The door opened and Laura Jordan said, “Hi…are you Doctor Kirby?” She looked up at the lanky man with bags of skin under his glistening eyes, silver hair neatly parted, short beard of salt and pepper whiskers protruding from a friendly but weathered face. He wore a corduroy sports coat over a denim shirt and blue jeans.
“Please, the Ph.D. is only a formality, a required perquisite in my line of work. Just call me Ike. I’m assuming you’re Mrs. Jordan?”
“And you can call me Laura. It was good to speak with you briefly on the phone. You said you’re attending a symposium in Orlando and working as a consultant on the movie, Black River.”
“Yes. I’ve advised the director on a few historical perspectives to provide more accuracy for the film. As far as the symposium is concerned, I don’t take to the dais until tomorrow afternoon. A side expedition to your home is indeed a welcome diversion.”
“Sean O’Brien said you’re close friends with his friend, Dave Collins.”
“Dave and I go way back. May I come in?”
Laura glanced over his shoulder, her eyes scanning the road and perimeter of the neighborhood. She saw a car drive slowly by her home. The car was a black BMW sedan. Dark tinted windows. She’d seen it before…but where?
Professor Kirby cleared his throat. “Are you okay?”
Laura smiled. “Yes, I’m sorry…come in.” She led him into the dining room. “Please, have a seat at the table. Sean said that his friend Dave calls you the most knowledgeable person in the nation when it comes to Civil War history and antiquities. He said you were one of the experts interviewed for that Civil War documentary on the History Channel.”
“It was a fun collaboration.”
“Before his death, my husband was producing a documentary about the eleventh hour of the Confederacy, the dramatic escape of John Breckinridge and the lost Confederate gold.”
“That’s a fascinating story. I’m surprised that great escape never made it to the big screen. I have no doubt it would make quite a movie. I do want to say I’m so very sorry for your loss. Dave told me what happened. He also said you believe your husband was murdered. Do you think it was because you two found the diamond and the contract?”
“Yes. And, I’m sure you’ve heard, the diamond has been stolen. The old contract might not have much value to anyone but museums, history professors like you…and maybe some overzealous Civil War buffs.”
“Mommy, can I go out and play?” Paula stood at the door between the kitchen and dining room. She held a plush animal, a giraffe, in her left hand.
“A little later, sweetie. I’ll go in the back yard with you, okay? Right now we have a guest. I’ll be done soon and then we can go outside.”
Paula smiled and left the room.
Kirby said, “Walking up to your home, I noticed you have a wooden fence around your back yard. It seems very private, and yet I sense hesitancy from you to let your daughter play in the back yard. May I ask why?”
Laura bit her bottom lip for a second. “Since Jack’s death, I’m very cautious of everything Paula does. To put it more succinctly, I’m fearful for her. We’ve received threats.”
“What kind of threats?”
“They’re coming because Jack and I found the Civil War contract. There are some people who believe it represents a departure of Civil War history — the South in particular, and they don’t want to see that happen.”
Kirby nodded. “Perhaps, more than anything, it’s the romanticism of the cause for succession. That contract adds a new dimension.” He smiled. “Where is the document in question?”
“On the phone, you said you could tell if the contract is real by doing some tests.”
“I can do a preliminary examination here, but the other testing would have to be done back at the University of Florida lab.” He reached into a pocket inside his coat and pulled out a pair of white, cotton gloves.
Laura stood. “I’ll be right back.”
She returned with a large manila envelope, set it on the table, and carefully removed a file folder. She opened the folder and slid it toward her guest. Professor Ike Kirby glanced down through his bifocals, his pale blue eyes scrutinizing each sentence stopping to read some passages aloud. He lifted the pages in his gloved hands, fingers beginning to tremble as he continued reading. “Extraordinary…” he mumbled.
“What is it? What have you found?”
He looked up, his eyes suddenly dewy and distant. “It’s not what I’ve found. It’s what you and your husband found, Laura. If authentic, and on first inspection, it appears to be — this will change the historical narrative of the American Civil War. Because it seems the Civil War, was not exclusively American. The Confederate States of America financed, in part, by another nation — the United Kingdom.” He leaned back on the couch and took a deep breath, slowly releasing it. “The science part of the testing begins with handwriting analyses. That signature definitely seems to match known signatures of Jefferson Davis. It’ll probably reflect the same thing for Lord Palmertson. I’ll test the 160-year-old paper and ink. But I believe the science will corroborate what I see here. This is truly an incredible find.”
“What do you need to do now?”
“Take it back to the lab at the University of Florida. The testing won’t take long. Dave Collins had explained the events prior and after the death of your husband. You might want to hold a news conference when we get the results.”
“Why?”
“Because this Civil War contract further validates the existence of the diamond, as viewed on the video with your husband. So if the contract is genuine, it only stands to reason the diamond is as well. Two peas now in an open pod of controversy. A priceless diamond and a Civil War deal involving England. If the diamond your husband discovered is the Koh-i-Noor, what is the repercussion? Laura, may I take this document to the lab for testing? I will do so under the utmost confidentially.”
“Of course. How long will it take?”
“The symposium wraps tomorrow and then I’ll drive back to the university in Gainesville. I’ll begin testing immediately. I’ll call you. In the meantime, I have one more night to stay at the Hampton Inn on LaSalle Street. I’m in room twenty-three. In the event you need to reach me, I’ll write it down for you.” He jotted the information on a post-it note and handed it to Laura. “Don’t hesitate to call, for any reason.”
“Thank you. Please call me as soon as you know for sure — when you know it’s real.”
“I already know, at least I’m ninety-eight percent there. The testing, I believe, will confirm it. You will know as soon as I do.”
FORTY-FOUR
Dave Collins sat at the Tiki Bar, eating from two shrimp cocktails while sipping a Guinness and reading an article in Smithsonian Magazine. He wore a white Panama hat, Hawaiian floral print shirt outside his shorts. He glanced up as Kim walked behind the bar toward him. She said, “Must be a good story you’re reading. You’ve barely put a dent into your shrimp.”
Dave looked over the rims of his bifocals and nodded. “It’s an article about the pirate, Blackbeard. The man, more than any other, truly embodied what a real swashbuckling pirate was in that period.”
Kim laughed. “And now they’re lawyers and bankers.” Then she bit her lower lip, inhaled and folded her arms across her breasts. “And they’re stalkers.”