At the street, Gracie looked around for somewhere they might eat lunch. It was a little late, probably the reason they weren’t thinking very creatively. They turned toward the Paradeplatz, which seemed a likely place for food at any hour. They’d gone no more than a few yards when, suddenly, Pen stopped.
“It’s him!” She whispered urgently. “Richard Stone—I mean, whatever he’s called now.”
Stone/Morrell had walked right past them, preoccupied with a device in his hand. Pen saw him reach for the hotel’s front door, a moment before he looked up and spotted her.
“Hello, Mr. Stone. Or is it Morrell?”
His face registered shock, then recognition dawned. His thoughts were clear as a book—how had this woman found him?
The hand with the phone dropped into his pocket and a smile curved his mouth. Then he spun away from the women and ran.
“Quick! After him!” Gracie shouted, looping her purse strap across her body and taking off after the fleeing thief.
Pen gave chase but her flimsy shoes were no match for the cobbled street. In under two blocks she’d fallen far behind. She shouted encouragement to Gracie as Morrell dashed in front of an oncoming car, crossed the street and ducked into another arm of the labyrinth.
Chapter 46
Frank’s mind raced faster than his feet. It was the lady from Scottsdale, the one whose necklace right now rested inside the money belt under his shirt. How the hell had she found him almost half a world away? He cut across the cobbled street, barreling in front of a slow-moving car, not daring to look back and see if the women were behind him.
He had no idea how the younger woman fit into all this, but she was quick. Thirty-something with long dark hair and a chin dimple—a quick impression before it occurred to him rather than talk his way out of this one he should simply beat it out of there.
A couple blocks from the hotel a clothing shop came up on the right—could he duck inside? Too chancy. A likely trap. A display of ladies sweaters with sparkly trims sat out front. A scene from a movie flashed at him. Knock it into the path of his pursuer. He grabbed for it with his right hand, aimed wrong and smacked the hand against the metal rack. Pain shot clear to his shoulder, the sweaters swung wildly but the thing didn’t tip. The move only slowed him and he could hear the woman’s pounding footsteps behind.
“Call the police!” she shouted to a shop clerk who peered out.
Frank pushed for more speed, but his mental prowess outweighed the physical. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to actually outrun someone. His breath became ragged and his heart pounded alarmingly. He covered three more blocks, making a fresh turn each time, but she was close enough he couldn’t lose her.
One more. Surely he must be nearing the train station by now. Crowds would help. He zigzagged to his left. Stopped short. It was a dead-end alley.
He spun. The woman spotted his move and stood at the narrow opening. She halted there, breathing hard, hands on her hips, recovering her strength. She’d called out a couple of times for police—who knew whether anyone responded or how close the cops could be. He had to get out of this cage.
From a trash barrel beside the back door of a business, he spotted a worn-out broom. He grabbed the handle, brandishing it like a lance.
“Back off, lady.” He tried for bluster but his voice came out almost wheezy.
She held her ground.
He advanced, swinging the broom handle. A dozen feet from her, he quit moving his weapon.
“Look, I don’t know who you think I am … just leave me alone.”
Her glare made him think of his mother when he’d eaten all the ice cream right before dinner.
“Lady …”
Her eyes darted over him, a disconcerting feeling. He had to make a move. In a flash, he rushed forward and swung the broomstick toward her head. It made contact with her forearm as she raised it to defend herself. She let out a howl of pain and he leaped past her doubled-over form. He ran until he could hear trains. When he chanced a glance backward, the woman was nowhere to be seen.
Chapter 47
Zurich, Switzerland. Now that was a different rub, Caplin thought. Two days on the phone and he’d learned a bunch. How Morrell went to Grand Cayman under another of his aliases, stiffed the hotel for a felony amount. His man was wanted in two countries now—so far. Switzerland, he had a feeling, was where the money would change hands.
Caplin wanted that to happen—he had more use for cash than a piece of antique jewelry, for certain—but he didn’t dare let Morrell get far from the transaction. The cop wanted to be on the spot, if possible, to watch the deal go down and then nab his little friend and whoever was helping him. If he chose to go the official route and could extradite them both, he’d wrap up the jewel theft by returning the piece to Mrs. Fitzpatrick, plus have the cash to replenish what he’d lost. It would be a tough sell to his captain, saying he’d advanced money of his own for a sting. There’d probably be disciplinary action. A forced early retirement. Heh-heh … he had no problem with that scenario.
Of course, if the punk made trouble, Caplin had pretty well decided he wouldn’t be above snatching the cash and heading south. Being a good cop all his life hadn’t netted him a whole lot.
He would have a good ten hours to think about his approach while he sat on a plane. It was more money out of pocket, sure, but this time he felt the investment would be worth it. For now, he planned to compile a list of known jewelry fences across the European Union. He wanted to have a decent guess at whom he was dealing with.
Chapter 48
Gracie clutched her throbbing right arm next to her body as she limped along. She’d lost track of the number of turns Morrell had made and each time she came to an intersection she searched for anything familiar. She spotted the rack of sweaters he’d tried to shove into her. A young shop clerk with purple hair and a lot of piercings was re-hanging the garments that had fallen. The hotel wasn’t much farther.
