Curse of the Painted Lady (The Anlon Cully Chronicles Book 3) Read online

  “We believe the suspect departed the scene in a silver Honda CR-V with New York license plates. Officers located an abandoned vehicle fitting the description approximately seven miles southwest of Middlebury, near the Ticonderoga ferry crossing. Efforts are underway to identify the vehicle and suspect, but at this time, we have no additional information. The suspect should be considered armed and dangerous. If anyone watching or listening to this broadcast encounters the suspect, call 911 immediately and take shelter. Do not — I repeat, do not — attempt to engage the suspect.

  “We have distributed two images of the suspect to all police departments involved in the search and have posted the images on the Vermont State Police website.”

  As the commander continued to speak, the television screen placed the press conference in an inset. The main screen showed the two images, side by side. Across the bottom of the screen, a scroll read, “Suspect at large. Last seen near Ticonderoga ferry. Contact 911 immediately if you see suspicious activity. Suspect considered armed and dangerous.”

  Jennifer studied the images while the commander continued to speak. “The first image is a photograph taken from video surveillance inside the bank. The second is a composite sketch developed from conversations with the branch manager.”

  The woman in the surveillance screen capture appeared closer to forty in Jennifer’s estimation, though the video quality was still poor. In the sketch, however, the woman looked younger. She had feathery, long black hair. Her jawline was chiseled, and her olive-toned skin was wrinkle-free. The shape of the eyes, nose and lips gave the woman a touch of an exotic look. As Jennifer compared the sketch with the screen capture, she realized her perception of the woman’s older age was influenced by the woman’s ponytail, glasses and generously applied makeup.

  “In addition to grand theft and assault charges, the suspect is also wanted for kidnapping and murder. We are still gathering evidence, but it appears this crime began yesterday with the kidnapping of the branch manager’s daughter, and then the branch manager herself. The suspect used the threat of harm to the daughter to compel the branch manager to assist her in the robbery. Both were held captive overnight. This morning, the suspect drove the branch manager to work and returned approximately two hours later to rob the bank.

  “Her target was an item or items in two safe-deposit boxes stored in the bank vault. From security camera video taken while the suspect examined the boxes, we know the suspect removed a rectangular, black stone and placed it in a briefcase she brought to the bank. Afterward, the suspect continued to search the boxes for another item or items and became agitated when she could not locate the additional piece or pieces.”

  While the commander provided additional details, a snippet of the security video played on a split screen opposite the press conference. Jennifer watched Muran extract a Sinethal from one of the boxes and rummage through the second. When finished, Muran combed through both boxes again, halting several times to pound her fist on the cubicle tabletop. She then knocked the boxes to the floor, grabbed her satchel and disappeared from the camera’s view.

  Jennifer’s attention returned to the press conference when she heard the commander pause and utter an extended sigh. The split screen vanished and the newsfeed zoomed in on the commander as he slowly looked around the room of reporters. “Finally, it is with a heavy heart that I tell you we located a deceased teenaged girl earlier this evening fitting the description of the branch manager’s daughter. Out of respect for the family, we will not divulge the names of the manager or her daughter at this time. We ask the media to refrain from intruding on the grieving mother or other family members. At the appropriate time, we will release a statement with more information.”

  His eyes teared. “It’s been a hard day, folks. And it’s gonna be a harder night. But we will catch this woman and bring her to justice, I promise you that.”

  The final words were barely out of his mouth when the room erupted with questions from reporters in the room.

  “What kind of weapon did she use?” shouted one reporter.

  The commander frowned. “Your guess is as good as mine. She had something in her hands, but it wasn’t a gun.”

  Another reporter piped up. “Was it a laser?”

  “If it was, it was unlike any laser I’ve seen or heard of.”

  From the back of the room, another question: “How did she escape?”

