Sea of Bones

by Vickie McKeehan

  “Okay. Do we know if this ginormous place has an alarm system installed? And if so, can we hack into it like we did at Nunley’s house?”

  Leo scratched his chin. “Unbelievably, this house is on its own power grid. You’d need to cut the electricity from the main box.”

  “Where’s that located?”

  “You don’t want to do that,” Leo countered. “Cutting the power would most certainly announce your arrival. The good news is there’s no mention of a security system anywhere in the original plans from the architect. This house was built between 1970 and ’75 and during those years went through several revisions. I’ve gone over the ever-changing plans over the years and none mention an alarm system. Maybe old man Fincher, Elias’s daddy, didn’t think he needed security because of its remote location.”

  “I’d like to see satellite shots from every angle of this place we can find,” Skye ordered.

  “Maybe send in a drone,” Brayden suggested. “That would give us additional photos.”

  Josh jingled the change in his pockets as he circled the room. “Is there time for that?”

  Leo shook his head. “Not really. Plus, it isn’t doable. The military models probably could get the job done, but since we’re talking about a four-and-a-half-hour trip north of Seattle through towering trees, some fifty, sixty feet high, I don’t think it’s feasible. The wind would also be a factor. If we were talking about a closer range, say twenty miles, we could rig something that would work.”

  Skye looked out the window at the water glistening in Elliott Bay and chewed on one of her thumbnails, mulling over their options. “Maybe we could lure him out.”

  “And expose other people to his rage?” Josh asked. “There has to be a better way.”

  Brayden stuffed chips in his mouth and in between bites, asked, “So what’s the plan? I don’t think Skye and Josh should go up there alone.”

  Leo nodded in agreement. “I don’t think so either. Considering we’re on a timeline, worried about Jennifer’s safety. You can bet Elias Pope won’t sit there behind his mansion walls twiddling his thumbs forever knowing we’re tapping at his heels.”

  Skye was still awed by what the place looked like from the few satellite images they’d been able to download off the Internet. “Damn. Look at this place. It’s huge. Look at those front gates, heavy and solid iron. It’s totally inaccessible from the roadway without him seeing us coming.”

  “There is another way,” Leo proffered. “You could get there by boat.” He flipped open Winston’s map. “Take the fastest route from Elliott Bay and go north through Port Townsend. Follow the route he takes according to the Coast Guard violations he racked up. You’ll have to go around a bird sanctuary in British Columbian waters, but other than that, you could hug the coastline all the way up to the Olympic Peninsula and then around to Cape Flattery.”

  Skye looked over at Josh. “How long would the trip take?”

  “Five hours. We could make it at night, then wait for daylight to go in.”

  “Do we even know anyone who owns a boat?”

  “We could rent one,” Josh suggested. “And hope it’s as good as the one he has.”

  “I might be able to get my hands on a de-commissioned harbor police interceptor from an old friend of mine,” Harry offered. “It should be able to keep up with anything out there.”

  Skye huffed out a breath. “Make the arrangements. Meanwhile, I’ll study this guy’s family tree and see if anything pops.”

  Twenty-Three

  Timber baron Fincher Pope had been drawn to the glacier-capped mountains near Olympic Peninsula since he was a boy. Raised near the seventy miles of wilderness coastline nearby, he grew up exploring the million-plus acres of vast timberland known as the Elwha Valley. At least eight Native American tribes had called this area home for more than twelve thousand years, a fact he often recited as he loved the land and cared for it.

  So it was natural that when Fincher reached adulthood, his father instructed him to go out on his own, establish himself in his own right with a place to live. Fincher picked out land at the northernmost tip of the state. Here, he put down roots and built his oceanside mansion, an estate he fondly dubbed, Madrigal Manor.

  Made from sturdy Pacific Coast Maple and accessorized with stucco, sandstone, and brick, Madrigal Manor sat among towering, sturdy Douglas fir and hemlock. The eighty-five-acre estate had sweeping panoramic views. But it was the ocean that glistened off the western cliffs where father would eventually bond with his sons and instill in them a love of the water.

