Plum Island

  I smiled. Four Swedes, my ass. Number six was Beth on Sunday morning asking where I’d disappeared to Saturday night, and when could we meet. And number seven was Beth on Sunday afternoon, acknowledging my message to her office and saying she’d be at my house on Monday morning.

  So, when the doorbell rang a little before noon, I wasn’t too surprised to see Beth there. I said, “Come in.”

  She left her umbrella on the porch and came in. She was wearing another tailored suit, this one sort of a rust color.

  I thought I should say I was alone, so I said, “I’m alone.”

  She said, “I know.”

  We looked at each other for some very long seconds. I knew what she was going to say, but I didn’t want to hear it. She said it anyway. “Emma Whitestone was found in her house by one of her employees this morning, dead, apparently murdered.”

  I said nothing. What could I say? I just stood there.

  Beth took my arm and led me into the living room to the couch. “Sit down,” she said. I sat.

  She sat beside me and took my hand. She said, “I don’t know how you feel … I mean, I know you must have been fond of her….”

  I nodded. For the second time in my life, I wasn’t the one giving the bad news. I was the one hearing about the murder of someone I cared about. It was mind-numbing. I couldn’t quite grasp it because it didn’t seem real. I said to Beth, “I was with her until about ten last night.”

  Beth said, “We have no time of death yet. She was found in her bed … apparently killed by blows to the head with a fireplace poker that was found on the floor … there was no sign of forced entry … the back door was unlocked.”

  I nodded. He would have had a key which he never returned, and she never thought to change the lock. He knew there was a poker handy.

  Beth continued, “There was the appearance of a burglary … pocketbook emptied, cash gone, jewelry box emptied. That sort of thing.”

  I took a deep breath, and said nothing.

  Beth then told me, “Also, the Murphys are both dead. Apparently also murdered.”

  “My God.”

  Beth said, “A Southold PD was patrolling their street about once an hour and was keeping an eye on the Murphy house, but … he didn’t see anything.” She added, “When a new shift came on at eight A.M., the officer noticed that the newspaper was on the lawn and it was still there at nine. He knew that the Murphys rose early and took the paper in, so—” She asked me, “Do you want to hear this?”

  “Go on.”

  “Okay … so he phoned them, then knocked on the front door, then went around back and saw that the rear door in the Florida room was unlocked. He went inside and found them in their bed. Both had died of apparent head injuries caused by a crowbar that he found on the floor with blood on it.” She added, “The house was ransacked. Also, with the police presence on the street, it’s assumed that the house was approached from the bay side.”

  I nodded.

  Beth said, “You can imagine the Southold PD is in a state of uproar, and the whole North Fork will soon be. If they get one murder a year, that’s a lot.”

  I thought of Max, who liked things quiet and peaceful.

  Beth continued, “The county PD is sending a task force because now the thinking is that this is a psychotic who burglarizes houses and murders the occupants.” She added, “I think that whoever killed the Gordons could have taken the Murphys’ key from the Gordon house, and that’s why there was no forced entry and why the back door was unlocked. ” She added, “That would indicate some premeditation.”

  I nodded. Tobin knew he might have to get rid of the Murphys at some point and thought ahead far enough to take the key. When Beth mentioned that the Murphys’ key was not found in the Gordon house, that should have alerted us. Another example of underestimating the killer. I said, “We should have predicted …”

  She nodded. “I know.” She continued, “As for Emma Whitestone … well, either she left her door unlocked or, again, someone had the key … someone she knew.”

  I looked at Beth and saw that we both knew who she was talking about. In fact, she said, “I had that surveillance put on Fredric Tobin Sunday morning, as you suggested, and it ran all day, but some higher ups called it off from midnight to eight … for budgetary reasons … so, basically no one was watching Tobin after midnight.”

  I didn’t respond.

