Heller's Regret

by JD Nixon

  Pissed off, I pursed my lips, but prudently held my tongue. Who cared what he thought?

  Farrell did, speaking up for me. “Officer Chalmers is as well qualified and experienced as anyone at Heller’s. She’s just recovered from a serious illness.”

  The rude man blushed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t denigrating your professionalism in any way.”

  Right, I thought to myself, awarding him my ‘Prick of the Day’ award, even though the day had barely started. It wasn’t as though implying his young daughter would stomp on my arse during a fight was in any way derogatory.

  “The security guards escorting the collection have arrived and my staff are busy setting up the display,” he continued blithely, as if the previous conversation hadn’t taken place. “I’ll take you to the display. Follow me.”

  Farrell and I exchanged a glance as we left the manager’s office. I smiled at him for sticking up for me, coaxing a nod in return.

  Chapter 13

  We followed him down a multitude of escalators until we reached a small room off the main floor on the first level. Walls draped in red velvet with gold threads running through, sparkling in the light, exuded luxurious extravagance. In the middle of the room stood four glass display cabinets, each lined with tasteful black velvet to showcase the jewels to their best.

  The armed security guards waited, watching with suspicious attentiveness as white-gloved store staff handled the jewellery. I’d thought the men at Heller’s were man mountains, but these guys were terrifyingly massive, their guns doing nothing to soften that appearance. As they guarded the jewellery, you could almost see the cogs in their brains cranking out strategies for dealing with any staff member who’d dare to do a runner with any of the pieces. It was fair to assume that more than a few of those strategies involved gunfire.

  I presumed their orders were to stay until the jewellery was properly secured again. The men didn’t work for a local firm, but one of the big, nationwide security businesses – the type of business that Heller had worked in with Sid and Clive before he’d established Heller’s.

  We nodded to them as a professional courtesy and they gruffly nodded back. Even from where we stood at the door, the jewellery was spectacular. I couldn’t wait to inspect the beautiful pieces at closer range. Farrell, however, watched the transfer with detachment, more interested in also keeping an eye on the staff than on the gems.

  An older woman, her suspiciously blonde hair secured in a severe chignon, a small pair of spectacles perched imperiously at the end of her pointy nose, hastened over to us. Farrell greeted her on behalf of the both of us, in the process learning that she was Mrs Burwood (no first name provided). She told us in an exceedingly snooty voice that she was manager of the jewellery and women’s accessories section, which included watches, sunglasses, scarves, hats and belts, but most emphatically not handbags or shoes, which had their own sections. The sniffy way she’d told us that made clear her opinion of those managers.

  Farrell stared at her in bemusement, unsure if that was strategically important information he should remember. He wasn’t the kind of guy who regularly indulged in retail therapy, especially in the women’s department.

  Mrs Burwood proceeded to launch into a detailed description of the eminent qualifications of the jewellery section staff, which neither of us was particularly interested in. Farrell tuned out, his eyes glazing over, though his face remained polite. I knew I should be concentrating on what she was saying, but my eyes were drawn back to the glass cabinets housing the jewellery. I’d never been a covetous person by nature – as a late-age daughter after two older sons in a middle-class family, I’d received everything I’d ever wanted – but that jewellery was breathtaking. For the first time in my life, I suddenly understood the sentiments behind Marilyn Monroe’s pretty warbling about diamonds being a girl’s best friend, and the hunger that drove some women to do anything for them.

  The collection consisted of necklaces, earrings, rings, brooches and tiaras, all in solid gold and studded with diamonds, rubies, emeralds, pearls and some other jewels I couldn’t even name, but which added their brightly varied colours to the others. The store staff took their time positioning each piece, making minute adjustments to ensure everything was expertly displayed in the cabinets. Discreet lighting emphasised the sharp facets of the priceless jewels. The collection screamed of the incredible wealth and privilege of its owner. Maybe the duchess had been a woman so valued by her husband that he’d willingly allowed her to spend a fortune draping herself in precious gems. Or maybe she’d been independently wealthy. I’d have to discover her name so I could do some basic internet research on her.

