Copper Beach dl-1

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  She frowned. “Why does the call have to be anonymous?”

  “At this stage, I don’t want anyone to know that we found the body. We need to leave. Now.” He started toward the front door and stopped.

  “What is it?” Abby asked.

  He looked back toward the body. “What was Webber doing in that aisle when he died?”

  “He was probably trying to flee the killer. He staggered that far and collapsed.”

  “Yes, but that row of shelving dead-ends at the wall,” Sam said. “This was his home. He knew every inch of it. He must have realized that if he fled in this direction, he would be trapped.”

  “He was dying. He would have been terrified. At the very least, terribly disoriented. I doubt that he was thinking clearly.”

  “I’m not so sure of that.” Sam slipped the pistol beneath his jacket and went slowly back down the aisle. He stopped a short distance from the body and studied the spines of the dusty, leather-bound volumes on the shelves. “I assume he had a logical way of organizing his books?”

  “Of course.” Abby came to stand at the far end of the aisle. “Thaddeus devised a very elaborate system years ago. It was based on alchemical symbols and numbers. Each section is labeled. See that little placard on the end of each shelf     ?”

  He glanced at the nearest bit of yellowed cardboard. There was a handwritten notation on it. The combination of old symbols and numbers looked like some ancient, incomprehensible alchemical formula.

  “Can you tell what kind of books he kept in this section?” he asked.

  Abby came down the aisle and examined the faded handwriting on the cardboard for a few seconds. “This is a history section. Reference books that were written about alchemy by late-nineteenth-century scholars. These would all be secondary sources, as far as serious collectors are concerned. Some are interesting, but none are unusually rare or inherently valuable.”

  “None of them are hot?”

  “No. Most of them are available from other antiquarian book dealers or large academic libraries.”

  Sam studied a small gap on one of the shelves. “One of the books is gone.”

  “He probably sold it recently.”

  “No, look at the way the dust on the shelf is smeared. That was done by a hand groping for the book and pulling it away from the others. Whoever grabbed that volume was in a big hurry.”

  He went down beside the body again and took another look at the scene from the lower vantage point. A slim leather-bound volume lay just out of sight in the shadows beneath the last row of shelving. He retrieved the book, opened it and read the title aloud.

  “A Brief History of the Ancient Art of Alchemy, by L. Paynter.” He looked up at Abby.

  “Paynter was a Victorian-era scholar,” she said. “One of the first historians of science.”

  “I know.”

  “By that time, alchemy had long since fallen into disrepute. It was the province of crackpots and eccentrics. Anyone who considered himself a serious scientist or researcher was into chemistry and physics by then. But Paynter was of the opinion that if Isaac Newton had been intrigued by alchemy, there had to be something to it.”

  “Paynter was right.” Sam handed the book to her. She paged through it quickly, pausing midway through the little tome.

  “There’s a page missing,” she said. “It was ripped out, not cut out. The damage was done recently. You can tell because the crinkles and jagged edges haven’t been pressed into place the way they would be if this book had been sitting unopened on the shelf for a few years.”

  “I knew I was missing something,” Sam said.

  The sense that an ominous darkness was closing in on them was getting stronger. Spending time with a dead body will do that, he reminded himself. This is important. Take your time and think. You need to find whatever it is that you aren’t seeing clearly. He patted down Webber’s pajamas and bathrobe. It was unpleasant work, but this was not the first time he had performed such a chore. When his palm passed over the pocket of the robe, he felt a small bulge. Probably a tissue or a handkerchief. There was a faint crackling sound. He reached into the pocket and drew out the crumpled page.

  “That’s it.” Excitement quickened in Abby’s voice. “That’s the missing page. He tore it out of Paynter’s history in the last moments of his life and stuffed it into his pocket.”

  “He knew we were on our way, that we would probably be the ones who found him. He did his best to leave us a message.”

  Carefully, he smoothed the old page and studied the illustration. The cold sleet of psi that had been stirring his senses all morning transmuted into an ice storm.

