Black River

SIXTY

On the drive back to Ponce Marina, O’Brien called Detective Dan Grant and filled him on the details. “Only because of the ultra-slow motion playback can we actually see ballistics from a 165-year-old musket.”

“And you can clearly ID the shooter as Cory Nelson?”

“Yes. There’s a crane shot, an aerial shot from a drone camera, and the ground-level angles. It’ll give you a good look at the trajectory from where and how he pointed the rifle to the spot where Jordan was killed. Nelson’s delusional. He thinks just because we don’t have video of him loading the rifle he can skate.”

“A jury just only needs to believe he pointed the rifle at Jack Jordan with the intent to kill. If Nelson killed Jordan, did he shoot Professor Ike Kirby and the hotel clerk? Did he break into Laura Jordan’s home and steal the Civil War contract?”

“If you find the Civil War contract, yes. The diamond is where the big money lies. From what I can gather, Nelson managed to ride Jack Jordan’s coattails. Jordan was the passionate historian. A devotee of Confederate legend and lore. He also was good at raising money to fund his documentary work. I think Nelson wanted to be not like Jordan — but rather to become Jordan. To seduce his grieving wife, to move into his house. Because he wasn’t entrepreneurial, like Jordan, he needed a long-term revenue stream. The sale of the diamond and the contract would do that.”

“Answer this for me, Sean…if he was Jordan’s BFF, then Jordan’s wife, Laura, should know him well enough to recognize his voice in a semi-dark room. If Nelson was the perp who broke into her home, why didn’t she recognize his voice? Maybe that helps explain why her daughter didn’t wake up when he was holding her and speaking to Mrs. Jordan. The little girl wasn’t startled because she’d been around Nelson’s voice much of her life.”

“He spoke in a whisper. That’ll disguise most voices. Not only is Nelson a re-enactor, he’s an actor too. Does bit parts as an extra in film and TV work, some theater. He’s good with accents, especially British accents.”

“We’ll pick him up soon. First, I’ll pull this video sequence from the film production’s edit suites. Thanks for the address and advance screening. I can’t see the DA having any problem prosecuting this one. Maybe we’ll find the stolen diamond and the Civil War contract somewhere on Cory Nelson’s property.”

“What are you going to do about Silas Jackson?”

“Nothing I can do, except cut him loose. If he didn’t shoot Jordan, and that’s apparently the case, then why would he kill the others? Maybe he was driving his truck at four in the morning because he’s an early riser. Highly doubtful. He’s probably in cahoots, working some bizarre partnership with Nelson. Maybe one man stole the Civil War contract and the other stole the diamond. They might bundle the goods together and split the proceeds. If Nelson was trying to set up Jackson to take the fall, Nelson may have the contract and the diamond. If that’s the case, Jackson could be in the mood to settle a score. But he’s in no mood to talk to us. Later, Sean.”

After Dan Grant disconnected, O’Brien scrolled through numbers on his phone. He pressed one button. After three rings, a man answered: “Volusia County Jail, Corporal Rodriguez speaking.”

“Hi, Corporal, is Sergeant Tiller working today?”

“Hold please.”

A few seconds later a deeper voice said, “Sergeant Tiller.”

“Hey, Larry, this is Sean O’Brien. I met you the time I did time — one day in the county jail. It was before they busted the detective who’d set me up to take the fall — Detective Slater who killed a member of his own department. You were no fan of Slater’s.”

“Hell, yeah, I remember you! You helped bring that bastard down. How you doing?”

“Good. I could use a quick favor.”

“Shoot.”

“There’s a guy in lockup, name’s Silas Jackson. He should be cut loose soon. When you hear it’s about to happen, can you give me a call to let me know?”

“No problem. What’s your number?”

Dave Collins watched Jupiter closely, looking for the smallest sign of rocking or swaying coming from movement inside the boat. There was a slight dip near the bow, indicating the woman was probably moving about the master berth located in the forward part of Jupiter.

Dave carried a 9mm pistol under his untucked tropical print shirt, stepping silently onto the transom. He slowly opened the sliding glass door and listened. He could hear her in the master berth, drawers opening and closing. Dave slid the pistol from under his belt, entered the boat, quietly making his way through the salon, down the steps, stopping at the door. He raised his gun and pushed the door open.

Malina Kade was rifling through the contents in a cabinet. She bolted around toward Dave. He said, “You won’t find it here.”

“Who are you?”

“What did you give Nick?”

“What do you mean?”

“Tell me!”

“He simply had way too much to drink. I left so he could sleep it off.”

“Paramedics are transporting him to the hospital. If he dies, the man who owns this boat will most likely kill you…but I may do it first.”

“He won’t die. He’ll have a headache for a few hours. The paralysis is less than an hour. You said that I won’t find it here. What did you mean?”

“I assumed you’re sent from your field director in New Delhi, IB, probably. Sent to recover the Koh-i-Noor. Why would you think it’s hidden on this boat?”

“Who are you?”

“Someone who can spot a covert field operative. Answer me!”

“Because the man who owns this boat has a history. He is apparently good at recovering things — people, objects. He was allegedly responsible for preventing another nine-eleven on American soil, and he discovered an FBI agent with the record of the longest breach. So, the question beckons, who really is Sean O’Brien?”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

She smiled. “Maybe I will. We know he’s involved in helping the widow of the deceased man who found the diamond. Everything is not always as it seems. I gather you would be one of the first to recognize that. So, perhaps, Sean O’Brien might know more than it appears on the surface.”

“Are you suggesting that Sean and the widow conspired to steal the diamond, a lover’s triangle?”

“Maybe.”

“I don’t know where you get your intel. Sean never met her until after the death of her husband. And he did so due to an investigation into a separate matter that crossed paths with the man’s death.”

“Sounds coincidental.”

Dave opened the door wider. “You didn’t have to slip a drug to Nick. He knows nothing. You could have approached Sean, told him who you were and why you are here. He, most likely, would have shared information he has. This is no sum zero investigation. Let me give you a clue, lady. To my knowledge, at least three people have died — all murdered because of this diamond and the Civil War documents associated with it. One of the men killed was a dear friend of mine.’

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“If the diamond belongs to India, go find it. Good luck. The diamond could be a fake, the authentic one might still be in the queen’s crown. Go steal it from the Tower of London. Frankly, I don’t give a shit. I do know this, though, there is someone out there who will do anything to acquire the diamond and the Civil War contract. Why is the contract valuable? There is the extraordinary historical value, of course, however, there also are the possible legal ramifications.”

“What do you mean?”

“The terms of the contract stipulate the diamond will be returned from the Confederacy to England. And, if the diamond was lost in a river all these years, the intent of the contract can finally be fulfilled.”

“England doesn’t own it! No court would enforce an illegal contract.” Her eyebrows arched.

“According to India, not the UK. Regardless, so where is the diamond now, the contract, for that matter? The person who murdered three people to acquire them might have the goods. It’s going to take an extremely seasoned investigator to get it back and not wind up in a body bag. How good are you?”

“Very good. I’m sorry about your friend, Nick. I’ll leave.”

“No, you won’t. Not until I get word that Nick is walking out of the emergency room.” Dave gestured toward the corner of the room. “Stand farther away.” She took two steps back, and he emptied the contents of her purse on the bed. He lifted up the small black pistol. “Beretta .22 is what you carry. I would think the IB would do a little better by you.”

“It does the job.”

“No doubt.” He hit a button on his phone and said, “Sean, I’m on Jupiter. I caught an intruder on your boat. She’s standing in the master berth. I just removed her gun.”