The Secret of the Stones (13 page)

Chapter
20

Atlanta,
Georgia

Trent
Morris stood erect, disturbed by the scene before him.
 
One arm across his chest, the other
elbow resting upon it while he held his chin with a fist, he watched as the
crime scene investigators snapped pictures and searched for evidence with
gloved hands.
 

The
call had come at 10:30, right after he’d gotten home for the night.
 
He’d been so exhausted that a stop by a
coffee shop drive thru had been necessary on the way over.
 
The case that had started off as a
kidnapping had taken a turn for the grim with three bodies laying in the
wake.
  

Now,
he stared at the carnage in disbelief.
 
The portly body of one police officer lay bent against the sliding glass
door amid a pool of thick, red liquid.
 
Outside, an investigative crew was busy taking photos of the crime scene
and searching meticulously for some kind of a clue.

Frustrated
and angry, Trent rubbed his sleep deprived eyes.
 
“Anyone here know how this happened?”
  

The
CSI’s stopped what they were doing for a second to look at him with blank eyes
that said, “Nope.”

“Yeah.
 
That’s what I thought.”
 
At this point, they had no leads and no
suspects.
 
He turned and slowly
walked toward the kitchen, careful not to touch anything.
 
Weaving his way past more evidence
collectors, he moved up the stairs.
 
Upon entering the study, he found Will standing in the center of the
room with a notepad in hand, busily jotting down notes.
 
Another investigator was scanning the
walls with a UV light looking for heaven knew what.

“Hey
buddy,” he greeted his partner with a half smile in an attempt to hide the
emotional surge from the scene downstairs.
 
“What a mess, huh?”

“Yeah,”
Trent sighed and ran his hand across his short hair.
 
“Got anything in here?”

“Not
really.
 
But I do think whoever did
our boys downstairs came in this room for something.”

“Any
idea what they were looking for?”

“No.
 
But it looks like someone has been in
here recently due to the shoe prints in the carpet.
 
Seems like whatever they were looking for was on that desk
over there.
 
At least they thought
it was, anyway.
 
Not sure what it
could have been or if they even found it.
 
All I know is that the footprints don’t stray anywhere else away from
the desk or the path to the door.”
 
Will motioned with his pencil and traced a line from the door to the
workstation at the opposite wall.

“They
didn’t look through any of the books or in the closet?”

“Doesn’t
look like it.”

“That
means whoever came in here knew exactly what they were looking for and where to
find it.”
 
Trent’s mind raced.
 

Will
finished his thought for him, “The guys who took Schultz?”

“Exactly.”
 
He turned his head back to the front of
the study, analyzing the imprinted steps from the door to the desk.

“But
why risk coming here.
 
Surely, they
had to know we would have somebody here watching the house.”

“That
can mean only one thing, Will.
 
We’re dealing with either someone very desperate or someone very
dangerous.
 
I’m inclined to believe
it’s the latter.”

“So
what are we looking at?
 
Ex-military?
 
Foreign?”

“Don’t
know.
 
But my guess is they’re
pros.
 
And they got no issues with
killing.”
 

“You
think the same dude that did that professor over at KSU did this?”

Trent
nodded.
 
“Probably.
 
Knife attacks in both instances.
 
And Schultz and Borringer knew each
other.
 
Doubt it’s just a
coincidence.”

He
switched gears, “Neighbors see anything?”
 
Trent knew what the answer would be.
 
This killer would not let himself be seen by even the most
innocent passerby.
 

“Nope.
 
Most of the people around here were
already asleep.”

Not
at all surprised, Morris took a couple of steps over to the workstation.
 
A stack of envelopes and other
unimportant looking junk mail lay in a pile near a blank computer screen.
 
Trent reached down and picked up the
stack of letters, unconcerned about tampering with any possible evidence.
 
He flipped through the correspondence
without finding anything of interest and laid the papers back down where he
found them.
 

No
witnesses.
 
No fingerprints.
 
No weapon.
 
No motive.
 
The
killer was a ghost.
 
Suddenly,
Trent twisted and took a step toward the wall opposite of the bookshelf.
 
A few picture frames dotted the
mocha-colored paint.
 
One, in
particular, caught his attention.
 
It was a picture of Tommy and his friend, Sean Wyatt.
 
The scene was of the two men at some
archaeological dig in which they were each holding a statue of some kind.
 
There was no date on the picture but
from the looks of it, it was probably five or six years old.
 
Carefully, Morris lifted the picture
off of its hook to get a closer examination.
 
He flipped it over to check the back.
 
There was a notation on the back that
read, “Mobile Bay, AL.
 