  “What?” Abby asked.

  “This message isn’t for you. It’s for me. He knew that I would be with you when you got here.” He shoved the page into the inside pocket of his jacket. “Let’s move.”

  “I don’t understand. What does that drawing mean to you?”

  “I’ll tell you when we’re in the car.”

  Mercifully, Abby did not question the decision. She followed him quickly out the front door. Newton dashed ahead, more than enthusiastic about the prospect of leaving the grim scene.

  He got Abby and Newton into the SUV, climbed behind the wheel and drove swiftly back toward the main road. The icy-cold feeling on the nape of his neck was getting more intense.

  “What’s the rush?” Abby asked, fastening her seat belt.

  “Damned if I know.” He took one hand off the wheel long enough to rub the back of his neck. “Just a feeling.”

  “What is it about the page that Thaddeus tore out of the book that has you so worried?”

  Sam reached inside his jacket. He pulled out the torn page and handed it to her. “Take a look.”

  She took the page and examined it closely. “It’s an artist’s rendering of an alchemist’s laboratory. Competently done, but it certainly isn’t Dürer’s Melencolia. So?”

  “Look at the setting.”

  “It’s different from most pictures of an alchemist at work, because the setting is clearly Victorian,” Abby mused. “Scenes of this type are usually set against medieval or Renaissance landscapes. This has got more of a Frankenstein vibe. The mad-scientist thing. But there is the usual mishmash of allegorical images from Egyptian and Greek mythology.” She looked up from the picture. “What makes this illustration different?”

  “That picture is not an artist’s generic vision of an alchemist’s lab. Take a closer look at the fire on the hearth.”

  Abby glanced down. She stiffened. “The flames are formed by the stylized wings of a phoenix. Oh, geez, Sam. The bird looks an awful lot like that tattoo on your shoulder.”

  “Where do you think I got the idea for the tat?”

  “You’ve seen a copy of this book?”

  “Not that particular text but some related writings. I told you that when Dad and his partners found the crystals, they did a lot of research into the scientific literature. They were trying to track down references to previous discoveries of similar crystals. They didn’t find much that was useful, just some old alchemy texts. But they did come across a few notes made by the guy in the picture. Dad gave them to me.”

  Abby read the title under the drawing. “Scene from Dr. Marcus Dalton’s laboratory.”

  “Dalton conducted some experiments on crystals that he called the Phoenix stones. Very little of his work survived, unfortunately. He sensed the latent power in the stones, but he never figured out how to access it. He theorized, however, that in the hands of someone who could tap the energy of the crystals, the stones could be used, among other things, as weapons.”

  “Like that crystal bug zapper you used on poor Nick?”

  He let the poor Nick comment pass. “Yes, but on a much larger scale. The most I can do with my little zapper is temporarily paralyze certain currents in an individual’s aura. It’s probably similar to what you do when you channel the energy in an encrypted book into someone’s aura. And I n
eed physical contact to achieve the results. Dalton believed the crystals had the potential to create much greater destruction, and from a distance. But he also theorized that the crystals could be engineered to create a source of power.”

  “Which, presumably, is why your father doesn’t want to destroy all the records of the experiments and why he doesn’t want to obliterate all traces of the Phoenix Mine.”

  Sam smiled. “Good guess. The world is going to need new sources of power in the future. Engineered correctly, those crystals might be an answer.”

  “What happened to Dalton?”

  “He was killed in an explosion that occurred when one of his experiments went out of control. All of the crystals he was working on at the time disappeared, and most of his notes were lost.”

  “Just like the explosion in the Phoenix,” Abby said.

  “Yes. I told you, those crystals are dangerous and highly volatile.”

  Abby thought for a moment. “So Thaddeus was trying to warn you that someone is after the lab book. But we already knew that.”

  “I don’t think that’s what Webber intended as the takeaway from his last message.”

  “What, then?”

