Return to Oz (The Falken Chronicles Book 3)

by Piers Platt

  Vina laughed. “No, that’s not what I meant.”

  “Okay, good,” Dunn said. “I get a lot of stupid questions from students that often start out that way, and they’re never really hypothetical. Please, continue.”

  “Well, it’s not really a hypothetical situation, to be honest,” Vina admitted. “It really happened, though I wasn’t involved. I’m just trying to get to the bottom of it.”

  “Fair enough,” Dunn said. “Let’s see if we can get to the bottom of it.”

  “Right. Here’s the situation,” Vina said. “If a sheriff had a history of unnecessary violence when dealing with the people he arrested, would that be enough cause for someone to appeal their sentence, if this sheriff was the arresting officer?”

  “Not necessarily,” the professor said, shaking her head. “What kind of history are we talking about?”

  “An official reprimand for excessive force six years before the arrest,” Vina said, reading from her notes.

  “Yeah, that’s only one instance, that’s not really a ‘history,’ per se. Is there any evidence that such force was used during this later arrest?”

  “… no,” Vina said. Dad never told anyone Buckniel hurt him, and Buckniel’s certainly not going to admit it if he did.

  “Sounds like you’re grasping at straws, then,” Dunn said. “If a lab tech routinely ignored proper procedures when testing blood samples, then you could argue that all of the cases involving that lab tech’s work could be thrown out. But a police officer who let his temper get the best of him one time doesn’t have any impact on the rest of his cases.”

  “Okay, let’s put the excessive force stuff aside,” Vina said. “What about a situation where the officer that made the arrest is directly related to the attorney defending the accused. Is that legal?”

  “Directly related – like, father and son, husband and wife?” the professor asked. “Actually, I don’t think it matters. That situation would be unusual, but I don’t believe there’s anything inherently illegal about it,” she decided, frowning.

  “It’s okay to have two brothers on opposite sides of the law like that?” Vina asked.

  “It’s not optimal,” Dunn replied. “There’s certainly potential for abuse there. But in the eyes of the law, it’s permissible. We have to assume both of these men are professional, and maintaining the proper separation between their official responsibilities and their personal lives or feelings. So long as there’s no pattern of impropriety … again, I think you don’t have much of an argument for an appeal here.”

  “What would a ‘pattern of impropriety’ look like?” Vina asked, hastily jotting notes on her datapad.

  “Let’s see,” Dunn tapped her chin in thought. “If the sheriff had a habit of arresting people who had personal conflicts with the attorney, for instance. Or if the attorney had a very poor track record of defending cases his brother had arrested. Some evidence of collusion between the two of them, when their cases overlapped.” Dunn looked up from her desk and muted the microphone for a second. Then she turned back to face Vina. “Miss Weaver? I’m sorry, but I have a student here now.”

  “Okay, thanks again for your time,” Vina said.

  “Mm,” Dunn told her. “Good luck.”

  She hung up; Vina had already opened a search query.

  >>>Access Lawson County courthouse database. Cross reference cases where Sheriff Buckniel was arresting officer, and Tarpon Buckniel was defense attorney. Show conviction rate of accused.

  On the screen, a progress icon spun in place for a moment, then the query result appeared.

  >>>65.2% conviction rate.

  Woah, Vina thought. Tarpon Buckniel lost almost two thirds of the cases that went to court due to his brother’s arrests. That seems like a pretty high losing percentage. But let’s make sure. She typed in a new query.

  >>>Overall conviction rate of all cases in Lawson County, past twenty years, regardless of arresting officer or defense attorney.

  >>>48.3%

  Vina sat back on the kitchen stool. Yeah, that’s a big difference. Anyone who got arrested by the sheriff and then had Tarpon as his or her attorney was much more likely to see jail time.

  Vina called up the newsnet footage of the press conference on the town hall steps again. Her father stood behind the microphones, gripping the podium for support.

  “Please help me find my family,” Sef Weaver pleaded.

