Three Keys to Murder

by Gary Williams

  “My God,” Fawn said. “This is the Aztec crown Jonathan mentioned! Those are rubies, sapphires, emeralds…and a hundred diamonds!”

  Ralston stood beside her, speechless.

  “I have to tell my father.” She pulled the cell phone from her pocket. Her hands were still shaking. She hurriedly scrolled through her list of previously called numbers and found the hospital number.

  She had vindicated her father. She would call him, then Mike to tell them the incredible news.

  A sound came from somewhere down the long hallway that led to the first room and up the tunnel to the bastion stairwell. She and Ralston froze, looking in that direction. Fawn punched the dial button on the phone absentmindedly, her attention still focused in the direction of the noise.

  She lifted the cell phone to her ear and heard a distant ringing, followed by a nearby ringing.

  Ralston lifted a cell phone from his pocket and spoke. “Hello, Fawn.” His stark words hung in the small chamber. He eyed Fawn as if waiting for her reaction.

  Fawn looked at Ralston in utter surprise. She heard his voice coming from across the room and through the phone. She drew the cell phone away from her face and looked at the display, perplexed. She had misdialed; brought up the wrong number. Instead of phoning the hospital, the display shown that she had accidentally called Lisa Fortney’s cell.

  “Ralston? What…what are you doing with Lisa’s cell?”

  “Thomas. The name’s Thomas Bailey,” he said in a steely voice.

  She looked at him, aghast. “What? What are you talking about?”

  “Sorry, Fawn. I never intended for you to find out.”

  Fawn was now aware of Ralston’s clothes. He was no longer wearing the blue jeans and sloppy tee shirt as he was prone to do. He was dressed professionally, if not eloquently: pressed, long-sleeve shirt, dress slacks and polished shoes, possibly Italian.

  “I’ve already missed my flight now, so I’ll indulge your questions. I can guess the first: Who am I, really?”

  He continued. “As I said, my name is Thomas Bailey. While I may look like a teenager, I assure you I am not. I’m 32 years old. I’ve always had a youthful appearance.

  “Your next questions would be: Why am I here? Why did I deceive you into thinking I was a college student from Jamaica?”

  Fawn was barely listening. The realization that this man before her had fooled her all this time nauseated her. It also meant this man was somehow tied to the murders, and probably to her father’s kidnapping. That’s why he had sent flowers to her hospital room and not shown up in person. He couldn’t take the chance of being seen by police. Her mind was reeling at the depth of his deception. She still struggled to process that this man was anyone other than Ralston Gabeil, a foreign exchange student attending college in the United States.

  She edged closer to the table. She had no weapon, but if she could get to the hammer on the table…

  Thomas Bailey drew a gun. It had a barrel with an extension: a silencer. “Let’s don’t do that. I wouldn’t get to finish my story. Give me your cell phone,” he said.

  Fawn complied, and he motioned for her to sit on the floor against the wall. “Where was I? Oh yes, why am I here, in your sunny state, hanging out on Amelia Island?

  “In mid 2001, Terrence Courtland ran up some debts with my boss in Atlantic City amounting to nearly half a million dollars. Then, Terrence died in the World Trade Center collapse of 9/11. Or so everyone thought.

  “Earlier this year, a decade later, boss got wind Terrence Courtland had not died after all. It turns out Courtland had survived and gone underground. My boss sent me here to keep tabs on Elizabeth Courtland hoping to catch Terrence if he made contact with his sister. I had her house bugged with listening devices and soon overheard information about a treasure being sought by a Juan Cortez in a conversation between Elizabeth and your fiancé.”

  Bailey moved to the table. He hopped upon it, taking a seat. He lowered the gun to the tabletop beside him.

  Fawn reasoned the distance. She was too far to try anything. Besides, he was physically stronger than she was. She would never be able to wrestle the weapon away from him.

  “I have to admit, Fawn, I’ve always been somewhat fascinated by the prospect of hidden treasure; a childhood fantasy, perhaps. The thought held a special allure to me, and I contacted an unscrupulous man who I’d hired in the past. A man familiar with boats and the sea to keep tabs on your father.

