“It’s a very strange thing, you see, as if it all had nothing to do with Dash at all. At all,” Early added, just to make Mr. Pincer feel at home with the repeating. She paused, then whispered, “You heard, of course, about the diamond.”
“Diamond!” Mr. Pincer’s hand now shot up onto the desk. It opened and closed like a large crab claw. “Diamond!” he repeated.
“Oh, it’s a crazy story. After Sum reported the criminals’ breaking in and taking our stuff, including our last bit of cash, some policeman went to the apartment and apparently found a — well — a sparkly stone on the floor.
“Sum’s family gave it to her years ago, when she and Dash were married,” Early lied, feeling prouder of herself by the moment, “and she’d put it somewhere so safe, she’d lost it. She and Dash couldn’t afford to make it into a ring, so she had tucked it away, not feeling it was right to sell a gift like that. The criminals must’ve knocked it out of its safe hiding place, wherever that was. So now they say Dash was stealing, which of course doesn’t fit. It’ll all get straightened out with some careful spy work and a few questions. The police are great at this kind of thing, aren’t they?”
“Yes, yes, sure,” Mr. Pincer said. “Didn’t hear all this before … wonder why … the eye of a spy … well!” He seemed to shake himself back to the present, and the claw slipped back down behind the desk.
“You’re quite a kid to come here, and I’ll try to help you, ah, get some memories written down. Precious memories. Not that your dad won’t be back soon, of course, yes, soon!” He ended with a fake laugh that didn’t fit the distracted crease between his eyes.
Early, feeling very successful about having made Mr. Pincer behave in such a guilty way, decided it was time for a bit more pressure. She placed both hands over her face and let her head fall forward. “The way you said memories, it was as if my dad wasn’t coming home,” she said, her voice muffled. “Ever. I heard. Memories.” She allowed the last word to wobble out in an accusing tone. Her eyes still covered, she said, “I just needed to do something to make everyone remember what a good person my father is. Writing words helps, like my father always said.”
There was silence in the room. When she lifted her head, she saw, to her amazement, that she was facing an empty chair. The eye of a spy was right! She’d stopped looking, which was a bad idea. Mr. Pincer could move quickly — and silently. He’d closed the door behind him, but Early opened it a crack.
An angry voice drifted from down the hall. “What’s going on here? I’m told one thing, the kid tells me another, another entirely, and this will not happen, I tell you right now, will not! Not!”
Early heard a shrill voice respond, a woman’s voice. “Gotcha,” she said. “We’ll see whadda heck is goin’ on. Wohnappen again.”
Early hugged her notebook to her chest, her mouth opening in a slow O. That way of speaking was familiar.
Should she mention to Mr. Pincer that one of the criminals had a way of speaking she didn’t recognize, a mishmash of syllables that sounded just like the accent down the hall?
No, Early thought. She should not.
Chase
Moments later, Mr. Pincer propelled her out of his office and around the corner to a small conference room with a rubbery plant in the corner. “Got a few things to take care of, but do make yourself comfortable and I’ll send one of your father’s coworkers in to chat.” He nodded, still wiping absentmindedly at the sticky patch on his forehead. He scuttled around the corner, then ducked back.
“Oh, hungry? Hungry?” he asked.
“Always!” Early said eagerly, although she was still full of pancakes. Tracking down food might keep him busy for a while.
She sat quietly and opened the notebook. Best not to write anything, not yet. Whew, she was glad that she’d seen Mr. Pincer’s reaction to the found diamond, and that she’d come up with a distracting story. She was also glad that she hadn’t mentioned The First Book of Rhythms. Something told her that was a lucky move, something about the way Mr. Pincer had repeated, “All your books … All, all …” Soon a young man slipped into the room and offered a damp hand. “Mr. Alslip,” he said. “One of your father’s colleagues. Great guy he was — is — is.” He had a pink nose and a scraggly mustache, reminding Early of a large rat.
She forced herself to smile. “What exactly did you do with Dash?” Mr. Alslip’s mouth fell open. “I didn’t mean it that way,” Early babbled on. “Just, what kinds of things did you talk about?”
“Well, he liked games.” Mr. Alslip had recovered and was stroking his mustache.