Pen came rushing up to her when she rounded the final turn.
“Oh my gosh, Gracie, he’s hurt you!”
“I’ll live.”
“You are pale as a sheet. We need to get medical attention.”
“Don’t call an ambulance—that would be over the top. It’s really not that bad,” Gracie said, pushing up her sleeve and looking. The skin wasn’t broken—thank goodness for the padding of her jacket—but it certainly hurt like crazy.
“Let’s at least inquire about a doctor.” Pen placed a hand at her good elbow and steered her toward the only place they knew nearby, Morrell’s hotel.
The desk clerk at the Alpen Haus seemed relieved to learn the accident had not happened on hotel property and was happy to recommend a doctor only one block over.
The two women walked the short distance to a single-doctor office, small and immaculate, with comfortable leather chairs and carved end tables. The magazines were all in German but the receptionist spoke perfect English. After a short wait, the kindly white-haired man was ready to see them. He examined Gracie’s arm with the tenderness and care his sixty-some years had taught him.
“Ve shall want an x-ray, ja?” He summoned a nurse and they quickly had the machine ready.
Fifteen minutes later he placed the films on a viewer on the wall and announced, “Is good news. No breaks. Zis soft tissue is very, very bruised but it will heal.”
He prescribed ice packs, a sling and pain medication, plus an herbal remedy he said to apply at night on a compress. “Keep ze arm elevated whenever you can. It will help.”
Pen thought of everything they’d been through in the past few days. She must insist Gracie stay in the room and rest while she dealt with Frank Morrell. The first thing she would do after getting her friend settled would be a visit to the police.
Although it wasn’t a long walk back to their hotel, Pen insisted on calling a taxi. Her friend looked a bit peaked around the edges.
“I feel so badly about this,” she said to Graci
e on the way to the hotel. “If he had been armed, he could have killed you.”
Gracie brushed it off. “It wouldn’t have come to that. I should have realized. He was cornered in an alley and grabbed the first thing he could find. But I agree—I got lucky. In the future I’ll think twice.”
Once in their room, Pen saw to it that Gracie took her pain meds and helped her to slip off her shoes and settle against the pillows on her bed. She phoned Amber, calculating belatedly it was rather early in Arizona and they’d already kept their young computer guru up late into the night.
Amber seemed less than pleased when she picked up. “Did you check your messages?” she asked. “I texted you before I went to bed. That gem cutter is coming in tomorrow morning—or is it this morning? I’m totally confused right now. Anyway, that Anton guy is on his way from Amsterdam to Zurich sometime soon. I sent you the flight number and time.”
“Thanks, hon. I appreciate all your work. Go back to sleep now.” Pen clicked off the call and stared at the screen on her phone. “I really must become more attuned to these things. I heard a little chime earlier and paid no attention.”
Gracie gave a woozy smile from her nest of pillows.
“Oh, here it is,” Pen said. She read the message, pleased to see the KLM flight would not arrive until tomorrow morning. She already had her hands full today.
“We need to report what we know about Morrell to the local police,” she said, more to herself than to Gracie, whose eyes were closed even though she nodded when Pen spoke.
Pen paced the room. They really should go to a police station, she supposed. The authorities would want a statement from Gracie. The attack was one issue, while the stolen necklace was another. She thought of the detective back in Arizona and how he’d eventually become dismissive of her claim. Would she run into the same attitude here?
Chapter 49
A person running through a train station normally doesn’t attract much attention, Frank discovered. His haste had nothing to do with catching a departing train at this point. He merely wanted to become lost in a crowd. He spotted a pack of American tourists following the flag of their guide and he dropped in beside them, needing a moment to think.
Penelope Fitzpatrick’s appearance here in Switzerland had shocked him to the core. How the hell had she found him? No way it was coincidence. And the woman with her—chasing him through the city—where had she come from?
The tourists paused at the entrance to the various platforms, their guide counting heads. Frank peeled off and walked briskly to a kiosk selling postcards and newspapers. What to do … He couldn’t go back to the Alpen Haus. By now the woman and her friend had no doubt summoned the authorities and his room was likely being searched. Thank goodness for the money belt around his waist, he thought for the hundredth time.
Frank had walked out several times when a con went wrong, but never with one this lucrative. He had no intention of giving up either the cash or the necklace. All he had to do was lie low until his meeting with Anton van der Went tomorrow at noon. But where?
If those women had found the small, inconspicuous Alpen Haus they could pretty much find him anywhere in Zurich. But he didn’t want to leave the city either; it was where Anton would come. He could get a message to the gem cutter, but it felt too soon to throw in a change of plans. The guy could blow him off and cancel the whole deal.
He needed time to think. He bought a newspaper he couldn’t even read—it would help with his disguise if they were looking for an American. In the men’s room he used a bit of water to mess up his hair, giving him a more youthful appearance, and he turned his casual jacket inside out. One of his father’s old teachings—buy reversible clothing whenever you could. Rather than light tan it was now a deep green.
At the ticket window he bought a ticket for the town two stations south, some place he couldn’t pronounce but it was only thirty minutes away. He could stay overnight and ride back in the morning in time to find the clock museum where Anton wanted to meet.