  “I think he was trying to tell me that someone has one of the Phoenix stones and has figured out how to turn it into a weapon. That’s what the killer used to murder him.”

  “Oh, my God,” Abby whispered. “Lander Knox.”

  “Maybe. I knew that Thaddeus Webber was murdered by paranormal means. Now I know the nature of the weapon. We need to find that lab book, Abby.”

  She took out her phone. “I’ll see if any of the deep-end dealers have responded to my offer of a preemptive bid.”

  He drove very fast along the graveled lane and pulled out onto the main road, accelerating hard. He saw a car parked sideways, blocking both lanes, when he came out of the first turn. A man was slumped over the steering wheel.

  The psi-chill that had been riding him hard for the last hour flashed into full-blown awareness of impending disaster.

  “Hang on,” he said.

  Abby looked up from her phone and saw the car. “There’s been an accident.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He hit the brakes, slamming to a stop. He heard dog claws scrabbling wildly on the rear seat.

  He snapped the SUV into reverse and shot back around the turn.

  The maneuver got them out of sight of the blocking car, but he knew that they had only a couple of minutes, at most. There was bound to be a second vehicle coming up from behind. A classic pincer move.

  He braked again. “Out. Into the woods. Go.”

  Abby did not ask questions. She freed herself from the seat belt, opened the door and leaped to the ground, still clutching her phone. Sam followed. By the time he got out, Abby had freed Newton from the backseat.

  “Head for the rocks,” Sam ordered.

  They ran up the hillside into the cover of the trees, aiming for the jumble of boulders that formed a natural fortress.

  “What is going on?” Abby asked, panting alongside him.

  “Not sure, but I think that whoever murdered Webber left some thugs to watch the house.”

  “But why?”

  “Someone wants you, Abby. Someone wants you very, very badly.”

  18

  HE PULLED ABBY DOWN BEHIND THE COVER OF THE MASSIVE rocks.

  “Keep Newton quiet,” he said. “I don’t want him giving away our position. Whatever you do, stay down.”

  She nodded and tugged Newton down beside her. She put her hand on his muzzle. The dog seemed to comprehend that this was not a game.

  “What’s happening?” Abby whispered.

  He did a fast assessment of the available evidence.

  “I think this was supposed to be a simple carjacking followed by a kidnapping. In a minute or so, they’ll realize that it’s gone bad. Won’t take them long to figure out which way we went. From this location, I will be able to spot them before they find us.”

  “And then what?”

  He took the pistol out from under his jacket and settled onto his belly to peer through the narrow crack between two rocks. “Then I use this. With luck, they won’t expect me to be armed. As far as most people are concerned, I’m just a guy who spends way too much time in a lab, studying rocks.”

  “Sounds like an excellent career path to me.” Abby tightened her hold on Newton. The dog wriggled a little in her arms, trying to get free.

  There was a fierce, all-too-familiar tension about Newton that Sam recognized. They were both experiencing the icy energy that accompanied danger, he thought, a unique kind of rush. He switched his attention back to the view of the road.

  Down on the pavement, a man loped around the corner and into plain sight. It was the guy who had been slumped over the steering wheel of the blocking car. A second man got out of the chase car and joined his companion. Together they both looked at the open doors of the SUV, and then they turned to gaze up into the trees. One of them pointed at the pile of granite boulders.

  “They just figured out that we’re up here,” Sam said.

  “Not like we had much of a choice when it came to hiding places,” Abby whispered.

  Down below, both men took out guns and started up the hillside They separated, working their way toward the boulders, trying to use the trees for cover. But it was clear that they were not accustomed to moving through heavily wooded terrain. One of them skidded on a pile of needles and stones and nearly went down. Dead branches crackled under their feet.

  City thugs, Sam decided. Guys like this were used to dealing drugs in back alleys, conducting smash-and-grab robberies and carjackings, crimes more suited to an urban environment.

