Blood Ties (22 page)

"The problem I see is time. National security being
what it is, I find it troublesome to use the commercial
airports. And your little island is much too close to
Washington for my taste."

Daniel heard the squeal of the fax machine from his
second-floor home office. "You've come up with a better solution than DNA," he guessed.

"I will call you one more time. The choice is yours,
and the price is now five hundred thousand dollars,
wired to my Swiss account. Think it over. I don't like
loose ends."

The connection ended, and Daniel raced upstairs to
his office. A single sheet lay on the hardwood floor in
front of the fax. He snatched it up and carried it to the
window.

The black-and-white photo image was slightly out of
focus, but Daniel recognized one of the two men in
Afghani garb standing in the snow outside a nondescript mud-brick house. Mallalai's brother Zahir carried a Russian Kalashnikov and wore a sheepskin hat
and coat, crisscrossed with ammunition belts. The
street looked like that of a typical rural village, but
what Lucas had wanted him to see was the round faced toddler with dark ringlets clinging to Zahir's
leg ... a child with Mallalai's eyes.

The tall trees cast late-afternoon shadows across the
ruins of Creed Somers's house. Already wild rose and
honeysuckle had crept over the blackened timbers
and blurred Daniel's memory of what he'd found in
the ashes last summer. A man had to concentrate to
catch the odor of charred wood, and the salt bay wind
had swept the place clean of the stench of death.

Daniel waited in the shelter of the trees until he
heard hoofbeats on the grown-over dirt lane before he
cupped his hands over his mouth and mimicked a
crow's call. Another crow, a bit raspy, cawed back.

"Buck."

His cousin acknowledged his greeting, reined in his
horse, and swung down out of the saddle. Daniel
steadied the revolver tucked in his belt and strode
down the embankment to meet him. "What kind of a
sick crow was that?"

"Maybe one dying of West Nile Virus?" Buck said.
They both laughed and shook hands before he dug in
his saddlebag for two bottles of green tea and offered
one to Daniel.

"Thanks for coming out here."

Buck unscrewed the cap and took a swallow of tea.
"I take it this isn't police business."

"Strictly off the clock."

Buck dropped the Tennessee walker's reins on the
ground and followed Daniel back into the shade,
where they found a mossy log to sit on. "Trouble?"

"More than I can handle alone."

"What are cousins for?"

Daniel explained Lucas's attempted blackmail and
his invasion and threats to Bailey. Buck listened without comment.

"That's pretty much it," Daniel said.

"You don't feel comfortable taking this back to your
former employers?"

"Would you?"

Buck drained the last drops of tea from his bottle
and stood it upright in the sand beside his left boot.
"Are you going to pay the money?"

Daniel nodded. "I can't see any other way to go."

"You think this is your son?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. How the hell do I know? It's
possible. It's also possible that Lucas has some other
poor kid up for auction."

"You're willing to take that chance? To pay half a
million for an Afghani child that might not be yours?"

"Hell, yeah. Wouldn't you?"

"Sure." Buck laughed. "But you were the bright one
of the bunch. I thought you had better sense."

"Will wonders if Lucas may have been in on Karen
Knight's murder."

"You think that?"

"You know how Will is-suspicious as hell," Daniel
said. "He sees shadows behind every tree."

"Will's a handful, but he's no fool. Funny, Lucas
tries to blackmail you, and Abbie's mother is murdered and robbed in the same week. Could be just the
luck of the cards ... or something else. And you say
this Lucas is an assassin?"

"No, I can't see it. Beating someone to death with a
rock isn't indicative of murder-for-hire."

"My feelings exactly," Buck agreed. "Anytime a victim suffers multiple blows, you have to look at someone close to them."

"I've done some research into Onicox. Regardless
of the amount of money to be made in the marina
project, nothing tells me that they would be involved
in murder."

"It's a wonder we didn't lock horns on the Internet."
Buck grinned. "I've spent a few hours trailing that
hound myself. I came to the same conclusion." He
rested a fist on his hip. "Drugs can make for a bloody
crime scene as well. And we could be dealing with a
crazy."

"Emma showed me an article about that waterman
from Deal who died on his boat a couple of decades
ago. If you take him, add Sean Gilbert, and Karen
Knight, you have to start wondering if there isn't
something to the curse."

"Or something there that nobody wants dug up?"
Buck spun the bottle idly in the sand. "I'd hate to
think that this poison was rooted on Tawes."

"Will?"

"Will's capable of killing for the right reasons.
Killing a man." Buck shook his head. "I don't know if
he could murder a woman. I doubt it."

"Emma wouldn't hesitate if she thought it was
needed."

"I thought of that. Wish I hadn't, but I did. Some of
these islanders would do anything to stop development on Tawes."

"So it's possible that this isn't as complicated as it
looks? If Karen Knight dies before she can complete
her investigation, people on Tawes might start to wonder if there is something in that burial ground Onicox
Realty doesn't want found. People are quick to think
the worst about big companies. It wouldn't take much
to fire up public sentiment. Enough bad press, and
Onicox might rethink buying the property."

"I look at it like a chessboard." Buck used a stick to
wipe an area clean of leaves and twigs. "We've got a
swamp that folks believe is cursed and a section of
prime waterfront property attached. Common sense tells me that there's more money tied to bayside land
than marsh."

"Good goose hunting there, though," Daniel observed. "And deer."

"Thick as fleas on a dog's back. Ducks. George
Williams claims to have found wildcat tracks out
there."

"He's nothing but a drunk. And a liar. You can't believe a word that comes out of his mouth," Daniel insisted. "There hasn't been a bobcat seen on Tawes in
ninety years."

"But it's possible. There's enough cover and food to
support a pair or two. Could be the source of those
screams Emma says she heard."