  But first, Fincher had to marry. By the time he finally got around to choosing a wife, he was thirty-four, with quite the reputation as a ladies’ man. The well-regarded bachelor in Seattle’s upper circles of society had his pick of women. That’s why it stunned everyone when he chose a much younger woman by the name of Eleanor Everson Kendrake.

  At twenty, Eleanor was well-connected in her own right. But after meeting the charming Mr. Pope, she became enthralled with everything about him. It didn’t take long for her to fall under his thumb. Her aspirations became simpler, she aimed to please her brand-new husband no matter what.

  After a gigantic society wedding with headlines splashed across the pages of the lifestyle section, she settled into the estate. But much to her disappointment, Eleanor never really became the lady of the manor. Fincher ran the household with an iron fist. Servants never stayed employed for very long before they took off, usually without getting paid.

  But the trappings of wealth held Eleanor firmly in her place. It was the eighties after all, and she had no ambition of her own, except to head up charities or get featured in writeups on the society page. The local newspapers often came calling. Reporters wanted to showcase her interest in horseback riding or her love of antiques, or they wrote about her worldly travels.

  Her life with Fincher remained strained. She spent her time decorating the first-floor parlor and the dining room, the only rooms Fincher allowed her to have complete control over. Because those were hers, she went overboard. She loved the color gold and bought Louis XIV furnishings trimmed in the stuff for the living room and then spread much of her tacky taste to the dining room. If it looked French, she bought it and put it on display.

  She prided herself on receiving guests from all over the world, serving them afternoon tea, and then ignoring their reactions to her over-the-top glitz and glamour. Her tacky taste was often mocked in the gossip columns.

  When she wasn’t entertaining, she traveled to the Orient, bringing back souvenirs and trinkets she thought mingled well with all the French doodads. When she wasn’t packing or unpacking her suitcase, she shopped, hiding her expenditures from her miserly husband.

  Once she finished putting the finishing touches on her rooms, she made sure the gardener kept the grounds in meticulous shape. Maintaining the perfect appearance was all part of the Pope image.

  Eleanor rarely entered the wing of the house specifically for servants. Fincher took care of hiring and firing. She never showed any interest in what went on under her own nose, especially not in the two guest cottages nearby where Fincher often spent his evenings. She stayed away from the two-story stone boathouse because she had no interest in boating. Instead she hung out at the stables around her beloved horses.

  It was six years into the marriage before she had her first child, a boy they named Elijah. Thirteen months later, they added another boy named Elias.

  But after each birth, Eleanor showed little interest in her offspring. Here again, she allowed Fincher full control, full reign over their sons.

  As the boys grew, Fincher included them in family outings. He took them fishing for bull trout, showed them how to drive the string of rowboats and cruisers he used for racing. He taught both boys how to row. He made sure they knew how to survive in the woods. Father and sons went camping often, using the Washington coastline as their vacation destinations. The trio would often bring home Canadian geese they’d sho
t for supper.

  As the years passed, the gap between Eleanor and her sons widened. While she served afternoon tea in her Royal Doulton cups rimmed with 22-karat gold to guests, the boys could be found outdoors, learning the ins and outs of the rugged wilderness.

  Outwardly, the Popes had everything. Money flowed. Life was good. Or so it seemed. No one talked about the abuse. No one mentioned how Fincher could lose his temper over nothing, lash out with his fists, or bully his way into getting what he wanted. Manipulation became one of Fincher’s best tools.

  Their intimate evenings at home might blow up into tense, arbitrary clashes of will and personality. Because their parents fought, the boys stuck together like glue. Elijah and Elias were more like twins. They did everything together. From rowing and swimming to fishing and hunting to riding and shooting, the Pope brothers were a tight unit. They even stuck up for each other at boarding school, rallying to each other’s side against all foes.

