked softly. “I tried to kill my fiancé. You said he’s going to recover?”

  “Yes. He’ll be fine.” Mayes paused. “Ms. Cortez, given the myriad of charges you’re facing, including destruction of historical property, grand theft auto, and assault using a deadly weapon with intent to kill, are you prepared to tell me what in the hell is going on? And the explanation better include what was in that massive iron box and where these came from.” Mayes was holding the JS and EK keys.

  ****

  It was one of the most incredible stories Michael Mayes had ever heard. Fawn started at the beginning with the discovery of the homeless man found murdered in the alley not far from Lisa Fortney’s gift shop. For the better part of the discussion, Mayes listened, sometimes with his mouth agape as he followed the twisted, turning clues that had led Fawn to the shell mound in Cedar Key 16 days later.

  “The whole thing sounds like an Indiana Jones movie,” Detective Mayes commented when Fawn had finished.

  “Yeah,” Fawn said. “Except the tomb held no valuables. No gold. The iron hold was probably cleared out long ago. Or maybe it never had treasure, and it was a decoy like the other iron container my father discovered. We’ll never know.”

  “What I still don’t get, even after hearing your story, is the connection with the serial killings: the half-red faces, the names underneath.” What Detective Mayes was pondering was why each victim’s appearance was made to imitate Osceola’s death, and how was Osceola tied to the treasure? He already knew Terrence Courtland was the murderer, and he was a direct descendent of Osceola. Maybe that was pertinent, although the most likely motive for wanting the treasure was to pay off his gambling debts to the loan shark. The problem was his victims, with the exception of his sister Elizabeth, had no knowledge of the iron container or the rumored horde. Plus, Elizabeth Courtland had not left anything to Terrence in her will, so what could possibly be his motive for killing her? Mayes figured those questions would not be answered until after Terrence was apprehended.

  Still, two facts gnawed at Detective Michael Mayes. First, he could think of no possible explanation for why his own name was smeared in blood across the marker in St. Augustine where Lisa Fortney was found.

  The second was the inconsistency in both style and location of Elizabeth Courtland’s death. No name had been written underneath the red face, no scalping had occurred. Hers was also the only corpse discovered indoors. This differed from the victims before and after her. Terrence had departed from his modus operandi. Why only on this one occasion?

  ****

  A doctor entered the room. As the door closed behind him, Fawn saw a glimpse of a uniformed officer standing outside.

  Her heart sank. Even after everything she had told the detective, she had broken the law and would be arrested. It would be up to her to convince a judge that her crimes were out of desperation to save her father’s life.

  The doctor consulted Fawn’s chart and asked her a few questions about how she felt. Satisfied with her responses, he notified her she was being released into police custody.

  The doctor departed and Detective Mayes left the room, allowing Fawn to dress. She paused to look at the colorful bouquet of flowers. A plastic stick held a small envelope. On the outside it read, I stopped by but you were sleeping.

  She opened the envelope.

  Fawn,

  Sorry I let you down. I lost track of y
ou at Alpine Groves Park. Glad to know you and your father are okay. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help with the authorities.

  Ralston

  Fawn finished dressing and used the bathroom. Outside in the hallway, she was handcuffed and led away. She passed by the next room where the door was propped open. She stole a fleeting glance at an unconscious man propped in bed with tubes running around his head and in his nose, another connected an IV drip to his arm.

  It was Mike.

  She felt the tears pool in her eyes.

  On the way to the Fernandina Beach Police Station, Detective Mayes notified Fawn she would be arrested and questioned. FBI Special Agent Ustes was already waiting for her arrival. Afterward, she would be arraigned and bail set. Provided she posted bail, she might not have to spend the night in jail.

  When they reached the station, Fawn was surprised to find an attorney awaiting her arrival. He introduced himself as Travis T. Englehoff, a friend of Mike’s. When Mike had gained consciousness earlier that morning, he had called Englehoff. The attorney had readily agreed to represent Fawn.