  “Tony Liáng,” Fawn said.

  “Yes. Liáng saved your father that day he had the underwater accident with the hold. He found him passed out on the floorboard of his boat. What Liáng didn’t realize was your father had been conscious long enough to return the key back to the cigar box then hide the box in the secret compartment where you found it. After Liáng moved your father to his boat, he cleaned the blood away to make it appear as if your father never reached the surface.

  “If only Liáng had searched Mr. Cortez’s boat and found the cigar box that you eventually obtained, it would have saved your father considerable suffering.”

  Fawn cringed at the thought of her father being tortured.

  ****

  Detective Mayes met up with a squad car at the gated entrance to Fort Clinch State Park. The twirling red and blue bubble lights lit the night. Mayes stepped from his vehicle.

  This was a routine security call-out. Yet, Mayes couldn’t shake the fact the alarm had registered at a place so intimately tied to the recent events.

  Not this time, he thought.

  Officer Frank Phinian, a long-time Fernandina Beach policeman who Mayes knew well, rose from the open driver’s-side door. “Appears to be a false alarm. That sensor on the fence went off about 35 minutes ago. There was a tree limb lying across the line that I pulled off.” The barrel-chested officer pointed to the side where the fence lined the woods.

  Mayes nodded his understanding.

  Phinian continued. “What’s with the alert for us to pick up Mike Roberson? I’ve known the guy forever. He’s a good man.”

  “Too detailed for me to go into, Frank, but if you see him, use extreme caution.”

  Phinian looked at the detective in mild disbelief.

  “Trust me,” Mayes added. “As for the false alarm, you can go. I’m going to look around a bit.”

  Phinian nodded, climbed in the squad car, and doused the bubble lights. Moments later, the officer drove away.

  Detective Mayes turned and walked toward the dark stretch of fence Phinian had pointed to. He found the lengthy tree limb from a maple tree. He used his penlight to examine the break where the limb had torn away from the tree. It was ragged and had ripped off a long sliver of tree skin, confirming it was a natural break.

  He looked into the woods behind the fence. The prevailing darkness obscured what he needed to know. Mayes returned to his car and gathered his large flashlight. He again stepped up to the fence where the fallen limb lay. Shining the light up, Mayes spotted trees of almost every ilk: pine, oak, various types of palm trees, sycamore, and so on, but no maple.

  Then he spotted it. A maple tree sat some fifty feet away among a cluster of palmetto. It was barely visible through the knot of trees before it.

  Detective Mayes knew. There was no way in hell a limb from that tree had come to rest naturally on the fence. It was too far away. Someone had entered the grounds of the state park and left it here as a deception to make authorities think it had inadvertently set off the sensor.

  CHAPTER 48

  Bailey continued his explanation. “By the way, the day Terrence Courtland broke into Elizabeth’s house, smashed the guitar, and discovered Sarah’s 1865 letter to Coyle that Lawrence Courtland had found in the attic in 1969; I had driven to Cedar Key to meet with Liáng. It was the only day in all the months watching her house that I wasn’t there. It happened to be the very day
Terrence broke in. Oh the irony. Terrence didn’t even know the letter existed until he accidentally found it. He came to Elizabeth’s house looking for quick money—either cash or jewelry he could hock. When he found neither, he became angry, smashing Lawrence Courtland’s guitar and finding the letter, along with a list of names.” Bailey’s rapacious smile oozed evil. “I listened to the recording later that night, heard a man grumble some words, and knew it was him.”

  He paused, eyeing Fawn licentiously. “You really are a beautiful woman.”

  “Let me guess. You’re not gay, either.”

  “Nope. Straight as the day is long. Or vice versa.” He sneered. “I befriended you to see if you knew anything more about your father’s search. Once things got rolling, I have to admit I got intrigued with the search for that bizarre Indian head.”

  Fawn realized the man before her was going to kill her, but her inquisitive side had to know the truth. “Is Terrence the serial killer?”