  She said, “I had trouble getting them to agree to any surveillance of Tobin. He’s just not a suspect.” She said pointedly, “I didn’t have anything on him to warrant around-the-clock surveillance.”

  I was paying attention, but my mind kept returning to images of Emma, at my house, swimming in the bay, at the historical society party, in her bedroom where she was found murdered … what if I’d spent the night there? How would anyone know that she was alone … ? It occurred to me that Tobin would have killed me, too, if he’d found me there, sleeping beside her.

  Beth said, “By the way, I met Fredric Tobin at his party, and he was very charming. But he’s a little too slick … I mean, there’s another side to that man … There’s something not so nice right behind that smile.”

  I thought of Fredric Tobin and pictured him talking to Emma on the lawn at his party. As he spoke to her, he must have known he was going to murder her. I wondered, though, if he decided to kill her to keep her from talking to me anymore, or if he just wanted to say, “Fuck you, Corey. Fuck you for being a wiseass, fuck you for figuring out I killed the Gordons, fuck you for fucking my ex-girlfriend, and just plain fuck you.”

  Beth said, “I feel a little responsible for the Murphys.”

  I forced myself to think about the Murphys. They were decent people, helpful citizens, and unfortunately for them, witnesses to too much that had taken place next door over the last two years. I said, “I brought a photo of Fredric Tobin to the Murphys on Wednesday, and they ID’ed him as the guy with the white sports car…. Tobin owns a white Porsche….” I explained my short visit to Edgar and Agnes Murphy.

  Beth nodded. “I see.”

  I said, “The murderer is Fredric Tobin.”

  She didn’t reply.

  I said, “He killed Tom and Judy Gordon, Edgar and Agnes Murphy, maybe that Plum Island veterinarian, and Emma Whitestone. And maybe others.” I added, “I’m taking this very personally.”

  I stood and said, “I need some air.” I went out back and stood on the porch. The rain was heavier now, gray rain falling from a gray sky into a gray sea. The wind was coming off the bay from the south.

  Emma. Emma.

  I was still in the shock and denial stage, working up to the anger stage. The more I thought about Tobin bashing her head in with an iron poker, the more I wanted to bash his head in with an iron poker.

  Like a lot of cops who have a personal and close-up encounter with crime, I wanted to use my power and knowledge to take care of it myself. But a cop can’t be a vigilante, and a vigilante can’t be a cop. On the other hand, there were times when you had to put the badge away and keep the gun….

  CHAPTER 30

  Beth left me alone for a while, during which time I was able to get myself together. Finally, she came out on the back porch and gave me a mug of coffee laced with what smelled like brandy.

  We both stood silently watching the bay. After a few minutes, she asked me, “What is this all about, John?”

  I knew that I owed her some information. “Gold,” I replied.

  “Gold?”

  “Yes. Buried treasure, maybe a pirate’s treasure, maybe the treasure of Captain Kidd himself.”

  “Captain Kidd?”

  “Yes.”

  “And it was on Plum Island?”

  “Yes … as far as I can guess, Tobin somehow got on to this, and realizing he could never get access to one of the most inaccessible places in the country, he began looking for a partner who had unlimited access to the island.”

  She thought about that, then finally said, “Of course … it
all makes sense now … the historical society, the digging, the house on the water, the speedboat … we were all so hung up on plague and then drugs….”

  “Right. But when you completely discount those possibilities, as I did because I knew the Gordons weren’t capable of that, then you have to rethink the whole thing.”

  She nodded and observed, “As Dr. Zollner said, When the only tool you have is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail.”

  I nodded.

  “Tell me all of it. Go ahead.”

  I knew she was trying to get my mind off Emma’s murder, and she was right that I had to work the case and do something positive. I said, “Okay … when I was on Plum Island, these archaeological digs struck me as totally out of character for Tom and Judy, and they knew I’d think that so they never mentioned it to me. I believe they were thinking ahead to a day—after they supposedly discovered treasure on their own land—when certain people might remember their digging on Plum Island and make a connection. So, the fewer people who knew, the better.”

