The Raven Mocker (19 page)

Walter returned to his plush, black leather captain’s chair on the other side of the desk. He kicked his feet up on the desk’s corner and folded his arms behind his head, wearing an amused look on his face.

“
Well, don’t you want to know what it is?” he asked, after Peter didn’t press him for details.

“
Sure.” Peter sighed again, securing the main latch to his briefcase and setting it down on the floor by his feet. “So what’s the great news you wish to tell me?”

“
Rather than tell you, why don’t you come over here and have a look.”

Walter swiveled his chair toward the immense colorful window behind him. In front of the window sat an older cherry table, with a glass display case upon it. He rose from his chair and walked over to a small blue velvet bag resting on top of the case.

When Peter reached his side, Walter opened the bag and removed six oblong gemstones, ranging from one to two inches in length. Two of the smooth, non-faceted gems appeared to be emeralds, their brilliant green hue sparkling in his palm. The other stones consisted of three bright orange gems that Walter soon announced were fire opals, and the last stone a very rare pink diamond.

Astonished, Peter couldn’t utter a sound. Meanwhile, Walter opened the glass case and removed a jeweled scepter—the prize from November’s Cades Cove dig. Peter watched in disbelief as his younger colleague carefully inserted the glistening stones into six grooves left exposed along the length of the four-foot scepter. Once inserted, the ornamental staff lacked but five more missing stones—a pair on the shaft, two others from the handle’s side, and a much smaller space belonging to a circular gem that capped off the base of the scepter’s handle.

The entire length made from pure gold except the very tip, bearing a network of unusual pictograms and other symbols carved between the jewel slots. Its ten-inch ivory tip had an extremely sharp edge, keen enough to split a baby’s hair.

“
Where on earth did you get the gemstones?” asked Peter, his voice a mere whisper.

He’d seen the scepter several times before tonight, proudly displayed within the glass case where Walter kept other artifacts taken from several digs over the past few years in the Smoky Mountain region. Peter readily ignored his closest friend’s selfish indulgence, asking only that the human remains recovered from the dig be unchallenged property of the university’s forensic department. He hoped to soon procure a more prestigious and permanent home for them other than where the remains were currently stored, in the basement of Langston Hall.

“
It took a while to track them down, let alone purchase the jewels far below market value—which otherwise would’ve placed a severe burden on Elaine’s inheritance,” advised Walter, chuckling. “They were originally purchased by one of Norfolk, Virginia’s wealthiest families many years ago, the McCray’s, in exchange for a generous plot of land not far from here, in Pigeon Forge, back in 1916.”

“
So, perhaps whoever originally sold the jewels to the McCray’s might’ve been involved in the murder of the young girl, whose skeleton fragments were reburied in Cades Cove a month ago,” Peter observed. “It might be interesting to follow up on that idea at some future point in time.”

Walter shot him a look that clearly said this notion wouldn’t be a smart one to pursue any time soon. Peter understood. After all, such an investigation could eventually lead to this locale, where the most recent acquisition lay in full view within Walter’s office.

“
I think you should hear the other news I have to share first, before making a decision on what to pursue next,” said Walter, setting the scepter on top of the display case. The staff’s gleam briefly cast a golden glow upon the professor’s forehead and cheek as he turned to face his colleague. “Do you recall the necklace found near the other skeletons buried in mass, roughly sixty feet from where the murdered girl’s remains were discovered?”

“
Yes, the one with the initials, ‘L. C.’, correct?” Peter’s face lit up, intrigued. “So, you were looking into this, I take it, while procuring the jewels to the scepter?”

“
I knew this would lift your mood!” Walter enthused, visibly pleased by Peter’s interest. “Yes… The same source that led us to the missing jewels also has been working to trace the necklace, along with other items found inside that particular grave site. Would you believe it turns out the necklace belonged to a young teenager named Lucy Carter, who was Governor John White’s niece? And yes, Pete, we’re talking about the same John White who led the second attempt to settle Roanoke Island. Lucy was among the hundred and twenty settlers that came from England with him in 1587.”