"Emma's too superstitious for her own good. And
she's been known to spin a few tall tales when she's in
her cups."

"We've got two deaths-three if you count that old
one, twenty years ago. The waterman. And every victim had been digging out there just before they died."

"Lucas can't be a suspect if you go back as far as the
man on the boat."

"No, he couldn't be, but he might have killed Sean
and Karen Knight to scare people away from the
property."

"In which case, Onicox or whoever's behind the
murders knows that there's something out there to be
found."

Buck used a stick to mark indentations in the sandy
soil. "It's a crowded chessboard. I still can't see a way
to connect the dots."

"I can count on you to back me up with Lucas? It's a
lot to ask. If something goes wrong, it could cost you
your career."

"Yeah, it could, but you risked more than a job when I fell through the ice that time we were skating on
Aunt Birdy's pond in March. You were the only one
who had nerve enough to crawl out on the ice to
throw me your coat."

"I guess I was too stupid to know better."

"Not stupid, Daniel. You could have run like the
other kids, but you didn't."

"I knew if I left you there to drown, I could never
face Will."

"Blood ties, cuz. They still matter on Tawes."

"A few other places too, I imagine."

"This Lucas-does he work alone?"

"Always. He wouldn't trust the risen Christ to back
him up." Daniel frowned. "But he's good, Buck. Really
good. You take care, do you hear?"

"I hear you." Buck rose and kicked the sketch until
there was no trace left of his musing. "You hear anything from this bozo, you give me a call. I'll come running, and maybe we'll show him what's what."

As Buck rode his horse past her house on his way back
to the office, Emma came out on the porch and waved
him down. She was wearing her rubber knee boots,
coveralls, and a flowery Mother Hubbard apron. "Hey,
everybody in town's been looking for you."

"What's up?"

"You had a call from your cousin Tiffany Jackson,
John J.'s oldest girl-the one who's a secretary in the
state medical examiner's office in Balt'mer. Nate
stopped by the police station to check your answering
machine. Just in case you had anything important
come in. And that's how he found Tiffany's message.
She wants you to call her back right after work. She left
a number for her cell phone and said call that, not her
office number. Sounds important."

"Nice of Nate to do my job for me. Maybe I should
deputize him."

"Don't get yourself in a tizzy, boy. Tiffany's his
cousin too."

"She wasn't calling Nate, was she? And he's not a
deputy yet."

"See what she wants. Funny she called the station instead of your cell. And odd she wanted to talk to you
right away, but didn't want you to call her office."

Buck tucked his thumbs into his belt. "Have you
thought about starting a town paper? There might be
somebody on this island who doesn't know my business before I do. I could buy you a laptop, install a second fax machine in your kitchen, and-"

"Get out of here," Emma fussed. "But don't be late
for supper. I've made a pork roast with new red potatoes, homemade applesauce, and beaten biscuits."

"Sounds good for starters. What's the second
course?"

She waved her apron at him. "Enough of your nonsense. I've got bread pudding in the oven. Like as not it's
burning while I'm standing here jabbering with you."

At the station, Buck checked his mail and finished
some paperwork while he waited to return Tiffany's
call. At 4:40, when he was certain she'd be on her way
home, he punched in her cell number.

"Buck?"

"Hey, how are you? Have you and Dale set a date yet?"

"Are you kidding? That man wrote the book on
noncommitment."

"How's your mom and dad?"

For a few minutes they exchanged the necessary
family gossip before she finally got to the point of the
conversation. "They did the autopsy on Sean Gilbert
yesterday."

"And? Any surprises?"

"Do you know how long it will take for them to get
the official report to you?"

"I've got a pretty good idea."

"Right, and I guess you know what a state that body
was in?"

"Yeah, pretty bad."

"Crabs. They ate-" She broke off. Buck heard
Tiffany's old mustang accelerate and the muffled
sound of a car horn. "Read between the lines, jerk!"

"Not me, I hope."

She snickered. "No, not you. The Phillies fan in the
purple minibus with spray-painted windows."

If he knew Tiffany, she was probably applying eyeliner, drinking a Coke, and munching fries while she
maneuvered through rush-hour traffic. He wondered
what hand was free to share hand signals with rival
drivers.

"Well, wait until you hear this, Buck! Your drowned
middy didn't drown. Somebody murdered him."

"Could you repeat that?"

"You can't say a word to anybody. It could cost me
my job."

"I know that, hon. Just give me the facts."

She did.

It took him ten minutes to get what he needed and
another five to give his airhead cousin enough attention to make certain he'd get a similar heads up if he
ever had need of it again. "Appreciate the favor."

"Any time," she promised. "You know I'd do anything for you. But remember, mum's the word."

"Absolutely."

"Give Nate and Faith my love."

"Will do."

"And we want a bushel of Number One Jimmy's for
Dale's birthday in September."

"Done."

He sat there for a long moment after Tiffany ended
the call before uttering a single word. "Shit."

Sean had not died from drowning as everyone had
supposed. According to Tiffany, the condition of the
boy's lungs proved that he had been dead before he'd
gone into the water. Cause of death: blunt force
trauma, a blow or blows to the back of the neck inches
below the base of his skull, resulting in crushed vertebras and a severed spinal cord.

Sean Gilbert's death hadn't been accidental. He'd
been murdered, and the manner of death had an uncanny similarity to those of the waterman and Karen
Knight.

By six o'clock, everyone had left the dig site but Abbie.
Matthew had been the last to depart, trailing Bailey
and her uncle Will; he was still complaining about the
loss of his Irish artifacts. Although nothing unusual
had come to light this afternoon, Abbie was well
pleased with the day's work. She'd stripped off her
grubby clothes, gone for a swim, and washed her hair,
rinsing out the ecologically safe shampoo she always
used in the field with well water George had brought
in the morning.