Missing Witness (16 page)

As Isaac Joppa lay in the sullen heat of the Indian hut, he recalled his knowledge of the Tuscarora Indians. Some of them had preferred to trade with the pirates—whose vessels carried goods from a variety of nations.
England had forbidden the import of foreign goods into the Carolinas, forcing them to accept English goods only. Some of the local merchants in Bath soon started buying stolen goods from pirates like Edward Teach. Soon, some of the Indians began following suit.

The Indians thought Isaac was a member of the pirate crew attacked by the English. Isaac concluded that was the reason they rescued him.

As Isaac pondered that, two more Indians entered the hut. One, a tall, barrel-chested man with a hook nose and a stern expression and who spoke a considerable amount of English, was identified as Chief King Jim Blount. He was accompanied by a young Indian man, who looked to be about the same age as the Indian girl.

At first, Isaac assumed the young warrior was the Indian girl's husband. But as he compared their faces, and observed their interaction, he concluded they were probably brother and sister.

Isaac had much he wanted to ask them, but he was so overcome by exhaustion that he fell asleep and slept soundly until the following day.

When Isaac awoke, he asked about the small porcelain plate he had been carrying in his shirt at the time he jumped off the ship—the one with the portrait of Abigail. The three shook their heads and shrugged. But finally they understood, when Isaac made the shape of a circle with fingers of both hands.

The big chief pulled out a deerskin pouch that hung from his neck, and produced the little plate, and displayed it to Isaac.

Isaac tried to reach out, but was stunned by a shooting pain in his back.

The chief stared at him and shook his head. Then he put the plate back in the pouch that hung around his neck and left the hut.

His young daughter, the Indian princess, smiled and lay down next to Isaac, caressing his face gently and speaking softly to him in her strange Tuscarora tongue.

For some mysterious reason, the Indian princess was claiming Isaac Joppa for herself. Isaac knew he owed his survival to these Indians. Yet, due to an inexplicably tangled set of circumstances—which were nearly incredible to Isaac himself—he knew he couldn't allow himself to be wooed into a relationship with the pretty Indian girl.

It would have been easy for Isaac to have compromised himself. He knew there were ways he could have rationalized it—reasons that included the great distance that separated where he was then from Bristol, England, which lay on the other side of the ocean.

But he could not permit this. Even though—as he studied the girl's smiling, inviting face—he knew what would happen if he rejected her. To spurn the invitations of an Indian princess would be considered an insult against her chieftain father—an outrage of the most unimaginable kind.

The consequences would be hideous. Death would likely be too quick and too lenient a punishment. He had heard of the exquisite tortures practiced by the Tuscaroras.

Joppa now had every reason to believe that, if he did not yield to the girl, he could soon face the worst they had to offer.

23

F
OR THE LAST FEW DAYS
, Will had noticed that his Corvette had an engine problem. Nothing major, but when it concerned his treasured vehicle, every problem was crucial. Particularly at higher speeds, the engine was stumbling—and there was hesitation in the combustion, particularly when he accelerated quickly from a stop.

Over the years, Will had done some of the mechanical work on his vehicle himself. And so, in the driveway of the oceanside cottage, he decided to replace the spark plugs. But that didn't solve the problem.

Then Will thought of Boggs Beckford at the hospital. Beckford had said something that had stuck in Will's mind. Beckford mentioned having contacted the best mechanic along the Outer Banks to evaluate his vehicle and why its steering assembly had failed. But he hadn't mentioned the name of the mechanic.

When Will called him, Beckford gave him the name immediately.

“Glen Watson. He's the guy for you. Particularly if you have a showcase vehicle like yours—a collector's item. What did you say—a '57?

“That's right. And I don't want to hand it over to just anybody. This Watson guy sounds like just the ticket.”

So Will drove over to Watson's Auto Specialists. The driveway of the garage was already crowded with a minivan—with steam cascading from under the hood—a truck with a dented vehicle in tow, and a local cab driver with a flat tire.

Will meandered through the confusion in the driveway and made his way to the office.

A mechanic who looked to be about thirty-five years old, in greasy overalls, was talking to someone on the telephone and, at the same time, responding to questions from the haggard tourist who owned the broken-down minivan.

Will was beginning to think he had picked the wrong day to try Watson's Auto Specialists. He mosied around the office, out onto the parking lot, and back into the office again. Five minutes went by. Then ten. Then fifteen.

When the young mechanic, who was the owner, Glen Watson, finally hung up the phone and finished with the distracted minivan driver, Will quickly stepped up.

“Mr. Watson, I'm sorry to bother you. I know you look like you're tremendously busy today. But Boggs Beckford—”

“Who?” Watson snapped.

“The attorney. Boggs Beckford. He referred me to you. You had evaluated his car—an accident involving the steering assembly.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah,” Watson said quickly. “Look, I'm really busy today…”

“I see that you are. It's just that I have this '57 Chevy Corvette…”

Watson's head snapped up, and he spied Will's red-and-white convertible in the corner of the parking lot. His jaw slacked slightly, and he began walking out of the office and onto the parking lot as if mesmerized.

“All original parts?” He ran his hand over the rear corner tail assembly.

“Absolutely,” Will said.