  Bailey smiled. “Yes, but even he didn’t know why. I believe he suffered from some form of psychosis. Very bizarre the things the man did. I sure can’t explain it. And it was obvious. Terrence didn’t realize what he had with the map. He saw the word treasure, and as a man desperate for money, it intrigued him. Using the instructions in the letter—a section you didn’t get a chance to read before I knocked you unconscious and stole the letter from you at the fort that night—Terrence located the secret room with the skull in the canister.”

  “It was you?” Her eyes went wide. Fawn suddenly thought to how Ralston—Thomas—had not come to Elizabeth Courtland’s funeral. In fact, he had remained behind the scenes throughout all of this. Worse, she had unknowingly accommodated him, masking his involvement in order to protect him if things got out of hand. In essence, she had been his shield.

  “Of course it was me. I wanted to know what you were up to. I assumed you were keeping me in the dark for altruistic reasons that night you came to the fort, but I had a feeling you’d search for the secret room at Fort Clinch, so I tailed you. Strange, but I got the feeling someone else was in the fort that night with us. So once I knocked you out and took the map, I got the hell out of there.”

  “You fooled me with that forwarded e-mail from the professor,” Fawn admitted.

  “I got that info on my own. I really am a computer research whiz, you know.”

  “Why didn’t you kill me that night at the fort?”

  “I considered it, but that would have brought all kinds of heat down on me. Besides, you seemed resourceful. I knew I stood a better chance of finding the treasure with you. Not to mention, you’re a hot piece of ass.

  “So the police are right,” Fawn said. “Terrence Courtland is the killer. He had gone insane. That’s why he killed his own sister.”

  Bailey spoke. “Well…yes and no.” He offered a guttural chuckle.

  Fawn looked at him, confused.

  “I heard Terrence at Elizabeth’s house that Wednesday morning. They were arguing. It was then I first realized Terrence was the murderer. When he questioned Elizabeth about the treasure, I also suspected that Elizabeth knew more than she was letting on. Once Terrence left, I visited Ms. Courtland. I had no intention of killing the old woman, but she became belligerent. She wouldn’t tell me a thing. I got the idea to make her appear to be a victim of the serial killer and gave her the half-red face.

  “At that time, the FBI had not conducted their press conference. It was also before you and I visited that retired policeman who had arrested Lawrence Courtland in 1969. So when I killed Elizabeth Courtland, I didn’t know all of the traits. I didn’t know about the names underneath the painted face or about the scalpings.”

  “You bastard!” Fawn fumed. “That poor woman never hurt anyone.”

  “I now realize Elizabeth Courtland had no knowledge of the treasure. That was a very inopportune thing for her,” Bailey grinned. “It was also that morning when you came by. I wouldn’t allow Elizabeth to answer the door.”

  Fawn stared at the man with contempt. “And you allowed Terrence to keep killing people? Including Lisa?”

  “Of course not. Don’t you get it?” Bailey laughed menacingly. “You see, Fawn, I killed Terrence Courtland that night after finding out he didn’t know any more about the treasure than we did.

  “By then, I knew about the other traits of the victims: the names underneath the red and the scalpings. So I decided to keep the murderer going. It was my way of keeping you motivated. I killed a few more, including Lisa Fortney, spacing them days apart. As long as the killer was still doing his thing, I knew you would feel compelled to look for the treasure, since the two seemed intimately linked.”

  Fawn’s eyes teared. “Why Lisa? Why kill her?”

  “As a way to keep you off balance. I didn’t want you to put that journalist mind to use and figure out someone on the inside, someone you were openly sharing information with, was behind all this. It worked.

  “I left a note for your detective buddy, Mayes. I scribbled the message in blood on the marker where I left little Lisa Fortney to rot.

  “But the best part about my deception was when I discovered your fiancé’s relationship to Elizabeth Courtland. I knew he was her son prior to us hacking into the hospital records in Gainesville. I overheard them that day Mike told his mother about Juan Velarde Cortez, the treasure your father was after, and the key. To keep you distracted, I leveraged this to make you think Mike was the killer. It fell into place so easily once Elizabeth Courtland told you about the curse of Osceola’s male lineage, and you bought it.”

