Diamonds Aren't Forever

by Connie Shelton

  He kept his spot on the park bench, pretending to read the German language newspaper, his eyes darting about to see if Anton was out there, checking him out, staying defensive in case someone else had noticed the necklace and was planning a robbery of his own. But the people in the park seemed to fall into two categories: office workers whose lunch hours ended so they meandered away, and mothers with cranky kids who either fell asleep in their prams or got taken home for a real nap. As far as he could tell, the entire crowd had regular turnover. When his phone rang, it startled him.

  “Okay, we meet,” said Anton. “Where are you now?”

  Frank wasn’t entirely sure. He read off the impossibly long name of a street sign and described the park.

  “You have been there all this time? A park bench showed in your photo.”

  “Yes, same bench.”

  “Too long in one place. Police could be watching.”

  Frank craned his neck to look in all directions and didn’t see any but at this point he wasn’t going to contradict the gem cutter. “Fine. Tell me where.”

  “Send me a picture of yourself,” Anton said. “It had better match the one I have.”

  Okay, a wise precaution, Frank thought. But where had Anton gotten a photo of him?

  “You do the same,” Frank said.

  “No—this is my call. You will follow instructions. Send the picture. Then add one red item to your clothing, something I will immediately see.”

  Frank had hoped to change his appearance a bit more than that, just in case the Fitzpatrick woman was out and happened to spot him.

  Anton gave an address on Bahnhofstrasse, which Frank immediately knew would be near the train station. Handy for a quick getaway. A likely spot the police would be surveilling. Again, he wished he could go by his hotel here in the city and retrieve his laptop and suitcase, but it seemed riskier than ever at this point. The women had undoubtedly reported this morning’s encounter to the police, complete with his name, local address, and description right down to the clothing.

  “Twenty minutes will give you adequate time,” Anton said. He hung up.

  Frank snapped the required photo, making sure it showed mostly his face. Sent it to Anton then quickly walked out of the park. A shop two blocks away had a rack of casual jackets out on the sidewalk, end-of-winter clearance. He picked up a red one and pretended to examine it until the clerk inside was looking the other direction. Bunching it up, he held it close in front of him until he turned the corner, where he ripped off the tags and slipped it on over the blue suit Penelope would recognize. Adding a pronounced limp to his gait, he went to the next corner and hailed a taxi, giving the address Anton had told him.

  The café near the rail station had a low metal fence surrounding outdoor tables that didn’t look so inviting today. The clouds overhead had grown thicker and threatened rain, and a stiff breeze fluttered the awning. Frank glanced around, saw no one watching the place, and took a seat as instructed. A steady stream of traffic went by, both taxis and private cars, delivering and picking up passengers from the train station, but no one was interested in food at the moment because the café tables remained empty. When he looked more closely at the building itself, no lights shone through the windows and he saw a small sign which he took to mean the place was closed. He felt a wriggle of concern.

  Had Anton deliberately set him up to look suspicious, or was this part of the test? He would give it two more minutes. He glanced at his Rolex and when he looked up saw a stocky man with red-blond hair approaching. He wore a working man’s clothing—wrinkled pants and a coarse shirt. Frank purposely looked away, Mr. Casualness himself. At the last possible moment the blond man stepped over the low fence and headed for the restaurant’s door.

  “Frank. Do not acknowledge me but wait until I walk away and follow. Stay ten or twenty feet behind me.” Anton feigned surprise at the dark restaurant, looked at the sign, checked his watch, then walked away.

  Seriously? Frank couldn’t decide whether to laugh at the drama or grab the man by his sleeve and pull him to a chair at his same table. In the end, he did as instructed, walking casually and pausing now and then to look in a shop window for a moment.

  Anton walked four blocks then opened a glass door which opened into a small vestibule. Frank caught up as Anton made a show of checking one of the mailboxes on a wall full of them.