  The commander turned to another uniformed official on the small stage and they engaged in a whispered exchange. The other official stepped forward and identified himself as the chief of the Middlebury Police. “The suspect disabled the officers on scene and fled on foot toward the south side of town.”

  “Is that where the two officers were killed?”

  The Middlebury chief nodded. “Yes, they were stationed behind a police cruiser blocking the Otter Creek bridge. They exchanged fire with the suspect and were killed.”

  In the front row, a coiffed reporter from a national news channel stood up. “Chief, eyewitnesses tell us the police cruiser was shot with a laser beam and the car flew over the side of the bridge and into the creek. And that the suspect mowed down the officers while they sought cover. Can you confirm that?”

  The commander nudged the chief from his place before the microphones. “We’re still gathering evidence.”

  “We have video of the car being pulled from the river,” said the undaunted reporter. “What kind of weapon could do that? Are we talking something military?”

  “No comment.”

  The reporter fired another question. “Is the FBI involved? Have you contacted the Defense Department?”

  The commander ignored the questions and pointed to a rival network reporter who’d risen to stand by his competitor. “Commander, where was the dead teenager found? How did she die?”

  “We’re still securing the scene. I don’t have anything more on that right now.”

  “We’ve heard reports of a large police presence at Fort Ticonderoga, across the river from where the suspect’s car was found. Is that where the girl was found?”

  “No comment.”

  Jennifer muted the television. Shortly after, the commander waved off another question and motioned for the group of officials to depart the stage. The network feed switched to a live helicopter view of a dozen police cars and several emergency vehicles. The helicopter’s spotlight illuminated a star-shaped stone structure. Beneath the image was a caption. “Unidentified body found at Fort Ticonderoga.”

  Reaching for her cell phone, Jennifer saw no replies from Anlon and Pebbles. She briefly weighed calling each again, but she’d already left two messages. Instead, she dialed Detective Hall. He did not answer, either. Jennifer left a message. “Hi, Tim. Jennifer Stevens here. Please call me. I have some information about the suspect in the Middlebury incident today. It’s important. Call me when you get a chance.”

  She typed out a similar text to him and laid back on the bed. With a forearm covering her eyes, she said, “What should I do? What should I do?”

  Middlebury was only about forty miles from Burlington, but Jennifer imagined it would take more than an hour to get there, especially if roadblocks were set up along Route 7, the most direct route between the two cities. Was it better to try for Ticonderoga? She uncovered her eyes and checked her cell phone map app for the distance to Fort Ticonderoga — twenty miles past Middlebury.

  That settled it. Anything was better than sitting in the hotel room. She hoisted herself off the bed and grabbed her tote bag from the dresser. Rustling through the bag, she pulled out the rental car keys and dropped them on the bed. Digging deeper in the bag, she felt for the scratchy Stones at the bottom. She found one, then the other, and placed them next to the keys. She crossed her arms and she stared at the Stones. Would they believe her? Or would she have to provide a demonstration?

  New York, New York

  In a not-so-quiet corner of the midtown steakhouse, Anlon patiently waited for the wine stewa
rd to finish pouring before continuing his conversation with Cesar. The topic was their visit the prior day to see Elton Sinclair’s shawl, and Anlon was excited to learn more from Cesar.

  “I’m still blown away by the symbol,” Anlon said.

  Cesar raised his wine glass to toast his enthusiasm. “I’m so glad I wasn’t the only one who noticed the similarity. I was unsure at first, given the symbol doesn’t carry the Lifintyl icons. But your reaction was as strong as mine when I first saw the Sinethal.”

  “There’s no doubt in my mind. It’s definitely the same symbol,” Anlon said, as he clinked glasses with Cesar. He sipped some of the wine, then asked, “But I’m puzzled by the time gap. What do you make of it? It seems too big a gap for the Munuorians to have made it.”

  “I don’t know, but the archaeological record of human development shows us that nearly all cultures are built on preceding ones in one fashion or another,” Cesar said.

