Coyote (35 page)

 

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.

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.

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 —'

‘Kannon!' He grabbed me. ‘Listen to me. There are things going on in this case that I just can't piece together fast enough to protect you —'

‘
Protect me?
' I shook off his hands.

‘I told you about River because I was afraid you'd go off and do something really crazy —'

‘REALLY CRAZY?' I bellowed.

The rage, the fear and the sorrow overwhelmed me. I stuck my fist in his face. ‘Don't try and stop me from doing my job, Honeycutt. Because nothing is going to stop me from finding out —'

‘No, Kannon, you can't stay on this case, I won't let you!'

‘You don't get to tell me what I do or don't do, Honeycutt,' I spat. ‘If you're not going to help me — then stay away from me and my case!'

‘No, Kannon! You're upset. You're not brushing me off, I won't —'

I spun on my heel and made for my car. This was wasting precious time. I got in, slamming the door shut.

Honeycutt leant in my window. ‘Kannon, you can't —'

‘Oh, I certainly
am
going to!' I already knew exactly what I was going to do.

I gunned the engine, making Honeycutt dodge away.

There'd been one person all along … one person who wanted Hector Kershaw's diary as much as River.

My old client — Seymour Kershaw.

The day I arrived back from old Santa Fe, Seymour had been the first person there to see me. He'd been so desperate to find out if there was a diary, it was obvious that there was more to it than him just wanting to preserve his ancestor's words.

Seymour Kershaw had sent me on the mission because he was afraid someone else would find the diary first. But when I confronted him about Dry Gulch, Seymour genuinely had no idea what I was talking about.

That meant there was something else in that diary that Seymour was afraid of coming out …

Something far worse than Dry Gulch.

 

Seymour Kershaw was in his office on the top floor of the Kershaw Bank. His secretary refused me admittance so I barged through. He was with two well-dressed clients, chatting over lattes.

I slammed open his glass door. ‘Clear the room, Seymour. Now!'

Seymour Kershaw got to his feet, the picture of dignified outrage. ‘What are you doing here —'

‘You heard me!'

Seymour signalled his secretary to call for security. She stayed at a safe distance while she spoke into her phone.

I planted my feet. ‘What else is in Hector's diary besides Dry Gulch?'

Seymour eyed his two clients with horror.

Four security officers came around the corner at a clip.

Seymour asked his clients to excuse him and they gladly left. He got rid of the security guards just as fast.

He shut the door and pulled the blinds. ‘How dare you burst in here —'

I bulldozed him straight into the wall. ‘Don't waste my time, Seymour! I'm not in the mood.'

He looked in my eyes and quailed.

‘I'll ask you just one more time, Seymour … What's in Hector's diary that's worse than Dry Gulch?'

Seymour clenched his jaw. That question'd given him backbone … Whatever the answer was, it scared him as much as I did.

‘Come on, Seymour! I know that's why you sent me back to old Santa Fe. You wanted me to find that diary before River could.'

Seymour shook his head. ‘You can't prove anything. I'm going to call the police.' He slid away from me.

‘Sure,' I said, sitting on the end of his desk and offering him his phone. ‘Call the Marin County Sheriff's Office, extension 237. I was just talking to them about how Jackson River was murdered.'

Seymour gaped at me. ‘Wha … what?' He collapsed into his chair. ‘River was murdered? … But how?'

His reaction was real. I could smell his fear. Seymour was petrified — a rabbit caught in headlights.

‘Do they know who did it?' He hugged himself for safety. ‘Did they catch the killer?' he implored.

Hmm. So Seymour was not only innocent — he was terrified he'd be next. ‘You know who killed River, don't you?'

He looked at me in terror. ‘No. No, I don't.'

‘You're a terrible liar, Seymour. You know who the murderer is.'

‘No, I don't really.'

‘You're lying, Seymour.' I started dialling. ‘I'm going to talk to the sheriff and tell him that you have a motive. That you killed River to stop him from finding Hector's diary.'

