The Unearthing of Blackstone Read online

  “Well, at least you’re being honest with yourself.” The doctor pulled a drawer open in his desk.

  “I am. I know myself so well that when I look in the mirror, sometimes I don’t like who looks back at me.” It just came out. The admission seemed to have its own lips, and spoke on Ace’s behalf, like a translator in the room. He looked at the doctor in astonishment.

  Dr. Rose made no bones about it, and simply acted as if nothing had been said at all. For that, Ace was grateful. The man ripped off a piece of paper from a pad and handed it to him.

  “Take this to Mary and schedule your appointment. I will see you next week, Mr. Blackstone.” He extended his hand and a slight smile.

  “Thanks, see you later.” Ace took hold of his hand, shook it with a hearty grip then made his way out the door.

  He trudged forward, his feet heavy and awkward. The more he saw Dr. Rose, the more shit would tumble out, the more exposed he’d be. He’d hate it, but he needed it. The issue was so much bigger than the nightmares that tormented him. His entire world had been hidden within him. He’d become a rock, a tomb, lying atop his own feelings and emotions and daring them to try and escape. And now, it was time to turn the light on and expose everything, even the demons, secrets and enemies, and make them known, for once and for all…

  ~***~

  CHAPTER SIX

  Brooklyn stood at the top of the white winding staircase of the museum, and caught her reflection in the vast window. She cocked her head to the side, hands on hips and stared —stunned — at her own likeness, for she didn’t know who the hell was staring back at her. She looked like a damn Princess from some movie that had a hokey happy ending. She hated that she loved it.

  I clean up pretty good!

  The preliminaries took place as people continued to enter and the last minute mike checks were arranged. With a grin on her face, she spoke to colleagues, shook hands with the mayor and waited to take her seat. She’d be accepting her award and speaking in a few short hours. A feeling of doom made her stomach roil and a nervous itch crept up the side of her neck, as if she’d walked through a spider web and became engulfed in the thing. If anything should go wrong, or her worse fears materialized, the Earth would drop beneath her feet and she’d fall to her miserable death, into a pit of fears come true. Ivy grabbed her hand, bringing her out of her cobwebbed thoughts and into the here and now.

  “How ya holding up?” The woman smiled at her, her smooth, perfectly made-up face genuine with exhilaration. She looked beautiful in a shimmering emerald green dress with matching pumps to show off her thick, shapely calves.

  “I’m well, thanks!” Brooklyn pushed out, still in her ‘performance’ mode of answers as her gut twisted and bubbled up like a cauldron boiling with a witchy spell-bound brew. Any more words, and the squeaky door to Pandora’s box would be flung open and she had that shit closed, chained, nailed and triple locked as if gruesome monsters were on the other side vying for a taste of her blood.

  “Okay, great. Come on over here.” Ivy led her towards some fancy seats covered in white linen and accented with gold bows. “When the time comes, you will sit here and wait, and then they will call your name. That won’t be for another hour or so, though.” The woman glanced at her watch. “Then after the meet and greet, you will go up the stairs and sit while you’re being introduced.”

  Brooklyn nodded, distracted by all the well-dressed professionals she admired, dark tuxedos and flowing gowns swirling about as if a miniature fan was attached to each hem. She’d been swallowed by a 1940’s Hollywood movie, yet the film had only just begun.

  “So just keep on mingling. I’m so proud of you, Brooklyn!” Her eyes moist, Ivy cupped her face and kissed her cheek before dashing away to tend to her duties. No matter how blunt the little tyrant was, she loved that woman with all of her heart. Not only was Ivy a wonderful assistant, she also held the key to her sanity. Sometimes, she’d look into Ivy’s vibrant dark brown eyes and feel like an awful fool. Ivy deserved more from her than she gave her — than the limited part of herself she let show. Brooklyn stood on a stack of cards, but she was no Queen; she was the joker and the wrong move would cause the whole damn thing to come crashing down, exposing everything she’d fought so hard to protect.