He found a seat facing the departure board and flipped open his newspaper, watching the crowd for cops and the board for his train. Apart from station security men, he didn’t see any extra police, certainly none who appeared to be looking for him. When his destination appeared on the board, he meandered his way to the platform. His first class seat came with beverage service and he happily accepted a beer, letting the tepid brew course through and relax him.
When Pfäffikon Station came up, he left the train at a leisurely pace. A person hurrying draws attention and one thing Frank had learned to do was to blend in and remain unnoticed. With his paper tucked under his arm, he was just another guy coming home from work, a worker heading out for a beer, a husband who wasn’t especially eager to get home just yet.
He strolled out of the station, down a street with enough traffic that he didn’t stand out, past a pharmacy and an internet café, coming to a street with several banks. Geez, they were thick around here. A block over, he came to an area of restaurants (pizza in Switzerland!) and found a picture-postcard hotel, complete with brown shutters at the windows and flower boxes full of purple petunias. No one would see it as the hideout of a man with a stolen million-dollar necklace.
He paid cash for a room on the ground floor. Inside his room, he was happy to find a menu. He would order dinner and settle in. Now, to stay low-key until late tomorrow morning when he would ride the train back into Zurich.
Chapter 50
When Gracie woke from her short nap, Pen shared the thoughts which had run through her head for the past hour. “If my necklace is sitting there in his hotel room, I must try to get it back.”
Even as she said it, Pen realized Morrell could have easily gone back to his room and cleared it while they’d been at the doctor’s office. If only she’d thought to demand to be let into his room immediately after he’d run. Then she had an idea—more than one side could play at this game.
Gracie started to get out of bed but any movement of her injured arm caused her to flinch. Pen helped her to stand, waited while Gracie was in the bathroom, then insisted she get back in bed.
“I have a plan,” Pen said. “It shouldn’t take more than an hour. You rest some more and take another of your pain pills when the time comes.”
“What are you—?”
Pen held up a hand. “Don’t worry. Just a little lying and trickery. I’ll be right back.”
She popped out of the room before Gracie could protest. They both had cell phones and although the international charges were fairly outrageous, it was reassuring to have the means for emergency contact in place. She followed their earlier route and found herself at Alpen Haus.
A peek through the front windows showed a different clerk on duty so she mustered up her bravery and walked in, a worried look on her face.
“Excuse me,” she said. “My nephew, Richard Frank, is staying here. He called me awhile ago to say he wasn’t feeling well. It worried me and I need to go check on him. It’s room 314. Might I get a key so I don’t have to wake him if he’s asleep? I just want to peep in.”
The young female clerk hesitated, then reached for the telephone.
“Do you not understand that I don’t want to wake him?” Pen held her hand out, feeling fluttery inside but appearing outwardly confident of getting her way.
A half-minute later, with a key in her hand, she quickly walked to the elevator. At the door to 314 she debated knocking. She didn’t want a confrontation, but with warning Morrell would be prepared. She inserted the plastic card into the mechanism and walked in.
The room was dim and hollow-feeling. She knew at once he was not there. As on Cayman, she found a scattering of personal items left behind—disposable shaving gear in the bathroom, a wrinkled shirt on the floor. A nice suit hung in the closet. This time, there was also a suitcase. In it she found a laptop computer and small portable printer. Temptation pulled at her; this computer probably held all sorts of valuable information that coul
d help catch the con man. On the other hand, all she really wanted was her own property. If she could find her necklace, she would be happy never to see or hear of Frank Morrell again. She went through every zippered pocket on the suitcase but found nothing of interest.
Quickly circling the room, she opened each drawer. All were—no surprise—empty. The pillows, linens and under the mattress also yielded nothing. On hands and knees, she examined the undersides of furniture, drawers and the bathroom vanity. She came back to the suitcase, reached for the computer and pulled it from the bag. Even a short peek might give a clue as to his plans.
She raised the lid, staring at the black screen. A sound caught her attention. The door to the hallway rattled, the handle turning. Pen held her breath, thinking frantically for an explanation.
On the other side of the door a cell phone rang some complicated musical tone. The door handle stopped moving and she heard an unfamiliar male voice answer in German. She slowly exhaled, not daring to make a sound while the man stood directly outside. He spoke loudly enough that if she’d known more than a few phrases, she could have followed the conversation. The voice was not Frank Morrell’s—for that, she was thankful.
Could it be the police? Just because she and Gracie had not reported the attack, it didn’t mean someone else hadn’t. The doctor, perhaps. The clerk on duty when it happened might have given out Morrell’s room number. He might have also mentioned two women who’d come looking for the guest in 314. If so, she could hardly pull the visiting-aunt excuse.
The conversation lasted an interminable three minutes by Pen’s watch. At last, the man began to move away, still talking, his voice becoming fainter. She slipped Morrell’s computer back into the suitcase, tiptoed to the door and peered out the peephole. No sign of a person. With a gentle touch she opened the door and glanced both directions into the corridor. He was gone.
Diamonds Aren't Forever Page 14