  “Lose that stupid red coat,” he muttered under his breath. “Check your mail then come upstairs to this one.” His finger tapped the front of the box numbered 206.

  It grated on Frank to be treated as such a child, given instructions step by step, although he had to admit the extra maneuvers had probably kept them from being noticed. He fiddled with a mailbox, then slipped his coat off. At a moment when no passersby were near, he stuffed the coat into a tall trashcan in the little lobby. The door to apartment 206 stood open about an inch and he tapped before entering. Anton appeared to be alone, although Morrell blatantly snooped into the galley kitchen and tiny bathroom before he took the chair suggested by his host.

  “Let’s see the merchandise,” Anton said, hand extended, fingers wiggling.

  Frank didn’t see any point in dallying. He reached into his shirt and worked the money belt zipper, pulling the necklace out. It had been awhile since he’d looked closely at it and, as always, its intricacy and sparkle quickened his breath.

  “Beautiful piece,” Anton said, pulling a loupe from his shirt pocket and starting at one end to examine the stones. “Very fine work.”

  “Supposed to date back to the early 1900s or something. Museum had it displayed as something once worn by some Russian royalty.”

  “The tsarina, Alexandra,” Anton said without missing a beat.

  Like Frank gave a shit about fancy European titles. To him, the piece was jewelry that was worth cash. A lot of it.

  “I can move the piece,” Anton said. “Something like this, a private collector will want. No need to recut the stones. Of course, unless things become too hot. There is a lot going on right now.”

  “I don’t care about that. How much can you give me for it today?”

  “So impatient, Americans. Everything is right now, right away. What do they call—immediate gratification?”

  “So? Yeah, I’d like to move it today.”

  Anton took his eye away from the necklace. “I will show it to some people—colleagues. We shall see what we can offer.” He started to place the necklace in his pocket.

  “Oh, no, no, no. The necklace stays with me until cash changes hands.”

  “Typically, a wire transfer to your account,” Anton said.

  “Nuh-uh. You think I was born yesterday? Nothing I can’t carry away in my hands.”

  The Dutchman’s look said that’s exactly what he thought of Frank—this was a rube with no sophistication in the diamond trade. Well, fine. He could think whatever he wanted but Frank was not letting that piece out of his sight. He held out his hand and Anton handed the jewels back to him.

  “This thing is bigger than you think, American. Bigger than Interpol. And the reason it stays that way is we check everything. And we double-check it.”

  “Fine with me. But I’m going to be closer than your twin in the womb until we make a fair exchange. You get the jewels, I get cash money. One million U.S. dollars.”

  This time Anton actually laughed out loud. He stood up. “Get out of here. You seem inexperienced but you aren’t stupid. The very most you’ll get is a third of that.”

  Frank debated walking out. He hated the Dutchman’s haughty manner. He wanted the cash from this job—the whole thing had become a giant pain in the ass. But he’d pulled too many cons over too many years to ever let the prize out of his sight.

  “Five hundred thousand,” he said.

  “Three-fifty. If you want it, we leave in an hour.”

  Chapter 58

  Caplin left the police station as quickly as possible, using a side exit and hailing a cab almost immediatel
y. Two blocks away he stopped looking over his shoulder. It was worrisome the Fitzpatrick woman was here and she knew almost as much about the case as he did. He’d always been the kind of cop who wanted to understand the details, the one who worked the jigsaw puzzle of each case with an eye toward the finished picture. It bothered him that she’d turned up with so many of the pieces already in place. Had she actually seen Frank Morrell with the necklace? He wasn’t sure, based on the fraction of the conversation he’d overheard just now.

  He gave the cab driver the address of his hotel and clutched the police files closely to his chest until they arrived. In this comedy of errors and coincidences, it occurred to him that he might have another potential disaster on his hands if it turned out Mrs. Fitzpatrick happened to be staying in the same hotel. As far as he knew, her not knowing he was in the city was his one advantage over her.

