The Diamond Queen of Singapore

by Ian Hamilton

  “Lau Lau would. And I know someone else who would as well.”

  “Who?”

  “Me.”

  (10)

  Ava had trouble sleeping. At first she couldn’t get Lau Lau’s script out of her mind, and when she had finally wrestled that into submission, she found herself thinking about Malcolm Muir. Her afternoon encounter with him hadn’t bothered her much at the time, or so she thought, but now, as she replayed his dismissive reaction to Phillip Gregory’s death, she felt a mixture of anger and disgust.

  At two o’clock she got out of bed, drank a glass of water, and phoned Fai.

  “You’re still up?” Fai answered.

  “I can’t sleep. I have too much on my mind,” she said. “I met the man who orchestrated the investment fund fraud and caused Phillip Gregory to kill himself. He was so uncaring that it has upset me. I’ve been trying to limit my involvement in the matter, but now I’m thinking that I might go much deeper into it.”

  “Could that be dangerous?”

  “I doubt it. Most financial fraudsters believe they can outsmart everyone else and aren’t typically violent,” Ava said.

  “Still, you’ll be careful?”

  “Of course. My risk-taking days are behind me.”

  “Excuse me —” Fai said abruptly, and the line went quiet.

  What’s happened? Ava thought.

  “Ava, sorry about that,” Fai said a few seconds later. “That was Andy Gao calling. He’s downstairs waiting for me. He’s going to take me to the set to meet the cast and crew.”

  “Then you’d better head downstairs. I’m going to go back to bed. Maybe I can sleep now,” Ava said.

  This time when she got into bed, she lay on her back, folded her hands across her chest, and began to breathe deeply. She sucked as much air into her lungs as she could and then slowly exhaled it through pursed lips, until her lungs were as empty as she could make them. After the fifth breath she started to feel light-headed. Sometime after the seventh breath, she fell asleep.

  She dreamt most nights. When she was younger, her dreams had been strange, illogical, and frightening. Often they focused on futile attempts to connect with her father. But in recent years it was Uncle who visited her dreams, particularly when she was feeling indecisive or troubled. So she wasn’t surprised to see him this night, although the fact that he was sitting on the patio of Trattoria Nervosa, her favourite Italian restaurant in Yorkville, was decidedly odd.

  Ava stood on the sidewalk and stared at him. Uncle was drinking black coffee and had a lit cigarette dangling from his lower lip. No one else was visible, but she wondered how long it would take before he was told that smoking was not allowed on the patio.

  Ava, come and join me, he said.

  She skirted the wrought-iron fence that surrounded the patio and sat down at his table. You can’t smoke here, she said.

  I do not see any signs, he said.

  Believe me, it’s true.

  He nodded, threw down the butt, and ground it under his heel. You live in a world with too many rules.

  There are no rules in the world where you are?

  The only world I inhabit is in your imagination.

  And I’m so very happy that you’re there.

  Uncle smiled, and suddenly he looked as he had when she’d met him so many years before — a small, neat man dressed in a black suit with a white shirt buttoned to the collar, black hair flecked with grey, skin that looked ten to twenty years younger than he was, and dark, probing eyes. I came because I sensed you needed me. Things have been going well for you, but there are challenges you are not sure you should embrace. The problem with Mimi’s father, for one.

  What do you mean?

  Well, you want to help the family but you cannot do it without taking on this man Malcolm Muir. Yet when you stood on his doorstep, you allowed him to dismiss you and close a door in your face. You need to send him a message that you are not a woman who accepts that. No one has the right to insult you. Anyone who does should know there will be consequences.

  She took his remark as a criticism, and it stung. That’s the way I behaved when I was in the debt-collection business. When you left me, I let the business go, and the kind of behaviour associated with it, she said.

  This has nothing to do with collecting a debt. It is about righting a wrong and helping a friend. I know that is your intention, but you cannot forget the lessons I taught you, and that means you cannot go about it half-heartedly.

  How have I been half-hearted? she asked, stung again by his words.

  Perhaps it is more accurate to say that you have been distracted. I know this film business has been on your mind. If you are serious about pursuing Muir, then you need to put aside thoughts about the film and concentrate on the job at hand. I always admired your ability to shut out everything else and focus completely on the goal. If you do that with Muir, you will be successful. The film will not disappear. When you are finished with Muir, it will be there waiting for you, he said, lighting another cigarette and taking a deep drag. One more thing, Ava. I know you will not charge your friends our normal fee, but if you collect more money than they lost, you should be compensated. This is not about the money. It is about what that kind of money can help you do.

  I don’t understand, Ava said, and then she heard a phone ring. She looked at the trattoria’s entrance, but no one was there. She turned back to Uncle, only to find him gone. The phone kept ringing. She tried to stand up so she could locate its origin, and then suddenly the daylight disappeared.

  She found herself sitting up in bed in almost complete darkness, except for the glow coming from her phone. She reached for it. “Ava Lee,” she said.

