Black River (35 page)

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!”

T
he 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?”

O
n 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.”