“
No shit?” Peter’s voice became a hoarse whisper before he recollected himself. “If what you’re saying can be verified, then it’ll change the prevailing theory about what happened to those settlers. It’ll clear some things up. As you know, it’s been a maddening mystery what became of nearly half the group that survived the initial attacks against the settlement at Roanoke.”

“
Actually, Pete, it only adds to the mystery,” countered Walter, his impish smile refreshed. “How did the dozen unfortunate souls end up in Cades Cove, on the western side of the Appalachians? Did they travel alone as a small band of outcasts from the main group, or perhaps, were they sold to a rogue Cherokee tribe by a hostile chieftain like Powhatan?”

He chuckled again, as if this were a privileged riddle to which he alone knew the answer. Peter started to say something in response, but seemed at a loss for words once more.

“
Peter,” said Walter soothingly. He stepped over to the bar on the other side of the fireplace and poured himself another drink. This time when he motioned for Peter to join him, he did, requesting a gin and tonic. Walter returned to his desk with drinks in each hand, and continued his point after taking a sip from his sherry. “Why don’t you let the matter of what we discovered in Cades Cove rest for now? Give it time to simmer down. To allow time for certain things to become… unnoticed.”

He grasped Peter’s shoulder, and the older man nodded his head, thoughtful.

“
One last thing, and we’ll end this discussion about the whole Cades Cove business for tonight,” said Walter, with his hand still upon Peter’s shoulder while gently guiding him back to his chair on the other side of the desk. “The relic I have in my possession might not even belong to the Indians—neither the Cherokee and their ancestors, nor even the much older Missippian Indians. My preliminary study on the symbols carved into the handle indicates it might be from another continent. The closest thing I’ve been able to find is an ancient pictographic language used in ancient Gaul, although the figures represented on the scepter are somewhat more refined than the Gallic examples I’ve reviewed during the past few weeks.”

“
I suppose it would be best to wait and see what develops from all of this,” Peter observed while sitting down once more.

“
Exactly!” agreed Walter, heartily.

Suddenly, a whistling sound arose from the darkened woodlands to the east of the mansion. The unusual pitch of the noise grabbed their immediate attention, even though somewhat faint at first. But as they listened, the whistle grew in volume until its shrillness grew discomforting to their ears. Peter commented on how it resembled some of the 4
^th
of July bottle rockets he and his pals used to set off not far from this particular forest land during his wild and reckless teenage years. Only in that case, the rocket’s scream would quickly fade after the rocket ripped across the sky.

The painful noise continued until it reached the estate, where it ceased with a coinciding thump on the roof above their heads.

“
Perhaps we should have a look?” asked Peter, rising to his feet again, his tone uneasy again.

“
Perhaps we should,” Walter agreed. Lacking Peter’s nervousness, he seemed merely curious as to what could possibly make such a strange commotion. “If we start to smell something burning, my guess would be we were just hit by a meteor of some sort, or something similar. The gas line up here runs through the attic.” The twinkle in his eyes quickly returned as he pointed above them.

“
What else could possibly create a sound like that?” Peter asked, tentative, moving over to a small French paned window in the corner between the bookcase and the right edge of the stained glass window.

He pulled back a ruffled beige curtain to peer outside, squinting in an effort to see past the flurried snowflakes landing lightly on the glass.

“
If it wasn’t a witch on a broomstick or Santa making up for lost time, my best supposition remains a small meteorite, similar to one that struck a stable at Pennington Farms last year, just down the road from here,” said Walter. “You remember the furor over that, don’t you? But Charles and Olivia Pennington made nearly $400,000.00 from the subsequent sale of the fragments that were still intact—which is a hell of a lot more than was needed to repair the damage it left them. Maybe we’ll be that lucky, too, provided it doesn’t ignite a fire to burn the place down.”

