Diamonds Aren't Forever

by Connie Shelton

  Calling in a favor from an old buddy in the major crimes division of the FBI had netted Caplin a list of potential fences who could 1) financially handle a piece as important as the tsarina’s necklace, 2) had contacts to either dismantle the piece or sell it privately, and 3) weren’t already in prison. Right now he had short-listed six such men and he wanted the opinion of this Manheim as to which might be the most likely to meet with Morrell.

  Caplin knew he didn’t have much time. Once Morrell made his deal he would likely be on the next plane to Anywhere In The World. And, of course, he had to tread carefully—he was here with no official authorization from his own department, working an old case without any of his superiors’ knowledge.

  His vague nervousness was alleviated as soon as he met Detective Manheim, a man in a business suit, about his own age, clearly a veteran who’d seen a lot. The man’s smile and handshake established an immediate camaraderie.

  “Come into my little office,” Manheim invited.

  The space was actually more of a cubicle but he offered coffee, which Caplin gratefully accepted.

  “Let’s see this list of names you spoke about.”

  Caplin handed over a copy. “The piece I’m looking for is worth over a million dollars. It was taken in a single-item robbery at a museum in my city. We ran out of leads so I’m working this on my own time.” Covering my ass in case you decide to discuss this with my boss. “I tracked the chief suspect to Grand Cayman and learned he had flown here to Zurich two days ago.”

  “Most certainly, if he wants to fence the necklace, he will try to accomplish it quickly. These sorts do not like to spend a lot of time in one place.”

  “Exactly. I believe he stayed on Cayman just long enough to make contact with whoever he plans to meet here.”

  Manheim had a pen in hand and tapped it against the paper in his hand. “This first one—he is most likely not the one. Two days ago we learned he had been detained in London with questions about his travel papers. I think he is not able to move about so freely as your thief would like.”

  Caplin waited, letting the detective take his time.

  “A problem we have here at the moment, there is a major jewel theft ring operating through much of western Europe, especially in the playgrounds of the wealthy. You may have noticed the high-end shops here in Zurich. Two jewelry stores have been targets in recent weeks, with robberies over a hundred-thousand euro each. Total is probably … um …around two-hundred-fifty thousand US dollars. Only from these two shops. When you factor in other robberies in London, Paris, Monaco and along the Côte d'Azur … well, we are into the millions.”

  “And the names on my list? Are some of these men connected with this ring?”

  “Ja, I know two of these by reputation. It would certainly be my pleasure to arrest them both.”

  Caplin felt his smile freeze in place. He really didn’t want another department confronting his suspect. The idea was to get his own hands on the cash rightfully due him.

  “Is either of them, say, likely to have been in contact with an American in the past few days?” Careful how you phrase this, Caplin reminded himself.

  Manheim gazed upward as he considered the question. “If I were to make an educated guess, I would favor the Dutchman, van der Went. All things considered, including his ability to come up with the amount of cash to purchase the piece you describe, he could handle it. Ja, he would be my bet. Of course, this Parisian named LeClair—he is a tricky one and he travels widely. I shall run this passport information for you, find out if either has traveled to the places you mention.”

  “Thank you,” Caplin said. “Any information is helpful.”

  Manheim stood. “It should take only a few minutes. Would you care for another coffee?”

  Caplin declined the beverage; he’d had two already this morning. He heard the other detective speak to someone a couple of workspaces away, asking for a computer search of the most recent travel by the two names he’d mentioned.

  “Yes, sir,” the female officer replied. “There’s also …” Her voice dropped and Caplin assumed the two had walked away.

  Manheim returned a few minutes later, carrying a steaming coffee for himself. “Ah, you see, now there’s another jewel theft reported just now. Apparently a personal loss at one of the local hotels.” He gave a what-can-you-do shrug.

  “So, these men—the Frenchman and the Dutch—are they both linked with this international theft ring?” Caplin asked. “I’d like to have their dossiers, if possible.”

  “Most definitely. I have asked my colleague to print information for you, including photos of identification and what we know about each man’s methods. If you are able to take even one of them off the streets, well, much power to you.”

  Caplin smiled.

  Within ten minutes, a female uniformed sergeant appeared. “The files you requested,” she said, handing over two neatly labeled manila folders.

  The detective took them and flipped open the first one, taking a glance before he turned them over to Caplin.

  “Ah, now here is an interesting bit,” he said. “Anton van der Went. He flew into Zurich just this morning, an early flight from Amsterdam.”

  Caplin’s alarm bells went off. This had to be the one.

  “He listed a private address where he would be staying during his visit. It’s all in here.” He handed the two folders to Caplin. “Good luck with everything, sir, and do not hesitate to call if you have additional evidence. As I mentioned, I would be very pleased to arrest either of these men.”

  They shook hands and Caplin said he could find his own way out. He walked the aisle between the half-dozen cubicles that made up the detective unit at the station. Conversations in Swiss German flowed—it was quite a busy department, he realized. He was almost back to the station’s main corridor when he caught sight of a dark-haired woman in a very short skirt sitting in one of the cubicles. What had caught his attention was that the officer there was speaking English.