  “This is Jacob. I apologize for calling so early, but I have part of what you wanted to know, and now I need further direction.”

  Ava glanced at the phone. It was ten minutes to seven, almost one o’clock in Amsterdam. Jacob hadn’t wasted any time. “What did you find out?”

  “I have the name attached to the account. I also found out where most of the money was sent and can make some assumptions about what it was used for.”

  “What’s the name?” she asked, trying to contain her excitement.

  “The account is registered to a Dutch numbered company doing business as Jewellery Circle.”

  “I’m not surprised it’s numbered — Muir likes using numbered companies. But I haven’t come across Jewellery Circle in any of my files.”

  “Who is Muir?”

  “Malcolm Muir is the perpetrator of the fraud. Didn’t I mention him to you?”

  “Not until now.”

  “And you haven’t come across his name in connection with Jewellery Circle?”

  “No, the name that’s on the incorporation papers in the bank’s files is Jasmine Yip. That’s Chinese, I think.”

  “It’s most definitely Chinese,” said Ava, surprised and immediately confused.

  “She provided an Amsterdam address when she filed for incorporation. I checked it before calling you. It’s a boutique hotel, and they know her. She’s been a guest several times, but not for a while.”

  “Are foreign guests required to provide their passport when they check in?” Ava asked.

  “They are, and this particular hotel also requests home and email addresses, both of which I was given and both of which I checked,” he said. “The home address she provided is in The Hague; it turned out to be a library. I tried sending her an email and it bounced back.”

  “That’s unfortunate. Any luck with the passport?”

  “The hotel has a copy on file.”

  “Do you have it?”

  “You’re as impatient as ever,” he said, laughing. “But no, I don’t have it. They’re sending me a copy this afternoon.”

  “And you’re as clever as ever. How did you convince t
hem to do that?”

  “I told them I’m with the Dutch tax authority and she’s a person of interest. That’s something that businesses like theirs don’t question. But I’m not so clever that I can handle the logical next step without some help and a bit of luck,” he said.

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I need an entry into the Jain community in Antwerp. I had a contact, but I’m not sure he’s still there.”

  “You’ve lost me,” Ava said.

  “Jasmine Yip has been wiring money to a company based in Antwerp. When I looked up the name in the Belgian companies register, I saw that it was in the diamond-trading business. But the owner’s name — Fozdar — doesn’t seem to be Jewish. I know from experience that the diamond business is overwhelmingly owned and run by Jains and Jews, so I’m assuming he’s a Jain, and they’re a small but powerful and close community.”

  “She’s been buying diamonds from Jains?”

  “It will take a bit of explanation —”

  “You’ve captured my interest, Jacob,” Ava said quickly. “But I need to take a short break to make some coffee. Can you call me back in fifteen minutes?”

  “My time is your time,” he said.

  (11)

  Ava had told Smits a little white lie. While it was true she wanted a coffee and had to go to the bathroom, her real reason for asking him to call back was that she needed a moment to gather herself. Her dream conversation with Uncle was still rattling around in her head, and she couldn’t help thinking that the timing and content of Jacob’s phone call was connected. Uncle had visited her because he already knew that she would go in pursuit of Muir, she thought, and his purpose was to remind her how it should be done. Except it wasn’t just Malcolm Muir anymore; now there was a Jasmine Yip to deal with. This is so weird. Who the hell is Jasmine Yip, and how did she get involved in this? she thought as she got out of bed.

  She needed to use the bathroom more than she needed coffee. Then, after throwing on a sweater and track pants, she went into the kitchen, put a large teaspoon of Nescafé into a mug, and filled it with hot water from the Thermos on the counter. She reached for her notebook and wrote Jasmine Yip across the top of a clean page, then sat back and waited for Smits. The phone rang before she had taken her fourth sip of coffee.

  “Hello, Jacob. I’m ready to talk now,” she said.

  “Sorry for dropping that information on you the way I did, but I was a bit excited,” he said.

  “That’s understandable. You’ve done great work.”

  “My contacts at the bank were quick to co-operate once they knew how much I’d pay. They’re both mid-level, so they have access to a lot of information, but not so well paid that they can resist a healthy bribe,” he said. “I decided to use both so I could ensure that the information I was getting is accurate.”

  “And they told you that Jasmine Yip is the ultimate account holder.”

  “They did.”

  “Do you have any idea where she’s from?”

  “I won’t know anything until I see her passport. I didn’t want to press the hotel manager over the phone.”

  “You aren’t worried that he’ll be suspicious about the passport copy being delivered to your office?”

  “It isn’t. I have a friend who still works for the tax authority who sometimes lets me use his office as a post office box. He’ll bring it to me — for a small fee, of course.”

  “That should give us as a good starting point with Jasmine Yip, but what about the Jains? I’ve heard the name but I have no idea who they are.”