  And then one day, their father took them sailing, south to Copalis Beach with a promise of camping out at Griffiths-Priday State Park. Eleanor was forced to go along, too.

  After that trip south, she was never seen again walking the grounds at Madrigal Manor.

  Twenty-Four

  The former harbor police interceptor Harry had in mind was a thirty-seven-foot vessel powered by twin diesel engines and named Ole Maggie May. The name fit since the old tub hadn’t seen marine patrol for at least three decades. But it had been remodeled and renovated and had a top speed of twenty-two knots, a state-of-the-art galley, and a huge stateroom with cherrywood paneling they could use to sleep.

  After doing a walk-through, the serious-minded boat owner, Tom Wilkinson, gave Josh and Skye two-hours of basic instruction, a general rundown on how to work all the gizmos and gadgets, the GPS system, along with tips on the best way to bring her into dock.

  Listening to the drill, Skye looked over at Josh and teased, “What do you think? Got the hang of it yet?”

  “Nothing like a crash course in how to drive a boat.”

  “If only it were that easy. Thanks for letting us borrow your baby,” Skye said to Tom. “I can see she means a lot to you. We promise we’ll bring her back in one piece.”

  The old-timer cracked a toothy grin. “Harry Drummond vouches for you, that’s good enough for me. Man’s been a rock for me since my real Maggie May passed years ago. Always brings me food around the holidays. Even though she is fully insured, I’m right fond of the old girl so do be careful.”

  “We absolutely will,” Skye assured him. “Do you know anything about the Olympic Peninsula?”

  “Only that it’s a bitch to navigate because of all the rocks jutting out from the shoreline. Be careful of shallow waters and running aground. What you think is deep water, usually isn’t. And for God’s sake, don’t get tossed in the water. Hypothermia. Even with a wetsuit, you’re at risk, especially this time of year.”

  “Appreciate the heads up,” Josh acknowledged, beginning to have doubts about the hare-brained idea to attack Madrigal Manor from the water. “You think we’ll be okay taking off this late in the day, with darkness approaching?”

  “Novice boater needs a decent GPS. Maggie May’s got it covered. But you’d do yourself a favor to check the weather religiously. If it even looks like a storm brewing, head for a place to moor for the night. You don’t want to be on the sea during a squall.”

  Skye shook hands with the man. “You’re a treasure trove.”

  “I try to be. You guys stay safe out there.”

  Josh took that to heart as he began unloading what they’d brought out of the minivan and hauled it onto the trawler.

  “I recognize that look on your face. You’re having second thoughts.”

  “So are you,” Josh charged.

  “I’m not denying it. But let’s go over our options. We can’t bang on the iron gates and make him let us in. That means we have to be smarter and sneakier. I can’t imagine anything that tops showing up in Ole Maggie May here.”

  “As long as we don’t end up like the Titanic.”

  “What’s wrong with you? You can drive a boat. I’ve seen you do it lots of times getting to the cabin your parents own.”

  “Sure, in the daylight when visibility is two miles. It’s the rocks jutting up where they aren’t supposed to be that’s the problem. In the dark.”

  “I see. Should we hire an experienced boat captain then?”

  “No time. I’ll just suck it up and hope I know what I’m doing.”

  “That’s not exactly filling me with confidence right about now. I’m afraid to leave the marina.”

  Josh stared out into the inky blackness and spotted Tom coming back around the dock.

  The old man leaned down as far as he could and shouted, “What’s wrong? Why the hell haven’t you guys taken off by now? Time’s wasting. Sunset’s in forty-five minutes.”

  “We’re having a little discussion about boating at night,” Skye explained when Josh wouldn’t.

  “What on earth for? Just use the damn night vision scope. That’s what it’s there for, it’s infra-red for a reason.”

  After swallowing his embarrassment, Josh got underway. Just past Port Townsend, they watched the sun go down in brilliant hues of purple and orange.

  Standing on the deck, she looped an arm around Josh’s waist. “The upside of this trip is we get to spend some time by ourselves, brief as it is.”