  “Yes, Mrs. Fitzpatrick, we shall certainly investigate the loss of your necklace. It’s only that we cannot promise a quick result for you.”

  Caplin froze. Fitzpatrick?

  “I know who committed the crime,” came a familiar woman’s voice. “It’s a man named Frank Morrell, an American, and he plans to meet with someone called Anton van der Went to sell my stolen heirloom.”

  Caplin was now certain. How had she managed to track Morrell to Zurich? And van der Went? She already knew about him?

  He wanted to stay and listen to the rest of the interview but didn’t dare. If Penelope Fitzpatrick spotted him, she would question his being in the city. He’d been very firm with her—sorry, the case is closed. She clearly was no dummy and she would easily connect the dots and figure out he was somehow involved with the thieves. He needed to get the hell out of there—fast.

  Chapter 55

  Frank leaned against a gray stone wall, breathless and dizzy. What had just happened back there? Were the gem cutter and the old woman working together, and how was the dark-haired good-looking one involved? He couldn’t believe he hadn’t recognized her; he would have beat it out of there right away. If the Fitzpatrick woman was working with Anton van der Went, how did they know each other? Was it pure luck for them or had they pulled one over on him? His thoughts ricocheted like the steel ball in a pinball machine.

  He stared at the narrow strip of gray sky above the alley where he’d run, instinct taking over, after he crawled out of the air duct in that restroom and dodged through the hotel’s utility rooms and kitchen, finally stumbling through the delivery entrance and running for his life. The women had no doubt called the police, who were probably swarming the place by now.

  The more he thought about that scenario, the more convinced he became—the ladies were working on their own. Van der Went was a separate entity. Probably. One way to find out. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket but there was no signal, buried deep as he was in the maze of hi
gh buildings. He jogged to the opposite end of the alley from where he’d come and looked around. A small park was across the street, the kind where young mothers brought kids in strollers and a few suited businessmen sat on benches getting a little sun during their lunch hours. He could fit in well enough, he decided.

  Enough with text messages and notes, he thought as he saw the bars on the phone’s display rise. I’m calling this dude.

  A gruff male voice picked up after one ring. “Anton. What the hell?” Frank said.

  “You tell me. I don’t play these games, Morrell. You send me notes? Come on.”

  “Don’t blame me. How do I know what you’re up to?”

  “Listen, I could give a shit about your item. You need something from me. You don’t play the game by my rules, I walk.”

  Frank caught a whiff of a bluff there, but did he dare take the chance? He wanted to leave this city with cash in hand, not a hot piece of jewelry that was becoming more dangerous by the day.

  “How do I know you even have the piece you claim? You know, there’s much bigger fish out there these days—sure thing deals with people I already know.”

  This time there was no bluff.

  “Okay, okay,” Frank said. He looked around and spotted a newspaper at the top of a trash bin. “I’ll send you a picture to prove I’ve got it. Then we meet. You brought cash right?”

  Anton chuffed. “Amateur.”

  “Two minutes. You’ll have a picture.”

  Frank folded the paper on the bench beside him, masthead showing the date at the top. This was a risk, taking the necklace out in broad daylight, but he was tired of the delays. Assuring he had this corner of the park to himself, he reached under his shirt, removed the necklace from the money belt and laid it across the page. Snap, snap—a photo and a Send. He set the phone down and quickly re-stashed the jewels.

  Anton called back immediately. “This piece, it is from zat museum job in Arizona, few months ago.”

  “Yes, that’s the one.”

  “I followed the story. Later, they say the necklace was not worth anything. You trying to fool Anton with a fake?”

  Frank went into the explanation about the switch, finding himself losing patience once again. “Look, you’ll have to see the piece. Verify it for yourself.”

  He worked to keep his tone cool, as if the sale meant nothing to him. He could find any number of buyers for the piece. Yeah, in theory. But the reality was he’d become sick of the hassle. The game had been fun for awhile. Now he wanted to dump this thing and get on with something else, something easier.

  “I will call you back in ten minutes with a meeting place,” Anton said. The line went dead.

  Chapter 56

  Penelope and Gracie sat at the desk of the officer who’d taken their story about the encounters with Frank Morrell, aka Richard Frank, their visits to his hotel, the chase through the streets and resulting injury to Gracie, this morning’s encounter and the oh-so-close chance to get her necklace back from the thief. The officer was very Swiss-polite and assured her they would look for the necklace, although he advised they could not promise a quick result. She felt her mood plummet, discouraged with police who dutifully took reports but never solved her problem.

  “Our lead detective may have some useful information. When he is finished with his current interview—”

  “I am finished,” said a new voice. A tall man with handsome touches of gray at his temples stood at the opening to the cube. “How may I help you?”

  The first officer introduced him as Detective Manheim of the Kantonspolizei’s robbery division, then went on to recap what the ladies had reported.

  “Ah, another jewel theft,” Manheim said, leaning against the wall somewhat gingerly. “I’m sorry to report they are happening everywhere. We suspect the notorious Golden Tiger theft ring, although now we are seeing what you would call copy-cat thieves as well. Last weekend two gunmen brazenly raided a very large jewelry show in Cannes, taking more than a hundred million dollars in diamonds.”

