Текст книги "Black River"

Автор книги: Tom Lowe

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

FIFTY-NINE

The call went to Detective Dan Grant’s voice-mail. O’Brien said, “Dan, its Sean. You’ve got the wrong guy for the murder of Jack Jordan. Call me.” He disconnected and looked at Laura, arms folded across her breasts, eyes heated. “Laura, let’s sit down.”

“Why were you fighting with Cory? He’s family.”

“Maybe you couldn’t see it from your angle, but Cory pulled a knife on me. I was about to take it away from him when Paula opened the back door. Let’s sit at the picnic table, under the shade, okay? There is something I need to tell you.”

She followed him and they sat on opposite sides of the table. O’Brien chose his words carefully. “Cory Nelson is not family. He’s not the man or the person you think he is, Laura. The reason he pulled a knife from the grill and wanted to kill me is because I told him that I know he’s the one who murdered Jack.”

She held her left hand to her mouth, gold wedding ring shining in a dapple of sunlight breaking through the boughs of an oak tree. “No, no you’re wrong. That can’t be. He’s like an uncle to Paula.”

“I wish I was wrong. I’m sorry, but it’s true.” O’Brien told her how he knew what happened to Jack and said, “Odds are that Nelson killed Ike Kirby and the hotel clerk too. Now he has the Civil War contract.”

“Oh dear God.”

“After I speak with the detectives, police will probably have Cory in custody in a couple of hours.”

Laura’s face was drained. Pale. Lips tight. Mouth turned down. She watched a cardinal eat from a birdfeeder in the backyard. “Why? How in God’s name could he have done these horrible things? Killed Jack and two other people…even killing the dog next door.”

“Greed. Jealously. A psychopath colors outside the lines. It often begins after using a black crayon on the page of their delusional mind to eliminate the face of the victim. Total detachment.”

“I feel so naïve. So duped by Cory. But now it’s making more sense. All the phone calls…phone calls of concern for me and Paula, he said. The meals he brought over to the house. The glasses of wine he poured to help me, as he put it, ‘take the edge off.’ I told him how the stress of Jack’s death, of becoming a single parent, the theft of the diamond, the contract, and even the painting you’re looking for – how all of it had made me really depressed for the first time in many years. That, on top of the threat’s I’d received made me scared and vulnerable. He was preying on my weak moments. He was causing those weak moments! I was so stressed my body has been in knots. After I told him that, he began massaging my shoulders one afternoon in the kitchen. When he tried to go further down, I stopped him. He made light of it and said there were more knots in my lower back. I trusted Cory. What if police can’t find him?”

“They’ll find him.”

She looked away, seeing but not seeing the white tufts of cottonwood seed drifting in the wind from a large tree in her neighbor’s backyard.

“When Nelson’s arrested, I’m hoping they’ll find the diamond stolen from Jack and the Civil War contract stolen from Ike Kirby.”

“Dear God…this means you think Cory killed three people for those two things.”

“It looks that way. If they find the diamond and contract on Nelson, they’ll be returned to you. It’ll be up to you to decide what happens to them.”

“And I’ll do what Jack wanted to do, return the diamond to England. As far as the contract, since there’s no more Confederacy, there is no one to return it to. England’s still here.” She looked over at Max on the ground and raised her eyes to O’Brien without lifting her head. “What if Cory isn’t arrested soon and he comes back? He has a key to the front door, and he knows the alarm code. I have to change the locks.”

O’Brien stared at her for a long second then looked at the open wooden gate where Nelson had fled. Laura said, “You look deep in thought. Why are you staring at the gate?”

“I don’t think Nelson will be back, but that doesn’t mean you and Paula are safe. If police can’t tie Nelson to the theft of the diamond, some may think it was never stolen, but rather hidden in your house like the contract was concealed. Do you have a place, maybe a relative’s home, somewhere you can go to for a while?”

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.”

SIXTY-ONE

When O’Brien returned to Jupiter, he walked into the salon to see a woman sitting on his couch and Dave at the bar, facing her, a 9mm Springfield pistol near his hand. Dave said, “Sean O’Brien, meet Malina somebody. We don’t have a surname, and her first name is most likely an alias. She didn’t deny working for the IB.”

“That’s my name. I have no reason to tell you otherwise.”

“You thought you had apparent clandestine reasons to drug Nick.”

“I told you, that was a mistake.”

Dave looked at O’Brien. “That mistake sent Nick to the ER. He was partially paralyzed from a drug slipped into his ouzo. Kim followed behind the ambulance in her car. She called and said he’s walking and swearing. More swearing than walking. She said they’d be coming back to the marina as soon as he could get his prescription meds filled.”