  “I didn’t either until about three years ago, when I was working on a divorce case where the husband of my client was making their money disappear. I found out he was buying diamonds from a trading company in Antwerp. I contacted them by phone but they wouldn’t talk to me. So I went to their office in Antwerp’s Diamond Quarter, but I couldn’t even get past the front door. Security is unbelievably tight in those places, and I didn’t have an appointment. The security guard told me that if they didn’t know me I would need a reference, and that ideally it should be from a Jain, since nearly all the traders were Jains. I did some research and eventually found a Jain in Amsterdam who had connections in Antwerp. A week later the doors were opened and I managed to meet the trader who was doing business with the husband. With his help I was able to prove that the husband was using diamonds to launder the couple’s money.”

  “What did that cost you?” Ava asked.

  “Absolutely nothing. The Jains are a highly ethical people.”

  “Where do they originate?”

  “Those in Antwerp — where there are fewer than two thousand — are from a place called Gujarat in the western part of India, which is the diamond-cutting centre in that country. The first of them came to Antwerp in the nineteen-sixties. At the time Jews dominated the diamond trade, but the Jains slowly began to expand their role,” Smits said. “The diamond business is run on trust rather than contracts, and, as I said earlier, the Jains are an incredibly tight-knit community. Many of the businesses are family-based. They brought together all their resources to undercut the Jewish traders and take over the majority of the market.”

  “I wasn’t aware that Antwerp is a power centre for diamonds.”

  “Again, I didn’t know either, but I learned that more than eighty percent of the world’s diamonds are traded or cut there. The business exceeds fifty billion U.S. dollars a year.”

  “That’s a staggering number,” Ava said. “So Jasmine Yip or Malcolm Muir spending five or six million a year wouldn’t be extraordinary.”

  “I wouldn’t think so.”

  Ava looked down at her notes. “What do you mean when you say the Jains were highly ethical?”

  “Like I said, they’ve built a multi-billion-dollar business that depends on trust. The concept of theft is abhorrent to them, from both a business and a religious viewpoint, which is why the trader was prepared to help in the divorce case.”

  “What kind of religion is Jainism?”

  “It’s a sub-sect of Hinduism quite similar to Buddhism. They are non-violent in the extreme; I was told they won’t deliberately harm any living creature, not even an insect.”

  “Do you still have your contact’s information?”

  “Yes, but I don’t know if he’s still active.”

  “If he is, he might be able to help.”

  “I’ll call him when you and I finish.”

  Ava glanced at her notes again. “Jacob, if your contact is willing to help, how soon are you prepared to go to Antwerp?”

  “I could go first thing tomorrow morning. It’s a short train ride, just over an hour, and the central station in Antwerp is only a few minutes from the Diamond Quarter,” he said. “But I won’t go unless I’m certain doors will be open for me. It would be pointless otherwise.”

  “I understand. Once you know, call me either way. If they’re willing to talk to you, I have some questions I’d like you to ask.”

  “Of course. And if they do talk to me, we should be able to confirm Jasmine Yip’s identity beyond what her passport says.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You don’t get into those trading houses without having your photo taken and your fingerprints scanned. If she was there, they’ll know just about everything about her.”

  “That’s wonderful.”

  “They’ll also have a record of whoever was with her. I’m assuming that’s one of the questions you want me to ask.”

  “It is, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Ava said. “Call me when you know where we stand.”

  Ava put down her phone. This was already going better than she’d hoped, but then her caution kicked in. These weren’t stupid people she was dealing with. Muir had orchestrated a scam in Canada so complex that the RCMP, the OPP, and Todd Howell’s law
firm had washed their hands of it. Using diamonds as a way to launder that money was equally clever — what was more portable, more universally valuable, and more untraceable than diamonds? But who was Jasmine Yip? And why would Muir entrust his stolen money to her?

  She finished her coffee, made a second, and sat at the kitchen table. How odd it was that Jacob Smits’s phone call had come hard on the heels of her dream about Uncle, she thought again. Ava closed her eyes and tried to remember everything Uncle had said. She saw his face wreathed in smoke, listened to his advice again, and then reached for her phone.

  “Has Mr. Howell arrived yet?” she asked when a woman answered.

  “Just a minute, I’ll try his line.”

  “This is Todd Howell. What can I do for you?” he said a moment later.

  “This is Ava Lee.”

  “Ava Lee,” he said, and paused. “I didn’t expect to hear from you so quickly. Is it foolishly optimistic of me to think this is a good-news call?”

  “It’s neither good nor bad. I simply have a few questions for you.”

  “Shoot.”

  “In the course of your investigation into Malcolm Muir, did you ever come across the name Jasmine Yip?”

  “No,” Howell said without hesitation.

  “Are you sure? Please take your time and think about it for a few seconds.”

  “It isn’t a name I would forget,” Howell said. “Is she linked to Muir in some way?”

  “She might be, but I have nothing definitive,” Ava said, and then quickly changed subjects. “When I was in your office, you mentioned that Muir’s wife was Marla Swift.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I know the name is Western, but does she have any Chinese connections?”

  “None that I’m aware of, and we did look into her background.”

  “I assume you looked even more closely into Muir’s life.”