  He paid the driver and went inside, stopping at the front desk. No, he was told, there was no one named Fitzpatrick registered. He started to walk away when he remembered the younger woman at the police station, the one wearing the short skirt which had first attracted his attention. He turned back to the clerk and described her, but the clerk could only say she didn’t remember anyone specifically like this woman he was looking for.

  Settled once again in his small room, Caplin brewed a cup of coffee in the tiny carafe provided and settled with the files, leaning back against the headboard of his bed. He liked to start at the end of the file, the beginning of the case, and watch how it had unfolded for the local police. He opened the first file and flipped to the back.

  The dossier included background information on Interpol’s lead suspect, Andrej Lubnic, who had escaped from a Swiss prison six months earlier. The forty-five-year-old man was found guilty in 2010 of several jewel thefts, sentenced to ten years in prison and apparently escaped with inside help and another prisoner for company. Like the famous Pink Panther theft network, this one had pulled off dozens of robberies in watch and jewelry stores throughout Europe and the Middle East, oftentimes with one lone gunman walking into a store, smashing display cases, scooping up bags full of treasure.

  Caplin’s eyelids were drooping by the time he caught up with Lubnic’s current movements. The chase appeared headed for Nice, France where, according to notes Manheim had made for him this morning, the city would be packed during the coming two weeks. With a renaissance festival, a sailing regatta, Le Mans car race and art festival all taking place at the same time as the year’s largest jewelry show, there would be plenty of ways for thieves to target the jewels. Costumes and getaway measures would abound, and even security on high alert would be hard-pressed to watch everything at once.

  It was a good news/bad news situation. If Caplin could get to Frank Morrell in the midst of the melee, he would have as good a chance as anyone of getting away once he’d collected his money from the con man. On the other hand, catching one thief in a city full of them—with international police forces watching their every move—that would be the challenge.

  He closed the folders and picked up the phone. Twenty minutes later, he had a seat booked on the first flight to Nice in the morning.

  Chapter 59

  The moment the train rolled out of the Zurich bahnhof, Frank felt his mood rise. No way would some women put the fear in him! This was his game—he called the plays. The joy of the con was always in the act of walking away, cutting out, getting away with it. The necklace rested safely against his belly and the guy who would pay big money for it was sitting three rows ahead of him.

  Van der Went insisted they travel separately, but that didn’t mean Frank wouldn’t have his eye on the Dutchman during the trip. He studied the man, as much for his style as for the deal they were about to complete. Anton looked like a mill worker on his way home, blending seamlessly with others in the commuting crowd in his wrinkled pants and coarse shirt, a flat cap on his head, a small knapsack near his feet. At the next stop, a lot of the working types got off. Anton draped his casual jacket over his seat and visited the lavatory. Frank tensed, wondering if Anton was pulling a sneaky way of getting off the train. But the man came back wearing a neat white shirt and tie, and the pants had lost a lot of their slouchy appearance. His hair was combed and he stowed the cap and rough shirt in the knapsack.

  Frank was impressed. Most people would never realize they were looking at the same man. At the next stop, the casual jacket got turned inside out changing its color from blue to gray. The knapsack went from cloth to leather, and the man now wore a pair of wire-rimmed glasses and spent the rest of the ride consulting his smart phone.

  Frank realized he would need to implement similar changes in his own appearance before he finalized the deal with Anton and these colleagues. By the time he boarded a flight for America, he’d better be someone that no one in Europe would remember.

  Chapter 60

  Gracie noticed the display on Penelope’s ringing mobile phone. Amber. Pen was in the shower so Gracie picked it up.

  “We’re coming to join you!” Amber said. “Sandy and I.”

  “Oh, thank you! She’s been really low … But, are you sure? I mean, it’s expensive and you shouldn’t miss work …”

  “We’ve both taken vacation days. Four of us can accomplish more, plus we felt so bad that you got hurt. All I need to know is what’s the best way to get from the airport to your hotel?”

