Blackman's Coffin (23 page)
“How much gold did you find in that graveyard?” Armitage asked.
I’d purposefully created the impression we’d discovered a sampling of gold and emeralds. “Not much. We know Elijah gave most of it away to relatives. That’s the trail that led us to the cemetery.”
“So when the government came in, Elijah got out,” Nakayla said.
I patted Harry’s bony shoulder. “Your timeframe works. Let’s say Galloway or someone else found gold dust in Junebug’s pack. He could have followed Elijah or forced him to give up the mine’s location and then killed him.”
“Ain’t no somebody,” Harry said. “I bet my life on Jamie Galloway. He’d probably snuck back earlier from the war, maybe on a merchant marine ship, and he’d been hiding in the hills. He was a mean cuss and a coward to boot. A bad combination.”
Armitage shook his head. “But isn’t the case against Ledbetter unraveling? The mine’s not on his property. And I’ve never heard of any gold strikes he’s made.”
He raised a good point and the room fell silent.
Then the answer came to me in stunning simplicity. “This isn’t the map of the gold mine. It’s the emerald mine. Jamie Galloway and his descendants have been sneaking onto government land all along. That meant they had to have some way to explain the existence of the emeralds. So in the 1920s, Galloway buys some land with marginal gem and gold deposits. Every few years, they announce a major find and in the meantime the tourist trade provides income. They’re laundering the emeralds and creating publicity for Gold for the Taking at the same time.”
“And the journal and my sister’s inquiries threatened the whole operation,” Nakayla said.
“What do we do now?” Harry asked.
“We bait our trap,” I said. “Nathan, have you talked to Ledbetter about Tikima’s visit?”
“No. Peters told me to stay clear.”
“We were here,” I said, pointing to BFS on the map. “With a park ranger as our alibi. But since you haven’t talked to Ledbetter, you can follow up saying you found a personal file of Tikima’s at the office that refers to an old emerald mine near the Cradle of Forestry. You’re going to give it to the park rangers, but first you wanted to check with him whether he’d ever heard of it.”
Armitage looked skeptical. “It’s sketchy at best, but if Ledbetter’s guilty, it could panic him. I’ll be sure and do this in broad daylight surrounded by tourists.”
“I hope he’ll head for the mine to make sure nothing incriminating exists.”
Armitage smiled. “And we’ll have it staked out.”
“Yes. It’ll be a nice collar for Ranger Taylor. He’s got jurisdiction.”
Stanley leaned over the map. “But if Ledbetter doesn’t go to the mine?”
“Then we fall back on the geology professor’s recommendation. We do an oxygen isotope test on Elijah’s emeralds, the rock in this mine, and an emerald from Ledbetter’s property. A three-way match traps him in the middle of the triangle.”
“But that’s not the first step,” Armitage said.
“No.” I placed my finger beside the X. “First we find out if this mine even exists. Which means Nakayla and I have to stay on the run from the police.” I squeezed her hand. “Did you ever dream you’d be starring in Bonnie and Clyde?”
We decided to switch cars as a precaution against a police road check. While Nakayla waited in the room with Harry and Armitage, Stanley and I pulled two emeralds and a gold bar out of the Hyundai and stored them in the glove box of the minivan. Nakayla and Harry would drive it back to Asheville, I’d take Armitage in his Lexus, and Stanley would get the Hyundai and its valuable cargo to Birmingham. He’d tell his wife the minivan had broken down and I’d lent him the car.
Armitage and Harry slept most of the way back. Nakayla and I stopped twice for coffee, but I was still feeling groggy when we got to Golden Oaks around eight-thirty.
Harry was delivered to Captain and his octogenarian security detail. I’d been tempted to accept Captain’s offer of the guest suite, but Armitage said we could rest at his home for a few hours. His wife and kids were at their Pawley’s Island beach house and he had plenty of room.
I expected the president of a large security company to live in some gated compound. Instead, Armitage’s house was a rambling ranch on a street near the golf course of the Grove Park Inn. The furnishings looked lived-in, not some designer’s ideal where you never leave a newspaper on a chair or your shoes under the coffee table.
Armitage led us into a spacious kitchen. Marble countertops separated the food preparation from the eating area. Sunbeams streamed through skylights. There was even a fireplace at one end with a grouping of chairs so host and company could converse while the meal came together.
“Breakfast anyone?” Armitage motioned us to the chairs as he stepped behind the counter. “I make a hell of an omelet.”
“So do I,” Nakayla said. “A guy with a cracked head shouldn’t be cracking eggs.”
“It’s only a dull throb. I’m thankful Stanley didn’t use the pick. But there’s orange juice in the fridge if you want to pour some glasses and you can set the table.”
Nakayla became the assistant chef and I settled into the softest chair I could find.
“What time do you think we should get there?” I asked.
“Between two and three. After the bulk of the picnickers leave and before campers start setting up for the night.”
Bacon crackled on the stove. The aroma triggered hunger pains in my stomach.
“We should leave about one,” Armitage added. “I suggest you get a couple hours of sleep. I’ll prepare the backpacks.”
Nakayla looked up from setting the silver. “Backpacks?”