  Brooklyn looked down at her three inch black stilettos and smiled, though that gesture was tinged with a dollop of despondency. Never in a million years had she thought she could experience something like this. All she wanted was to live. She wished she could freeze time right then and there, and let nothing change. There’d be no opportunity for a disaster, no chance for derailment, no possibility of a sad climax. No, things could stay just like this until the end of time…

  “Ms. Brooklyn Greene!”

  She looked up and met eyes with Dr. Brandowel, a professor of archaeology at Wheaton College.

  “Dr. Brandowel! So wonderful to see you.” She gave the kind old man a soft hug, then embraced him a bit tighter.

  Yes…this feeling could last for as long as she held tight to the fabric of his black jacket, the material smooth under her sweaty palms. Yes, she was holding on tight…

  ~***~

  Two empty pizza boxes stained with red sauce fingerprints cluttered the kitchen, along with an empty Dos Equis beer bottle. He twitched an eyebrow at the unsightliness for he was allergic to living in a pigsty, and his kitchen had turned into just that. This sort of thing happened when he was in the throes of an investigation and the shit was now at a fever pitch. In typical Ace fashion, he became completely engrossed in his work, especially if it was a hard-nut-to-crack case such as this. He prided himself on order and neatness, though he’d been accused of being a stark raving lunatic at times regarding these matters. Okay, so what? He was a little O.C.D. about it — a token of appreciation from the brutal, albeit brief, time in military school.

  All this did was spurn his ‘tidy-freak’ issues already in seed formation. As he worked on his soapstone kitchen island, he let out a belch that made his throat vibrate. He chuckled, glad to be in quiet, familiar surroundings. He hadn’t been in the mood to go to the office. After his appointment with Dr. Rose, he felt emotionally beaten into a pulp and simply sought the comfort of his home, not the company of two dinged up mannequins from a store that had gone out of business, who, he fancied, refused to consummate their obvious passion for one another. So, he decided to continue his work from his house.

  “Okay.” He rubbed his chin, glanced towards the television that he’d set on mute, then back at his computer. After finishing his cleaning, he stood at the counter and stared at his laptop monitor. “So, there is no Lynne Greene that fits the physical description and age, anywhere in the state. I could look outside of Illinois, but…let me dig a little deeper. Mmmmhmmmm… We’ve checked that, got it.” While talking aloud, he tore up the evidence in his mind and perused his paperwork with an eagle eye. He was getting close to something; he just had to hold on steady and not throw in the sweat-covered towel for the night. His fingers fluttered across the keyboard as he hunched over it.

  “So…last night, or this morning, shit, I don’t even remember anymore…” He paused and ran his hand through his hair then down his face, dragging his lips along the way. “Uh, let’s see…yeah…” He snapped his fingers as if having an epiphany. “…so I figure, if she is still alive she either: A. Not in the state or possibly country anymore; B. Being held against her will somewhere — so with those two possibilities, if they are true, then she may have changed her name, right? Now…her father said…” He frantically pulled out the reports from the other investigators and examined them. “Yeah, her father said she was slated to attend college, but she didn’t go. Right here,” he pointed at a spot on a sheet of paper, pressing his index finger into the thing as if it were a treasure map, “… on this report from a detective Jonas, it says she was going to major in bio-engineering.”

  Ace spent the next twenty minutes checking local colleges that held such a degree program.<
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  “Okay, so we’ve got quite a few here…” He peered at the computer screen, as if it were waiting with bated breath to hear his analysis of the situation at hand. “Now, let’s see.” He checked the time, then picked up his phone.

  Good. The night is still young.

  “Hi, yes, I am looking to honor African Americans that graduated from your college in the biochemistry program, or actually, any science field and I…well no, I didn’t realize you were closed, it’s only… yes, I understand that this is just the information desk, but…uh huh, I see…well, can someone call me back, please? Yes, thank you. My name is Ace Blackstone, and I can be reached at 312-557-5791.”

