The Final Twist Jeffery Deaver (ebook reader with android os TXT) 📖

tally was dated April seventeenth, nineteen oh-six, but all three examiners found that the paper and ink dated to the nineteen twenties.

“Professor Anthony Rice of the University of California had this to say earlier . . .”

The scene cut to a recorded in-office interview. One shot revealed a large, pale man in a navy suit and a white shirt. His graying hair was thinning and curly.

“Hello, Professor Rice.”

He tapped his round glasses higher on a lengthy nose and nodded to the camera.

“Afternoon.”

“Tell us about this voting tally.”

Rice repeated the story about the implications of Proposition 06 and then added:

“Over the years the voting tally became a kind of Holy Grail for big corporations, which would love nothing more than to hold office in the state.”

“But the experts are saying it isn’t real.”

“I believe what happened is that a businessman in the nineteen twenties hired someone to forge it and hide it in government archives with other documents from around nineteen oh-six. His plan was probably to quote ‘miraculously’ discover it. Why didn’t he? One reason might be the timing. Maybe he went bust in the Depression and his corporation went bankrupt. He faded off into obscurity.”

“Do you think there really is a legitimate copy of the voting tally somewhere?”

“No, no. I’m sure there isn’t. The tally was just a legal legend. It would be impossible for one to exist. The recount was a long time ago but it was in the twentieth century. As soon as the judge signed it, word would have spread . . . There were telephones, telegraphs, daily press and as many reporters per capita as we have nowadays. If a recount meant the proposition passed, that would have been front-page news. No, Prop Oh-Six was defeated by the people.”

“Professor, has a corporation ever run for office?”

“A few have tried, as public relations stunts, but they never got very far. All legal scholars and political historians I know think it would be disastrous for democracy.”

“Thank you, Professor. In other news—”

Shaw shut the TV off. It crackled to darkness.

“Well,” La Fleur said. “That’s one kettle of fish . . . You think it’s for real? About the thing being forged?”

“It’s real.”

“You say that like a man who knows.”

“I do. Because I was the forger.”

77

So, I say: as Americans and lovers of democracy you should light a bonfire and throw the damn thing in . . .

Just after Shaw and Russell had left Professor Steven Field’s house in Berkeley, with an understanding of just what Proposition 06 meant, Shaw had made a decision.

He’d considered the academic’s advice—either hide or destroy the tally.

But Shaw had concluded that neither of those would work. BlackBridge, on Devereux’s orders, would continue to search and would undoubtedly rack up more dead bodies in the scavenger hunt. The businessman had been searching for the tally certificate for years. Why would he stop now? But if it appeared that the tally never existed in the first place—that the rumors were based on a forgery—then he might lick his wounds and forget the matter.

Shaw would create a forgery himself. He would make sure Braxton and Droon stole it from the Pacific Heights safe house. Devereux would then send it to Sacramento to present to the state assembly, where forensic experts would determine it was a fake.

Shaw was confident he could pull it off. He had on occasion in the course of his business needed to track down documents for which people had offered rewards. Usually these were last wills and testaments, corporate purchase documents, adoption papers. Those jobs would occasionally land him square in the esoteric world of document examination and forgery.

He needed help, though, to make sure it was a solid job. And he knew whom to call. An expert skilled at detecting forgeries would also have to be an expert on how to create them. He called a friend. Parker Kincaid was a former FBI forensic document examiner. Based outside of Washington, D.C., he was now a consultant.

“Parker.”

“Colt. How’s it going?”

They caught up with small talk. Kincaid’s son, Robby, was now an accomplished martial artist and he’d just won a big competition.

“Congratulations.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Let’s say I was tracking down some materials someone might use to create a forged document. I’m talking San Francisco.”

“Okay.”

Ah, the cop word again. Kincaid, after all, had been one.

“I’m speaking hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically.”

Shaw was amused. Kincaid’s repetition suggested suspicion. On the other hand, he knew all about Shaw’s rewards business and the number of people he’d rescued and the number of perps he’d collared. If Shaw was being coy, it was for a legitimate reason. Still, Parker had to ask, “I assume my former employer in Washington, D.C., would not have any reason to be concerned by someone’s document?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Good. Are we thinking modern day?”

“No. Nineteen twenties.”

“Pen and ink?”

“And typewriter.”

Kincaid didn’t hesitate. “In the Bay Area, there’s only one place a forger would go for supplies. Davis and Sons Rare Books and Antiquities.”

“Thanks, Parker. Helpful.”

“You ever get reward assignments in Northern Virginia?”

“Haven’t yet. My sister lives in Maryland. I’ve been meaning to visit. I’ve got your number.”

“Tell someone good luck.”

The men had disconnected and Shaw had headed up to North Beach to the bookstore.

There, he had paid to have the original voting tally, with the sketch on the back, mounted in the cheap plastic frame.

He had bought a few other things too—out of the case he’d studied when he first arrived.

Among his purchases was a ninety-year-old Underwood No. 5 typewriter, the most common of the era. It was a high-standing classic, the workhorse of secretaries and reporters throughout the first half of the twentieth century. He also selected a notebook that dated to the 1920s, containing blank sheets similar in color and weight to the paper of the original tally, and pen-point nibs and holders. Most important, he was able to purchase a bottle of actual ink that was nearly one hundred years old. That had been his biggest concern. Shaw, though, had been surprised to find that there was quite