“Sure. You want to look like hikers. No one would expect fugitives to be enjoying a trek through the woods. And we’ll need flashlights, a compass, a hand pick, a camera, chalk, a ball of twine, a newspaper—”
“You’re losing me,” I interrupted. “Chalk, a ball of twine and a newspaper?”
“We don’t know how deep this mine might be. We tie the twine at the entrance and roll it out as we go. The chalk may be needed to mark our route if the twine’s not long enough.”
“And the newspaper?”
“In case we find evidence we need to date. Digital camera stamps can be altered, but this way we have proof that whatever we found was in the mine as of Wednesday, June 20
th
.”
My confidence in Armitage rose. His ideas sounded solid and practical. I should have realized Tikima wouldn’t have worked for a jerk. And he was right about another thing. He made a hell of an omelet.
***
A few minutes after two, we pulled into the Pink Beds picnic grounds. No more than twenty cars were in the lot, leaving a wide choice of spaces. Armitage pulled the minivan to the far end where foliage screened us from the main highway. He and Nakayla got out and walked to the rear door.
I opened the glove box and slipped the two emeralds and gold into my pants pocket. I especially wanted the emerald crystals so I’d know what I was searching for.
I found Armitage showing Nakayla how to adjust her backpack straps. Two more backpacks lay on the floor of the van. They were more like book bags, but a respectable size for a day hike.
“Given the map’s instructions of 1200 paces, I figure we’ve got nearly three-quarters of a mile.” Armitage handed me the smallest backpack. “So, I hope you’re not offended that you’re toting two towels, matches, and some candles.”
“Not in the least. And if I fall behind, keep going. I’ll find you.”
Armitage shook his head. “I’d rather we stay as a threesome. The Asheville police have probably scanned your photographs to the ranger station. They’ll be looking for couples, a black woman and a white man. The three of us will break that pattern.”
“Where’s the map?” Nakayla asked.
“With Stanley,” I said. “I memorized it because if we’re stopped and searched, I want it safe.”
Armitage agreed. “Simple enough to follow. The only problem is an exact starting point. Pink Beds is actually a small valley with a bog. But this is the way the road has always run and we know we’re looking for a bluff.” He pointed across the meadow beyond the picnic shelters where the terrain rose sharply. “I’d say it’s somewhere along the northern ridge line where a north by northeast route intersects in less than a half mile.”
“And there’s the stream and rhododendron,” I added.
Armitage smiled. “True. But up here they’re hard not to find.” He reached in the van. “I brought you this.”
He held a long walking stick with a grip carved into the handle. “Solid hickory. It’ll take some weight off that leg and give you a jaunty air.”
“Oh, yeah. People will look at me and the word jaunty will immediately spring to mind.”
Armitage flipped open a compass dangling from a cord around his neck. “North by northeast. So let’s try a twenty-three degree heading and see how we do.”
He set a comfortable pace. The heavy walking stick took the edge off the irritation in my leg and the cool breeze blowing down the valley carried the fragrance of the Pink Bed blossoms from the higher ground. The afternoon hike could have been relaxing if we weren’t on the trail of a killer.
At the far edge of the meadow, ferns and ground vines fought for space as the grass gave way to the forest. Nakayla and I let Armitage pick the best route.
“Poison ivy,” he said, steering us clear of a patch of waxy green vegetation.
“Ledbetter probably planted it,” I said.
We entered a world of shadows where the dense canopy of hardwoods kept seedlings from growing. Although underbrush was thin, Armitage’s course across the slant of the rising ridge became a challenge. Hidden depressions, exposed rock, and the constant strain of the uneven terrain slowed me down. I shifted the hickory staff to my right hand, bolstering my balance against the downward pull of the slope.
“Let’s stop a moment.” Armitage checked his compass and marked a distant tree for reference.
“How far do you think we’ve come?” Nakayla asked.
“About a half mile, though it’s hard to accurately count paces. Our stride gets shorter as we climb.”
“Should have been the same for Elijah,” I said.
“That’s true.” Armitage set his backpack on the ground and took three water bottles from a pouch. “I recommend you take a drink now. The rest of the climb will be more strenuous.”
“How do you know?” Nakayla asked.
“I’ve cheated us to the downside of the slope. We don’t know how big this bluff is. Too small and we could pass above it. I’m counting on the stream to be our signpost since water flows downhill. The next creek we come to we’ll follow to its source.”
After about five minutes of resting, I felt the chill from the sweat evaporating off my body. “We’d better move on. I don’t want to cool down too much.”
“All right.” Armitage repacked our water bottles. Then he unzipped another pouch, but didn’t remove anything. He stood for a moment listening. “From this point on we’re obviously not on a trail. Move as quietly as you can. Someone could be at the mine.”
Nakayla and I exchanged glances. The walk in the park was over.
Armitage chose our way carefully, moving from tree to tree as he stayed true to the compass bearing. We’d gone about a hundred yards when the faint gurgle of a creek rose above the warbling birds and chattering squirrels.
A rocky stream no more than five-feet wide flowed straight down the slope. Armitage stopped at the edge. “We shouldn’t have to cross,” he whispered. “The map said to stay to the left.”