  Vina watched Buckniel closely, as he walked forward, laying a hand on her father’s back.

  “Thank you, Sef. We have the hotline, and we’re also setting up a website for anonymous tips,” Buckniel said. Her father stepped back, retreating to the steps next to her grandfather. Vina frowned at Buckniel.

  How did you know my father?

  She paused the video and opened the dialer app on her datapad, but this time, she called her mother.

  “Hi, Vee,” Elize said, smiling at her on the screen. Vina could see bookshelves behind her – her mother was at the store again.

  “Mom, did you and Dad know the Buckniels back in the day? Before we were kidnapped?”

  Elize screwed up her face, thinking. “Perhaps?” she guessed. “I can’t remember anything specific, but maybe.”

  “Seems like the sheriff and Dad were on a first-name basis,” Vina said. “And the sheriff said they were ‘acquaintances.’ ”

  “You talked to the sheriff?” Elize sighed. “Vina …”

  “I’m not ready to let it go yet, Mom,” Vina replied.

  “Just don’t go causing trouble,” Elize said. “I don’t want to have to come bail you out of jail for harassing the police.”

  “You won’t,” Vina said. Although I kind of already did harass them. “Can you remember how they knew each other?”

  Elize sighed. “Honestly, no. I don’t remember the sheriff being a part of our social circles at the time.”

  “What about his brother, Tarpon?”

  “No,” Elize said. “Your father was always something of an introvert. About the only socializing we did was around the store, or as part of that little yacht club he helped start, down at the lake.”

  Vina typed a note on her screen. Yacht club. Buckniel brothers liked to fish. Connection?

  “One more thing, Mom,” Vina said. “Did Dad win some kind of award the year before he was arrested?”

  “Yes, he did,” her mother confirmed. “He was named the Independent Bookseller of the Year at one of the big trade conferences. Why?”

  “Was it a big deal?” Vina asked.

  “It depends on who you ask,” Elize replied. “A lot of booksellers would kill for that award – they spend their lives working toward it. Your father felt honored, but the award didn’t really mean much to him. He loved the discovery aspect, how it felt to find a rare book … and then get it into the hands of someone that truly loved reading it, and share that moment of discovery with them.”

  Vina heard the shop’s doorbell chime.

  “Gotta go, honey,” Elize said.

  “‘Kay, bye,” Vina said.

  Vina opened her browser, and spent some time paging through the yacht club’s site. She found plenty of references to her father, but as far as she could tell, neither of the Buckniel brothers had been members there – neither of their names appeared on the member list, nor were they in any of the photo archives she found. She ran another search query next, searching for Tarpon Buckniel + Sef Weaver. A pile of results appeared, but as she scrolled through them, all of them appeared to be related to the court case. On a whim, she deleted her father’s name, and searched solely on Tarpon’s name.

  His obituary appeared again, and a number of articles about different cases he had defended, some successfully. His practice’s website was still up – Vina looked through it, but it was just bland marketing materials and some client testimonials. Then, on the fourth page of search results, a link caught her eye.

  >>>Lawson County Crime Blotter: Tarpon Buckniel Arrested for Criminal
Possession.

  Vina clicked on it. It was a brief article, barely more than a mention, nestled among several other minor crimes being reported.

  >>>Tarpon Buckniel, 29, was sentenced to treatment at a government drug rehabilitation program followed by six months’ community service, after pleading guilty to possession of an illegal narcotic and related Drifting paraphernalia.

  Vina crossed her arms across her chest, thinking. So before he became an attorney, Tarpon was busted for drugs. And not just any drugs: he was Drifting.

  She nodded slowly, her eyes narrowing.

  … just like Tevka.

  Chapter 23

  On the bridge of the Khonsu, Falken and Weaver sat bent over the computer terminal. Overhead, sand and dirt covered the glass of the bridge’s forward viewport, darkening the small room, which was lit only by the screen’s bright light. Falken’s finger hovered over the keypad.

  “I’m ready,” Weaver said.