  Beth remarked, “It wouldn’t be the first time something valuable was moved and suddenly discovered in a more convenient place.”

  “That was the crux of the entire plan. The X on the pirate map had to be moved from Uncle Sam’s land to Tom and Judy’s land.”

  She thought a moment and asked me, “Do you think the Gordons knew exactly where the treasure was buried on Plum Island? Or were they trying to find it? I don’t remember seeing too many fresh digs on the island.”

  “I think Tobin’s information was reliable and believable, but maybe not very accurate. I learned a few things about pirate maps from Emma … and from this book here….” I pointed to the book on the end table. “And, as I learned, these treasures were meant only to be buried temporarily, so some of the landmarks on a map or some instructions turn out to be long-vanished trees, rocks that have been quarried or fallen into the sea … that sort of thing.”

  Beth asked me, “How is it that you decided to interview Emma?”

  “I just wanted to check out the Peconic Historical Society. I was going to give it about an hour, and I really didn’t care who I spoke to … then, I met her and in the course of conversation, it turns out she was once Tobin’s girlfriend.”

  Beth contemplated all of this for a while as she stared out at the bay, then said, “So, next you interviewed Fredric Tobin.”

  “No, I interviewed him before I interviewed Emma.”

  “Then what led you to interview him? What possible connection would you think he had with the murders?”

  “None, at first. I was doing junior detective work, talking to friends, not suspects. I’d met Tobin at his vineyard, back in July, with the Gordons.” I explained about that and added, “I didn’t care for him then, and I wondered why the Gordons did. After I spent a few hours with him on Wednesday, I decided he was an okay guy, personally, but he wasn’t giving me the right answers to simple questions. You understand?”

  She nodded.

  “Then, after I spoke to Emma, I started to triangulate some relationships.”

  Again, she nodded, stared out at the rain, and seemed to be thinking. Finally she said, “I spent the same two days with forensics, the ME, Plum Island, and all that. Meanwhile, you’re following a completely different scent.”

  “The very faintest of scents, but I didn’t have much else to do.”

  “Are you still annoyed at the way you were treated?”

  “I was. Maybe that’s what motivated me. Doesn’t matter. Point is, I’m giving this to you. I want Fredric Tobin arrested, convicted, and fried.”

  She looked at me and said, “That may not happen, and you know it. Unless we get some real solid evidence, this guy is not going to be convicted of anything. I don’t even think the DA would try to indict him.”

  I knew that. I also knew that when the problem was a nail, all you needed was a hammer. I had a hammer.

  Beth asked, “Well? Do you have anything more in the way of evidence?”

  “Actually, I found a small flat-bottomed boat in Tobin’s boathouse with a pole—the kind of thing you can use to move through wetlands. Also, an aerosol foghorn.” I related my encounter with Tobin in the boathouse.

  She nodded, then said to me, “Sit down.” I sat in my wicker chair, and she sat in the rocker. She said, “Talk to me.”

  I spent the next hour briefing her, telling her everything I’d done since we parted Tuesday night, up to and including the fact that Tobin’s girlfriend, Sondra Wells, and the housekeeper had been away on the afternoon of the Gordon murders, yet Tobin had led me to believe they had been home.

  Beth listened, staring out at the rain and the sea. The wind was getting heavier and actually howled once in a while.

  When I finished, Beth said, “So, the Gordons’ purchase of the Wiley property was not to double-cross Tobin.”

  “No. Tobin told the Gordons to buy the land, based on this legend of Captain Kidd’s Ledges. There is also a place called Captain Kidd’s Trees, but that’s a public park now. Regarding the ledge or the bluff, this spot is not as well pinpointed in history books as the trees are, so Tobin knew that any bluff in the area would do. But he didn’t want it to get around that he was buying useless land up on the bluffs—that would lead to all sorts of gossip and speculation. So he had the Gordons buy the land with their own money, which was limited, but they got lucky with that piece of Wiley land—or maybe Tobin knew about it. The plan then was to wait awhile before burying the treasure, then discovering it.”