  “So, if it wasn’t made by them, you’re thinking it was made by an earlier society? One that influenced the Munuorians?” Anlon asked.

  “Yes, one or the other,” Cesar said.

  Anlon thought of the many examples of Munuorian artistry he’d witnessed in visions with Malinyah. Beyond their mystical Stones, he thought of the unusual styling of their ships, the precision with which Malinyah carved volcanic rock, and the wall of unusual seashells. Then there was the fine feel of Malinyah’s tunic and the intricacy of her beaded burial cloak. “I remember Pebbles saying Malinyah claimed the Munuorians had watched the stars for ‘years beyond count.’ I’ve never asked her to quantify how far back their ancestry goes. Maybe it stretches back two thousand years prior to Munirvo.”

  “It’s certainly a possibility, but the other imagery on the shawl is so different from anything else we’ve seen from the Munuorians. Wouldn’t you agree?” Cesar asked.

  “Yeah, that’s true,” Anlon said.

  “Either way, it will be fascinating to explore,” Cesar said with a smile.

  Their conversation was interrupted by the delivery of their appetizer, a raw bar platter featuring shrimp, lump crabmeat and oysters. As they each selected a few pieces, Anlon asked, “What do you think of Sinclair?”

  “Elton? He’s theatrical, but the man has a knack for finding gems others miss. Huaca Prieta’s not his only big hit,” Cesar said.

  “How well did Devlin know him, you think?”

  “I’m sure they crossed paths, but I don’t really know. Why?”

  “I don’t know. He made it sound like they were chums.”

  “That’s your uncle’s doing. He made everyone feel like they were dearest friends. Speaking of Devlin and Elton, the shawl may help resolve another mystery Devlin and I grappled with over the years.”

  “Really? In what way?” Anlon asked, spearing another shrimp from the platter.

  “Well, if we discover it was made by a society predating the Munuorians, it will lend greater credence to the theory we put forth in our book,” Cesar said.

  “Let me guess, the mystery in question is the one about the Mayan calendar you guys found in a Mexican jungle,” Anlon said. He knew the two men had written two books and several articles together about their discoveries, of which the unusual Mayan calendar had garnered the most interest in archaeology circles.

  “Spot on. We called it the ‘Calakmul Star Clock,’ given we found it in the jungle near the ruins of the Mayan city Calakmul. But, technically, it’s not a Mayan creation, or so Devlin and I believed,” said Cesar.

  “Interesting. What’s the connection with the shawl?” Anlon asked.

  “There are several features that intrigue me. For instance, the clock used animal figures as symbols for various constellations. Some of those symbols are on the shawl,” Cesar said. “Did Devlin ever talk about the expedition where we found it? It was quite an adventure.”

  “No,” Anlon said. “Can’t say that he did. But you’ve got me interested now.”

  “Oh, it would take all of dinner, plus some, to give you the full tale. Perhaps another time,” Cesar said with a twinkle in his eye. Staring down at his reflection in the wine glass, he softly said, “Poor Devlin. He was so angry we had to cut so much out of the book. But our editor thought it too ‘Indiana Jones’ for an academic tome.”

  Anlon urged him to share the tale, but Cesar demurred, claiming it was best told under the glow of a campfire rather than a crowded restaurant. “Besides, I’d rather talk about the shawl. The potential connection with the clock is more intriguing.”

  “How so?” Anlon asked.

  “It is a question of time,” Cesar said. “The ages of both pieces are out of place with known history. And both pieces have characteristics beyond the animals that seem out of place, too.”

  “You mean like the beading on the shawl?” Anlon asked.

  “Yes, exactly,” Cesar said.

  “What’s out of whack with the clock?” Anlon asked.

  “On one hand, it is an amazing demonstration of astronomy and mathematics,” Cesar said. “On the other, it’s a bit off in its precision...maybe.”

