Point Blank by Catherine Coulter
“A million dollars in gold?” Rob asked, moving to stand beside his brother. “How much gold is that?”
“It must have been a great deal since they went to all that trouble.”
Both boys were nearly on top of Ruth now, their sledding forgotten. Brewster hopped onto the back of the sofa and barked at them until Rob picked him up. Ruth said, “Hey, guys, I’ll keep you posted, I promise.”
Dix broke in. “Okay, we need to talk to Ruth now, so off with you. Be careful. I don’t want any more stitches.”
The boys dragged out of the living room. “I wondered if they’d leave without a fight,” Dix said, watching them go. “You really got their juices going, Ruth.”
When they heard the front door open and close, Savich said, “Okay, Ruth, back up. Tell us all about this treasure map, where you found it.”
“Okay. Last month I bought a collection of really old books at an estate sale in Manassas. The books were all over a hundred years old, on every conceivable subject, as you might expect in an old home library. In a skinny little songbook with all the popular songs of the day, I found a map of a cave that clearly had to be Winkel’s Cave. It showed what was labeled as gold bars hidden there by rebel soldiers who were supposed to escort it from the rail hub of Manassas Junction to General Lee in Richmond, like I told the boys. On July twenty-first, 1861, there was mass confusion when McDowell attacked at Bull Run—or Manassas, as it’s called here in the South—and the soldiers must have taken advantage of the confusion and stolen the gold bars, brought them here to store temporarily.
“When the dust settled, there were reports of over a hundred pounds of gold missing from Harpers Ferry. Many believed Union soldiers had captured it. The rebel soldiers who secreted the gold bars in a niche in the cave drew the map so they could come back for the gold after the war, but I guess none of them survived since the map was still in that book. I had the feeling it could have been the only one made, left for safekeeping in that little songbook, maybe when one of the soldiers left the battlefield to visit his family. Obviously he didn’t tell any of his family what he’d done, or about the map. Anyway it looked legitimate, the right age, at least the paper looked old enough, and the handwriting was appropriate for the time.”
Dix said, “There could have been more maps. That would be too much trust among thieves.”
Ruth shrugged. “Maybe. Anyway, it was sure worth a try.”
“But since it looks like others were ahead of you in that cave,” Savich said, “the gold is probably long gone.”
“You’re right, Dillon. And my map is gone. If they didn’t have it before, they’ve got it now.”
Savich said, “We’ll go back to the cave tomorrow. We’re going to find out what happened to you.”
Ruth clutched at his hand. “The thought of going back there scares me, way down to some primal part of me. You know, like there are saber-toothed tigers prowling outside and I’m huddled next to a fire, but it’s not enough to protect me.”
Sherlock shivered, despite herself. “I wish I didn’t understand, Ruth, but I’ve felt the same way about a place—that maze I was in—but never mind that.”
Ruth settled Brewster back in her lap, caressed his soft ears, and stared at the brisk fire in the fireplace.
Dix leaned forward. “You okay, Ruth?”
“Yes, I’m sorry, I just spaced out for a moment. Everything that’s happened since Friday—it’s a little overwhelming.” She dashed tears out of her eyes, then took on a defiant look. “I’m going to shut up about that now. I’m a hard-ass, I’m going to begin acting like it.”
“You can howl at the moon if you want to.” Dix laughed. “What you’ve been through, Ruth, it’s enough to make my macho socks shake off my feet.”
“The important thing is that we’re all here and we’ll get to the bottom of this,” Sherlock said. She gathered Ruth in her arms and hugged her tight as Brewster pushed his nose between them. “You are a hard-ass, and don’t forget it. Now, I want you to tell me caving isn’t that hard. Neither Dillon nor I have ever been off the beaten tourist track in a public cave.”
Ruth pulled herself together. “You have to be real careful. I didn’t find many really tough spots to navigate in Winkel’s Cave, even in the unmapped parts, and that’s probably why the soldiers used the cave to stash their gold bars. The thing is, you’re never supposed to cave alone, so I guess I’m an idiot. I was so excited about this, I told myself I didn’t need to have Luther with me.”
“Yeah,” Dix said, nodding, “that about covers it. You were an idiot. I’m a rank amateur and you couldn’t pay me to go into an uncharted part of a cave by myself, even armed with million-watt searchlights.”