  He kept calling different colleges while he simultaneously flipped through various websites, looking at local institutions and companies that offered biochemical programs or initiatives, checking out their staff photos and profiles.

  Goddamn it! If this woman is alive and living by her own devices, someone has seen her! As much as she loved school, she has to be in a field like this! There is just no way that she isn’t!

  He hated waiting on others, and he hated when things just didn’t go as fast as he wished them to, but his nature urged him to keep moving.

  “Okay…okay…hold up, Ace!” Irritated, he threw his hands in the air and stepped back from the computer. “What if… Now, this is just a what if — what if she is in a different field altogether, hmmm? Like, it could still be science, since that was her passion, but maybe she chose a different major? That makes sense for someone who doesn’t want to be found…”

  “The trail stopped here in Chicago…it stopped here!” He worked the thoughts through, trying to piece the mess together. “If she is free to do as she wants, that is the hypothesis I will use for right now, then she must have a job. Now, she could be selling her body. But…if she was a prostitute, she’d more than likely have a criminal record by now and I would’ve seen her face in the database, false name or not, which I already checked this damn morning! Ahhh!”

  He spun around, suppressing the desire to throw something heavy at the wall to break up the frustration that built inside of his skull.

  “Wait! Okay…” He turned back towards the computer and pointed at it, as if it could speak back like a witness on the stand. “What if she has a traditional career in the sciences, just like I first though…” He thumped his fingertips against the counter. “And what if…she is under a different name, just as I suspect…and what if, she is still here in Chicago, just as I am assuming for the time being? And what if she is living a low-profile, but…if she is in the science field, she still has to work with people. What fields would help give her a low profile in the sciences? Not a teacher or professor, no; plus, there’d be a rigorous background check for that…fuck! Keep at it, keep on!”

  He screamed at the computer, giving it the blame for all that ailed him.

  “Okay…okay, Ace…come on… What type of work could she do to stay out the limelight? Well hell, there are dozens of options!” He pulled up a list of scientific fields on his computer and scrolled them. “Fuuuuck me! There are hundreds! Who knew there were so many? This is crazy.” His shoulders slumped and he sighed, resolving himself to the work ahead. “I guess I will go in order, starting from ‘A’. Acoustic Engineering, the study of sound? Nah…I really can’t picture that. Nothing in her profile tells me she’d be interested in such a thing. She didn’t try to minor in music or anything like that, either. Moving along…” He opened a new beer and chugged half of it.

  “Okay, Aeronautics, hmmm, that’s possible. I’ll keep it as a maybe. Study of navigation and aircraft design… What’s next? Okay, we’ve got Agronomy. What the hell is that?!” He read up on it and vigorously shook his head. “Oh…soil. Nahhhhh, I will come back to it later if I end up shootin’ blanks, but I doubt it. Anatomy? Hmm, okay,” he nodded, “that’s a maybe…let’s keep moving. Anthropology? The study of the cultural development of human beings…you know, I can see that. Mr. Henderson said she enjoyed that sort of thing.” Tapping his chin, he pulled up her aged-progression photo and stared deeply into her eyes. “I could see a woman with her background being drawn to that. Alright, moving right along. Let’s see… archaeology and astronomy. Hmmm, both of those are possible as well. Okay, let me eliminate the ones on this list that I believe are less likely…

  “Bacteriology, ewww!” He grimaced. “Biology, cartography, nah…I can’t picture that, and biology is too broad…” And so he continued, until he had a printout of the list and red lines through the ones not yet on his radar.

  “Now…”

  He began to pace the kitchen and entered the open living room. The first thing he saw was the glossy white piano that he never played and a large open window showcasing the dusk turning into the night. Clear, glass accessories complemented the minimalist feel of the room.

