Chapter 4 #2
“Sorry, sorry. If you’ve got it, we need to get out of the car, and I’ll snap a pic, then we can hand it over to forensics.
Perry says there’s a guy there, Alan Barker, who can find anything.
There won’t be any fingerprints; our killer is too careful to make a mistake like that.
But you never know …” He broke off, frowning. “What does this one say?”
“‘There are those who don’t deserve to live, those who have nothing to give. They are clay, they cause dismay. Others create their will, and the gods of death demand their fill,’” Shelly read as she emerged from the car and handed him the thin lead sheet.
“So, this monster thinks he’s a poet as well!” he murmured.
“I don’t think the killer cares about being poetic.
I don’t think we were supposed to find this.
The car crashed hard into that pole and is badly wrecked.
The only reason I found that ‘tablet’ is because we were looking for it in places where no one should have thought to find anything,” Shelly told him.
“You’re telling me you think someone believes in cursing someone by etching words on a piece of lead?” he asked her.
“Maybe not. Maybe this person finds what he does to others to be amusing, and putting words on the tablet was part of a game our killer likes to play,” Shelly said.
Their phones buzzed simultaneously, and they both looked down at them.
The buzz had come from Perry.
Cecil Cartwright was still alive but in a medically induced coma. According to the neurosurgeon, he had a fifty-fifty chance.
“Well, he’s alive for the moment, but …” Grant said
“Unable to talk,” Shelly finished.
“It’s time for us to find Andy Jeter.”
“There’s an APB out on him. And it seems that, now that this has happened, it must all be associated with George Maynard’s take down of Gen-Zec,” Shelly said.
He appeared perplexed.
“But?” he asked her.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s too obvious? And we still don’t know—”
Their phones buzzed. Perry again.
Grant stared at Shelly.
She stared back at him.
“The remains … the ashes. They didn’t belong to George Maynard!” Shelly said.
“And yet the ‘tablet’ was left at his house, along with the remains that didn’t belong to him—and he’s gone.
Where in hell could he be? Well, we know that Cartwright’s accident wasn’t an accident.
Someone tried to kill him. George Maynard isn’t dead, but someone was killed and left in the trees and foliage by his house. What the hell is going on with this?”
“We’re going to need to start by finding Jeter. I know, I know,” Shelly said. “Everyone is looking for him. But you and I are going to need to find him—fast.”
“Where do you suggest we start?” he asked her.
“Angela,” she said.
“What?”
“Angela Hawkins Crow. By the time we get to the car, I’ll have contacted Angela. And based on what I know about her, she’ll probably have some suggestions for us from online research before you’ve switched on the ignition.”
He grinned. “I’m not sure it will be that fast, but good idea!”
The forensic team had been waiting for them to finish. He took his pictures of the slim, lead curse tablet, then turned it over to the team, letting them know that they had finished.
“They’re not going to find any prints on that tablet,” Shelly said, texting away as she spoke. “Whoever is doing this intends to get away with it. The only thing that is really bothering me is …”
“Whether some crazy person really believes in the power of curse tablets?” he asked.
“We both keep wondering that,” she said, glancing his way with a small, dry smile.
“Yeah. Could there be a cult out there of those who believe in this ancient practice? And if so, would it be led by someone who was a professor of ancient history, or … or would that even make any sense? Rome is thousands of miles away. A body—the remains of a body—were left at George Maynard’s house.
The curse tablet was written for George Maynard.
The man has disappeared. But this was your second—and now third—experience with a curse tablet.
And over a politician in Rome, a suicide there—and now a body, George Maynard missing, and Cecil Cartwright’s car crashing? ”
“The case is getting more complicated,” Grant agreed.
“Angela is searching online. There must be something out there, a chat group, maybe easily found or maybe on the dark web. Curse tablets were in the news recently—a new cache was discovered in Bath in England not all that long ago. That might have gotten people going on them.”
“Well, you know the story there, don’t you? If you read it online, it must be true,” he said dryly.
“It’s possible the murders are not related. But the thought pattern leading to them might be?” she asked. “Oh!”
“What?”
They had reached his car in its spot at Perry’s headquarters.
She grinned at him.
“I’ve heard back from Angela!”
“Wow. Okay, and …”
“There’s a wooded area about thirty miles southwest of downtown St. Augustine. Horse pastures, cabins … a great camping area,” she said.