  Fawn spoke, her voice weak. “Mike didn’t call you and tell you to come here.”

  “Of course not. I was in the process of packing; ready to return to Jersey…disappointed, I might add. After all of our work, I had nothing to show for it. Then a miracle happened. Sensors on the monitoring device I still had installed in Elizabeth’s house went off once you entered. I overheard your conversation with Mike and knew you were coming here for the treasure.

  “I had taken Lisa’s phone from Liáng and damn if I didn’t have it on me when you misdialed your phone. This was unfortunate for you, Fawn. That simple error means I can’t let you go. On the way here, I had decided that if we found anything, I’d knock you unconscious, take the treasure and hide it away, then return to feign I’d been struck by the same attacker. I could wake up on the floor beside you to see that we’d been robbed. In that way, we’d both appear to be victims. I really didn’t want to have to kill you.

  “Just think, I was minutes away from leaving for the airport. My foray into treasure hunting had been a dismal failure. Once I arrived back in Jersey, I was going to send you an e-mail claiming that my mother in Jamaica had suddenly fallen ill and I had returned home quickly. Over time, we would have exchanged a few e-mails then communications would slowly subside. You would never have had any idea of my involvement.”

  ****

  Detective Mayes called Desk Sergeant Duvall and had him contact Mylar Security to get the main gate to Fort Clinch State Park opened. He also asked for Officer Phinian to return as backup.

  Ten minutes later, the two men drove into the park in Detective Mayes’ unmarked car. Mayes explained the situation to Phinian, who seemed a bit embarrassed that he had not noticed the logistical anomaly with the tree branch across the fence.

  Mayes was working on instincts alone now. He had been inside the fort, in that amazing secret room, with the FBI this morning, and they had failed to uncover any clues as to the whereabouts of Terrence Courtland.

  Mayes now believed, based on the Elizabeth Courtland murder, there was another killer, and Mike Roberson had become his prime suspect.

  “Where are we going?” Phinian asked. “You seem like you’re on a mission.”

  “To the fort,” Detective Mayes responded, flatly. “And mission is an understatement.”

&n
bsp; CHAPTER 49

  Although terrified, Fawn realized Bailey would not kill her in this underground chamber. With the room known to authorities, he could not risk having her body found here. And dragging her dead weight to the high stairwell opening was out of the question. He would have to get her topside, possibly even away from the fort, before killing her. Until then, she would look for her opportunity to escape. For now, she would follow his instructions.

  Bailey closed the iron box with the crown inside and made Fawn carry it.

  They left the hammer and wedge on the table. Fawn reasoned that whatever he was going to do to her, he would have to do it quickly then return to clean up the mess—the shards of bricks, the hole in the wall. She wondered if he would set the scene for Terrence to continue taking the fall, even though the man was dead.

  Her question was quickly answered.

  Bailey removed a sealed plastic bag from his pants pocket and laid it on the table. In the scant light she could make out the sickly form of a human hand. Dried crimson blood coated it.

  “Say hello to Terrence Courtland. I’m going to leave him here for the moment.”

  Taking the gun, he ordered Fawn to move toward the hallway. Then, one by one, he blew out the candles, until only one was lit. He took the last lit candle with them as they made their way back up the narrow corridor.

  Fawn went first, struggling through, carrying the box. It was not overly heavy, but she had to turn it sideways, holding it out before her. Her arms began to feel the strain, and her mind was grappling to form a plan of escape. They were only minutes away from reaching the handholds in the wall.

  She moved through the tight corridor in the darkness. Bailey followed behind, carrying the candle, which provided little light for Fawn as she moved slowly ahead. Several times her knuckles scraped the abrasive walls as she held the box in front of her, and she grimaced. The pain, however, was secondary. She had to try an escape when the opportunity was right. She might not get a second chance.