“Oh man, oh man. '57. Great year. Is this the carbureted—or the fuel-injected?”

“Carbureted.”

“Oh yeah. This is mint. This is really mint. Two hundred and eighty-three cubic inches. Two hundred and seventy horsepower. Optional Positraction rear axles.”

The mechanic glided his hand along the thin, sculpted chrome that began on the driver's side door and ended at the front wheel well.

“Owoooo…” Watson cried out like a coyote in the prairie. “Yessir, this was a work of art. Oh—why'd you bring it in?”

Will explained the combustion problem.

“You changed the plugs already?”

Will nodded.

“If your plugs were oil-fouled, then the problem's probably a standard one. I think you may have an oil-pumping problem. Most likely you need to replace the piston rings. Not exactly cheap—but on the other hand, with a car like this, you don't want to go cheap.”

Will quickly agreed and, with some hesitation, handed over the keys to Watson. The mechanic promised he'd get it done in forty-eight hours.

Will called Fiona on his cell phone and asked if she could come pick him.

Fifteen minutes later, she pulled up with the top down on her convertible, flashing her dimpled smile.

Will was walking over when he noticed someone pull into Watson's garage—someone in a gleaming black, double-axle truck with chrome detailing.

Fiona got out and walked over to the passenger seat and asked Will to drive. As he pulled away, he glanced back and saw Blackjack Morgan exit the truck, keys in hand, and begin walking toward the office, where Glen Watson was back on the telephone.

“Now, I wonder what's going on there,” Will muttered, continuing to glance at Morgan in his rearview mirror.

24

A
FTER LEAVING
G
LEN
W
ATSON
'
S SHOP
, Will and Fiona ran a few errands and then drove up to Elizabeth City for their rendezvous with Aunt Georgia at the rehabilitation center in order to visit Uncle Bull.

Bull's progress had been slow. There had been some complications from his stroke. He had aphasia on his left side, slurred speech—almost full loss of the use of his arm and left leg.

In the midst of it all, however, he was manifesting his characteristic inner strength and optimistic attitude.

He had struggled to articulate some comment. After a few moments of agonizingly failing speech, he took a pad of paper and a ballpoint pen, and slowly wrote,
Still have right side. God not left me
.

After the visit, Georgia was tearful. Will and Fiona comforted her and took her out to dinner. As Will talked a little about the Joppa case and Blackjack Morgan, Georgia's face was grim, and she grew strangely quiet.

They stopped by Georgia's house on their way home. She said she was quite tired and was going to turn in early. But while Fiona was occupied in the next room, Georgia quickly shared something with Will—about Bull and Blackjack Morgan.

Will listened intently. Though he said nothing in response, just kissed his aunt goodnight, he knew the complexion of the Joppa case had just changed.

As darkness fell, Will and Fiona went out on the small deck of the cottage, facing the rolling ocean tide. They lit candles and stretched out on their chairs, listening to the incessant surf and feeling the moist ocean air as it blew in with the tide.

The two of them caught up a little with each other. About Uncle Bull. How Fiona was feeling. Some of her goals in coming up with a few new songs for her next recording session. She said that the following day she was going to spend most of the day working on some music composition.

Will said he had been in touch with his office, but there were no real emergencies. He had asked Todd Furgeson, his associate, to do a public records search regarding Sylvester “Blackjack” Morgan, to determine whether or not he was involved in any other court cases. He had found only two.

The first was a very old docket entry, indicating criminal charges when Morgan was in the merchant marine. He was charged with assault with a deadly weapon and manslaughter in an incident in Nova Scotia. The records indicated that Morgan was acquitted of both charges.

Another record was a recent case in federal court in North Carolina. Will explained to Fiona how, according to their research, they had located a pending ship salvage case regarding a ship associated with Blackbeard—the
Bold Venture
—in which Blackjack Morgan had filed a petition against a Dr. Rosetti, asking the court for permission to take over the salvage operation—though his motion was denied.

“I put a call in to Dr. Rosetti's office when I found out about the case. I'm hoping, as an ocean archaeologist, he'll know some of the background of the battle at Ocracoke Inlet—maybe even some stuff about Morgan, his opponent.”

Then Will remembered that he and Fiona had yet to discuss her recent visit with Frances Willowby.

Fiona described the meeting, the gorgeous mansion, and her impressions about Randolph Willowby's widow.

“With all her money and her beauty—even though she's well into her sixties—you should see how stunning she is,” she remarked. “Still, there was this feeling of sadness when I was with her. Emptiness. I know she's certainly grieving over the loss of her husband. But it seemed to be something far beyond that.”

“Did you learn anything about our case?”

“Well, it certainly sounds like Randolph had a conversion shortly before his death. She said he spent all his time reading the Bible. He probably got right with the Lord after he got the cancer diagnosis. But she also said he started developing an intense interest in his genealogy—particularly going back to Reverend Malachi Joppa. And she said he did make some comments, wondering whether Isaac Joppa was innocent of those charges. He also wondered whether Isaac had ever had a chance to be at peace with God after his decision to run away from things.”

“Any indication why Randolph decided to give the island to Jonathan Joppa? Or why he wanted Jonathan to be the one to prove Isaac Joppa's innocence?”