  When Fawn learned what Mike had done, she wept openly. Mike must have realized Fawn shot him by mistake, and hopefully, he had forgiven her. Her love for the man at that moment could not be measured.

  She was given some time alone with Englehoff. When they met with FBI Special Agent Ustes and Detective Mayes, Englehoff presented his client’s terms. Fawn agreed to cooperate fully as long as neither Ralston Gabeil nor Dr. Curt Lohan was charged in connection with their involvement in the incidents. After some bartering, all parties agreed.

  The questioning by FBI Special Agent Ustes was relentless. His focus was not on her entire story; he wanted information about Terrence Courtland, which she did not have. Nonetheless, for the second time, she was tasked with telling the events. Ustes interrupted Fawn after nearly every sentence with a barrage of questions. Travis T. Englehoff remained present, objecting and citing client protocol rights often enough that Ustes lost his temper on multiple occasions.

  It was obvious the FBI had already done their homework about the players involved at the shell mound in Cedar Key, but like everybody else, they could not tie these events to Terrence Courtland beyond the fact he was a direct descendant of Osceola, and Osceola had come across the iron container in 1820.

  When all was said and done, Ustes gained nothing beyond hearing one hell of an odd story.

  Afterward, Fawn was arrested. Based on her clean record, her attorney argued Fawn should be released on her own recognizance, promising to return to court as soon as the date was set. Detective Mayes coordinated with the Jacksonville and St. Augustine Police Departments, and they reached agreement.

  Fawn walked out of the police station several minutes before ten o’clock that night. It had been an exhausting day in a long series of exhausting days, but there was one more thing she had to do before going home.

  Per her request, Englehoff dropped Fawn off at the hospital. She knew visiting hours were probably over, but she did not care. She had to check on her father and see Mike.

  Fawn walked into her father’s room and found him sleeping soundly. She leaned over and gave him a kiss. He looked so emaciated; more than she remembered. At least his color was good, and for that, she was thankful.

  She was overjoyed to have him back in her life.

  Fawn proceeded to the third floor. The nurses’ station was unattended. Fawn slipped into Mike’s room unnoticed.

  The moment she entered the room, Mike opened his eyes and smiled dimly. He was a mess; both shoulders were bandaged, and he had a gash on his forehead. “You’re not going to shoot me again, are you, Fawn?”

  “Depends. Are you still going to marry me?” she asked, choking back tears.

  “Of course. It takes more than a couple of bullets to fend me off.”

  She went to him, kissing him gently on the lips. This seemed to cause him pain. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “It only hurts when I move.”

  “I don’t mean for now. I mean for last night. I almost killed you.”

  He smiled. “Not with that aim.”

  She laughed, even as tears streamed down her face. Then her expression sullied. She spoke softly. “Why, Mike? Why didn’t you tell me Elizabeth Courtland was your mother?”

  Mike closed his eyes painfully. He was slow to open them. “I found out in 2002 only when she was experiencing kidney failure and needed a transplant.” He looked at Fawn. “Is that how you found out? From medical records?”

  She nodded.

  Mike continued. “Elizabeth, my mother, became pregnant at the age of 13 at the same time her father, Lawrence Courtland, lost his job at the paper mill. Elizabeth’s mother and father, especially her father, were so ashamed of their daughter’s predicament that they decided to keep Elizabeth’s pregnancy a secret. Of course, this was a secret that would eventually get out in the public and into the quaint community of Fernandina Beach. The family’s embarrassment in the small town would have been epic.

  “Lawrence had a plan, though. He knew that their nearby neighbors, the Robersons, wanted children and that Mrs. Roberson was barren.

  “Lawrence Courtland made a secret deal with the Roberson’s. Mr. Roberson was a doctor. For a healthy sum of money, Elizabeth’s baby would be delivered and turned over to the Roberson’s to raise as their own. During the course of the pregnancy, Dr. Roberson would deliver in-home care to Elizabeth.”