  I liked all the pieces, but the absolute masterpiece for me was a necklace resting on a small raised rotating dais, featured as the centrepiece of the main cabinet. It shone above the other jewels surrounding it like a bevy of handmaidens to the duchess herself. An unusually long twenty-four carat gold chain held an exquisite flower-shaped pendant, in the centre of which sat a ruby encircled by small diamonds. Large pink diamonds had been shaped into petals surrounding the ruby and diamonds. A teardrop deep green emerald dangled from the flower, presumably representing the stem. I wasn’t sure why I was so captured by it, but it was simply beautiful, like nothing I’d ever seen before. I couldn’t imagine how it would feel to wear such valuable jewellery, owning only a very modest collection. The most expensive pieces I owned were a bracelet given to me by Heller and the locket from Miss Grimsley.

  As soon as our dull briefing was over, Mrs Burwood left us for more important matters. The other security officers also departed after one of them checked the security of the cabinets, the other double-checking what his partner had just done. I took the opportunity of the quiet time before the display opened to the public, to lean closer to the cabinets, peering at all the jewels, spending an extra long time appreciating the flower necklace.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” asked a soft, shy voice in my ear. Startled, I pulled back. “It’s the highlight of the entire collection. It was made in the eighteenth century, and is unique. If it wasn’t impossible to find a perfect emerald, I’d say it’s flawless. But the one in this necklace is as perfect as they come, and its deep green colour is especially rare. The colour of the ruby is also incredibly deep and rich, so it’s rare and valuable as well. And of course, the pink diamonds are very rare. Altogether, this necklace is so valuable it’s almost priceless.”

  I subjected my informative new acquaintance to a quick once-over. A small woman with fair hair in a neat bob and intelligent soft blue eyes gazed back at me, blushing a little at her own enthusiasm.

  “So I’ve heard,” I said amenably.

  “Irreplaceable.”

  “It won’t need to be replaced,” I assured with admirable confidence in Farrell’s abilities to keep it safe (not so much in mine).

  The woman abruptly pulled of her glove, thrusting out her hand with all the awkwardness of someone who didn’t introduce themselves to other people very often. “I’m Francine Browning, jewellery section staff member.” I shook her hand, which felt dry and cool to the touch. “I’m Mrs Burwood’s assistant,” she added with a touch of something too humble to call pride.

  “I’m a drone from Heller’s Security and Surveillance,” I introduced in turn.

  She smiled slightly. “Even drones have names.”

  “Tilly.”

  “Nice to meet you, Tilly.” She turned back to the necklace and the glow in her eyes might have been the illumination from the cabinet or it might have been something else altogether. “It’s a flower, a reference to spring – youth, regeneration . . . love.” The faint blush across her face and neck deepened, before she gathered herself. “The reason it has such a long chain was to allow the pendant to sit on the duchess’ ample bosom, thereby drawing attention to it. She used the necklace to intimidate the other ladies in her elevated circle. She used her bosom to impress any piece of young aristocratic crumpet that caugh
t her fancy during parties and balls.” She laughed, a hard, rusty bark, sounding as though she’d forgotten how to do it.

  I raised my eyebrows in amusement. “Really? And here I was thinking romantic thoughts about eternal love and devotion from her husband.”

  She snorted. “Not in that day and age. It was a marriage of convenience, as most were at that level of society. The duke and duchess didn’t seem to dislike each other as so many other aristocratic couples did, having a fairly amicable relationship throughout their lives. She brought boatloads of money to the family coffers, and in return they gave her a coveted title and position in high society. Once she popped out the obligatory ‘heir and a spare’ and also a couple of daughters to marry off in the future to advantage the family, she was free to romance to her heart’s content.” She shot me an arch glance. “As long as she was discreet, naturally.”