“Thank you, Professor Noble,” Ruth said. She turned to Sherlock. “I love it when a man agrees with me. In any case, I’ll guide you—even though I don’t have the map, I pretty much remember the route I took through the cave. It won’t be too bad, I promise. I’ve been in much tougher caves, like having to belly-crawl through cold water or rappelling down sheer walls and not knowing what’s waiting for you at the bottom—praying there will be a bottom—or shimmying through passages that are too small for a twelve-year-old.
“There aren’t even any real claustrophobic spots in Winkel’s Cave that make your skin crawl, at least that I saw. I didn’t see any bats or cave animals, and there are supposed to be Virginia big-eared bats in the caves around here. It will be chilly, fifty-four degrees is the average temperature, but we won’t have to wade through any streams. We won’t be down there long enough to worry about hypothermia. We’ll need plenty of light, that’s the most important thing.”
She paused. “I have to know what I ran into when I was in that cavern. I wish I could remember. Was there something I wasn’t supposed to see? Did someone pull me out of there? But if they wanted to help me, why did they hit me over the head and leave me lying unconscious in the sheriff’s woods? Fact is, I probably would have died if Brewster hadn’t found me. And then those two men tried to break into the house and shot at me. If they wanted me dead, why did they leave me alive in the first place?”
“Stop worrying so much, Ruth, we’ll find out,” Dix told her. “Hey, Madonna, we already found out what your name is.”
It was lovely to laugh a bit, to let the terror of Winkel’s Cave fade for a few moments at least. Ruth asked Savich, “How did you find me?”
Savich laughed. “Trust me, Ruth, lots of people know the sheriff found a woman in his woods. And everyone knows all about that high-speed chase on the interstate in the blizzard last night and how those two yahoos tried to kill the woman who was staying at the sheriff’s house.”
Sherlock added, “They even sent your picture out over the wires for identification.” She patted Ruth’s hand. “And now we’re staying here until we figure everything out.”
“But, Dillon, I’m the lead on the Tiller case.”
Savich said easily, “I’ll give Dane a call. He can handle it. Don’t worry.”
“But he’s getting married in two weeks.”
Sherlock said, “Then he’ll be motivated to get it cleaned up, now won’t he?”
Dix asked, “The Tiller case?”
Sherlock said, “A farmer in Maryland was tilling a new parcel of land he’d just bought and plowed up some human remains. We’re just getting our bearings on what happened.”
Dix said slowly, “I heard on the radio about you guys finding a kidnap victim dead and buried in a Korean War soldier’s grave at Arlington National Cemetery. What’s that all about?”
Sherlock and Savich exchanged glances. Savich shrugged. “Okay, maybe it’s time we told you about Moses Grace and Claudia, Ruth. You know how you left your cell phone with Connie? Well, she got a call from your snitch Rolly.”
He went on to tell Ruth and the sheriff about the fiasco at Hooter’s Motel, finding Pinky’s body in Arlington National Cemetery, Connie getting shot. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Ruth, but
“We don’t know much about who Moses Grace or Claudia are. We found out he used Pinky’s cell phone to call me. The phone carrier confirmed the call was received through a cell tower in Arlington. We left the account open, in case he uses the phone to call me again. If he even turns it on again, we’ll be able to track him. Despite the drawl he talks in, and all the bad grammar, I think he’s pretty smart. He’s probably dumped Pinky’s phone already.”
“He really tried to shoot Sherlock?”
Savich said, “He wants both me and Sherlock. We left Sean at his grandmother’s before we drove here to Maestro.” He added to Dix, “We’ve been through something like this before.”
“I should have been there, Dillon. You should have called me.”
“Nah, we screwed up things well enough on our own.”
Ruth jumped to her feet and began to pace, Brewster straining in her arms. “I can’t believe you guys came out here looking for me with all this going on back in Washington.”
“Family is family, Ruth. Let it go. You’re right, Moses Grace is a very scary man, I’m quite sure of that from our short acquaintance. He’s targeted me for some reason we don’t know yet—maybe revenge—so we’ve started a good deal of spade work into my past cases. He’s pretty old, I think, and he sounds sick—hacks a lot, really wet gravel in his voice.”
