Silence.
My jaw dropped open an atom’s breadth.
‘That is quite an allegation, Mr River.’
‘Please call me Jackson.’
‘Well, I want proof, Jackson, before I listen to anything else,’ she said defensively.
River unzipped the sports bag lying at his feet. He took out a book. I recognised the blue spine — it was the same one he’d been studying in his office.
‘Before I show you proof, Amparo, are you aware that Seymour Kershaw hired Kannon Dupree, the new Time Investigator, to go back to 1867 and search for Hector’s diary?’
Amparo de Vivar shook her dark head.
‘I spoke to Kannon the day she came back from examining the Dry Gulch crime scene. She said that the man who committed that atrocity was wearing US cavalry boots. The killer had left a boot track in his victim’s congealing blood at the site.’ He paused. ‘Kannon also knew the identity of the real killer.’
‘The real killer?’ Amparo’s interest was roused. ‘Who was it?’
‘Hector Kershaw.’
‘That’s impossible!’ she spat. ‘How dare you? Rodrigo de Vivar was a kind-hearted, generous man! He’d never have done business with a sadistic killer —’
‘I can prove that Rodrigo found out about Hector’s crime.’
‘How?’ she scoffed.
‘Do you admit that Rodrigo designed the Dry Gulch Memorial outside the de Vivar Library at Berkeley?’
‘What?’ Amparo was even angrier at the sidetrack. ‘Yes, of course he did. It’s well known that he sketched the figures himself, a loving tribute to his dear friend.’
‘Then there is no doubt Rodrigo de Vivar saw the diary.’ River opened the book he’d been studying last night.
I squinted in surprise. It was a text on US military uniforms …
River showed Amparo a page devoted to boots. He tapped a set. ‘These are the boots worn by US cavalry officers in the 1860s. And these are the boots worn by the killer at Dry Gulch.’ He paused to allow her to take it in. ‘Kannon Dupree found these same boots in Hector’s hotel room … the soles stained with blood.’
‘But Hector was a banker …’
River pulled out the same folder of photographs he’d been sifting through in his office last night. The same photos he’d searched with a magnifying glass.
‘See these photos.’ He waved them under Amparo’s beak of a nose. ‘They are all the photos taken of Hector in old San Francisco.’ He pulled out his magnifying glass. ‘Look at his feet,’ River demanded.
Amparo complied, shifting from photo to photo in perplexed worry. ‘But he only wears the same snakeskin boots.’ She shoved them back at him, in anger. ‘You’re an idiot. None of them remotely match the cavalry boots.’
He smiled. ‘That’s right.’
Amparo’s expression said she thought she was dealing with a crazy person.
‘When Kannon first told me about the cavalry boots, it rang a bell,’ mused River. ‘But I couldn’t work out why. It drove me crazy. I went through every photo I could find of Hector … but found nothing.’
‘But surely that proves my point —’
‘Now look at this one.’ River handed Amparo a close-up photo of the Dry Gulch Memorial … of the bronze statue of Hector kneeling next to the dying Lucretia. ‘Is this the memorial your ancestor designed?’
‘Yes, of course it is,’ stuttered Amparo in outrage.
‘Look at Hector’s right foot,’ ordered River.
In kneeling, Hector’s pants leg was pulled halfway up his calf.
Amparo gasped. Hector was wearing cavalry boots … and there was a US military insignia stamped at the top.
‘But how …?’ Amparo dropped into speechlessness.
‘There’s only one way this could happen. You say your ancestor was a good man — that he wouldn’t have been partners with such a killer — and I believe that … That means Rodrigo de Vivar must’ve found the diary after Hector disappeared and read it.’
So it was Hector after all!
I quietly sagged against the door in relief …
And vindication. I hadn’t been wrong to trust my instincts — Hector Kershaw was the butcher of Dry Gulch. Which meant I’d been right to trust River and Coyote Jack.
But how did all the rest of it fit together?
The key to everything still lay in Hector’s diary. It must somehow bring all these bizarre strands together. It had to!