His playful grin never wavered as he said this, since the fire prevention system installed in his home was among the finest available. Peter recalled how he once told him how it worked. Not only would an alarm signal be immediately sent to the local fire department, but an elaborate sprinkler system would quickly contain whatever fire ignited in its infancy, before a chance to spread. Only some of Elaine’s prized artwork and antiques would be at risk, since everything Walter valued was either carefully protected or fully insured.

Unable to detect anything out of the ordinary outside, Peter began to believe it could be a meteorite—if anything so dramatic—that made the hellish sound they just heard. He closed the curtain and stepped back to where Walter stood at the display case, seemingly lost in admiration for his cherished scepter. It frankly surprised Peter that Elaine hadn’t ventured upstairs to check on them, since the thud that followed the strange whistling noise seemed forceful enough to resound downstairs. He started to relax when his mobile phone rang.

“
Well who could this be?”

Irritated, he brought the Blackberry handset’s display closer to his face to better read the incoming name and number.

“
Do you need to take your call in private?” asked Walter, returning the scepter to its place inside the display case. “I can check on Elaine while you’re on the phone. She contracted food poisoning yesterday, and has been a bit under the weather since.”

“
It’s Jerry Simmons, the security staff dispatcher. He’s calling from the main switchboard,” advised Peter, a quizzical look on his face since Jerry normally left the admin offices by 4 p.m.—five o’clock at the latest. “It should only take a moment…someone else must’ve called out tonight. I asked him to call me if we didn’t have enough staff to cover Langston Hall. Go ahead and check on Elaine if you would like.”

He answered his phone, and then covered the receiver while encouraging Walter again to touch base with his wife. Walter headed for the door, but stopped when Peter suddenly raised his voice at the dispatcher.

“
What??! When did it happen???!!
”

Walter stood a few feet from the doorway, turning to listen to the excited male voice audible even though Peter held the handset close to his ear. Dr. Pollack frowned for the first time since Dr. Kirkland’s arrival that evening, perhaps in response to his colleague pacing angrily while continuing to berate Jerry on the other end of the line.

“…
Why the hell didn’t you call me earlier—the fucking
minute
you found out there were two dead bodies lying in the basement of Langston Hall!! I’ll have your
goddamned job
over this—you hear me, Jerry?? Yeah, you had better be there!!…
I’m on my way!!!”

He slid his phone shut, immediately disconnecting the call. For a moment he gripped it tight, seeming on the verge of crushing the device in his bare hands. His face had turned crimson and his breaths shallow. Walter slowly approached where he stood, leaning against the front edge of the immense mahogany desk.

“
Vernon Mathis is dead,” said Peter gruffly, yet at the same time sounding bewildered. As if this were some nightmare he had been thrust into and now desperately hoped to awaken from and find untrue. He turned to face Walter, who moved over to the nearby bar to set his glass down. “And some Knoxville cop named Frank Thomas is also dead. Pete Lindsey found them both tonight after Margaret Mathis called the office, frantically trying to find her husband after Vernon failed to return home this morning.”

He didn’t mention the fact that young Mr. Lindsey was taken to a psychiatric ward, Lakeshore Mental Health Institute in Knoxville, shortly after the police and coroner’s team arrived at Langston Hall. Finding the headless and mutilated corpse of his boss, along with the gutted carcass of Detective Thomas had left the young man terribly shaken, and barely coherent enough to tell the police where to find the grisly discovery downstairs.

“
This is…this is terrible news,” said Walter, moving over to Peter. “What was that I heard about them being found in the basement? Have the police been advised yet?”

“
Yes, apparently they’ve already been snooping around there since three o’clock this afternoon,” Peter confirmed.

“
God
damn
it!” hissed Walter. He moved around the desk and collapsed into his chair, grimacing in disgust at the news he heard so far.