  “Incredible.”

  “Yes. And because it’s almost impossible to fake the age of a vertical shaft, they intended to tuck the treasure chest into the side of that bluff—on that ledge that we found—and then say it was exposed by erosion. Then, when they hacked it loose from the sand and clay, using picks and shovels, the site is basically destroyed, and the chest itself is in splinters, so the recovery of the chest makes it impossible for anyone to study the site.”

  She said again, “Incredible.”

  “These were three very bright people, Beth, and they had no intention of screwing up. They were going to snatch ten or twenty million dollars’ worth of treasure right from under Uncle Sam’s nose, and the first that Uncle was going to hear about it was when it made the news. Enter the IRS, which they were prepared for.” I explained about the treasure trove laws, income tax, and all that.

  She thought a moment, then asked me, “But how was Tobin to get in on the money after the Gordons announced their find?”

  “First of all, these three established that they’d been friends for almost two years. The Gordons had developed this interest in wine, which I don’t think was real, but it was a good way to get Fredric Tobin and the Gordons seen together in public as friends.” I explained what I’d discovered from Emma about the nature of the relationship. I said, “However, that didn’t agree with what Tobin had told me about the relationship. So I had another interesting inconsistency.”

  She nodded. “Being friends is no reason to share millions of dollars in found treasure.”

  “No. So they concocted a whole story to go along with the discovery. Here’s what I think…. First, they pretended they had developed a mutual interest in local history, and eventually that interest led to some information on pirate treasure. At this point, according to what they were going to put out to the press, they entered into a friendly agreement to search for and share whatever they found.”

  Beth nodded again. I could see she was mostly convinced of my reconstruction of what had taken place before the murders. I added, “The Gordons and Tobin would say they all pored through old archives in the various historical societies here, which is true, and they did the same in England, and so forth. They became convinced that the treasure was on the land owned by Margaret Wiley, and while they had some regrets about having suckered her out of that parcel, all’s fair in treasure hunting, and so forth. They’d give Margaret a nice jewel or something. They’d a
lso point out that they took a twenty-five-thousand-dollar risk because they couldn’t be positive the treasure was there.”

  I sat back in my chair and listened to the wind and rain. I felt about as bad as I’d ever felt in my life, and I was surprised at how much I missed Emma Whitestone, who’d come into my life so quickly and unexpectedly, then moved into another life, somewhere among the constellations perhaps.

  I took another deep breath, then continued, “I assume the Gordons and Tobin had some sort of phony documentation to back up their claim to have discovered this location in some archive. I don’t know what they had in mind regarding this—a counterfeit parchment, or a photostat of what was supposed to be an original that was lost, or they could simply say, ‘None of your business how we found this. We’re still researching for more treasure.’ The government doesn’t care how they found it, only where they found it, and how much it’s all worth.” I looked at her. “Does this make sense to you?”

  She thought about that and said, “It makes sense the way you laid it out … but I still think that someone would make the Plum Island connection.”

  “That’s possible. But having a suspicion of where the treasure was found and proving it are very different.”

  “Yes, but it’s a weak link in an otherwise good plan.”

  “Yes, it is. So let me give you another theory, one that fits what actually happened—Tobin had no intention of sharing anything with the Gordons. He led the Gordons to believe all of what I just said, he put them up to buying the land, and the three of them constructed this whole story about how they found the treasure and why they were going to share. In reality, Tobin, too, was afraid of the Plum Island connection. The Gordons were the solution to his problem of how to locate the treasure and move it from Plum Island. Then the Gordons became a liability, a weak link, an obvious clue to where the treasure had actually come from.”

  Beth stayed silent, rocking in the chair, and she nodded her head and said, “Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead.”