  “Let’s think here…I know what’s in those reports.” He pointed behind himself in the far distance where a spread of papers awaited. “This woman is in her late twenties, which means she’d still crave a social life, even though she is in hiding. She may have had plastic surgery to disguise her appearance. I sure hope not, would make my job a hell of a lot harder, but she may have. She has a tiny beauty mark on the back of her neck according to one photo showing her as a kid at a softball game; that wouldn’t change with plastic surgery unless she got a tattoo over it or covered it with make-up… Okay, I’m getting crazy now, getting ahead of myself.” He shook his head and stomped around, working the thoughts rigorously through his ever-working brain.

  Racing back to the kitchen, he snatched the list off the counter.

  “Okay, so, which one of these professions would allow her to stay low-key, practice her field, have a small cluster of friends and do what she loves? What she loves…

  “Her list of hobbies here says she liked travelling. Now, she’d have to be careful with that, but it could be done if she knew what she was doing. Contrary to popular belief, a fugitive who travels a lot is actually a rather smart move. It would help her remain under the radar because she’d be bouncing around, all over the place. Many of these fields would allow travel. She liked cultural programs in high school, enjoyed working with the Asian Initiative Group at her school and the Swedish Council. She knows Spanish, Italian, French, German and Thai. Who the hell learns Thai?!” He shook his head. “Okay, anyway, so, she’s into that, right? She could be a lot of places and not have a cultural issue regarding language barriers. Okay, got that.”

  He swallowed, checked the time and looked back at the list.

  “Wait a minute…” He smiled. “Wait a motherfucking minute! Archaeology and Anthropology, right here at the top, would allow her to travel, have the cultural experiences she wants as well. They are in the science field, she could stay low key depending on which field she chose. What company, around Chicago, would afford her that luxury? Which ones would let her do this?”

  He stomped over to his computer, typed frantically, and waited. It could take hours, but he felt like he finally had something to hang his damn hat on. Just then, his phone rang. Not recognizing the number, he looked at it inquisitively, then answered.

  “Ace Blackstone speaking...”

  “Hello Mr. Blackstone, this is Mrs. Patricia Hamel. I am over the Minority Rights Group, here at Southern Illinois University. I was on my way out the door when I received your voicemail. I understand you were offering a benefits program of some sort for any African American alumni who graduated in a sciences field?”

  “Yes, yes I am.”

  Finally! Someone called me back.

  “Well, I have been the Director of the Minority Rights Group since 1989, and I do have a list of all the African American graduates, their respective majors and their year of completion, not only from my school, but from all of the accredited colleges in Illinois.”

  “Great! You’ve made my day, Ms. Hamel. You have no idea how much —”

  “Well, hold on now. The problem, M
r. Blackstone, is that the information is confidential, though I do applaud you wanting to show appreciation.”

  His heart sank down five flights of steps, melted onto an escalator, slid on to China and back, then dripped down the walls of Hell like piping hot candle wax.

  “Mrs. Hamel, please! I’m begging you…” He’d never felt so desperate in all of his career. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he lied, laying it on thick as molasses on fruitcake.

  “I sympathize, Mr. Blackstone, I truly do. The reason I’m calling you back is that even though I can’t give you the information, some of it is in fact publicly available at the library. Now, these will only detail the ones that have received awards of some sort in their field, but it should assist you nevertheless.”

  A light bulb switched on inside Ace’s head, burning hot to the touch.

  Yes… acknowledgements. If she’s any good at what she does, she’d have received some…

  He hadn’t thought of that angle. He kept his phone cradled close as he pulled up information pertinent to scientific awards given to Illinois residents in the last ten years. The list was endless and he sighed with frustration as the woman rambled on about her time at the University.

  “…and that is how that all began. I am actually on my way to a banquet appreciation dinner for a black scientist who has received a multitude of the awards I just told you about. She not only assisted in creating a program for the archaeology department at the museum that has helped people in her field now for years, but her system was adopted and is now used all over the country. She also just recently received another award for an Italian identification of a noblewoman who’d been missing since the Battle of Pavia. Now that is some amazing stuff!”

  Battle of the Peas? What the hell is that? Was it against some carrots and potatoes?

  Half-listening, he typed on the keyboard with one hand while gripping his phone with the other.