Black River

TWENTY-NINE

Paula Jordan stood in the open doorway and said, “That’s Daddy! That’s my Daddy!”

Laura inhaled deeply, biting her bottom lip. “Yes it is, sweetheart. Your daddy was hunting for something in the river. Something that has a lot of history.”

“What’s his…tor…ee?”

“Things that happened in the past.”

Paula held up her coloring book. “I colored the butterfly!”

“You did a beautiful job. Show Mr. O’Brien.”

`O’Brien knelt down and looked at the page. Paula said, “I made the wings yellow and the butterfly’s head pink. She’s a girl.”

O’Brien smiled. “That’s one of the most beautiful butterflies I’ve ever seen.”

Paula grinned wider.

Laura said, “Go start the next page and we’ll celebrate by having an ice cream, okay?”

“Okay.” She turned and walked quickly toward the kitchen.

O’Brien stepped back to the computer on the desk. He played the rest of the video. It revealed the strongbox lid opening, the camera operator zooming closer. A hand reached in, two seconds later, removing a dark leather pouch. Someone said, “It’s dry as a dinosaur bone in that box. The seal worked well for 160 years.” There was laughter, the sound of the river chop lapping against the pontoons.

The shot pulled wide and Jack Jordan stood there in his wetsuit, water rolling from his black hair down his angular, grinning face. He untied the leather pouch and lifted out a large diamond. “Wow! It’s big as an egg,” he said, holding the diamond between his thumb and forefinger, the sunlight pouring through the brilliant stone and creating rainbows of light moving against Jack’s face. “This thing, I do believe, is the diamond known as Koh-i-Noor. It’s probably priceless. Its value for us though, in this documentary, isn’t monetary…but historical — proof that England played a covert role in the American Civil War. My wife and I found the contract between England and the Confederate States of America tucked between in the pages of an old magazine we bought from an antique store. The contract, and a hand-written letter from a Confederate soldier, pointed us in the direction to search a specific area of the St. Johns River to look for the strongbox that held the diamond. England secretly was supporting and partially financing the Confederate war effort. And per the terms of the 160-year-old agreement, signed by Jefferson Davis and Lord Palmertson — the British Prime Minister at the time, the diamond is long overdue to be returned.”

Jack looked at the diamond in his hand and then back at the camera. He smiled, used the tip of one finger to brush a drop of river water from his nose. “Maybe the Queen will offer a small reward, or at least a plane ticket to London to return it.” The shot slowly zoomed in, the diamond filling the frame in a fiery burst of colors, then the image cut to black.

“That’s all there is,” Laura said. “I get so emotional seeing Jack there, on our pontoon boat. It’s like he’ll walk through the door any minute, but he never will again.”

“I want to check something on the video.”

“What?”

O’Brien turned and used the mouse to reverse the images in the video. “I may have seen something.”

“What?”

“I don’t know.” O’Brien watched the screen. He didn’t blink, moving the images frame-by-frame. Then he stopped, leaning closer. “There.” He pointed to the riverbank in the background. “There’s a small flash. It’s the sunlight reflecting off a lens.”

“You mean reflecting off a telescope or binoculars…like somebody’s spying on them?”

“No.” O’Brien enlarged the picture some. “It’s a little blurry when we go in close, but there’s a man standing near that big cypress tree. And the lens he’s using is mounted to a rifle. Someone was following your husband and his crew. The shooter had them in his sights when they pulled the diamond out of the river. But for some reason he chose not to shoot.”

Laura held one hand to her mouth, her eyes moving from the screen to O’Brien and back. “Dear God, Jack was being stalked.”

“The question is by who? Who was the person or persons, and when did he or they first become aware of what Jack was doing?”

Laura said nothing, her thoughts racing. “Only Jack’s production crew, but these are guys he’s known and worked with for years. They’re like brothers. They weren’t treasure hunters. Their treasure was unearthing artifacts that could prove or disprove American history — especially the Civil War. Jack wanted the finding of the diamond to remain very confidential. He was amazed by the contract between the CSA and England, and he felt it could be made public without the need to display the diamond. He was profoundly moved by what the Confederate soldier, Henry, wrote in the letter to his wife. Jack wanted to find the lost diamond and fulfill a soldier’s last request on earth. What began as one of his documentaries soon became his passion — his mission.”