“What kind of games?” Early asked politely, her pen over the blank page of her notebook.
“Oh, you know, clever puzzles … tricky combinations of words and numbers. He enjoyed things that fit unexpectedly.” Mr. Alslip looked uncomfortable. “Yes, that fit.” He frowned. “Can’t understand … gave the hint, spun for fun, add ’n’ run, but then what, you know?” he muttered to himself. Right then Mr. Pincer stepped into the room. Early realized, with a shock, that he had probably been standing just outside the door. Everything in that office area was carpeted.
“Snack time!” Mr. Pincer said cheerfully, and handed Early a large jelly doughnut. It looked suspiciously like one that had been sitting on his desk when the coffee spilled. The napkin under it was fresh.
“Thanks so much — that’s very thoughtful of you,” she said. “We were just talking about how much Dash loved puzzles. Like …” Early blinked rapidly, as if trying to think back. “Lines in time, for example. Rows of numbers.” Mr. Alslip twitched and looked sideways at Mr. Pincer.
“Yes, exactly!” Mr. Pincer said. His hand was now resting on Mr. Alslip’s shoulder, which Early thought was odd.
She blinked some more. “Like 1:11. 2:22. You know, that kind of everyday magic.”
Mr. Alslip was staring at her. “You are like Dash, aren’t you?” he blurted, then smiled. “What made —” he began, then stopped. Mr. Pincer’s claw was turning white across the knuckles.
“Ow,” squeaked Mr. Alslip.
Early pretended she hadn’t heard. She yawned. “Well, thanks for sitting down with me, both of you. Mind if I come back tomorrow? Maybe you’ll be ready with more details by then. I promise I won’t stay long. It just makes me feel good to hear people remembering stuff about my father. If anyone wants to share, I’m there. Anyone!” She waved her arms, hitting the rubbery plant.
It bounced and nodded, but both men were silent. Early had the feeling it was the kind of silence that crackled with unspoken warnings.
Chase
“I’m good at this, I’m good, I’m good, I’m good!” Early was practically dancing around the Children’s Library. “Gave the hint, spun for fun …” she whispered to herself.
“Good at what, spy-yi-yi-ing?” Jubie dropped the book he’d been looking at and bounced up and down on his seat, his thumbs in the air.
Sum stood, rubbed her eyes, and smiled weakly at the librarian, Mr. Tumble, who was sitting nearby. “It’s great to be back here for some new reading material. We’ve missed coming,” she said in a flat tone, gathering an armload of books to check out. “And thanks for helping with the replacement library card and reading to my son.”
Early noticed how tired her mother looked that morning, and decided not to tell her about the diamond lie that she’d fed Mr. Pincer. Sum might sink even lower, not understanding Early’s strategy or the fact that Mr. Pincer had indeed snapped at the bait.
“Happy to do it. Come back lots.” Mr. Tumble’s voice sounded genuine.
“We will.” Sum nodded. “Okay, kids. Don’t want to miss lunch.”
“Yeah, you gotta wait when you’re late and I’m hungry already,” Jubie grumbled.
Early, zipping up her jacket, said, “Hey, you made a rhyme! Pretty good, Jubie.”
Her brother nodded, looking steadily at Mr. Tumble. “I like you. And I’m a spy. Early’s getting us a house, did you know? Gonna surprise Dash!”
“Ahh …” The librarian smiled. Early couldn’t tell whether he knew their family story or not.
As the three Pearls walked through the door, Mr. Tumble frowned for a moment, pushed his lips out in a tight line as if measuring an idea, then reached for the phone on the corner of his desk.
“I’m calling as you requested,” he said slowly.
Chase
Sum had a job interview at McDonald’s the next day at noon, but had agreed to head back to the library beforehand. Early offered to go on her own that morning, but Sum wouldn’t hear of it.
“We three are sticking together, young lady,” Sum said. “As long as we leave Harold Washington in a couple of hours. Then you and Jubie can hang out just inside the restaurant entrance while I do my interview, and if I get the job” — Sum sighed and sucked in a huge gulp of air, as if ready to dive underwater — “then maybe we can find a day care close to the library, a nicer one. We’ll manage.”
“Only if they got trucks and snacks! Only then,” Jubie chimed in.
