Missing Witness (2 page)

When he surfaced, Joppa saw one of the pirates, hit by a pistol ball, begin to sink—then another. He dove down as far as he could and swam through the murky waters of the Ocracoke Inlet as long as he could hold his breath—as the shots rained down into the water.

When he finally surfaced again, he was disoriented. He looked about quickly—but then he saw the
Adventure
drifting in his direction. Several English sailors were lined along the starboard side. Their pistols exploded, and shots hit the water—to Joppa's left and to his right.

Joppa swam wildly.

Then a third volley. Somewhere in his back there was a numbness and a burning and searing pain.

Still struggling to try to swim to shore, he saw planks and debris from Lieutenant Maynard's battered ship floating around him. And bodies of the pirate crew—several of them—floating face down.

But now he was dizzy…not sure whether his arms were still working…swallowing water and gagging and coughing.

More shots were fired. But they seemed distant—and Isaac Joppa knew it was the end.

The end of his sorrowful fall from grace—his journey of despair. He had plunged from the earlier promise of peace and happiness he once knew, to being counted among the world's worst villains. He gagged on the briny water. His mind flashed to the final, ugly picture—his graceless death in the Ocracoke Inlet from a pistol ball in the back.

He only had enough strength to utter a single word.

“Abigail.”

And then the dark and cold of the ocean waters closed in all around him.

2

The Present

“R
IGHT THERE—IF YOU LOOK CLOSELY
—you'll see Ocracoke Inlet. That's what we're looking for—between the two islands.”

A dozen heads turned and studied the end of the wooded island and the waterway that separated it from the stretch of island far across the inlet. On the right was Ocracoke Island. Off in the distance was the expanse of sand that ultimately led to Cape Lookout, the end of land along the Outer Banks, North Carolina—where the deep waters of the Atlantic Ocean run to the Gulf Stream and beyond.

“The fighting was fierce—and I've told you how the battle ended in gruesome death,” the tour guide continued.

Twelve faces surveyed the dark blue waves of the Atlantic Ocean—tipped with a few whitecaps—and the coastline of both islands and the water inlet between them.

It was the bright blue of June, and there was a mild breeze that caused the women on the top deck of the tourist boat to keep one hand on their hats. In the back, the thirteenth passenger was not watching. Attorney Will Chambers had his head back in the sunlight and his eyes were closed behind his sunglasses. He was listening to the college-aged tour guide with only one ear. He was glad to be out of his law office for the summer.

His wife, Fiona, squinting through her sunglasses and holding her large sun hat to her head, was fixed on every word of the tale of a pirate's demise.

“Blackbeard, also known as Edward Teach—usually considered a cool and collected commander with nerves of steel—was simply not himself in that last battle with the English, who were being led by Lieutenant Maynard of the Royal Navy. In fact, you might even say, Blackbeard really lost his head…literally! His head was cut from his shoulders after his defeat,
and it was hung from the bow of Lieutenant Maynard's ship as he sailed victoriously back to the little city of Bath, not far from here.”

As Fiona was listening intently, she was unconsciously stroking her hands over her pregnant belly, which protruded beneath her sundress.

“Will,” she said, elbowing her husband, whose face was turned up to the sun like a large, contented housecat. “You really ought to listen to this—it's fascinating!”

Will slowly turned to her, and lifted his sunglasses so he could study her face.

“You know,” he said with a smile, “As a kid, I used to spend summers at the beach house of Uncle Bull and Aunt Georgia, down here on the Outer Banks. I read every pirate book ever written about Blackbeard—and I also heard all the stories that Uncle Bull would tell me.”

“Oh—so you're an expert?” Fiona said, whispering with a chuckle.

With that, he nodded, and with a grin, set his sunglasses back on his nose and leaned back again.

“So—any questions?” the guide asked.

An elderly man in the front, who was wearing a baseball cap that said
I'd Rather Be Fishing,
asked, “Do we know where Blackbeard was born—where he came from?”

“Well, no one is sure about that one. Any other questions?”

Will's head was still leaning back on the deck chair, but his right hand shot up in the air.

“Yes, the gentleman who's been napping during my talk—do you have a question?”

Will slowly sat up straight in his chair. “Isn't it true that Blackbeard was generally considered to have been born in Bristol, England, but also spent some time in Jamaica in his younger years?”

“Well—yes—some people who have written about Blackbeard have guessed about it. But there's still no absolute answer to that.”

Fiona gave Will another elbow and, trying not to smile, remarked, “Oh, you're such a showoff!”

“Now, sir,” the guide asked with a grin, “may I ask you a question—as you appear to be the resident expert on Blackbeard here on the ship?”

Fiona smirked and turned to Will with her chin perched on her hand. “Good luck, Smarty-pants!”

Will sat a little straighter. “Sure—fire away.”

“Well, Blackbeard—like any other pirate—even though he was manning a big ship, would occasionally need provisions to be brought to the
ship from shore. I'm wondering if the gentleman who's the expert on Blackbeard would know what they called the boat that would shuttle provisions from shore to ship?”

Will's smirk was slowly vanishing as Fiona, facing him with a broad smile, cleared her throat audibly. “Well, Admiral—I think you've got me there. What is the boat called?”

The guide, stretching his arms out for full comic effect, replied, “It was called a
bum boat.
”

A ripple of chuckles broke out among the tourists.

And then the guide went in for the punch line.

“Which is now what we call a tourist boat full of experts who think they know more than the tour guide!”

Raucous laughter now broke out among all of the passengers.