And the diary could be in this house …
In the next room River demanded immediate access to Rodrigo de Vivar’s personal possessions. Amparo de Vivar shrilly replied by demanding that River exit her property before she called the county sheriff’s office. But Amparo was hiding something — I could just smell it. She strode over to an antique table. There was a phone sitting on it. She began to dial.
Adrenaline flooded my brain. I’d lose my licence if I was caught breaking and entering … But I wasn’t leaving without that bloody diary.
I looked around the old study … I licked my lips. I had little time.
Amparo and her family obviously venerated de Vivar and I was betting he built this house. The study held three bookshelves. I checked the contents — all of them nineteenth-century works. The memorabilia was all old, antique.
I was also betting this’d been Rodrigo’s own study — and that, like any good businessman of his time, he’d kept a safe …
I started tapping the bookshelves.
I touched one and felt an inch of give. I checked the other end of the shelf — a book concealed a hinge. I pressed and the shelf swung forwards … behind was an antique safe. It had a rudimentary combination lock.
I leant in and began to crack it.
Police sirens roared down the road to the de Vivar estate …
The safe door swung open.
There was an old letter lying on top of a long, flattish box.
The old letter was addressed in ink, in flowing cursive handwriting: ‘To whomever finds Kershaw’s body’. I frowned, but put it aside.
I grabbed the box.
I scowled. Damn. It was too heavy to be the diary.
I opened it anyway.
And gaped …
It was Isabella’s Cross.
Amparo was on the front doorstep, waiting for the sheriff’s deputies as they exited their cars.
I came up behind her.
She jerked around, startled.
‘I’m Kannon Dupree.’ I showed her my licence. ‘And if you don’t want the Spanish government to know what missing piece of their national treasure you have hidden in Rodrigo’s old safe, then I suggest you tell these nice deputies that it was all a misunderstanding and send them on their way.’
Amparo took a faltering step back from me as a burly, red-haired deputy and his partner strode towards us.
‘Miss de Vivar …’
Amparo pulled herself together and, after sending me a scowl full of loathing, said, ‘My apologies, Deputy. There’s been a mistake.’
She soothed their ruffled feathers and they left.
Amparo followed me through to Rodrigo’s study.
River stood as we passed. ‘Kannon, what are you doing here?’
When we didn’t even pause, he pursued us into de Vivar’s study.
I stood in front of the half-closed safe.
Amparo tried to block me from reaching in. ‘How dare you … and this man … break into my family’s home in this way.’
‘Save it, Amparo,’ I replied. ‘There’s more at stake here than your hidalgo pride. Last night my partner was savagely attacked because of something to do with the Kershaw case. Furthermore, I believe the same person broke into the de Vivar Library and killed a librarian who got in their way.’ I pushed my face down to hers. ‘Amparo, if they even get a hint of all your family secrets — you could be next!’
She shut up, her face white.
‘What’s going on, Kannon? What are you talking about?’ asked River,
confused.
‘My partner, Des Carmichael, is in hospital because someone attacked him at Mission Dolores. I believe he was piecing together how Isabella’s Cross fits into the Hector Kershaw case.’
‘Isabella’s Cross?’ blurted River. ‘That’s crazy — that’s just an old Mexican legend.’
I didn’t waste time replying. I just reached over Amparo’s shoulder and pulled out the box. I opened it so we could all see. The light streaming through the window made the great ankh sparkle … It seemed as though Isabella’s Cross emitted a golden haze.
River cursed softly. ‘How can it be?’
‘Amparo,’ I said. ‘Exactly how did you acquire the cross?’
‘Rodrigo bought it,’ she said, her pride riled. ‘I have the papers to prove the sale was legal —’
‘From who?’
‘Hector Kershaw.’
‘Are you certain of that?’ I demanded.
‘That’s how he met Hector,’ said Amparo simply. ‘When Rodrigo first came to San Francisco, Kershaw sold him the cross. Kershaw was low on funds because of a real-estate project he was trying to finish and —’
‘Hector Kershaw had Isabella’s Cross?’ River stared at her in shock. ‘But how did he get it?’