  “Naturally.”

  “God knows her husband, the duke, was quite the rake himself, judging from his lurid diaries and letters to his many various lovers, male and female.”

  I smiled. “Sounds like they were real swingers back in the eighteenth century.”

  Head on one side, she regarded the necklace again and lowered her voice to a more confidential level, as if she was gossiping about a colleague. “I read she received the necklace as a reward for taking in her husband’s three illegitimate daughters to raise as her own. They were the result of an ill-conceived affair he’d had with a laundry maid who had the bad luck to die young, but the good luck to leave a very detailed and scandalous diary of their, ah, somewhat . . . athletic trysts which she sent to the Duchess when she realised she was dying. The duke seemed to prefer his bit-on-the-side a little more low class and rougher than he ought to have, considering his position. He lived in constant terror of his mother, the domineering dowager duchess, finding out about his affairs. She was the queen of propriety and an absolute dragon from what I’ve read.”

  “You read a lot,” I commented.

  Her mouth pursed in a pout of modesty. “We drones must be of assistance where we can. Agreed?”

  I glanced over at Farrell, noticing his impatient face. “Ah yep, agreed. Sorry, but I have to run. It looks as if I’m in trouble already and we’ve only been here ten minutes. Gotta go. Nice to meet you, Francine.”

  “You too, Tilly. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

  “You know where I’ll be – hovering around the jewels,” I joked over my shoulder as I hurried back to Farrell.

  His voice was markedly cool. “Thanks for joining me, Chalmers. Hope I didn’t interrupt anything important?”

  “You did, actually,” I said breezily, even though I knew I should apologise to him. “I was learning vital information about the necklace.”

  “Forget about it, you can’t afford it. In fact nobody at Heller’s can afford it, not even Heller. Not even all of us put together could afford it.”

  “I know that. It’s packed with rare gemstones, and so valuable it’s priceless.” I glanced at the jewellery sparkling in the lights. “It’s a big responsibility guarding it, Hugh.”

  “It is. But, nothing’s going to happen to it. See that display glass in those cabinets? It’s top-of-the-line – shatterproof, bulletproof, fireproof and completely unable to be tampered with. The keyhole to unlock it is so well hidden it’s impossible to find unless you know where it is. It has a triple locking mechanism and three separate people have custody the three different keys needed to unlock it.” When talking about the cabinets, his voice held all the admiration I’d given the jewels they contained. “It’s pure genius.”

  “Aw, Hugh, you’re in love,” I teased. His withering glance could have stripped a forest of its foliage in seconds. “But what if the three staff with the keys collaborated to steal it, splitting the proceeds?”

  “Firstly, that necklace is too rare and well known to sell. Secondly, the store security manager has one of the keys, the store manager the second, and Mrs Burwood has the third. The keys are kept in a strong box in the store manager’s office overnight. No junior staff are ever entrusted with one of the keys.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  He sighed. “Weren’t you listening to Mrs Burwood at all?”

  “No, she was boring and I couldn’t resist the siren call of the beautiful necklace.”

  “Chalmers, you’re never going to be a good security officer until you start paying attention to the clients. You’d be surprised how much important information they’re trying to share with you.” But though his words were unmistakably reproving in nature, they were said in a mild, non-cutting tone.

  “Sorry, Hugh.”

  “Our brief is to keep our eyes on the cabinets at all times while also doing crowd control. If it becomes too unruly in here, I’ll send you out to the door to organise an orderly queue. Only a certain amount of people are allowed in at a time.”

  “We’re expecting crowds?”

  He sighed patiently and rolled his eyes upwards in supplication. “Didn’t you listen to Mrs Burwood even in the slightest? We’re expecting very large crowds for the next few days. This is a famous collection. There’ll be a lot of interest in it.”

  It surprised me when he said that – I’d never heard of it before. “Okay, gotcha. Crowd control.”

