Plum Island (46 page)

“Well … can I rely on you to keep this to yourself?”

“Keep what to myself?”

“Pirates.”

“What about them?”

It’s a balancing act between telling a witness
what
you want and
why
you want it. I changed the subject and said, “I met your employees. Janet, Ann, and …”

“Warren.”

“Right. I passed the test.”

She smiled and took my hand. “Come look at yourself in the mirror.”

She led me into the hall, then into the eighteenth-century bedroom. I looked at myself in a wall mirror with the pirate hat,
eye patch, and sword. “I look stupid.”

“You really do.”

“Thanks.”

She said, “I’ll bet you never did it on a feather bed.”

“No, I never did.”

“You have to keep the hat and patch on.”

“Is this my fantasy or yours?”

She laughed, then before I knew it, she was getting out of her clothes, which she left on the floor. She kept the cocked hat
on, and holding it with one hand, she tumbled into bed, onto the quilt comforter, which was probably an expensive antique
that had never had sex before.

I played along with the game, leaving the hat and patch on as I undressed.

As I said, she was tall with long legs, and the beds in those days were short, so her head and hat were at the head-board
and her feet were touching the footboard. It looked kind of funny and I laughed.

“What are you laughing at?”

“You. You’re bigger than the bed.”

“Let’s see how big you are.”

Anyway, if you’ve never done it on a feather mattress, you’re not missing much. I can see why no one in those old portraits
on the walls is smiling.

L
ater, in the archive room, sans costumes, we both sat at the oak table. Emma had a mug of herb tea that smelled like rubbing
liniment.

She had gathered some material—original documents encased in plastic, some old books, and some reproductions of historical
letters and documents. She was perusing her papers as she sipped her tea. I was in a typical male postcoital mood, thinking
I should be sleeping or leaving. But I could do neither; I had work to do.

Emma asked me, “What exactly are you interested in?”

“I’m interested in pirate treasure. Is there any around here?”

“Sure. Almost anywhere you dig, you’ll find silver and gold coins, diamonds and pearls. The farmers say it makes plowing difficult.”

“I can imagine. But seriously.” I hate it when people are smart-asses.

She said, “There are a number of pirate legends and truths associated with this area. Would you like to hear the most famous?
The story of Captain Kidd?”

“Yes, I would. I mean, not from year one, but as Captain Kidd relates to this place and to buried treasure.”

“Okay … first of all, Captain William Kidd was a Scotsman, but he lived in Manhattan with his wife, Sarah, and their two children.
In fact, he lived on Wall Street.”

“Still full of pirates.”

“Kidd was not really a pirate. He was, in fact, a privateer, hired by Lord Bellomont, who was then governor of Massachusetts,
New York, and New Hampshire.” She took a sip of tea. “So, with a royal commission, Captain William Kidd set sail in 1696 from
New York harbor to search for pirates and seize their plunder. Bellomont put up a lot of his own money to buy and outfit Kidd’s
ship, the
Adventure Galley.
There were also rich and powerful backers of this enterprise in England, including four English lords and King William himself.”

“I see trouble coming. Never go into a joint venture with the government.”

“Amen.”

I listened as she related this tale by heart. I wondered if Tobin knew this story, and if so, did he know it before or after
he met Emma Whitestone? And why would anybody seriously think a three-hundred-year-old treasure could still be buried and/or
found? Kidd’s treasure, as I’d discovered by talking to Billy at Mattituck Inlet, was a dream, a child’s story. Of course,
the treasure may have existed, but there was so much myth and legend surrounding it, as Emma had said in the Cutchogue Diner,
and so many false maps and clues, that it had become meaningless over the last three centuries. Then I remembered the guy
who found Charles Wilson’s letter in the Public Records Office … so maybe Tobin and the Gordons had tumbled on to some real
hard evidence.

Emma went on, “So after a lot of bad luck in the Caribbean, Kidd sailed to the Indian Ocean to search for pirates. There,
he plundered two ships owned by the Great Mogul of India. On board were fabulous riches, worth in those days about two hundred
thousand pounds. Today, that could be twenty million dollars.”

“Not a bad day’s work.”

“No. Unfortunately, however, Kidd had made a mistake. The Mogul was allied with the king, and he complained to the British
government. Kidd defended his actions by saying the Mogul’s ships were sailing under French passes, and England and France
were at war at the time. So even if the Mogul’s ships weren’t pirate ships, they were technically enemy ships. Unfortunately
for Kidd, the British government had a good relationship with the Mogul through the British East India Company, which did
big business with the Mogul. So Kidd was in trouble, and the only thing that was going to get him out of trouble was the two
hundred thousand pounds’ worth of loot.”

“Money talks.”

“Always has.”

Apropos of money, Fredric Tobin popped into my head again. While I wasn’t exactly jealous of Emma’s past relationship with
him, I thought it would be nice if I could get Freddie fried in the electric chair. Now, now, John.

Emma continued. “So, William Kidd sailed back to the New World. He stopped in the Caribbean, where he learned he was a wanted
man himself, charged with piracy. Thinking ahead, he left about a third of his booty in the West Indies in the care of a person
he could trust. Many of his crew wanted no part of this problem, so they took their share of the loot and stayed in the Caribbean.
Kidd then bought a smaller ship, a sloop called the
San Antonio,
and sailed back to New York—to answer the charges. On the way, more of his crew wanted to be put ashore with their share,
which they were, in Delaware and New Jersey. But Kidd still had a fantastic amount of treasure on board, worth today perhaps
ten or fifteen million dollars.”

I asked, “How do you know that he had that much treasure on board?”

“Well, no one knows for sure. These are guesses based partly on the Mogul’s complaint to the British government, which may
have been inflated.”

