Who Killed Tiffany Jones?

by Mavis Kaye

  He had gone to New Orleans to see Josephine St. Claire and get the diamonds from her and from Lester’s grave. When he found the Hispanic burglar rummaging through St. Claire’s things, he’d been forced to kill him. No one was going to take what he had worked so hard to accumulate. That’s when he decided he’d have to leave Josephine behind. Someone was on to her, and he couldn’t afford to let anybody else discover that they worked together. He hid the Hispanic man’s body in the attic, but before he could go back to get the diamonds, Josephine returned. Then the other woman arrived.

  He was waiting for the opportunity to snatch the diamonds when the second intruder arrived. He had watched the struggle in the foyer from the second-floor balcony, and, if the other woman hadn’t hit the attacker with a lamp, he would have intervened. But it had worked out perfectly. When the women left, the intruder was unconscious and Mojo took the opportunity to retrieve the diamonds from the sanctuary. As far as he knew, he had escaped without being noticed. After a quick trip to the cemetery, he had gone to the airport.

  Now he sat waiting for Shawayne, one of his first recruits, to come and drive him to the airport. He had called Shawayne when he noticed the police car outside the record shop earlier that afternoon.

  He instructed the eager young disciple to bring him a change of clothes, park the car around the corner on 119th Street, and come to the back door after dark. He would be arriving any minute, Mojo thought; the young man was never late.

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  He wasn’t pleased at having to leave on such short notice or at having to distance himself from Josephine St. Claire. She had been a loyal worker and a generous lover. He would miss her. But, he told himself, he couldn’t allow his personal feelings to interfere with the greater cause. He had accumulated over $12 million in diamonds and another million or so in cash, most of which was stashed in offshore accounts. It was enough to begin constructing the compound in St.

  Croix and take one more step toward his dream. He leaned back against the brick wall and patted the attaché case.

  The familiar patterned knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

  “Shawayne?” Mojo shouted.

  “Y-yes, Mojo . . . it’s me.”

  Mojo stood, walked over to the heavy door, and began unlocking it.

  When he opened the second bolt, the door was pushed hard against him, and, as he stumbled backward, Shawayne was flung inside onto the dirt floor. Two men rushed into the room and slammed the door after them. Mojo caught only a fleeting glance of the two hulking figures before one shoved him down onto his stomach, clamped a heavy foot on his spine, and shouted, “Don’t move and don’t turn around.”

  Beside him, Mojo heard Shawayne pleading for forgiveness. “I’m sorry, Mojo! I didn’t see them . . . they said they were gonna kill me if I didn’t do it!”

  “Shut the fuck up!” one of the men shouted.

  A moment later, Mojo heard the pop of a silenced automatic weapon, and Shawayne collapsed beside him. Mojo reached for his revolver and struggled to turn over, but with his face pressed into the dirt and the weight of a foot on his back he couldn’t move fast enough.

  The last thing he saw was a gloved hand reaching down to pick up the attaché case before the bullet crashed into the back of his skull. The men calmly left the room, leaving the door ajar, and walked through the adjacent abandoned building. The junkie who crouched amidst the building’s debris and crumbling walls hardly noticed the two men, 16470_ch02.qxd 7/12/02 4:40 PM Page 180

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  but his eyes lit up when he saw the partially opened door and swinging light in the building from which they had departed.

  Kim Carlyle had arrived at her apartment around 8 P.M. and immediately called Lt. Jackson to let him know that she was safe. She was still shaken by the New Orleans events, so the presence of the uniformed officer outside her apartment was reassuring. Upstairs, she showered and bundled herself in a cotton gown before settling on the couch with a glass of French table wine. A Miles Davis-John Coltrane CD

  played on the stereo. She went over everything that had happened the day before, trying to find a pattern and integrate that information with what she had known before she went to New Orleans.

  The more she scrutinized the facts available to her, the more confusing the puzzle became. There was no doubt now that the murders were the consequence of the diamond scheme. Something had gone wrong, Josephine said to herself. But what had it been and who was behind the murders? Mojo definitely had something to do with it, but he wasn’t behind the wheel of the Mazda. Still, his stealing diamonds from a mobster was apparently the motive for Josephine’s death and his disappearance. And if the Dutch hood, Kees, was also stealing, well, that might have led to his death. It seemed that the mob was very much involved in the killings, but aside from Kees and the mysterious Frank Napolini whom Josephine had mentioned, she had no information about organized crime. She hoped Lt. Jackson had discovered something.

  And although she still couldn’t bring herself to believe it, both Ruff Daddy and Klaus Svrenson could also easily be involved. In fact, after the call from Klaus, she was almost convinced that it was more of a threat than a warning. Was he trying to scare her off? Still, there were just too many holes, too many missing pieces of the puzzle.

