Black River

FIFTY-EIGHT

O’Brien made small talk with Laura Jordan and Cory Nelson over coffee in Laura’s kitchen before he reached in his pocket, hit the audio record button on his phone and said, “Cory, I’m thinking about getting an outdoor grill. I have a question about the grill in Laura’s backyard. Since you’re the grill-master, maybe you can give me some pointers.”

Nelson grinned. “Great barbecue isn’t always about the grill. But starting out with one that allows multiple cooking surfaces will help get the entire meal done at the same time. All grills are definitely not the same, and bigger isn’t always better. Not that I’m an expert. All I’ve learned, I picked up from watching Bobby Flay. Let’s go outside and take a look.”

Laura smiled and said, “A clean grill is the best grill.”

Max followed O’Brien and Nelson into the backyard. They walked up to the grill and Nelson removed the cover. He’d cleaned it well. Shiny. The grill surface reflecting the sun. A spatula, tongs and filet knife were stacked vertically in a hollow spot for utensils. Nelson said, “Laura’s got what I’d call the Subaru of grills — it’s reliable, gets you where you want to go, but it’s not always a smooth ride. Jack bought it after grilling for years on a rusted charcoal hibachi. Jack was like that, tight with a dollar.”

“Is that why you killed him?” O’Brien watched Nelson’s pupils constrict. “Was it because Jack was tight with a dollar or you wanted to be tight with his wife?”

Nelson crossed his arms. “What meds are you on, pal? Jack was my best friend.”

“At the party, when I told everyone that Silas Jackson was arrested for killing Jack, you were the only one who didn’t show surprise. Why? Because you set Jackson up to take the fall.”

“This conversation ends now. Get the hell off this property.”

“You’re not the homeowner. But you are the guy who’d like to be in this home. To get here, you had to take out Jack. And you did it when and how it was almost untraceable. You’re the guy dressed in a Union uniform, a uniform that Silas Jackson would never wear. You planned it well — shoot Jack in a Civil War battle scene with dozens and dozens of extras and re-enactors on a movie set. With cannons firing and men charging through the woods, you figured no one would ever trace the trajectory of the bullet. But, what you didn’t plan for was the fact that the film crew was shooting that scene with high-speed cameras. Which means, when the video is played back at normal speed all the action is greatly slowed down. And in ultra-slow motion, it’s easy to see that the bullet came from your rifle barrel. Everyone else was firing blanks. And it’s easy to see you were aiming right where Jack Jordan stood when a Minié ball tore through his brain.”

“Then call the real cops, asshole. Even if there was a round in the rifle it doesn’t mean I put it there. Anybody could have done it when the guns were stored in the prop area.”

“I’m betting it was your rifle. One you’ve used many times in Civil War reenactments. Once you killed Jack, you set your sights on Professor Ike Kirby, killing a hotel clerk to get to him.’

Nelson shook his head, eyes wide, incredulous. He glanced at the grill surface.

O’Brien said, “I imagine the Civil War contract would command a high price for bidders who want to own a piece of history.”

“You’re fucking crazy!”

“You have no idea just how crazy murder can make me. Have you already sold the diamond? Or are the two, the contract and diamond, going as a packaged deal?”

Nelson snatched the knife from the grill. He crouched low. The knife in his right hand. His upper body like a wound up spring, a predator readying to strike. “It’ll be self-defense. I’ll tell ‘em you came at me with the blade. I took it away and fought you off me. Shit happens.” He attacked, the knife slicing the air.

O’Brien jumped backwards. Max barked, running in front of O’Brien.

“Mommy! Mommy!” Paula Jordan stood on the steps near the back door and screamed.

Nelson glanced her way and ran as Laura opened the door. “Oh my God! Paula, go inside.”

Nelson bolted, running through the open wooden gate, down the driveway, jumping into his truck, squealing tires, knocking over Laura’s mailbox and leaving ruts in her yard. O’Brien watched him for a second then used his phone to call Detective Dan Grant. Laura walked up to O’Brien and said, “Put the damn phone down. Now!”