  They were out of their element today, and working under a major strategic disadvantage, whether they knew it or not. They were advancing uphill on an opponent who had the high ground, a fortified high ground at that. And they didn’t know yet that the opposition was armed.

  Sam settled into the zone. I can work with this.

  The second man stumbled again and fell to one knee. “Shit.”

  In the deep silence of the woods, the curse was clearly audible.

  Sam squeezed off a warning shot. A branch exploded above the second man’s head.

  “Shit,” the second man yelped again. He lunged for the cover of the tree trunk. “He’s got a gun.”

  The first man scrambled for cover. “Yeah, I can see that.” He raised his voice. “You up there, the guy with the gun, listen, man. We’re armed, too. But this doesn’t have to get messy. We don’t care about you. We want the woman. Send her out and everyone walks away from this now.”

  Sam let the silence echo. City thugs were no good when it came to the waiting game. They tended to be a jittery, impatient lot. They lacked the discipline for this kind of hunting.

  “Hey, we’re not going to hurt the woman if that’s what you’re worrying about,” the second man shouted. “It’s okay, man. We’re just going to take her with us for a little while. We were hired to pick her up, that’s all. There’s this guy who wants her to do a job for him. When it’s over, she goes home, safe and sound. Nobody gets hurt.”

  There was another long silence. The first man couldn’t take it. He leaned around the tree and fired blindly. Most of the bullets plowed harmlessly into the ground. A couple zinged off one of the larger boulders.

  When the silence became intolerable again, the second man called to his friend.

  “Maybe he’s out of ammunition,” he said, sounding hopeful.

  “Like hell,” the first man responded. “He’s going to wait up there and pick us off if we try to get to those rocks. Shit, this isn’t going to work.”

  “I’ve had it,” the second man said. “We didn’t get paid enough for this. Let’s get out of here.”

  “You up there in the rocks,” the first man shouted. “You win. We’re leaving. Don’t shoot.”

  Sam let the silence lengthen once more.


  Cautiously, both men edged away from the sheltering trees and half crawled, half stumbled back down the hillside toward the road. Sam fired two more shots by way of encouragement.

  Newton exploded out of Abby’s clutches. He charged around the tumbled boulders and raced down the hillside.

  “Newton,” Abby yelped, stricken. “No. Come back here.”

  “I knew that condo dog was going to be a problem,” Sam said.

  “Shit,” the second man yelled. “There a dog.”

  The first man had reached the chase car. He jumped in behind the wheel and fired up the engine. The second man tried to open the passenger-side door, but Newton’s jaws closed around his trouser leg. The guy yelled. He managed to kick free and get the door closed.

  The chase car did a three-point turn and roared off, disappearing around a bend.

  Sam got to his feet and went cautiously down the hill.

  Abby followed quickly. “Newton, Newton, come here. Are you all right?”

  Newton trotted back toward her, giving her a doggy grin. She went down on her knees and hugged him close.

  “Good dog,” she said. “Brave dog. You’re the best dog in the entire world.”

  Newton licked her furiously.

  “Always figured he’d go for the ankle, not the throat,” Sam said. “Let’s get moving.” He urged her toward the SUV. “I want to make a stop before we head back to the island.”

  “Where?”

  “The Black Box lab.”

  “Don’t forget, we have to make that nine-one-one call to report Thaddeus’s body,” Abby said.

  “We’ll stop at a gas station on the way back to Seattle,” Sam promised.

  19

  SHE FELT THE HOT CURRENTS OF ENERGY SWIRLING INSIDE the lab as soon as she walked through the automatic doors with Sam. The interior of the Black Box facility, officially known as the Coppersmith Research and Development Laboratory, gleamed and sparkled with a lot of stainless steel and thick green-tinted glass. Instruments and high-tech equipment, including lasers that were clearly state–of–­the-art and beyond, were arrayed on the workbenches. Computer screens glowed on every desk. Technicians in white coats hovered over chunks of raw ore and specimens of crystals and rocks.