Sherlock picked it up. “Claudia is young, draws hearts over her i’s, that sort of thing. He calls her his sweetheart. Maybe she’s his daughter, granddaughter, we’re not sure, or maybe she’s a runaway teenager. Sit down, Ruth, you’re making me dizzy.”
Ruth sat, aware that Dix was looking at her. He was realizing he was going to have to adjust to this matter-of-fact cop talk coming out of Ruth’s mouth. Not at all like Madonna. He said, “We’re still trying to find Ruth’s Beemer. I’ll call in the license plate later, but at this point we know it’s been hidden somewhere, or taken out of the area.”
“Her SAV,” Sherlock said, grinning.
Savich turned to the sheriff, who’d been studying each of them for the past few minutes. “I can’t tell you how grateful we are that you found Ruth and kept her safe.”
Dix waved it away. He was studying Savich closely. “I think I recognize your name, Ruth. A couple of months ago you were written up in the Washington Post, weren’t you? You helped locate a math teacher before he was killed by some jealous old nutcase?”
“Good heavens, you remember that?” Ruth grinned. “That was Jimbo Marple. One of my boys saw this old guy take Jimbo right out of a shopping mall parking lot. He called me right away. Savich was so mad when one of the sharpshooters killed the old guy. You’ve got quite a memory.”
“A whole lot of people are involved in every case we’ve handled,” Savich said easily. “Ruth here is known for her snitches. She gathered them all when she was with the D.C. Police Department before she joined the FBI.”
Sherlock said, “And shoots like a champ, Dix. Tells either her SIG or her Glock what she wants to hit and the next instant, it’s dead center.”
“I hid behind a dresser while he was out on that high-speed chase.”
“Well,” Sherlock said easily, “now you’re back with us.”
“A hard-ass,” Ruth agreed, pleased.
Dix smiled a perfunctory smile that didn’t show at all in his stiff voice. “So is the FBI going to take over here?”
Sherlock gave him her sunny smile. “Oh no, Sheriff Noble, we’re simply here to help. After all, Ruth is one of ours. Dillon called our boss, told him what we were doing. Mr. Maitland wants this cleared up as well. He hates it when someone tries to kill one of his agents.”
Savich said clearly, looking Dixon Noble in the eye, “We have no intention of bigfooting you, Sheriff, banish the thought. We can help you with equipment, information, anything you need.”
Dix still didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. “Would you like more tea, Agent Savich?”
DIX PUNCHED OFF his cell phone. He was grinning when he walked back into the living room. “The boys got a better offer than Dad’s leftover stew for dinner. They’re having pizza at the Claussons’ house with a bunch of other kids, bless the Claussons and all their ancestors, so we don’t have to watch what we say. I twisted the truth a bit, told them you FBI big shots weren’t staying long this evening, which meant they wouldn’t be able to get much out of you. That and the ‘Garbage Dump’ pizzas turned the tide.”
After they’d eaten the sheriff’s stew for dinner, Sherlock watched Ruth, as natural as could be, fill the kettle at the sink and put it on the stove, and fetch tea bags from a big messy cupboard. “Hey, we’ve got some cheese and crackers for dessert. They’re closed with a rubber band so they shouldn’t be stale.”
Dix laughed. “Sorry I didn’t have more to offer you for dinner.”
“The stew was excellent,” Sherlock said. “You’re a good cook, Sheriff.”
“I learned,” he said shortly, and put tea bags into two cups. “Ruth, more coffee?”
He was watching her as she nodded. “Ruth—I like that. I suppose it sounds more like you than Madonna. It’s powerful, biblical.”
Ruth smiled at him. “Sorry to switch names on you in the middle of the stream, Sheriff. Where do you think Dillon and Sherlock should stay in Maestro?”
“At Bud Bailey’s B-and-B, right on High Street, half a block from my office. Oh, I forgot, Ruth. Tell me where you were staying. No one recognized your photo.”
“I hadn’t made a reservation anywhere. I thought after I got my treasure, I’d drive back home if it wasn’t too late.”
“Did you get gas anywhere?”
“Sure, in Hamilton.”
The sheriff frowned. “That’s a bit too far up the road for us to have canvassed. Where do you live?”
“In Alexandria.”