O’Brien said nothing, stepping closer to the woman on his couch. He knelt down, looking directly into her eyes. She was cool, undaunted. Beyond her physical beauty, O’Brien could detect a furtive internal performance that comes from intense training and field experience. He said, “What do you want, and why would you drug my friend to get it?”

“The Koh-i-Noor. It’s owned by my country, stolen in 1850, and I am here to take it home.”

“That’s making a lot of assumptions. Why approach Nick?”

“I ran into him in the bar. I heard he was a good friend of yours. I wanted to see if he thought you’ve recovered the diamond.”

“You heard? That means you didn’t just run into Nick, you sought him out. The easy way would have been to ask me.”

“Would you have revealed anything to me?”

“That would be contingent on what and how you asked me. There is very little to reveal. The diamond and a Civil War contract associated with the diamond are missing. Three people are dead because of it.”

Dave leaned forward on the barstool. “Her grapevine goes way beyond Nick. Malina, or the data dossier her intelligence compiled on you, Sean, suggests that you and Laura Jordan, the wife of the man killed on the film set, may have conspired to steal the diamond. A lover’s triangle all caught up in the greed of a priceless diamond.”

O’Brien looked at her, his eyes penetrating. He said nothing.

Malina crossed her legs. “That is one of many possible scenarios. Some people can do unfathomable things when the potential of great wealth enters their lives…it happens all the time.”

O’Brien shook his head. “It doesn’t happen with me.”

Dave said, “I told her you were working on an entirely separate case, looking for a lost and then stolen Civil War era painting, before the death of Jack Jordan happened. Jack and Laura Jordan had purchased the painting months earlier from an antique dealer.”

O’Brien stood. “You’re generous, Dave. Considering her overture into this marina and deceiving Nick, you didn’t owe this woman an explanation or even the courtesy of the details of chance that led to me meeting Mrs. Jordan.”

Malina said, “I’m sorry for the way I treated your friend.”

O’Brien snapped. “Our friend has a name. It’s Nick.”

“I apologize for my tactic with Nick. We will pay for the cost of medical treatment.”

“We?” O’Brien asked.

She nodded. “My country will reimburse him. Are there any details you can share with me about the Koh-i-Noor?”

O’Brien said, “I’ve never seen it. Like millions of people, I did see it on video. I have no idea if it’s the real thing. That might be a conversation your country has with Britain.”

“If I find it, a conversation will be a moot point – because if it is the Koh-i-Noor, the British will never see it again. Who do you suspect may have taken it?”

“Probably the same person who stole the Civil War contract and killed two men doing it. The Volusia Couth Sheriff’s office is conducting the official investigation. You may want to check with them.”

She lowered her hands to her lap. “I’d rather hear the details of the unofficial investigation from you. They may be more salient.”

“I’m simply trying to recover a stolen 160-year-old painting for a client. Everything else, the diamond, the Civil War document, are all ancillary events to the recovery of the painting. I’m not a police investigator.”

“But you were at one time.” She didn’t blink.

“What else do you know about me?”

“That you are unconventional but deliver results. You shy from the limelight. When you were a detective, your interview techniques with criminal suspects most often resulted in confessions. And you recover things well – people or lost possessions.”

“And you think I recovered the diamond?”

“That odds are you did or you will.”

“Are you a gambler?”

“I take calculated risks.”

O’Brien measured her eyes a moment. “You will be taking more than a risk to recover the diamond. The death of three people is evident of that. I believe someone wants it even more than your country. Maybe that’s Britain, considering the circumstances of the Civil War contract and the diamond, now legal-tender evidence and corroboration of that contract, assuming the diamond is real.”

“Can you share with me who you believe might have stolen it?”

“I don’t know that.”

“Who might want to own it?”

“I don’t know that either.”

“I see.” She sighed. “I’ll leave now. I’m sorry for the miscalculation. I won’t bother you again. I will contact the hospital to have Nick’s expenses taken care of.” She stood to leave, something catching her eye on the cockpit. “Is that a dog out there?”

“That’s Max.”

“She’s cute.”

“Can I pet her on the way out?”

O’Brien nodded. “That’s entirely up to Max.”

As she opened the door leading to the cockpit, Dave got up from the barstool and said, “Here’s some information you can take out there on your Easter egg hunt for the diamond. The Brits seem to think there may be merit to this discovery…especially the old document that named names going back to Queen Victoria. They may have a representative, such as you, on a similar mission. If you run across the document first, that might be the leverage you’d need to swap for the diamond. And whatever stone is in the current queen’s crown shall forever remain as mysterious as the smile on Mona Lisa’s enigmatic face.”