  Falken nodded and hit Enter, starting the search. A short list of newsnet articles appeared on the ship’s computer. The top result was an older news article detailing the family’s rescue. He opened it, and Weaver read it, his breath held.

  Falken saw tears well up in Weaver’s eyes. The bookkeeper took a deep breath, then let it out. “They’re safe.”

  “Yeah,” Falken said. He patted his friend on the back. “A little traumatized by the whole ordeal, but safe and sound.”

  Weaver reached out and scrolled back to the beginning of the article, then read through again. “This was only a few days after they sent us here,” he said. “They found them pretty soon after I was sentenced.”

  “That’s good, right?” Falken asked. “They weren’t being held by the kidnapper all that long.”

  “No, it’s good,” Weaver said. He shook his head. “I just drove myself crazy those first months we were here, trying to get back and make sure they were okay … but it’s still a relief to know.” He turned to face Falken and smiled. “Thank you for this.”

  “There’s more,” Falken told him. “There are some more recent articles, unless it’s too painful to read …?”

  “Pain is inevitable; suffering is optional,” Weaver said, smiling through his tears.

  The next result was an official announcement – Weaver’s wife had won a local literary prize for a novel she had written.

  A tear rolled down Weaver’s cheek. “She had just started working on that novel a few months before the incident,” he said.

  They read through the rest of the articles – most were simple publicity items, describing the events happening at Weaver’s bookstore; his wife was quoted in several of them. The last article was just a short paragraph listing news snippets from local citizens. It contained a brief, offhand mention of Vina’s graduation from college.

  Weaver bit his lip and then stood up, turning away from Falken.

  “Are you okay?” Falken asked.

  Weaver shook his head, and when he turned back to face Falken, fresh tears were running down his face. “College?” he took a ragged breath. “Vina was still in high school when I came here. Now she’s a grown woman, a college graduate. I missed so much!”

  “I know,” Falken said soothingly. He shut the computer terminal off. “Weaver?”

  “Yes?”

  “Will you tell me what happened?” Falken asked. “What really happened?”

  “To my family? Before Oz?” Weaver asked.

  Falken nodded. “And to you.”

  Weaver took a deep breath. “There was a man who used to work in our store – Tevka, his name was. He broke into our home, and took my wife and children away at gunpoint. He was an addict – that’s why we let him go, years before – and I think he was just hoping to get money for another fix. After he kidnapped them, he sent me a ransom note, and I took it to the police. I spent the next three days searching for them, trying to get the word out, just hoping they were still alive, and unharmed.”

  “That much you told me,” Falken said. “What happened after that? Why did they arrest you?”

  “Tevka sent me another message on the fourth day. This time he warned me that if I spoke with the police, he’d kill my son,” Weaver said. He sighed. “So I went to meet him, right where he asked. His car was parked along the side of the road. Out in the middle of nowhere. Have you been to Texas?”

  “Dallas, once, for a fight,” Falken said.

  “Well, it’s all pretty similar – big, open plains, mostly. Good cattle country, as they say. We don’t have many real forests, but there are plenty of scrub trees in Lawson County. His car was parked in this little patch of woods. I parked next to it, and got out, but … there was no sign of him. I started to walk around, thinking maybe he was nearby. And then I found his body.”

  “He was dead when you got there?” Falken asked, arching an eyebrow.

  “Yes,” Weaver said. “I stood there in shock for a minute, and then I flipped open my wristpad to call the sheriff. But when I looked up, there he was already, lights flashing.”

  “He just happened to show up right then?” Falken asked.

  “Yes. I never found out why he was there. I was glad to see him, at first.”

  “Then what? You told him you found the body?” Falken asked.

  “I walked him over to it,” Weaver said, nodding. “He asked to search my car, and I said ‘yes.’ That’s when he found the shovel and bleach in the trunk, with some trash bags.”

  “Why did you have all of that stuff in the trunk?” Falken asked.

  “I don’t know!” Weaver said. “I didn’t put them there. I don’t think I did, at least … I don’t know why I would have.”