“Only then,” Sum agreed.
Sum and Jubie headed for story hour in the Children’s Library, as they had the day before, and Early hurried upstairs to the sixth floor. She waved to Mrs. Wormser, who looked around, then gave a quick go-on-in signal. Early slipped through the Staff Only door and walked quietly down the hall toward Mr. Pincer’s office.
On the way, she passed a woman she hadn’t seen yesterday, someone with fluffy, colorless hair and see-through skin. One large blue vein wiggled down the side of her face, like a river in the wrong place. A plastic sign on her desk read MARY WHISSEL.
“Excuse me,” Early said. “Which way is the bathroom?” She mumbled the word bathroom so that it came out sounding like ba-foo.
The woman was typing on a computer. “Wea?” she asked. Then added, “Onie steaff.”
Thrilled by what she’d heard, Early beamed. “Oh, my dad is staff. Wait, I remember! Been there before,” she said as she bounced on down the hallway. To her relief, Mary Whissel kept typing.
This time Mr. Pincer was ready for her. His door was closed and locked, and a sign taped above the handle read IN MEETINGS ALL DAY.
Early’s shoulders sagged. Walking slowly back toward Ms. Whissel, she said, “Excuse me, but maybe you could help. I’m Dashel Pearl’s daughter, and looking for anyone who wants to share some stories about him. We miss him so much, and …” Early waited.
The woman didn’t react; she continued typing. Early tried another approach. “I met Mr. Alslip yesterday. Is there someone else Dash worked with?”
Ms. Whissel squinted one eye, as if Early were irritating it. “Whassat?” she asked. Yup, no doubt about that accent.
Early whispered, “I think you know what I’m talking about.” The woman’s eyes clicked into focus and she scowled.
“Git goin’,” she said, jerking her head toward the hallway. She turned back to her desk.
“Yes, ma’am,” Early said, and then whispered under her breath, “for what that’s worth.” Swinging her arms, she walked a few purposeful steps down the carpeted hall and ducked behind a desk in an empty cubicle around the corner.
She heard Ms. Whissel’s chair squeak as if she’d leaned backward. Early held her breath.
“Mr. Pincer, please,” the woman said, and cleared her throat while waiting.
“Hello, yes.” She paused. “Yes, she sure is. You goddit. Yes, put ta word out. Very good.” The chair squeaked again and all was quiet except for the soft clacking of computer keys. Early was just getting ready to pop out and scurry down the hall, when she heard a creak-shwump-swish-swish and the woman’s legs swept by. Early watched the shiny stockings vanish. All was quiet. She jumped up and ducked into Ms. Whissel’s cubicle to see what she’d been typing. If she got caught, Early could pretend she was going for tissues.
Her heart pounding, she leaned close and read an e-mail directed to all employees of History and Social Sciences:
FOR SECURITY REASONS, AS YOU HEARD IN A MEETING LAST WEEK, YOU MAY NOT DISCUSS ANYTHING TO DO WITH DASHEL PEARL WITH ANY VISITORS TO THE LIBRARY. IF YOU HAVE QUESTIONS OR NEW INFORMATION, PLEASE CONTACT MR. PINCER.
Early hugged her notebook and scurried down another branch of the hallway. It ended in a door. Taking a deep breath, she turned the knob and pulled.
She was facing a small, brightly lit room lined floor to ceiling with books. A number of file cabinets divided the space. The Limited Access room!
Dash had once brought her here, explaining that this was where high-security books and articles were kept. They were never checked out, as they might not come back. This was where you’d come to read about crimes, murders, drugs, gangs, stuff like that. Dash said that folks on both sides of the law did research there.
Early thought about that as she looked around.
One wall was glass and faced the open stacks of the sixth floor. In the middle of this wall was the public entrance door, behind the librarians’ counter. Several adults, seated at long wooden tables in the center of the room, bent low over piles of books and papers. All was quiet. Early was wondering how on earth she could blend in when she spotted Mr. Waive’s ears.
He was crouched over a screen in the corner, his finger following fine lines of print. Early tiptoed across the room. When she hit a squeak in the floor, Mr. Waive looked up, but only from the side of his eye.