“You sure this is it?” I asked.
“No. But I’m not sure about anything. We’ll give it a shot and we’ll either hit the bluff or we won’t.” He started directly up the ridge.
Vegetation was thicker by the water, which made the ascent more difficult. I fell behind and let Armitage press on, too excited to wait for me. Nakayla slowed, never getting more that a few yards ahead and testing the ground for solid footing.
The stream shrank until it became no more that a gully. I looked through the trees and saw Armitage frozen in front of a clump of rhododendron. As I came closer, he turned, grinned, and pointed up.
About thirty feet behind the rhododendron rose a moss-ravaged rock, a good twenty-five feet high and fifty-feet long. It wasn’t a bluff to the scale of some of the major formations in the mountains, but it was clearly a wall of ancient stone that wind and rain had exposed over the eons. The bald vertical face had stopped the tree line, and in the small patch of open light, the rhododendron thrived. The creek disappeared under the thickest wedge of the pink-blossomed thicket.
“We crawl through that?” I asked.
“Shouldn’t be too tough for a man who spent last night in a grave.”
“Surely there’s another way,” Nakayla said.
“Rhododendron doesn’t grow out of rock. There’s got to be a gap at the base.” I moved to the left, parallel to the bluff. The rhododendron couldn’t go on forever.
When the rock ended and the slope became gentler, the hardwoods reclaimed the soil. With Nakayla and Armitage behind me, I climbed to the spot where the bluff and rhododendron began. I wedged between them and discovered a pathway a yard wide with the rock on my left and thicket on my right. Unless you pushed past the first few plants, you’d never see it.
“Come on. We can cut back to the stream.” I hurried forward, using the walking stick as a third leg to speed me along.
“Some of this rhododendron has been cut,” Nakayla said.
I looked to the right where bushes had been pruned away. Armitage’s warning came back to me and I put my finger to my lips. Armitage signaled me to stop and then reached over his shoulder into the top of his backpack. He pulled out the Glock and waved Nakayla and me to one side.
“Keep her to the rear,” he whispered as he passed me.
We followed close behind. The ground sloped down, revealing more of the rock face until we found the stream flowing out of a fissure. Through erosion, or millennia of freezing and thawing, or the incomprehensible pressures of continents colliding long before this spring ever bubbled to the surface—whatever the agent, the rock wasn’t solid but split into an overlapping crevice wide and high enough for us to enter.
Light faded rapidly as we left the source of the stream and walked on a carpet of moss into a natural arch. Armitage stopped and, like Mary Poppins, pulled yet another necessary item from his bag. He clicked on a heavy-duty flashlight. The broad beam illuminated an iron door set into the back wall of our small rock chamber.
Its dimensions couldn’t have been greater than four-feet-square, more what I’d expect Snow White’s seven dwarves to construct to protect their mine. A padlock and latch worthy of Fort Knox meant we would either need an explosive or welding torch if we were to penetrate its secrets today.
Armitage relaxed. “Unless someone locked himself in, we’re alone.”
“Amazing Elijah found this place,” Nakayla said.
“Must have been the stream. I suspect he found gems while panning for gold.” Armitage stepped forward to examine the lock.
“Wait!” Too many months in Iraq sent alarms ringing in my brain. “It might be booby-trapped.” I scooted by him, scanning the ground closely for any sign of a disruption in the moss or an out-of-place stone. A pressure plate wouldn’t be that hard to rig, even in this confined space.
The lower frame of the door rose about six inches above the crevice floor. Anyone coming in or out would have to bend over and step up at the same time. The door opened outward and the hinges were visible but tamper-proof. I didn’t see any wires running around the perimeter or contact points whose break could trigger a device.
I found something much simpler. Something that changed everything.
“Oh, my God.”
“What?” Armitage focused the bright spot of the beam where my hand touched the rock floor.
I brushed my fingertips across the ledge where iron met stone. “Sawdust. Still tacky with sap.”
“Ranger Taylor?” Nakayla’s question held an edge of fear. She’d figured it out.
“What’s going on?” Armitage asked.
I stood and showed him the particles on my hand. “There was a chainsaw sculpture exhibit last Saturday when we talked to Taylor. We got coated with this stuff. It sticks like glue. Taylor must have knocked his shoe against the rock going in. Jesus, how stupid can I be?”
“He was your alibi when Peters was killed,” Armitage said. “So you were his as well.”
“But once we learned the mine was on park property we should have figured Ledbetter had somebody on his payroll. We never had a good reason why Tikima pulled Taylor’s file.”
“Why did she suspect him?” Armitage asked.
“Because she discovered Ledbetter’s my cousin.” The angry voice came from behind us, amplified by the rock walls.
Armitage whirled around, his Glock at his waist.
A boom shattered the air with the force of a concussion grenade. In the confined space, I felt the sound as much as I heard it. Armitage fell backwards. I dove for Nakayla, pulling her to the ground. The world collapsed to the ringing in my ears, then the acrid smell of gun smoke so familiar to me. Armitage’s flashlight had rolled behind him, lighting up the iron door. In the back spill, I could make out his body lying face up. The Glock had disappeared.