  “Well, slight change of plans. Pen overheard the police detective in Zurich talking about a gang of active jewel thieves in France. We think Frank Morrell is heading for Nice, on the south coast. We’re leaving today to go there. Does that mess up your plans?”

  “Easy change. I’ll get it done now.”

  “There are a ton of events going on down there,” Gracie said. “I’d better reserve rooms.”

  “Rooms?” Pen said, stepping from the bathroom with her hair turbaned in a towel.

  Gracie held up Pen’s phone. “Amber called. She and Sandy are flying into Nice to join us. Sorry—I saw who it was and just reached for it.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Pen said. She took off the towel and began running a comb through her chin-length blond hair. “I’d begun to feel a little overwhelmed with all this. It will be nice to have their help.”

  A little overwhelmed? Gracie felt a rush of relief at the smile on Pen’s face. Ever since Morrell’s brazen getaway and their visit to the Zurich police, the two women had been on the go. Finding out Morrell had sneaked back to his Zurich hotel and cleared out his room, learning the clerk had overheard bits of his conversation with someone, a mention of Nice. She was proud of their detective work, nervous about what would happen if they’d drawn the wrong conclusions.

  Gracie began to look for hotels with available rooms. “Looks like we’ll have to settle for something very cheap or something very pricey. The mid-range places seem to be full.”

  “Go for the nicer place. If Frank Morrell keeps up his habit from Cayman, that’s where he will go. Plus, I’m always skeptical of small and cheap.”

  Gracie found a suite at the Palais de la Mediterranee, cringed a little at the rate but gratefully accepted Pen’s credit card to cover it. The three bedrooms would work fine for the women and, if things went well, they might even get to spend a little time on the beach.

  Pen emerged a few minutes later, perfectly turned out as usual, and they finished packing. A quick cab ride to the airport and five hours later they were landing in Nice, surprised to find it wasn’t a lot warmer than springtime Zurich.

  Pen switched on her phone while they waited for baggage. “A message from Amber,” she said. “Have a feeling your guys will be staking out the biggest jewelry show of the year. It starts tomorrow. We are at PHX. See you in a few hours!”

  Pen thought about that. Although Morrell probably wanted to sell her necklace and get himself off to another part of the world as quickly as possible, the lure of such a show would likely attract every jewel thief on the continent. She relaxed slightly. At lea
st she and Gracie could take a few hours to orient themselves to the city and work out a plan. When she mentioned it to Gracie, her friend simply laughed.

  “You don’t think Amber will have the whole thing mapped and plotted by the time we see her?”

  True. The Heist Ladies’ youngest member most definitely seemed a master of logistics.

  Their taxi cruised a wide boulevard with stately hotels on the left and the shoreline on their right. The driver was a chatty sort.

  “The mademoiselles are visiting our city for the jewelry show? Oui, it will be held at the Nice Acropolis. For myself, I am more interested in the regatta or perhaps the Le Mans race next weekend.” On the water they could see dozens of sleek sailboats, moored now, with crews working on the decks. “My wife, however … she would be at that jewelry show in a moment if only she could afford to purchase something.”

  They passed a modern building, vaguely pyramid-like with a flat top. The driver pointed toward it.

  “Oui, they say there will be four-hundred million euro worth of jewels in that place.”

  What else would the world’s most audacious jewel thieves be watching this week?

  Chapter 61

  As before, Frank followed at a short distance behind Anton as they made their way from the train station. He hoped for a brief glimpse of the Mediterranean but the area where they walked was packed with unimaginative blocky buildings, mostly white with red-tile roofs. After walking about fifteen minutes, they came to a three-story apartment building. Anton held the outer door for Frank, as any polite neighbor would do, and Frank preceded him into an empty vestibule. Once Anton was satisfied no one would overhear, he spoke. “Number 301.”

  Frank pretended to consult the mailboxes on the wall while Anton started up a narrow flight of stairs.