  Pen’s astonishment must have shown on her face.

  “While your loss is very sad, it is but one piece in a very large puzzle, I’m afraid,” Manheim said. “Please be assured we are working with the authorities in France and other countries to track and capture these criminals.”

  The other officer spoke up. “Many of these thefts have happened in the south of France, you see. Interpol is already setting very tight security measures in place for the Cannes Film Festival next month.”

  Detective Manheim read Penelope’s expression. “Yes, I know, that has nothing to do with your case. All we can say is that we are closely on the trail of these men and when we catch them, all efforts will be made to match the stolen gems with their original owners. Yours is only one of a half-dozen or so where the diamonds came from private owners or historical collections. One case—so sad—an elderly woman’s priceless diamond ring, given by her late husband before he died, was taken from her at gunpoint. We do not see these things in Switzerland. We are as shocked by the brazenness of it as anyone.”

  Not exactly reassuring words, Pen wanted to say. She glanced at Gracie who appeared to be tiring quickly. Her poor friend had endured too much in the last twenty-four hours. She picked up her purse, signed the police report the officer had printed for her, and they left.

  Outside, thick clouds had begun to form. The sky seemed to mirror their own discouragement.

  “I don’t feel much hope about this,” Pen confided as they walked toward their hotel.

  “I know. I still cannot figure out how Frank Morrell got away this morning.”

  “The police found an air vent fastened with only one screw. It must have been his hiding place. But how he got out of the room itself … the man is like an eel, slipping away as if the walls can’t hold him.”

  “I think what bothers me most is that the whole thing is so overwhelming. I’m not at all convinced Morrell is part of some international theft ring. Everything about him seems to say he’s a lot more local. He’s American—the rest of them operate in France. He scammed those people on Grand Cayman with an investment scheme.”

  “So, even if the international police find and recover the stolen diamonds they’re looking for?”

  “I don’t hold much hope mine will be with them. This chase got you injured, sweetie. The men have managed to stay leaps ahead of us and they’ve outsmarted the police in at least two countries. How can we handle this? It’s too much.”

  They passed a pastry shop with an enticing window display of cakes and delicate cookies. Their footsteps slowed.

  “We missed lunch,” Pen said. “Let’s see if we can get a sandwich or salad and top it with a nice dessert.”

  Gracie didn’t argue. As they took seats, she pulled her silk scarf from her purse and Pen helped fashion it into the sling for her arm once more.

  “Better,” Gracie said once her sore arm was elevated.

  They ordered salads and felt their energy return. Gracie was first to steer the conversation back to the necklace.

  “Knowledge is power, I’m always telling my kids. When they need information, I make them go look it up.”

  “And …?”

  “And we have dear Amber as our walking, talking encyclopedia, the queen of search engines, right? Maybe she’ll have some ideas for us. Don’t give up yet, Pen. Your grandfather’s work was important to him and to your whole family. I don’t want to see us quit until we’ve tried everything we can.”

  Dessert was a gigantic piece of chocolate cake with frosting that melted in the mouth. Split in half, it was still more than the two of them could handle so they had their leftovers put into a take-out box.

  “Okay, the meal helped a lot,” Gracie announced as they entered the quiet sanctuary of their hotel room. “I say we call Amber before it gets any later there. Maybe she can set up the call so it includes Sandy and we can all talk out a plan.”

  Pen nodded, still feeling discourag
ed.

  Bless her, Amber immediately got the discussion going. “Let’s see what we can learn about this jewel theft ring,” she suggested right away.

  “Also, can you track the movements of Anton van der Went and/or Frank Morrell? If one or both of them are working with the big guys, we need to know. And if they aren’t, maybe there’s something we can do on our own.”

  Sandy came on. “I’ve been thinking about what happened to Gracie, the attack when she cornered Morrell. We should take self-defense classes.”

  “What? Right here and now?” Pen was half joking.

  “Well … I suppose that wouldn’t be practical. Let’s keep it in mind though, for when you get home. I know someone who could instruct us.”

  Amber turned the topic again. “I’ve found some articles about the big jewel thefts in Europe. I’m forwarding them to you guys. Read up and see if any ideas come to mind. Meanwhile, I’ll dig deeper.”

  “For now, you both should rest,” Sandy said. “It’s been a stressful day for you.”

  In so many ways.

  Pen thought of the moment she’d almost had her hands on her missing necklace, the feel of it through the fabric money belt worn by Frank Morrell. If only she’d yanked the belt off him or at least insisted he disrobe right there. How could she have been taken in once again?

  She lay in bed that night, a carousel of dark thoughts circling through her head. It frustrated her that there was nothing they could do until they either heard from the police or until Amber came back with new information.

  For the first time since leaving home, she felt despair creep over her.

  Chapter 57

  Anton’s call was more like thirty minutes in coming, time where Frank’s emotions ran the gamut. He was scared the renowned fence had decided to drop the deal; he became angry the guy was jerking him around; he wanted his money out of this thing—now; he wished he’d stuck with stock market scams played on clueless old guys with big egos. Why had he thought the museum job would be a cinch?