2003.
 
Mississippian Era Statues.”
 

Will
interrupted his thoughts.
 
“You got
something?”

Entranced
for a moment, Trent snapped back to the present.
 
“I don’t know.
 
But I think we need to talk to this Sean Wyatt.”

“You
think he’s the one behind this?”

“Like
I said, I don’t know.
 
But think
about it.
 
Who else would have
known what Schultz was working on, much less have understood it?
 
The person who broke in here sure
seemed to know where to look for what they needed.
 
And Sean Wyatt is former Special Ops.
 
It’s the only explanation we got at the
moment.”

Pondering
the theory for a moment, Will added, “We gotta find Wyatt.”

“Exactly.”
 
Morris moved quicker now, dropping the
picture carelessly on the desk.
 
He
pulled his cell phone out of his pocket as he and his partner swiftly went down
the stairs and outside.
 
Finding
the number he’d saved earlier, he pressed the send button.
 
The two men stepped out the front door
and down onto the sidewalk as the phone on the other end went straight to
Wyatt’s voicemail.
 

“Sean,
this is Detective Morris,” he tried to maintain a calm tone.
 
“Give me a call back when you get a
chance.
 
We just got some new
information concerning Schultz’s kidnapping, and we need you to come in to help
us out.
 
Thanks.”
 
Sliding the phone shut, he slipped it
back into his pants pocket while he opened the door to his police issue Dodge Charger.
 

“What
you want me to do?”
 
Will stood on
the sidewalk, notepad still in hand.
 

“Make
sure everything gets finished up here.
 
I doubt the CSIs will find anything, but stick around for a couple of
minutes just in case.
 
Call me if
they find anything, and, if not, call me anyway.”

“What
about Wyatt?”

“I’m
going to keep calling him.  Doubt he’ll answer.”
 
Then he added, “Get home and get some rest.
 
I’m afraid tomorrow’s going to be
another long day.”

Chapter
21

Cartersville,
Georgia

Sean
and Allyson stood on the front porch of what appeared to be a rather large log
cabin.
 
The drive had only taken
about fifteen minutes from the interstate to the wooden home, but it seemed
like they were out in the middle of nowhere.
 
Above them, the black sky glittered with more stars than
Allyson had seen in a long time.
 
Sounds of nature filled the night:
 
cricket songs with croaking frogs and the melodies of nocturnal birds.
 
The air was scented with a mixture of
hardwood and pine.
 

She
drew in a deep breath, filling her lungs and mind with the nature around her,
melting away the stress of the day’s bizarre events.

Lights
were on in the house, but Sean had to knock a few times before they heard
footsteps drawing closer to the door.
 
Within the confines of the cabin, a dog barked and howled vigorously,
announcing the visitors.

A
moment later, the doorknob twisted and the heavy wooden entrance creaked
open.
 
On the other side, a short
man with beady eyes and a scruffy beard stared out at them.
 
His brown hair laid in casual disorder
atop his round face and head.
 
Infrequent streaks of gray patched his facial hair.
 
The man’s flannel shirt and jeans
completed the lumberjack look.
 
He
appeared to be in his mid-forties.

No
more than three seconds after realizing who was standing in front of him, Sean
and the smaller man were embraced in a friendly, back-slapping hug.

“Sean
Wyatt.
 
Where the heck have you
been?”
 
The voice was cheerful,
accented by a heavy southern draw.

“I’ve
been busy,” Sean answered with a smile, releasing his friend.
 
“Mind if we come in?”

“Mind?
 
Get in here, wild man.”
 
He stepped aside to let the pair in,
closing the door.
 
“And who is your
friend here?”
 

“Joe
McElroy, this is Allyson Webster.
 
She’s a journalist for the Atlanta Sentinel.”

She
removed her hand from her pocket and offered it. “Pleasure to meet you.
 
You have a lovely home here.”
 
Her eyes roamed the living room they
had just entered.
 

“Thank
you,” Joe looked around at the timber-enclosed area.
 
The cabin was rustic, with the exception of the flat-screen
television near the fireplace and a computer workstation near one window.

“The
floor is much older than the rest of the house,” he said.
 
“It came from an old knitting mill in
Chattanooga, Tennessee.
 
They were
going to destroy the building, so I asked the city if I could take all of the
flooring out before they did.”
 
His
hands spread out across the breadth of the room.
 
“I didn’t have a place to install it at that time.
 
I just knew I had always wanted to have
a cabin like this, so I took the wood and put it in storage until construction
began.”
 

“Very
cool,” she seemed to be very impressed.

The
bearded face beamed a big smile.
 