  “Elizabeth never left the house after she reached the second trimester. Dr. Roberson covered for her, contacting the school and stating she had some rare disease that kept her bedridden. Once the baby, yours truly, was delivered at home, I was turned over to the Roberson’s.”

  “And Terrence?”

  “He was shipped off to a relative in Illinois. He stayed there for the year his sister was pregnant. He never knew.”

  Fawn spoke. “It must have been heartbreaking for Elizabeth to give you up.”

  “It was. But the Roberson’s were good people. They allowed Elizabeth to baby-sit me at every opportunity. What’s remarkable to me is that at the age of 13, my mother, Elizabeth, could keep such a secret. As part of the agreement, I was never to find out the truth. The Roberson’s wanted me always to believe I was their natural child.”

  “But Elizabeth finally confessed,” Fawn said.

  “Yes. As I said, she needed a kidney. Kidney transplants are hard to match, and she had been waiting a while. Her blood type was AB negative. Very rare. I had the same blood type, which was a plus for transplant recipients. So she told me the truth about being my mother and asked if I would donate. She also requested I keep our true relationship a secret. She still knew a lot of people on Amelia Island. She didn’t want the reputation of being a liar; of being someone who sold her child, even though her father, Lawrence, had given her no say-so in the matter. She also believed it was better for me. The Roberson’s were good people. The act of “buying” the baby from a teenage girl would have thrown their name into a bad light. So I agreed.”

  “Mike, I’m so sorry about your mother’s death.”

  He nodded his silent acceptance. “Now are you going to tell me what was going on with that man in Cedar Key? What was in that hole, and what were you doing there?”

  “My father had been kidnapped. The man who was making you dig was the man responsible.”

  “Your father’s alive?”

  “One floor above you,” Fawn smiled. “Gunshot wound.”

  Mike looked at Fawn incredulously.

  She laughed. “No, smart ass. I didn’t do it.” Then her face hardened. “Mike, there’s one more thing I need to know.”

  “Yes?”

  “Why wasn’t the antique key inside your safe? The one with MH that I gave you Monday after the funeral?”

  “I was running late to the ai
rport. I took it with me instead. Go over to the closet,” he pointed to the side. “It should be in my pants pocket.”

  Fawn looked to the side table. There was a plastic bag with Mike’s effects.

  “It’s in here,” she said, reaching for the bag. She withdrew the key. “You know, the fact this key wasn’t in your safe had me convinced you were a bad guy.”

  Mike spoke. “That’s why you shot me?”

  “Yes,” Fawn lowered her head in acquiescence. “I honestly thought you were mixed up with my father’s kidnapping…and the serial killings.”

  Mike looked mildly appalled. “Those are things I’d prefer to keep off my resume.”

  He continued. “I still want to hear the story about how you came to be in Cedar Key. Oh, and I asked an attorney friend to help out if you need it. His name is—”

  “Englehoff. Yeah, we met.”

  Mike yawned. Fawn gave him a smile.

  “Get some sleep now. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  ****

  That night, Fawn could not stop thinking about Elizabeth Courtland. She had been such a pleasant woman. Now, knowing she was Mike’s mother, Fawn wished she had gotten to know the woman better.

  Suddenly it made sense. Fawn never had been able to reconcile why Elizabeth had voluntarily shared the common ancestry of her family, with the Seminole Indian, Osceola. She knew Fawn was a reporter, yet she had told her the secret, requesting she not be mentioned in any subsequent article.

  The answer was now obvious. Elizabeth was fearful that there was indeed a curse, or maybe a genetic formality, on the male lineage of Osceola, and that her son, Mike, was affected.

  It must have terrified her to think her son was the killer, knowing he would eventually have to pay the price for his crimes. Ultimately, she bore the guilt for those murdered. Nonetheless, she could not bring herself to tell the police, not that they would have believed her anyway. Therefore, she did the only thing she could to ease her conscience: she told Fawn, Mike’s fiancé, hoping that somehow Fawn would make the connection and stop Mike.