‘Hector told Rodrigo he’d spent years on the trail of the cross, that he’d first heard about it from some Catholic priest in … oh, I forget where … But over the years Hector had picked up enough clues to go to Santa Fe and then …’ She wrinkled her brow. ‘I don’t remember what exactly happened there … what clue he found … but apparently Hector bragged to Rodrigo about being the only person who was clever enough to decipher all the clues.’
I nodded. Yeah, that sounded right. Hector, the psychopath, wore all his masks well … but underneath he’d be just itching to reveal how clever he was!
‘Anyway,’ continued Amparo, ‘whatever happened in Santa Fe, Hector used it to work out that the cross was actually hidden on —’
‘On Spruce Tree Mesa,’ I said.
They both stared at me in surprise.
‘Yes,’ said Amparo. ‘That’s right.’
‘So that’s it,’ I muttered aloud. ‘Hector Kershaw went to Santa Fe on the trail of Isabella’s Cross. That’s why that bastard was really there.’
Des was wrong. And I’d been wrong too. It wasn’t El Chacal after all. But together our reasoning had been right.
‘I know why Hector Kershaw committed Dry Gulch.’ I eyed them both. ‘Hector staged the Dry Gulch massacre and murdered the governor to frame Coyote Jack. He wanted the cavalry to force Coyote Jack off Spruce Tree Mesa. Then Hector was able to steal Isabella’s Cross, which was hidden there. Or rather,’ I said, remembering the trail of moccasins leading out of the Great Kiva, ‘so his hired flunky, Ernesto, could steal it for him.’
Still in shock, Amparo cooperated. She swore she had no further secrets and that they didn’t have Hector’s diary. On the walk out to River’s car, we agreed to meet back at my office and plan the next move.
‘We’re close,’ said River with a mischievous grin. ‘We’re almost there!’
I smiled. After all these years, River — and his people — were finally about to see justice.
River scanned my face. ‘You’re a good person, Kannon, I appreciate your help.’
I felt embarrassed. ‘This is what I do, Jackson …’ I shrugged.
‘Yeah.’ He nodded. ‘I know.’ He patted my arm. ‘It’s all going to be all right.’
I frowned. It sounded as though he was trying to comfort me …
River set off, whistling, while I used my phactor to ring Honeycutt. I brought him up to speed and he said he’d meet us there too. We had to find the diary … and whoever was chasing it with enough determination to half kill Des.
Once back in my car I drove fast — but River was nowhere to be seen. I put my foot down and caught up with him as we approached the coastline. River was speeding, as usual, but slowed when he caught sight of me in his rear-view mirror.
We approached the S-bend overlooking the water, just before Sausalito …
Crack. Crack …
That was the sound of a double rifle shot!
River’s windscreen exploded. He careened to the left, crossing the road — out of control.
A third and fourth shot ploughed through his roof.
I swerved to the right.
Shots hit the road to my left.
I slammed on the brakes and came to a screeching halt under the embankment. The shooter was somewhere above.
I watched in horror as River’s car hit the railing and burst through. It became airborne — over the ocean.
I got out. A bullet whined into the road beside me. I was pinned.
To get to River I had to disable the shooter. I scaled the bank, gun drawn. But all I found was the mounting for a sniper rifle, not even spent cartridges.
I raced back down to the torn railing and peered hopelessly into the boiling sea below. There was no sign of the car.
River was gone.
54
WHAT COULD BE WORSE
THAN DRY GULCH?
I sat in Daniel’s car. He’d arrived at the cliff top not that long after the county sheriff. He must’ve driven like a maniac to get here that fast. Together we watched the divers work below. They’d found the car.
The fog had crept back in around the same time … like an undertaker eager for the body.
Daniel sat beside me in silence, his jade-green eyes still scanning me for injuries, as though he couldn’t believe I was okay.
