“The Koh-i-Noor. It’s owned by my country, stolen in 1850, and I am here to take it home.”

“That’s making a lot of assumptions. Why approach Nick?”

“I ran into him in the bar. I heard he was a good friend of yours. I wanted to see if he thought you’ve recovered the diamond.”

“You heard? That means you didn’t just run into Nick, you sought him out. The easy way would have been to ask me.”

“Would you have revealed anything to me?”

“That would be contingent on what and how you asked me. There is very little to reveal. The diamond and a Civil War contract associated with the diamond are missing. Three people are dead because of it.”

Dave leaned forward on the barstool. “Her grapevine goes way beyond Nick. Malina, or the data dossier her intelligence compiled on you, Sean, suggests that you and Laura Jordan, the wife of the man killed on the film set, may have conspired to steal the diamond. A lover’s triangle all caught up in the greed of a priceless diamond.”

O’Brien looked at her, his eyes penetrating. He said nothing.

Malina crossed her legs. “That is one of many possible scenarios. Some people can do unfathomable things when the potential of great wealth enters their lives…it happens all the time.”

O’Brien shook his head. “It doesn’t happen with me.”

Dave said, “I told her you were working on an entirely separate case, looking for a lost and then stolen Civil War era painting, before the death of Jack Jordan happened. Jack and Laura Jordan had purchased the painting months earlier from an antique dealer.”

O’Brien stood. “You’re generous, Dave. Considering her overture into this marina and deceiving Nick, you didn’t owe this woman an explanation or even the courtesy of the details of chance that led to me meeting Mrs. Jordan.”

Malina said, “I’m sorry for the way I treated your friend.”

O’Brien snapped. “Our friend has a name. It’s Nick.”

“I apologize for my tactic with Nick. We will pay for the cost of medical treatment.”

“We?” O’Brien asked.

She nodded. “My country will reimburse him. Are there any details you can share with me about the Koh-i-Noor?”

O’Brien said, “I’ve never seen it. Like millions of people, I did see it on video. I have no idea if it’s the real thing. That might be a conversation your country has with Britain.”

“If I find it, a conversation will be a moot point — because if it is the Koh-i-Noor, the British will never see it again. Who do you suspect may have taken it?”

“Probably the same person who stole the Civil War contract and killed two men doing it. The Volusia Couth Sheriff’s office is conducting the official investigation. You may want to check with them.”

She lowered her hands to her lap. “I’d rather hear the details of the unofficial investigation from you. They may be more salient.”

“I’m simply trying to recover a stolen 160-year-old painting for a client. Everything else, the diamond, the Civil War document, are all ancillary events to the recovery of the painting. I’m not a police investigator.”

“But you were at one time.” She didn’t blink.

“What else do you know about me?”

“That you are unconventional but deliver results. You shy from the limelight. When you were a detective, your interview techniques with criminal suspects most often resulted in confessions. And you recover things well — people or lost possessions.”

“And you think I recovered the diamond?”

“That odds are you did or you will.”

“Are you a gambler?”

“I take calculated risks.”

O’Brien measured her eyes a moment. “You will be taking more than a risk to recover the diamond. The death of three people is evident of that. I believe someone wants it even more than your country. Maybe that’s Britain, considering the circumstances of the Civil War contract and the diamond, now legal-tender evidence and corroboration of that contract, assuming the diamond is real.”

“Can you share with me who you believe might have stolen it?”

“I don’t know that.”

“Who might want to own it?”

“I don’t know that either.”

“I see.” She sighed. “I’ll leave now. I’m sorry for the miscalculation. I won’t bother you again. I will contact the hospital to have Nick’s expenses taken care of.” She stood to leave, something catching her eye on the cockpit. “Is that a dog out there?”

“That’s Max.”

“She’s cute.”

“Can I pet her on the way out?”

O’Brien nodded. “That’s entirely up to Max.”

As she opened the door leading to the cockpit, Dave got up from the barstool and said, “Here’s some information you can take out there on your Easter egg hunt for the diamond. The Brits seem to think there may be merit to this discovery…especially the old document that named names going back to Queen Victoria. They may have a representative, such as you, on a similar mission. If you run across the document first, that might be the leverage you’d need to swap for the diamond. And whatever stone is in the current queen’s crown shall forever remain as mysterious as the smile on Mona Lisa’s enigmatic face.”

Malina smiled wide. “Perhaps I can be luckier than whomever they sent.” She turned, exited onto the cockpit, kneeling and petting Max. Then she stepped off the boat and walked down the dock like a woman caught in a hard rain without an umbrella.

Nick had Kim stop at a grocery store on the way back to the marina. He bought a large porterhouse steak, a head of lettuce, hummus, sweet onions, potatoes and a six-pack of Corona. In her car, he turned toward her and said, “How did I screw up so bad, Kim? I thought the lady liked me for me — Nick ‘the Greek’ Cronus. But all along she just wanted information about Sean and the diamond. Maybe she’s some kind of international jewel thief. I think she stole the key to Sean’s boat.”

“Oh, God, Nicky. How the hell did that happen? Don’t even tell me. I’m sure she’s long gone. I’ll try to reach Sean or Dave.” She lifted her phone and Nick sank lower in the front seat.”

Cory Nelson paced the floor of the motel room, an extended stay unit on the ground floor. He peered out of a small opening in the curtains through a window facing the street. The only movement was from a linen-service delivery truck stopping at the motel office. He released the curtains, partly shutting — a single stream of sunlight entering the room.

Nelson poured vodka from a Ketel One bottle into a paper cup, hand trembling, he knocked back the vodka, a dribble running down his whiskered chin and soaking into his white T-shirt. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, opening a small duffle bag and removing a black sock.

He glanced at the time on his watch, reaching into the sock and removing a black velvet pouch. Nelson opened the drawstring and took out the diamond. He held it between his thumb and index finger, grinning, lifting it up, toward the small beam of sunlight from the curtain. The diamond captured and altered the sunlight, beaming pockets of light around the room. “You are the rock of fuckin’ ages, baby.” He set the diamond on the nightstand table, lifting the fifth of vodka and drinking straight from the bottle.

Nelson’s face popped sweat, cheeks flushed. He punched numbers on his phone. The man’s voice said, “Good to hear from you, Cory.”

“Listen to me! Time’s up! They know I took out Jack Jordan.”

“Who are they, police?”

“Maybe. Guy’s name is Sean O’Brien. He’s some kinda ex-cop. Could be a PI. I don’t give a shit what he is or isn’t. He knows I shot Jack. He’s saying the proof is on ultra-slow motion film from the damn movie set. It shows the Minié ball coming out of my barrel, and it shows me aiming at Jack.”

“Maybe he’s calling your bluff.”

“This guy isn’t the type to bluff. He’s smart. Listen, we have a deal. I risked everything to take out Jack and lift the diamond while you sat on your ass lining up a buyer. You pay the two million we agreed on or I’m walking. No, I’m flying out of the fuckin’ country. You told me ten days ago you’d have the money. Either you bring it now or I find my own buyer.”