The Secret of the Stones by Ernest Dempsey (reading fiction .TXT) 📕

hours to figure out this riddle. If you have not come up with the answer by then, I will remove one of your thumbs and will continue removing appendages once every two hours until all you have left is a torso with a head on it.”

That old feeling of fear crept into Tommy. “How am I supposed to do that? People have been trying to figure this out for centuries, and you want me to do it in a day? I haven’t even slept.”

“That is not my problem. I have given you what you need. Just get it done.” He turned and said something in another language to the guards. Tommy couldn’t make out what it was. Then Ulrich strode back through the double doors whence he’d come a few moments earlier, dramatically extending his arms as he pushed them both open at the same time.

Under his breath Tommy whispered, “So, I’ll just go ahead and take care of this then.” His panic was masked by his characteristic dry cynicism. “Either of you guys experts in three-thousand-year-old dead languages?”

They looked at each other then both shook their heads simultaneously.

“Didn’t think so.”

20

Atlanta

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 got home for the night. He’d been so exhausted that a stop by a coffee shop drive-through 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 lying 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 CSIs 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 passersby.

“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