Sherlock said, “The men in the truck that blew up—have they done the autopsies yet?”
“We were lucky we could get the county ME to work on Sunday. Even though the men were burned real bad, he managed to pull up some partial prints, and some dental X-rays. They had to come from somewhere. We’re hoping there’ll be missing persons reports on them in the next couple of days. Unless they were brought in, and that would make them professionals. There wasn’t much time for that, so that may mean some sort of local group is behind this, whoever they are and whatever this is. In any case, I’ve called in all my deputies, and now the FBI is involved. Any ideas you guys can come up with will be appreciated.”
It was grudging, Savich thought, but it was a start, and the sheriff almost meant it. “We’ll plan to head out to Winkel’s Cave with you as our first stop tomorrow morning.” He turned to Ruth. “You want us to bring anything?”
Dix said as he shook his head, “No, I can provide flashlights and head lamps and picks in case we need them. We have a stack of them in the department.”
Savich nodded, and continued to Ruth, “I don’t suppose you got permission from the Park Service to go into that cave on Friday, did you?”
“Good news. Winkel’s Cave is on private land. Mr. Weaver, the owner, and I have already made a deal. He even had a locked gate in there, but no key, so I kind of picked the lock. It’s what Indiana Jones would have done, isn’t it?”
Sherlock rolled her eyes. “At least we don’t have to worry about getting permission from the Park Service.”
Savich said, “I bet it wouldn’t have been a problem. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Maitland has a golf crony who’s a higher-up in the Park Service.” He shot a look at Ruth, thought of how close she’d come to death. “You’re not going to be out of my sight in that cave, Ruth.”
Ruth looked pleased about that. She said, “Oh yeah, Sheriff, Mr. Maitland has four boys.”
Dix crossed himself.
“Oh dear,” Ruth said, “I’ve got to cancel all my credit cards. I left my backpack and my wallet in my car.”
CHAPTER 11
&
MONDAY MORNING
RUTH SAID, “OKAY, guys, we won’t have any stretches of nice electrical lights the Park Service provides for their caves, and there won’t be any well-marked paths. You’ve got backup flashlights in your belts, but right now we’ll only need our head lamps.”
The ceiling was high enough for a while so they could walk upright. With Ruth in the lead, they took several steps around the first corner, a couple of steps down some jagged rocks, and stopped for a moment in complete darkness, except for the light from their head lamps. The cave was eerily quiet, their breaths the only sounds they heard.
“Take a look at the cave formations here,” Ruth said, pointing to a sweep of spectacular draperies, and then panning her head lamp toward a towering stalagmite. “Don’t touch anything, and try not to bump into any of these formations. They’re really fragile. Stay close.”
Since they didn’t need lug soles in Winkel’s Cave, they wore hiking boots. Still, each of them slipped a couple of times, but not badly. “Coming up on the left is a nice drop-off, maybe ten feet down, so stay in my footpath. The map was real specific about this, so maybe one of them took a header here. See that slab of limestone that looks like a commode?” All their head lamps swung to the right. “It’s distinctive, so they drew it on the map. We’re headed in the right direction, I’m sure of it. Okay, all of us except maybe Sherlock will have to bend down some starting soon, and then we veer slightly to the left for another ten feet or so. Sherlock, your head should clear okay. It’s narrower, too, but don’t worry, it’ll widen out again.”
“It’s so dark,” Sherlock whispered. Her voice echoed back to her like a hollow reed. “It’s like we’re the only people in the world.”
“We are, in this world,” Dix said. “I’ve never particularly liked caves.”
“Thank goodness Winkel’s Cave isn’t at all hairy, at least where we’re going,” Ruth said. “Like I said, you’re not even going to get your feet wet. Mr. Weaver told me there’s a stream, but it’s in a lower passage, some twenty-five feet down. He said he’d heard it but never seen it. I, for one, wouldn’t want to get lost down there.” Her laugh echoed through the huge vault they were walking through. “If you want to freak out, I’ll show you a copy of American Caving Accidents—people have fallen into pits, got tangled up in ropes, died of hypothermia from crawling in muddy water, even drowned. Now that I’ve scared you, caving isn’t dangerous if you know what you’re doing. Scrapes or bruises or sprains, that’s usually the worst of it.”