The grin-frown was back. “What took you so long?” he asked, in that raspy whisper. “Been waiting.”
Catch, from the Middle English cacchen
Verb: to capture or seize; to discover with surprise; to
lead astray by twisting the truth; to pick up, as with
germs; to see.
Noun: a tricky or unsuspected situation; a prize
worth having.
Catch
Mr. Waive pointed at the screen. “Chicago crime rings. Al Capone and his buddies. One of the specialties of your father’s department and most of the collection is right here. As you know, this city has a long, distinguished history of gangsters, thieves, smugglers, clever frauds, and forgeries. Unexplained disappearances. Your father is just one in a long list of missing people. Fascinating, I must say!”
Early sat down at the computer next to Mr. Waive and opened her notebook. “Mr. Wa —” she began.
He rushed on, “If anyone asks, you’re with me. I’m your teacher, and you’re doing a project on Chicago crime. Got it?”
She nodded again. “Mr. Waive, there’s bad news. About Dash.”
This time he looked directly at her. Careful to keep her voice just above a whisper, she told him right away about the discovery of the diamond, giving him the Pincer version.
While Early spoke, Mr. Waive bowed his head and placed his hands together over his mouth, as if praying. After she’d finished, he remained in that position. Silence.
Finally he raised his head and asked softly, “You sure that diamond story is the best you can do?”
Early’s heart beat fast, and panicky sweat prickled on her neck. Now what? Bad idea, lying to Mr. Waive; of course he’d seen through it.
She swallowed, a loud ga-glump sound, and muttered, “Well, no, sorry about that. I was just trying to stick with what the police told Sum to do, that is, keep quiet about where the stone came from, but …” Early then shared all that she knew.
Mr. Waive’s eyebrows went up and down, but he said nothing. When she’d finished, he reached across her, turned on her computer, and typed Antwerp diamond heist 2003 into the search bar, did the same on his computer, and sat back. “Let’s start here,” he said. “First thing to do is learn about the crime.”
The next ten minutes were quiet while both of them read. Early couldn’t help wondering what Dash would think of all this: a mysterious, sparkly gemstone from the biggest diamond theft ever, and found in their apartment! And she, Early, sitting next to Mr. Waive in the Limited Access room and reading about where that diamond had been.
The facts we
re hard to absorb. On that fateful February night so many years ago, thousands of cut and uncut diamonds, bars of gold, loose gemstones, and pieces of jewelry were stolen from a vault in the Antwerp Diamond Center, a business thought to be one of the most secure in the world. This was an ingenious crime, one in which layers of security cameras and alarms were silently disabled. A vault with a code that was thought to be unbreakable was entered and exited as if by magic. Of 160 locked storage units, 123 were emptied overnight. The criminals left a trail of dropped stones, watches, and rolling pearls in their haste to carry off a giant load.
Many questions remain unanswered, both about how this crime was carried out and whether all involved were caught. Four Italian men eventually went to prison, all members of a professional group of criminals known as the School of Turin. Each had a special capability. With nicknames like the King of Keys, the Genius, the Monster, and Speedy, they soon caught the imagination of the press. Those who were arrested haven’t revealed their methods in any believable way, but admitted that years went into preparation and planning.
The four were only traced because of trash dumped hurriedly in woods by the side of a road as the thieves sped away the following morning. Someone who walked often around this property found the pile that very day. Eventually, arrests were made based on DNA collected from a partly eaten salami sandwich and a bit of tape used to wrap one of the vault cameras; receipts from a grocery store near the criminals’ Antwerp rental; and faces recorded on neighborhood store surveillance cameras. One easily recognizable diamond — a huge and valuable certified stone from the Diamond Center vault — was found in the Italian home of one of the thieves after he was finally taken into custody. Aside from tiny gems stuck to the garbage and this one stone, however, the thousands of cut and uncut diamonds that were stolen on that extraordinary February day had yet to be found. The estimated value was staggering: between 100 and 140 million dollars.
“After this week, once the news gets out, they’ll have to rewrite the account,” muttered Mr. Waive. “Now that a stone from the most famous heist ever has turned up in Chicago, the FBI will be all over the city like kids on Halloween candy. Amazing story, huh?”
Hold Fast (9780545510196) Page 13