  “Is it possible you put them in there, you just don’t remember doing it?” Falken asked.

  “Is it possible? I suppose,” Weaver said. “My mind was scattered at the time, I thought my family might be dead … I was a wreck.”

  “Is it possible that you killed the kidnapper – this Tevka guy – too?” Falken asked gently.

  Weaver met his eye. “No.”

  Falken studied his friend’s face. “Weaver, I know how easy it is to slip for a moment. To completely lose your cool, and make a mistake like that.”

  “I didn’t kill him,” Weaver insisted. “That’s not a thing I could just forget about.”

  “Is it something your memory could suppress, though?” Falken asked. “In an effort to protect yourself, just to avoid facing the truth?”

  “No!” Weaver said, his voice rising.

  Falken stood up, and the captain’s chair rolled away from him, bumping into another of the bridge’s workstations. He pointed an angry finger at Weaver. “Weaver, I killed a man before I came here. It bothers me every day to have to remember that, to have to accept that part of me. I took away everything he had, everything he would ever have, because I was selfish, and I lost control of myself. But every time I face that fact, I get closer to coming to grips with it. Every time I admit it, I become a better person.”

  “Good,” Weaver said. “I’m glad you’re able to put that behind you.”

  “You need to do the same!” Falken exploded.

  Weaver stepped back, fear flitting across his face.

  “Why can’t you admit what you did?” Falken thundered.

  “B-because it’s not true,” Weaver said, shrinking away from him. “Why can’t you believe me?”

  Falken closed his eyes, rubbing his temple with one hand. “Weaver, I’m trying to help you. But I can’t help you if you can’t face reality.”

  “Reality?” Weaver asked quietly. “I told you that I don’t believe my reality anymore,” the bookkeeper said. He gestured at the dimly lit bridge around them. “I don’t know if any of this – the ship, the newsnet articles about my family, you – I don’t know if any of it is real. And now you’re asking me to question what I know happened before I came here, in the one reality I thought I could trust?” Weaver shook his head.

  “I’m asking you t
o take responsibility for what you did,” Falken said.

  Weaver bit his lip. “I think I’m done talking for a while.”

  “No, Weaver, wait,” Falken said, but the smaller man stepped past him, and disappeared into the lounge.

  Shit. Falken looked down at the dark computer terminal, frowning. He’s spent so long lying to himself … and he’s still not ready to admit what happened.

  He found Weaver back outside, sitting a few feet from the hatch, staring out at the ocean. New Australia’s sun was a blood-red half-circle on the distant horizon, and as Falken watched, the sky darkened, and the sun disappeared below the far edge of world.

  Now I’ve only got four days left. And I may have just blown my only shot to get through to him.

  Chapter 24

  “I’m confused,” Ojibwe said, frowning at Peshai through the vidscreen. “I thought you were the one that called this meeting, Captain?”

  “Yes, I did,” Peshai said. He stood facing the screens in the conference room, his hands clasped behind his back. Something about sitting in his usual chair had felt wrong, given the occasion. Sitting would be too informal. Peshai cleared his throat. “I assumed that you would want to discuss the matter with me at once.”

  “But … you’re the one that put Falken back in Oz?” Ojibwe asked.

  “Yes,” Peshai said. “I called for this meeting because I felt it was pointless to hide my actions from you.”

  “… any longer,” Locandez said. “Now that your actions have been discovered, there’s no point in continuing to hide them. But you did hide them from us.”

  “True. I won’t deny it,” Peshai said.

  “Well, it’s your meeting, Captain,” Locandez said, aggravation creeping into her tone. “What do you have to say?”

  “I’d like to take full responsibility for placing Falken back in Oz. It was my idea, and I used my position and authority to disobey your orders. But I want to emphasize that none of my crew had anything to do with it. As far as they knew, I had your explicit permission to do so.”

  “Noted,” Locandez said, curtly. “We’ll see whether the investigation corroborates that story or not. In the meantime, perhaps you could do us the favor of explaining yourself.”