Will bowed his head a little and chuckled. “Two points.”

A young mother with a child on her lap raised her hand to ask a question.

“What about the treasure? We all hear about the pirates having buried treasure. Did Blackbeard have any? And have they found it?”

“Well, that's the question that everybody likes to ask. The truth is—they've looked in all kinds of different places from the coast, into Bath and the Pamlico Inlet, all the way up to Elizabeth City. As of yet, nobody's found it. And I suspect nobody ever will.”

With that, the guide thanked his audience and then strolled to the metal stairs that led to the wheelhouse, where he joined the pilot.

Fiona snuggled up to Will and hooked her arm through his.

“Well, Mr. Chambers, do you agree with what he said about the buried treasure?”

“Well, he's certainly right about that. I don't suppose anybody's ever going to find it, even if it did exist. Then there are some experts who believe that a guy like Blackbeard was not exactly your cautious investor who would have set aside his treasure for a rainy day. So, he probably would have squandered it—spent it all.”

Will helped his wife to her feet. They stretched and sauntered over to the railing of the ferry to watch the ocean waves roll past the ship below, and to watch the swirling seagulls that followed the ship like airborne scavengers.

“It does make an interesting mystery, though, doesn't it?” Will said, leaning over the railing and gazing out over the ocean.

“Speaking of great mysteries,” Fiona said with a wry smile, “are you
really
going to spend a whole summer down here with me at the beach? Are you
really
going to try to run your law office remotely from Cape Hatteras?”

Will turned to face her and put his nose directly against hers. His face took on a serious expression. “Are you kidding? The doctor said you had a problem pregnancy—I take that very seriously. My number one job is to babysit you and make sure you relax, do as little work as possible—and protect yourself and our baby. Especially now that the trial against the government of the Sudan is over—I can really focus on my beautiful blushing bride and our ever-expanding family!”

Fiona took her sunglasses off and kissed Will passionately, then drew her face back slightly to study him.

“It's going to be wonderful.”

Then Fiona thought about something that Will said.

“That case against the Sudan—were you surprised that they settled with you after the first day of trial?”

“Not really,” Will said. “After jury selection and opening statements I think they saw the handwriting on the wall. They knew the evidence we had tying the government to the murder of those missionaries. And it did my heart good to know that the huge damages that we collected are going right back into the Missionary Alliance work to spread the gospel down there in the Sudan.”

“Say,” Fiona asked, “what did you think of your Uncle Bull when we saw him up in the convalescent home?”

“Yeah, that was sad,” Will remarked. “I always saw him as this sturdy, almost indestructible force. After the stroke he just hasn't been the same. Anyway, I'm glad that Aunt Georgia is letting us stay in the beach cabin next to her house. I think it will be good to give her some company whenever she's not with him at the hospital.”

Fiona remembered something else about Aunt Georgia and a remark she had made to Will and Fiona on the first day of their arrival down at the Outer Banks.

“What was it that Georgia said to you when we were bringing our bags in—something about a legal issue with a pastor down here?”

“I'm not sure. Some legal question she wanted me to answer for somebody she knows…Reverend Joppa, I think his name was.”

“What was it about?”

“I think it was a question about an inheritance. Or a lawsuit about an estate issue. Real estate, I think. Something about a small private island. Actually, I wasn't really clear about it.”

“Well, she said she would be home by dinner time, and I thought the three of us could eat together over at her place. Maybe you could get the details then.”

Will nodded. But he was in no mood to talk about the law. He decided to change the subject.

“Isn't it great that our cabin has a piano in it? You said you were going to do some composing—now that you finally have the time to work on some new gospel songs for your next recording session. I'm looking forward to hearing them.”

Fiona smiled and nodded, but her mind was still on Aunt Georgia and the legal case.

“So, are you going to talk to her tonight?”

Will laughed loudly and shook his head in partial disbelief.

“You're incredible! I want to talk about anything
except
the law, and you keep bringing me back to Aunt Georgia's legal issue!”

Laughing, they turned to watch a few of the seagulls hanging in the air in perfect formation, drifting stiffly in the wind just a few feet away from them. Then Fiona looked back at Will.

“So, my darling husband, you will talk to Aunt Georgia about that legal issue, and help her friend out—this Reverend Joppa?”

Will convulsed with laughter and nodded his head vigorously.

“Yes—I will—anything—I'll sign the papers—I confess—I'll do it!”

The two of them snuggled next to each other at the railing.

“Besides,” Will added nonchalantly, “whatever this legal issue is, I'm sure it will be fairly simple.”

3

A
FTER TAKING THE FERRY AROUND THE ISLANDS
, Will and Fiona had done some grocery shopping. Now they were putting the finishing touches on a full meal of salmon steaks, crab legs, boiled potatoes, and fresh vegetables.

Aunt Georgia pulled into her seaside house just as Will and Fiona were setting the table.

Georgia Chambers was a diminutive woman in her seventies, but with a wit that flashed like an ignited sparkplug. Her hair was black with streaks of gray and silver, cut short. She was dressed—as she always was—in a sweatshirt, blue jeans, and tennis shoes. A pair of bifocals was perched on her nose.

“Now, Fiona, you just sit at the end of the table and let me take over from here.” She wrapped her arms around Fiona, kissed her, and then led her over to the chair—not satisfied until she had her seated comfortably at the table. “Now you two let me serve you—oh, for land's sake!” Georgia said as she surveyed the food that had been prepared. “Just look at this—king crab legs and salmon steaks—my favorite!”