“Did anyone else know about the discovery of the diamond or the contract?”

“Not that I’m aware. Jack and the team kept that quiet. He wasn’t sure what part, if any about the diamond he’d use in the documentary…at least until it was returned to England. Jack mentioned the contract to a wealthy man, a Civil War buff, who was one of the investors in the movie Black River. His name’s Frank Sheldon. My husband had worked as a design consultant on the construction of Frank Sheldon’s schooner. Jack said that Mr. Sheldon was interested in partially underwriting Jack’s documentary. Frank Sheldon is a software billionaire who’s almost finished building an exact replica of the American sailboat that beat the British in the first America’s Cup race. That original sailboat was bought and used by the South as a blockade runner during the Civil War.”

“Didn’t it sink in the St. Johns River?”

“Yes, I’m surprised you knew that. Frank Sheldon told Jack that he wants to sail his new boat to England to re-trace the original sailboat’s final trans-Atlantic voyage.”

O’Brien said nothing. He stared at the image frozen on the computer screen. He looked up at Laura. “I know that place on the river where the stalker was standing.”

Laura leaned forward. “What? You do?”

“Yes, a friend of mine — he grew up on the river — recognized it. I showed him this photo of the woman standing near the river, and he knew the spot. We went there.”

Laura glanced down at the computer screen and then looked at O’Brien without moving her head. “Did you find something?”

“A cigar stub, some loose change on the ground, and something that may have accidentally fallen out of that guy’s pocket. A Minié ball from a musket. But the guy on the video isn’t holding a musket. It’s a modern rifle with a scope. The stogie, lose change and Minié ball were all near the cypress tree you see in the video.”

Laura held her hand to her mouth. “Dear God. That man, that blurry image on tape, is he the one who killed Jack? Where’s the stuff you found?”

“Exactly where we found it. If it’s evidence that can connect the stalker to the death of your husband, it’s better left where police can find it.”

“Police! They never even spotted what you just saw on the video. Maybe they aren’t trying too hard. It’s easy and convenient to label it an accident when a 100-million dollar movie is employing hundreds of people and spending lots of money in the county.”

“I have a friend in the Volusia County Sheriff’s office. He’s a detective, a good guy. I’ll let him know about the shooter in the background on the video, and I’ll tell him where to find the Minié ball and cigar stub. In the meantime, to speed up the investigation before the movie production leaves, you can do something.”

“Me? What can I do?”

“Go public.”

“What?”

“With the video, or a portion of it. With your permission, I’ll edit the video and take it from the point a few seconds beyond the spot where we can see the lens reflection in the background. No need to make that public and risk the guy leaving, although with his hat on and the blurring, he’s really unrecognizable.”

“By public…do you mean upload the video?”

“Yes. You need help. You need it quickly, and you need it for three reasons. First, you’re up against big money — a huge Hollywood studio and its movie being financed by multinational investors. Public opinion moves a case up the judicial chain faster. Whoever took Jack’s life to steal the diamond doesn’t give a rat’s ass about honoring a dead Confederate soldier’s wishes. He couldn’t care less about fulfilling a 160-year-old contract, or returning the diamond to the Crown Jewels. He most likely wants to fence it — to sell it to a private collector and walk away with millions.”

“What’s the second reason?”

“Time. Time is crucial. The people who can afford a rock like that would prefer to buy it without the stain of stolen merchandise or the label of blood diamond attached to the transaction. For a few others, it’s an adrenaline rush to buy a legendary diamond, although stolen, to keep in a safe on a yacht or mansion and show it to friends when fifty-year-old scotch seduces the swagger. But the common knowledge that the diamond is stolen in connection with a murder can make it more difficult to move. And, third, for your and Paula’s safety. As long as you’re secretly holding the contract and have proof of the diamond on video, you’re at risk of being taken out in an effort to conceal the truth by destroying any witnesses and existing evidence.”

“What are you suggesting, Sean?”

“Let’s upload the video to YouTube, send a link to key international media, such as the BBC. If it goes viral, the investigation into Jack’s death becomes top priority because its will be part of a worldwide consciousness. There’ll be lots of global media interests, cable news shows will keep it from going stagnant, and prosecutors will be quick to take it to trial if an arrest is made. Laura, it’s going to thrust you into the public eye. So the question is…do you want to do it?”

“I have to do it.”