“And
this here is Roger.” He pointed to a Blue Tick Hound that had just plopped
itself down on the floor next to the entryway.

Apparently,
the dog was no longer interested in the visitors and lowered his head to the
hardwood.

Sean
interrupted, “Joe, I don’t mean to ruin your HGTV moment here but we need your
help.”
 

The
smile never left the man’s face.
 
He
just said, “Help?
 
Sean Wyatt needs
my help?”
 
A chuckle escaped the
grin.

“Yeah.”
 
Sean’s serious tone sobered the moment.

Apparently,
Joe understood and motioned to the couches, “Sit down and tell me what’s goin’
on.
 
You can always count on me for
anything Sean.
 
Ya’ll want anything
to drink?
 
Coffee?
 
Water?
 
A Coke?”

“Coffee
would be good,” Sean replied.
 

Allyson
nodded in agreement.

While
the two of them sat down on the voluminous brown couch, their host made his way
into the kitchen adjacent to the living room.
 
Inside, they could hear him turn on some water, presumably
filling a coffee pot.
 
A minute
later, he reappeared in the doorway to the kitchen, and joined them in the
sitting area on a smaller, tan couch.
 

“Coffee
will be ready in a minute.”
 
Spreading his arms out across the back of the sofa, Joe continued, “So
tell me what I can do for ya.”

“Tommy’s
been kidnapped.”
 
Sean felt no
sense in beating around the bush.
 
“We don’t know who took him, but we’re pretty sure it has to do with something
he found last week.”

The
grin disappeared from Joe’s face, and the kind blue eyes went from relaxed to
concerned in a matter of seconds.
 
His arms dropped from the back of the couch and he folded them, elbows
on his knees as he leaned forward in thought.
 
“Kidnapped?
 
Why
would…?
 
Have they made any
demands?”

“I
don’t think it’s about money.
 
The
cops haven’t received any contact.
 
No,”
 
he stopped in
mid-sentence and reached into his jacket.
 
He produced the letter they had found at the Borringer home.
 
“We think they are trying to find the
Golden Chambers.”
 
As he finished
the statement, Sean handed the letter to his friend who reached out, curiosity
covering his face.

“The
Golden Chambers?”
 
His eyes grew
wide, and one brow raised slightly.
 
“I had my suspicions Tommy was still looking for that.
 
But you say he found something?”
 
Joe began scanning the letter while
Sean responded.

“Yeah.
 
That letter is from Dr. Frank Borringer
down at KSU.
 
Apparently Tommy
needed Frank’s help with deciphering whatever it was he found.”

“Oh?
 
I haven’t seen Frank in a long
time.
 
How’s he doin?”

“He’s
dead.”
 
Sean’s tone was direct,
almost cold.

Joe
stopped reading the correspondence and looked up.
 
“Dead?
 
What
happened?”

“Dr.
Borringer was murdered a few days ago outside the library at Kennesaw
State.”
 
He continued, “Nobody
seems to know who did it.
 
Apparently whoever killed him was looking for something.
 
We think it had to do with the
information in that letter.”
 

“Where
did you find this?”
 
Joe asked,
holding up the paper.
 

Allyson
chimed in, feeling like she needed to contribute, “In Frank’s office.
 
It was sitting on his desk.”

“And
the police didn’t see it?”

“No,”
she said, glad to be included in the conversation.
 
“It was in plain sight, but it was disguised as a letter
from a financial company.
 
If
anyone searched through Dr. Borringer’s desk, they would have just assumed that
it was nothing important.”

“Ahhh.
 
Like a purloined letter, eh?”
 

She
cocked her head sideways, impressed by Joe’s literary knowledge.
 

“What?
 
A country boy can’t read Poe?”
 
He cast her a playful glance to which
she responded with a smile.
 

Joe
went on, “That’s a shame about Frank.
 
He was a good man.
 
I’ll
have to pay Gretchen a visit soon.”
 
He finished reading the letter as a reverent silence settled on the
room.
 

After
a few minutes, he set the note on the hickory coffee table.
 
“Interesting.”
 
His face was thoughtful.

Sean
had waited as long as he could.
 
“So, what do you think?”
 

Joe
answered with a question, “How much do you know about the Golden Chambers?”

“Not
much.
 
Just that it’s one of those
non-mainstream legends.
 
There are
only a handful of people on the planet who have even heard of the story.
 
Tommy knows more about it than anyone
I’ve met.”

A
big, mischievous smile returned to Joe’s face.
 
“Well,” he paused, “I‘m not so sure about that.”

Allyson
and Sean looked at each other in confirmation.
 
They’d come to the right place.