Black River

FIFTY

O’Brien wished he could have made L dock a mile longer. Maybe that would buy a little more time as he walked in the rain before reaching the end. Because near the end of the dock, beneath the glow of a security light, under a black umbrella, stood Dave and Max. Dave holding the umbrella in one hand, Max in his other hand. “Good morning, Sean. My next gift to you will be an umbrella. You’re soaked. Miss Max and I just returned from our nature walk. I’m almost afraid to ask where you’re returning from because your face looks gloomier than the grimy dawn that’s breaking around us. Tell me you found Ike sleeping soundly.”

“I found him…but I was too late…Ike had been shot.”

Dave said nothing for a moment, the sound of raindrops plopping against the umbrella. “Is he dead?”

“Yes. I’m so sorry.”

Dave closed his eyes, his jawline hardening, his thoughts secluded. He blew air out of his cheeks and looked toward the lighthouse. Then he cut his eyes back to O’Brien. “Ike’s daughter recently gave birth to his first grandchild. A little girl…she was his pride and joy.” Dave’s voice softened, the sound of rain falling against canvas over Jupiter’s cockpit. He was silent for a long moment, staring at black clouds in the east, his blue eyes wet. He looked over to O’Brien. “Why? Why kill Ike over a relic from America’s past?”

“Maybe the contract — proof of England’s connection to the Civil War, along with the diamond from the Crown Jewels, is worth killing at least three people.”

“Three people?”

“Yes. Jack Jordan…Ike Kirby…and a night clerk at the hotel where Ike was staying.”

“I need to sit down, Sean. My head is pounding. Let’s retreat to Gibraltar. ”

O’Brien stood next to the bar in the trawler’s salon as Dave brought up a white towel from the head and handed it to him. “Dry off before you catch pneumonia. You can use that towel to dry Max too. Why the hell did the assailant shoot the night clerk?”

“Because he wanted to take out the surveillance cameras before he made his way to Ike’s room. There was a round fired into the hard drives of the camera’s back-up system. After that, he either had a key or picked the lock to Ike’s room. I found Ike in his bed, shot at least once. I couldn’t find the Civil War document. Unless he had stored it in a hotel safe, the contract was stolen from his room.”

Dave lifted a bottle of Jameson from behind the bar and poured three finger’s worth into a glass. “Care to join me?”

“I still have work to do.”

Dave nodded, swirled the whiskey and sipped. He stared out the port side window across the tranquility of the marina, his thoughts sequestered. “I was best-man at Ike and Judy’s wedding. Godfather to his first daughter. He was a brilliant, good and kind man.” Dave turned toward O’Brien. “Ike was simply doing a favor for me. Checking the authenticity of the document. It’s the kind of thing that he was very good at doing — tracking down histories’ mysteries. Always curious. Suffice to say, the Civil War contract and its probable relation to an infamous Crown Jewels diamond, a diamond that now appears to have been used as collateral in America’s bloodiest war, was Ike’s Super Bowl. Or it least might prove to have been, had he lived.”

“There’s something else. I found Ike’s phone in the room. On the floor. It looks like he was trying to make call when the killer entered the room.”

“Maybe it was to 911.”

“No, another number. It didn’t look like the call went through before Ike was killed. The perp may have looked at Ike’s recently dialed numbers, his text messages or voice-mail.”

“I left Ike a voice-message earlier tonight.”

“What’d you say?”

“I was responding to a message he left me. He was sure the contract was original and legitimate. I invited him to breakfast. I mentioned that your quest for a lost Civil War painting was following a twisting path that could possibly lead you to the diamond. And I said your power of observation, detection, was unrivaled. What if the shooter has the diamond too? He’d know that your paths might cross. Any element of surprise you may have could be compromised.”

“What if he doesn’t have it, but thinks I do, or that I know where it is? The message you left for Ike could work in our advantage if it draws this guy to me.”

“You have no idea where he is or what he looks like. But he does know you have a boat at the marina. He could show up here and appear to be like any tourists hunting for a charter boat to hire. Be on high alert, Sean.”

“I didn’t want to tell Detective Dan Grant that I was the first responder on the scene, which later proved to be a crime scene. If he knows I was there before the troops arrived, it’ll only add to the paperwork without advancing the investigation into Ike’s death. Ike’s ID will be all over the news soon. Then you can call Dan Grant, tell him you left a voice message on Ike’s phone if you think it’ll help with the investigation.”

Dave drained the remaining Irish whiskey, setting the glass on the bar, his face blossoming, flushed from the alcohol. He wrapped both hands around the empty glass, staring at the muddy dawn settling over the marina, his blue eyes dewy, watching a charter boat cruising toward the pass. He looked up at O’Brien. “Ike was a gentle human being. A wonderful historian who helped his students understand the why factor in history and those dead poets, prophets, politicians, leaders and losers whose decisions or indecisions changed the course of human events. One of Ike’s favorite quotes, something he alluded to in his classroom, was from Marcus Aurelius. He said, ‘Death smiles at us, and all a man can do is smile back.’ I don’t believe that. Murder isn’t a natural death. A bullet, at two-thousand feet per second, cuts through time and space, turning the human brain to confetti and shattering any allusions as to a noble death.”

O’Brien was quiet, letting his friend talk. Dave poured a second drink. “Sean, in previous, malicious dealings such as this, I always suggested to you prudence and avoidance, if possible. Not this time…hell no, not this time. Find the assassin. Find the bastard — whoever is behind this. Do it for Ike. Take no prisoners.”

“I’ll find him.”

Dave nodded. “I need to be alone right now.”

“I understand.” O’Brien picked up Max, turned and walked out onto the cockpit, the teak wood wet from the rain, the marina veined in murky shadows. He heard the clink of glass on glass as Dave poured another drink, and then he heard Dave weeping, two painful sobs. O’Brien’s palms were moist, mouth dry, an acrid taste like copper in his throat. He stepped up to the pier and walked down L dock toward black clouds churning over the Atlantic. No hint of dawn beyond the swirling edge of darkness.