  “The exhibit will open for a while exclusively to local media reps. They’ll presumably write up glowing recommendations for it.”

  “How could they do otherwise? The collection is spectacular.”

  “The collection will then open to the public at ten. Visitors must enter the room, travel up the left side of the display and down the right side before departing. No cameras are allowed at all. There’s a sign posted at the front clearly stating that, so anyone disregarding the direction will be escorted out immediately.” He pointed over to the side of the room where bollards and rope had been discreetly piled in anticipation of the event, well out of the way. “They’re for the queue. This room is a small space with the potential to quickly overcrowd. We have to stop that from happening.”

  “Wow! You learned a lot in a short period of time.”

  “It’s called listening, Chalmers. You should learn how to do it soon.”

  “All right, all right! I get it. I’m a bad security officer.”

  “I never said that.” His eyes narrowed. “The media’s here.”

  On cue, a troop of over-made-up, carefully dressed journalists arrived. All of them were thin, young women which I thought rather sexist – surely it wasn’t only women who appreciated fine jewellery? Though the thin young things didn’t take up much space, their camera operators did and it soon became crowded in the room.

  I raised my eyebrows at Hugh in query.

  “Store management has allowed the cameras in. It’s not our business to argue.”

  “Guess not.”

  We watched for the next thirty minutes as the journalists and camera operators competitively jostled each other out of the way to gain the best vantage point to film the precious gemstones.

  Mrs Burwood came in when their allocated time was up, virtually bullying them all out of the room. They began to pack up with barely a protest, confident that they’d shot their thirty seconds of fluff for the news, and already thinking about their next stories.

  After they’d gone, Mrs Burwood chose to chat to Farrell rather than me as they supervised the exodus of the media. I smiled to myself. It seemed as though she’d taken a real shine to him. Maybe he was the exact type of rugged, muscled, tough guy that she secretly dreamed about ravishing her in the privacy of her own home.

  By the time the last camera operator hauled their equipment out of the room, it was time to open the display to the public. Farrell and I girded ourselves, ready to earn our pay.

  Chapter 14

  To say we were rushed off our feet was the understatement of the year. Farrell had warned me of the potential crowds, but I’d found it hard to believe that many people would be interest
ed in such a specialised display as this one. But I was wrong about that judging from the number of people who showed up.

  “It will be worse tomorrow after the media talk it up tonight,” Farrell said in one of the few moments we had to speak together.

  “Worse? How could it possibly get any worse? There are so many people here already.”

  “Trust me on this, Chalmers. There will be more of them tomorrow.” I trusted him on this and on everything else. As he’d said earlier, he was a reliable guy.

  The crowd grew so large we struggled to maintain order. People became pushy in the queue, impatient to get inside and view the jewels for themselves. The staff member at the door, a guy in his twenties, seemed a little harassed and stressed trying to keep the queue calm.

  “Chalmers, I want you to go out there to take over from that man. He’s not up to the job.”

  Frankly, I didn’t think I would be either. The man was in his mid-twenties and very attractive, his good looks only slightly marred by his flustered expression. His face lit up with gratitude when I offered to relieve him, gladly handing over the difficult task to me. But before he escaped, I asked him to help me carry the bollards and rope out to the increasingly edgy crowd. He assisted me in setting up a snaking queue that repeatedly doubled back on itself, maximizing the number of people who could wait in line. I decided then to leave the queue props up overnight. Even if the crowd was only a trickle at first tomorrow, we’d be prepared for anything larger.

  Everybody grumbled when I forced them to form a queue, but it had an instantaneous effect on the chaos. Standing at the doorway, I was able to see how many visitors left the room at a time, enabling me to allow that precise number of waiting people inside. It was an efficient system regulating the number of people in the room, keeping them moving around the display and shifting the queue at a faster pace. Farrell dealt with anyone lingering, spending more than their fair share of time viewing the jewellery.