  Nearly all ancient cultures, Cesar explained, seemed to have been obsessed with a need to mark time. Specifically, the cycles of the sun and moon. To wit, he explained, most ancient calendars measured time by tracking the movements and positions of the sun and moon. The cycles of these bodies helped ancient societies learn how to predict the change in seasons, which, in turn, allowed them to prepare for changes in weather and helped them to better manage their food and water supply.

  “In this way, early clocks and calendars were mandatory survival tools,” he said.

  Ancient peoples marked the changes in seasons using similar methods, he continued. They used fixed objects, natural or ones they placed, with unobstructed views of the horizon. Then they recorded the rising and/or setting of the sun and/or moon each day in relation to the fixed objects.

  “After a few years of recording their observations, they would have grown confident in their capability to predict the seasons. If their observations were off a little bit here and there, it made little difference. With enough history under their pelts, as it were, they would have had ample time to adapt to shifts in climate and precipitation.

  “As history progressed, sun and moon calendars became more sophisticated and precise, leading to the development of clock-type devices, which gave them the ability to track the length of each day and night. This allowed for greater organization and coordination of efforts. People were able to gather at precise times to accomplish coordinated tasks. Clocks provided a leap in efficiency,” Cesar said.

  The waiter stopped by to clear their appetizer plates and motioned for the wine steward to refresh their glasses. After informing Anlon and Cesar that the arrival of their dinner was imminent, the waiter breezed to the next table.

  “All that makes sense, so far,” Anlon said. “But how does that apply to your clock?”

  “Like Mayan calendars, it doesn’t mark time in terms of hours or seasons. It marks time in blocks of months and years. In fact, much like Mayan calendars, the clock we found allowed its makers to project out time for thousands of years. Now, the only way to construct such a calendar, at least the only way we’ve surmised it could be done, is to watch the stars. Specifically, the alignment of constellations as they wheel through the sky.”

  “So, I take it you think the clock’s makers influenced the development of the Mayan calendar,” Anlon said.

  “Yes, it’s incredibly complex…and reasonably accurate. To create it, the makers would have had to know the curvature of the Earth and the angle of its rotation. And they would have had to watch the stars for a very, very long time. You see, even though a given constellation appears in the sky in the same general area on a given day in one year versus the same day in the next year, it isn’t exactly in the same spot. Because of the Earth’s angle of rotation, constellations shift slightly, each day, each month, each year. All told, it takes about ninet
een thousand years for a constellation to return to the exact point it occupied on the day one first began to track it.”

  “Are you telling me whoever built the clock watched the stars for nineteen thousand years?”

  “No, I don’t think they did, and no one thinks the Mayans did. I think they took some shortcuts. They knew enough from watching the small shifts in constellation position from year to year to project out the full nineteen-thousand-year cycle. But, it would have taken easily a thousand years to see enough shift to calculate out the full cycle. It’s a mystery how they did it, but to me, the biggest mystery is why they did it.”

  “I see what you mean,” Anlon said. “What practical purpose would such a clock serve?”

  Two porters descended on the table, one carrying their entrées, steak for Anlon, salmon for Cesar, while the other placed down family-style platters of grilled vegetables and the restaurant’s signature hash browns. As Anlon and Cesar divvied up the side dishes, Cesar said, “The Mayans surely saw it as a means to attach specific dates in history to key events. That much is certain.”

  He took a bite of his salmon, then added, “But why they went to such elaborate lengths to do so is baffling. For an ancient culture, supposedly rudimentary in their technology, to create such a calendar is an inexplicable societal development. And truthfully, there were other older Mesoamerican cultures that produced similar calendars at earlier dates, including the Zapotecs and Olmecs. But the Calakmul clock predates them all by thousands of years.”

  “Suggesting that the knowledge to create the clock was passed on by the clockmaker’s culture, just like weaving and beading in the shawl,” Anlon said, cutting a slice of his steak.

  “Exactly,” Cesar said.