“Moguls lie.”

“I suppose. You know, aside from what the treasure is worth ounce for ounce, consider that some of the jewelry must be museum
quality. Consider, too, that if you took a simple gold coin of that era, worth maybe a thousand dollars, and put the coin
in a presentation case with a certificate authenticating that it was part of Captain Kidd’s treasure, you could probably get
double or triple for it.”

“I see you took marketing at Columbia.”

She smiled, then looked at me a long time. She said, “This is about the Gordon murders, isn’t it?”

Our eyes met. I said, “Please continue.”

She stayed silent a moment, then went on. “All right … we know from documents and public records that Kidd then sailed into
Long Island Sound from the eastern end, and that he landed at Oyster Bay, where he made contact with a James Emmot, who was
a lawyer famous for defending pirates.”

“Hey, my ex-wife works for that firm. They’re still in the same business.”

She ignored this and continued. “At some point, Kidd contacted his wife in Manhattan, who joined him on board the
San Antonio.
We know that at this time all the treasure was still on board.”

“You mean the lawyer didn’t get it yet?”

“Actually, Emmot
was
paid a generous sum by Kidd to defend him against the piracy charge.”

I watched Emma Whitestone as she spoke. In the lamplight of the archive room, with papers piled in front of her, she looked
and almost sounded schoolmarmish. She reminded me of some of the female instructors I know at John Jay—self-assured, knowledgeable,
cool, and competent in the classroom, which somehow made them seem sexy and sensual to me. Maybe I have this schoolteacher
hang-up from the sixth grade, specifically Miss Myerson, who I still have naughty dreams about.

Anyway, Emma continued, “Mr. Emmot went to Boston on Kidd’s behalf and met with Lord Bellomont. Emmot delivered a letter that
Kidd had written to Bellomont, and also gave Bellomont the two French passes that were on the Great Mogul’s two ships, proving
that the Mogul was double-dealing with the English and French, and therefore the ships were fair game for Kidd.”

I asked, “How did Kidd know that when he attacked the ships?”

“Good question. It never came out in his trial.”

“And you’re saying that Kidd’s lawyer turned over these passes, this important defense evidence, to Bellomont?”

“Yes, and Bellomont, for political reasons, wanted Kidd hanged.”

“Fire that lawyer. You should always give photocopies and keep the originals.”

She smiled. “Yes. The originals were never produced at Kidd’s trial in London, and without those French passes, Kidd was convicted
and executed.” She added, “The passes were found in the British Museum in 1910.”

“A little late for the defense.”

“For sure. William Kidd was basically framed.”

“Tough break. But what happened to the treasure aboard the San Antonio?”

“That’s the question. I’ll tell you what happened after Emmot went to Lord Bellomont in Boston, and since you’re a detective,
you tell me what happened to the treasure.”

“Okay. I’m on the spot.”

She went on, “Emmot, not a very good attorney apparently, got the impression from Lord Bellomont that Kidd would be treated
fairly if he turned himself in at Boston. In fact, Bellomont wrote a letter to Kidd which he gave Emmot to deliver. The letter
says, among other things …” She read from a reproduction in front of her, “ ‘I have advised with his Majesty’s council, and
they are of the opinion that if you be so clear as you have said, that you may safely come hither and be equipped and fitted
out to go and fetch your other ship, and I make no manner of doubt but to obtain the King’s pardon for you.”’

“Sounds like royal poopy to me,” I said.

Emma nodded and continued from Lord Bellomont’s letter to Kidd, “ ‘I assure you on my word and on my honor I will perform
nicely what I have now promised, tho’ this I declare beforehand that whatever treasure of goods you bring hither, I will not
meddle with the least bit of them, but they shall be left with such trusty persons as the council will advise until I receive
orders from England how they shall be disposed of.’ ”

Emma looked up at me and asked, “Would that get you to come hither to Boston to answer a hanging charge?”

“Not me. I’m a New Yorker. I can smell a rat a mile away.”

“So could William Kidd. He was a New Yorker
and
a Scotsman. But what was he going to do now? He was a man of some substance in Manhattan, he had his wife and two children
on board the sloop, and he felt he was innocent. More importantly, he had the money—a third of it down in the Caribbean and
the rest on board the
San Antonio.
He intended to use this treasure to bargain for his life.”

I nodded. It was interesting, I thought, how little some things had changed in three hundred years. Here’s a situation where
the government hires this guy to do its dirty work, he does part of the job but by mistake he creates a political problem
for the government, so they try to get not only their money back, but also his fair share, then they frame him, and finally
hang him. But somewhere along the line, most of the bucks slipped through their hands.

Emma continued, “Meanwhile, Kidd kept his ship moving, sailing back and forth through the Sound, from Oyster Bay to Gardiners
Island and as far as Block Island. It was during this time that the ship apparently got a little lighter.”

“He was dumping the loot.”

“That’s what seems to have happened, and that’s how all the legends about buried treasure got started.” She said, “Here’s
a man with about ten or fifteen million dollars’ worth of gold and jewels on board, and he knows he can be captured at sea
at any time. He’s got a small ship with only four cannon. It’s fast, but no match for a warship. So, what would you do?”

“I think I’d make a run for it.”

“He’s got almost no crew left, and he’s short on provisions. His wife and children are on board.”

“But he’s got the money. Take the money and run.”

“Well, that’s not what he did. He decided to turn himself in. But he’s not stupid, so he decides to hide the loot— remember,
this is the share that Bellomont, the four lords, and the king are to get for their investment. This treasure now becomes
Kidd’s life insurance.”

I nodded. “So he buried the loot.”

“Correct. In 1699, there was very little population outside of Manhattan and Boston, so Kidd had thousands of places he could
land and safely bury treasure.”