“Yeah, I know it. Angela thinks that Andy Jeter is camping?”
“Apparently, according to his social media, he likes to go there. He rents cabins and has pictures of himself there. She sent me one—but …”
“But?”
She looked over at him. “She tore apart his financials, too. He never rents a cabin under his own name. And she can’t find any credit cards that show he rented in the area—the man must have a few aliases. She’s looking into that now.”
“It’s not a small area.”
She showed him her phone.
“You can see in the background … a few more cabins. Do you recognize the area?”
“I do. But we’re going to need to have a lot of patience. We can’t demand entrance to every cabin out there.”
She shrugged. “We can knock on doors. I doubt if Andy Jeter is expecting us. He may have ordered food, or … hell, he may just need to go for a walk.”
Grant nodded. He smiled suddenly.
“What?”
“Maybe he ordered some female companionship. And the man has never seen either of us.”
She laughed. “You think he called ‘dial a hooker’?”
“I think I’ll stay a few feet behind while you knock on doors. And watch for the man just taking a walk. And we may be on a—”
“Wild goose chase. I know. But it’s a start.”
He nodded and began the drive. Glancing her way, he saw she had called up satellite maps of the area on her phone, taking notes of the distance between the cabins.
“There are a lot of them!”
“Beautiful weather most of the year. People like to camp. There’s a large area for RVs and tents, too.”
“I can see that. Should we call Perry, I wonder. Get others looking there?”
“I’m afraid that a large presence of law enforcement could spook the man. And if he takes off into the woods …”
“Good point.”
“Perry’s people are checking his home, the Gen-Zec headquarters, questioning coworkers …
something we’ll need to do, too. I know Ainsley said that Andy Jeter was mean and a jerk, but that doesn’t make him a killer.
Our people and Florida law enforcement are going through financials, seeing who else might have had a great deal to lose.
And again, they’re checking on any others who may have had a beef with George Maynard,” he said.
“So that brings us back to George Maynard. Where is he?”
She shook her head. “They don’t have an identity yet on the remains that were discovered.”
“Right.” He glanced at her. “We need to find this man—and George Maynard.”
“Do you think he’s still alive?” Shelly asked him.
“I do,” he said. “Why else curse a man, leave the remains of another man—and then attempt to kill another man to take the blame for it all? Whoever is doing this wants something from George Maynard.”
“Or they want to torture him before they kill him,” she said flatly.
“And yes, you have a point.”
“If only we had a clue as to his whereabouts!” she murmured.
“But we don’t. So, we follow Angela’s lead.”
“Right. Okay, I’m going to use the parking lot where hikers usually leave their cars.
We’re going to need to do a lot of walking—no way out of that.
It’s a huge recreation area, and it’s surrounded by farms and pastures that are residential.
We’re not going to go question any north Florida horses or cows, but … ”
“It’s fine. I actually walk fairly well,” she told him, grinning. “But …”
“What?”
“You think this Andy Jeter—hiding out from law enforcement until he believes Cecil Cartwright is dead and presumed guilty—would call dial-a-hooker? And if so, would she be dressed in a business pantsuit?” she asked, grinning.
“Well, good point on the pantsuit. But huge blue eyes, all that red hair … I think anyone would let you in before they’d open a door to me.”
She laughed. “Unless we come across a few ladies who might decide it would be fun if one of them had made a call to dial-a-stripper.”
“Ouch. Thanks.”
“Goes both ways!”
“True. Forgive me.”
She laughed. “It’s okay. And … wow.”
They reached the forest and campsites. The parking lot was on the east side of the area, but from where he drove in, he knew she could see the expanse of the trails and glimpses of the cabins that were within the rich tangle of trees and foliage they’d be traversing.
“So,” he said, turning off the engine and looking at her.
“So, let’s do this!” She exited the car, and as they started out, she told him, “You know this place. You lead the way.”
“I intend to,” he assured her.
She inhaled deeply as they walked. He knew why.
There was something special about the area.
The scent of trees. The majestic birds that flew by.
There was an inherent beauty in nature, and he had the feeling they were both letting that sense of life, of the blue sky and the touch of the sun, enter them.
It was part of being human, he thought. And maybe something important in what they did—finding what was peaceful even when seeking out what was horrid and violent.