  “Any time spent with you is a plus.”

  “No wonder I fell in love with you, you’re such a charmer.”

  “I mean every word.”

  “How far do you want to get tonight?”

  “As far as you’ll let me.”

  She hooted with laughter. “No, not that. How far on our route do you plan to go? Where are we stopping for the night?”

  “I knew what you meant. I just like to see you blush. You still do it, you know, even after all these years.”

  “I do not.”

  “I’m the one looking at you, and I’m telling you that you blush. And I’d like to at least get to Port Crescent. It’s the midway point. We get a good night’s sleep there before the ordeal tomorrow. Are you scared?”

  “I’d be crazy not to be. You?”

  “Yeah. Nervous, not knowing what to expect.”

  “I think we can expect him to put up a fight.” She leaned her head on his chest and watched the clouds swallow up the full moon. “We should do this more often.”

  “Go after serial killers?”

  “No, enjoy the night sky, nature, the water. We live in one of the most beautiful places in the country, why don’t we ever go camping.”

  “We’ll make a pact to do it. I ruined summer, didn’t I? While building Desolation Zone, it put a strain on us, everything we had.”

  “Josh, I understand you need to make a living.”

  “But?”

  “But it’s nice when you’re home and Sierra and I get you all to ourselves. Do you think he knows we’re coming for him?”

  “No. I don’t think he has a clue.”

  “Good. Advantage goes to us. I’ll go fix supper, experiment with the galley stove. I noticed Tom left us fresh-caught trout in the little fridge and veggies from his garden on the counter. What a sweetie.”

  After pan-frying the fish and grilling the veggies, she took a plate up to Josh who wouldn’t leave the helm even to eat.

  “GPS says we’ll be in Port Crescent in about an hour.”

  “Let me take over steering while you eat.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Still having second thoughts?”

  “Not as many. The team’s already packed up and taken off. I got a text from Leo.”

  “Tonight? I thought the plan was to wait till morning. Who’s car did they take?”

  “The passenger van, it carries everyone. Judy wanted to come and so did Deborah.”

  “Oh. I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. Deborah should’ve stayed in
Seattle.”

  “You try to dissuade a mother who wants to find her daughter, try to convince her to stay behind. Harry says he tried. This trout’s really tasty.”

  “Yeah, but what if…you know…Jennifer is…already gone?”

  “I don’t even want to think about it. I guess Harry will deal with it then.”

  Skye took the dishes back to the galley while Josh dropped anchor near a dockside pub on the west side of Port Crescent. From the deck of the boat, they could hear the raucous laughter coming from the waterfront bar. They were tempted to join in and mingle, but in the end, they decided to go to bed at ten o’clock.

  The stateroom’s king-size bed came with plenty of decorative pillows which Skye tossed in the corner before pulling back the covers. “When’s the last time we went to bed this early?”

  Josh sank into the mattress next to her. “The last time we were hunting a killer. And we were sleeping on the hard ground in eastern Oregon, freezing, as I recall.”

  She made a face at the memory. “The Harcourt case. Had to chase that bastard all over three counties.”

  He put a finger to her lips. “Could we forget about killers for half an hour?”

  “Half an hour? Is that all you got?”

  He grinned, covering her mouth with his.

  ****

  The Foundation people were proving worthy opponents. They’d figured out he’d been using Eric Nunley’s house for years. But that didn’t mean they’d be able to figure out the rest.

  They seemed to be bumbling along at a snail’s pace. After all, he’d shot the man and tasered him. Hell, he’d even tasered the female. He’d slipped through their fingers…twice.

  For more than a decade, he’d managed to keep off anyone’s radar. But it was boring. Not getting any attention had become tedious. He wanted the fame of others. Gary Ridgway. Ted Bundy. Randy Woodfield. Kenneth Bianchi. Robert Yates. Jerry Brudos.

  Elias Pope should be up there with the best of the lot. His father would be proud. He’d surpassed what his father had done and then some. His legacy had always been his goal without him knowing it.