I felt empty. As though all my tears had been used up. We were so very close to clearing Coyote Jack’s name, a mission that’d haunted Jackson River all of his life. And now he was …
‘You’re off the case, Kannon. You know that, don’t you? It’s too dangerous.’ He was speaking in short sharp bursts, no trace of a Louisiana drawl whatsoever. I’d never seen Honeycutt so shaken.
I didn’t reply.
I couldn’t. I didn’t have the energy. Daniel was too rattled for me to reason with … to tell him I already knew exactly what I was going to do next.
Like seals, the black-clad divers slid out of the ocean and onto the rock platform. They spoke for a moment, then one of them signalled to the deputy waiting on top of the cliff. The divers were hauled back up in pairs, via a special trolley.
‘Kannon, that could be your car down there.’ I didn’t meet Daniel’s anxious eyes or he’d know. He’d read me like a book. ‘And if River hadn’t been in front, it probably would’ve been you too!’ He was desolate at the thought.
I tried to soothe him. ‘It’s okay, Honeycutt … I’m all right. I’m here.’
He wouldn’t listen. ‘Whoever attacked Des … whoever killed River — is still out there.’ Honeycutt was working himself up into a fine rage. ‘They want to get to the diary first and they will kill you to make sure they do!’
Opposite, the divers unzipped their wetsuits as they briefed the sheriff. He glanced over at me. The divers went to their van; the sheriff held my gaze as he walked over.
I knew what that look meant. I’d seen it before. He was working out how to ‘tell’ me.
I got out of the car … wanting to be on my feet.
Daniel came up to my side.
‘I’m sorry, Miss Dupree, but there’s no sign of Jackson River.’ The sheriff was sympathetic but pragmatic.
‘Yes.’ I nodded. ‘I understand.’
I didn’t.
‘Even if the shots hadn’t killed him, ma’am, there’s no way Mr River could’ve survived that fall.’ He spoke as though that should be of some comfort.
It wasn’t.
The three of us knew, but didn’t say, that the body would probably be washed up on the local beach in the next month or so.
I kept thinking of the last look on River’s face … it was hope that now, finally, Coyote Jack and his people would receive justice.
I intended to make sure they did.<
br />
I’d already been interviewed and signed my statement; the sheriff made plans to speak with me in greater detail later then left. I stood at what was left of the railing and looked down.
Honeycutt moved closer. ‘Kannon, I have to tell you something.’
I didn’t reply. I couldn’t stop looking for a sign … any sign that Jackson River was not gone. Was there no justice?
‘Kannon, there’s something about Jackson River you have to know.’
That got my attention. I swung round. ‘What?’
‘Kannon, the man who died today wasn’t who he said he was. The real Jackson River was killed in an automobile accident in Texas about eighteen months ago.’
I just stared at Honeycutt, stunned.
‘The man you knew as Jackson River talked his way into that criminology position at Berkeley using false credentials.’
‘But …’ My voice broke.
‘I also talked to the Coyote Alliance about his work with them. They said he appeared out of nowhere eighteen months ago with the information that started the whole protest off. He was the one who told them that the Blix family planned to sell Big Sun Canyon to a uranium mining company … He’s the one who roused everyone into starting the court case.’ Daniel shook his head. ‘But no one there knows who he really was.’ He shrugged. ‘This guy may’ve been Native American — but he certainly wasn’t known to any of the New Mexican nations.’
I was breathless. Like Honeycutt had just punched me.
‘Kannon, don’t grieve for this guy. We don’t know who he was … or why he was really here.’
I felt fury stiffen my spine. ‘Just why were you investigating River in the first place?’ I snapped. ‘I thought you were going to find out who Des had his first appointment with?’
‘Yeah, but —’
‘You’ve had it in for River even before you met him!’
Honeycutt snapped back, ‘And I was right too!’
‘I don’t know what’s going on with his credentials at Berkeley. But if you think I’m going to let your ten-minute phone call to a bored office staffer in New Mexico shatter my belief that River was a good man … and that he was working to rightfully clear Coyote Jack’s name — then you can just kiss my —’
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