Malina smiled wide. “Perhaps I can be luckier than whomever they sent.” She turned, exited onto the cockpit, kneeling and petting Max. Then she stepped off the boat and walked down the dock like a woman caught in a hard rain without an umbrella.

SIXTY-TWO

Nick had Kim stop at a grocery store on the way back to the marina. He bought a large porterhouse steak, a head of lettuce, hummus, sweet onions, potatoes and a six-pack of Corona. In her car, he turned toward her and said, “How did I screw up so bad, Kim? I thought the lady liked me for me – Nick ‘the Greek’ Cronus. But all along she just wanted information about Sean and the diamond. Maybe she’s some kind of international jewel thief. I think she stole the key to Sean’s boat.”

“Oh, God, Nicky. How the hell did that happen? Don’t even tell me. I’m sure she’s long gone. I’ll try to reach Sean or Dave.” She lifted her phone and Nick sank lower in the front seat.”

* * *

Cory Nelson paced the floor of the motel room, an extended stay unit on the ground floor. He peered out of a small opening in the curtains through a window facing the street. The only movement was from a linen-service delivery truck stopping at the motel office. He released the curtains, partly shutting – a single stream of sunlight entering the room.

Nelson poured vodka from a Ketel One bottle into a paper cup, hand trembling, he knocked back the vodka, a dribble running down his whiskered chin and soaking into his white T-shirt. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, opening a small duffle bag and removing a black sock.

He glanced at the time on his watch, reaching into the sock and removing a black velvet pouch. Nelson opened the drawstring and took out the diamond. He held it between his thumb and index finger, grinning, lifting it up, toward the small beam of sunlight from the curtain. The diamond captured and altered the sunlight, beaming pockets of light around the room. “You are the rock of fuckin’ ages, baby.” He set the diamond on the nightstand table, lifting the fifth of vodka and drinking straight from the bottle.

Nelson’s face popped sweat, cheeks flushed. He punched numbers on his phone. The man’s voice said, “Good to hear from you, Cory.”

“Listen to me! Time’s up! They know I took out Jack Jordan.”

“Who are they, police?”

“Maybe. Guy’s name is Sean O’Brien. He’s some kinda ex-cop. Could be a PI. I don’t give a shit what he is or isn’t. He knows I shot Jack. He’s saying the proof is on ultra-slow motion film from the damn movie set. It shows the Minié ball coming out of my barrel, and it shows me aiming at Jack.”

“Maybe he’s calling your bluff.”

“This guy isn’t the type to bluff. He’s smart. Listen, we have a deal. I risked everything to take out Jack and lift the diamond while you sat on your ass lining up a buyer. You pay the two million we agreed on or I’m walking. No, I’m flying out of the fuckin’ country. You told me ten days ago you’d have the money. Either you bring it now or I find my own buyer.”

“That will be a most unfortunate mistake for you.”

“I don’t think so. I told you Silas Jackson saw me lift the diamond from Jack’s van. Jackson want’s a cut.”

“Will hush money keep Jackson quiet for now? Greed, like amoebic dysentery, breeds and infects the gut.”

“I guess you’ll have to take that chance. Jackson is my insurance policy. He stays silent and gets paid his blackmail money. If I disappear, he lets police know you’re the mastermind behind this, and you’re carrying the diamond.”

“If you gave him my name, that is the dumbest mistake you’ll ever make. But right now you have the Koh-i-Noor. Remember, Nelson, it carries a centuries-old curse. Any man who possesses it too long dies a painful death. I’d suggest you turn it over to me now.”

“Curse? You wanna hear a curse? Fuck you! Come with the cash. I’m out of time. O’Brien made me. You grasping that? I have to vanish.”

“And so you will. Just calm down. Even if there is video of a bullet coming out of your muzzle, police will have to prove premeditated intent to kill – that you loaded the gun. Why? Because you were on a movie set with a number of people having access to props like the muskets the men use.”

“Time’s up! I can’t even go home to pack my bags. I’m stuck hiding in fuckin’ Super – a super mess – a motel – and I can’t even go pack a damn bag. Show me the money—”

“Show some respect for this process. You just don’t pawn overnight what is now the most famous diamond in the world. I told you I have two buyers – both big players. Both very private in their negotiations. The auction is about over. You will be paid soon.”

Nelson said nothing for a few seconds. The man on the line could hear the sound of a low-flying jet arriving or taking off. Nelson said, “I’ll see you tonight. “I get paid now or I’m flying to India to hock it. From what I hear, they’d love to get this rock back, and they’ll pay through the teeth to get it. Meet me at the Hilton on Airline Road after dark. I’ll be in the bar, back table. Be there at nine o’clock or I’m flying and the rock’s coming with me.” Nelson disconnected. He set the phone on the kitchen table, held his hand out, fingers spread, trembling.