‘No!'

‘Hallo,' I said. ‘Is that the Sheriff's Office? Can I please speak to —'

Seymour leapt to his feet and disconnected the phone.

I put the receiver down, satisfied. ‘Well?'

Seymour ran his fingers through his hair. It was obvious he was trying to work out what to tell me. Or, more likely, what not to tell me. ‘Someone's trying to blackmail me.' He eyed me angrily — as though it was all my fault.

‘About what?'

‘About things that Hector did in old San Francisco.' He sat. ‘They didn't have enough proof to force me to pay —'

‘And now they're after the diary to get better leverage.' I nodded to myself. ‘So they killed River to stop him from getting to it first.'

Seymour didn't answer, just nodded.

‘So who's the blackmailer, Seymour?'

‘I told you the truth … I don't know their identity. They contact me through untraceable letters.'

‘But why haven't you gone to the police, Seymour?'

‘I can't,' he howled.

I eyeballed him. ‘Tell me what's in the diary!'

He just sat there, mute.

‘If you don't tell me, Seymour, I'm gonna walk out of here and straight into the nearest TV station. I'll go public with Dry Gulch and I
do
have proof of that,' I bluffed.

‘No! You can't!' he pleaded.

‘You'd better believe I will, Seymour.'

‘Okay, okay,' said Seymour. ‘But you have to understand … my family believed Hector had gone mad after Dry Gulch. That the horror had broken his mind …'

I tapped my toe. ‘What did Hector do, Seymour?'

‘Terrible, terrible things … His wife, Edwina, and his father-in-law found out about them after he disappeared. They found papers …' He shifted uneasily. ‘And other things …' He faltered.

‘Go on, Seymour,' I warned.

‘They pieced it all together … they realised what he'd been doing all along.' He silently appealed for mercy.

I pushed. ‘Don't waste my time, Seymour!'

He slumped. ‘Hector Kershaw wasn't the brave lawman trying to clean up San Francisco after all.' Seymour shook his head. ‘He'd tricked everyone into serving his own purpose …'

Suddenly I knew what Seymour was going to say. ‘This was all about breaking the Corsairs … wasn't it?'

Seymour nodded. ‘Hector wanted to mobilise San Francisco against them. So he could take over the Barbary Coast, the whole underworld, the whole network of corrupt politicians …'

‘So Hector could take over San Francisco,' I said. ‘And become the mayor, the ruler of San Francisco.'

‘Yes.'

‘So what exactly did Hector do?' Nasty suspicions were rising like toxic bubbles off industrial waste.

Seymour tried to challenge me. ‘But why do you need to know? This has nothing to do with —'

‘I warned you about wasting my time, Seymour!'

He gulped. ‘Hector needed a way to rouse San Francisco against the Corsairs, to motivate both the honest officials and the ones the Corsairs controlled. So he …' Seymour could hardly bear to say it. ‘So he created a disaster that'd so outrage San Francisco that they would rise up against the Corsairs … and anyone who tried to protect them. Hundreds of men, women and children died in the disaster. And Hector set it up so it was clear the Corsairs had done it.'

He shot me a careful look.

Seymour was a terrible liar. He was giving me bits and pieces but not how they fitted together.

‘What aren't you telling, Seymour?' I growled, showing my canines.

Seymour blanched. ‘The week before last the blackmailer copycatted what Hector did to blame the Corsairs …' He whined in self-pity, ‘And they left evidence there that implicated me. They said it'd appear as though I was following in my ancestor's footsteps … I paid them everything I had to get that evidence back from Portsmouth Square.'

Portsmouth Square?

I sagged onto the desk. This was much worse than I was immediately able to comprehend.

So Hector had locked innocent men, women and children in the buildings around Portsmouth Square and set them on fire … And someone had just
repeated it to squeeze money out of the effete socialite opposite me.

I felt like a human volcano about to erupt and take the known universe with me. I lunged over the desk at him, pinning him to the chair. ‘And you didn't tell the police!'