  At eleven o’clock when she turned on the TV news, several of those pieces suddenly surfaced. The lead story was a breaking news report in 16470_ch02.qxd 7/12/02 4:40 PM Page 181

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  Harlem. Clarence “Mojo” Johnson and a member of his religious sect, known only as Shawayne, had been found dead in the back room of the Old World Music Shop. A crack addict had discovered the bodies and informed police officers who were staked out in front of the premises. It was “apparently a gangland slaying,” the reporter said as he stood outside the sealed-off murder scene. Another member of the sect, who had been called to identify the victims, indicated that Mr.

  Johnson and his chief assistant, Martin Latrell, had often argued during the past few weeks. Police officials said that Latrell was a former associate of Harlem drug and gambling kingpin Shabazz Pearson.

  Both were being sought for questioning. Pictures of Pearson and Latrell were flashed on the screen.

  When Kim saw the photo of Latrell, she nearly dropped the ornate wine goblet that she held. She had seen him before, and it took only a minute for her to realize where. It was the same man that she had briefly glimpsed at Cheeno’s Malibu party—the man who had turned and slipped away when she approached the African, Mawuli, and the two British businessmen. Kim was deep in thought, trying to figure out the connection, when the phone rang. It was Lt. Jackson, calling from his car.

  “Have you heard what happened to Mojo?” he asked.

  “Yes, yes . . . I just saw a report on TV.”

  “Well, that’s not all. I—”

  “Wait a minute Maurice! I know this Latrell. I saw him at the L.A.

  party, just before Cheeno was found dead. I recognized the photo.”

  “Latrell was in L.A. when Cheeno was killed?”

  “Yes, and he was with two Englishmen and an African who said he was from Liberia. There has to be a connection, Maurice.”

  “Yeah, and there’s something else. We got a report from authorities in Sierra Leone. Kwabena was murdered late Friday night in Freetown and, earlier the same day, Frank Napolini was killed in Ohio. It looks like someone is clearing the deck.”

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  “Kwabena and Napolini? Then who’s doing this, Maurice—who is behind it?”

  “Look, Kim, it could be anyone—Svrenson, Pearson, Latrell, Ruff Daddy, who knows? The thing is, you’re not safe. Whoever’s behind it knows that you
know too much. I’m putting another man outside your apartment right now. Don’t leave without informing me. I want to know all you know about the people Latrell spoke to in L.A., but I can’t talk with you now. I can’t leave the murder scene. Latrell’s our main suspect right now. He may not be the mastermind, but he’s definitely involved with these killings. He knows something, and we need to know what.”

  “Okay, I’ll talk to you tomorrow. But, tell me, what’s your gut feeling about this? Who do you think is behind it?”

  “I really don’t know. But I’d put my money on Klaus or Ruff Daddy or both. We’re still looking for them. And I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them is working with Latrell or Shabazz Pearson. Diamonds are worth a lot more than policy slips or even crack cocaine. I think it’s a take-over, a kind of coup, directed by someone who was already involved in the scheme and aided by someone with enough clout to back them up.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe you’re right,” Kim said resignedly. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Kim hung up the phone, turned off the lights and the television set, and checked that the door was securely locked before climbing the steps toward her bedroom for what she knew would be a night of fitful sleep.

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  FOURTEEN

  New York—Sunday, August 5

  Ki m wa s awa ke n e d at 9:30 A.M. by the insistent ringing of her doorbell. She hadn’t slept well, and her head still ached from the blow she had received in New Orleans. At the door, she peered through glazed eyes at a UPS deliveryman and the uniformed officer who stood beside him. “It’s all right,” the officer said when he noticed that the eyelet in the door had been opened. Kim unlocked the door, pulling her nightgown tightly around her shoulders.

  The deliveryman offered an envelope. When Kim hesitated, the officer nodded his head and said, “It’s okay, we checked the route from England. Everything seems in order.”

  England, Kim thought as she took the package and signed the receipt. “No bombs, then,” she said, half smiling.

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  backed away from the door and hurried back to his truck. Kim thanked the policeman before shutting the door and going to her desk. The package had come from Sheffield, England, and had been sent by a Professor Winfred J. Blair. The location of origin and, of course, the name Blair immediately intrigued her. Expectantly, she tore open the envelope.

  It contained a floppy disk and a handwritten note, which Kim quickly read.

  Kim Carlyle:

  I don’t know you but I’ve discovered that my daughter called you just before her death. Apparently she trusted you. That’s why I’ve sent the disk which accompanies this note. As you might expect, I’m deeply concerned with having those responsible for Mariana’s death brought to justice. I’m not certain that the authorities here are aware of the breadth and scope of this situation. Since Mariana had begun a dialogue with you and you have been touched directly by these killings, I thought the information on the disk would be of particular interest to you. I was allowed into Mariana’s apartment four days after her murder, when the authorities had finished searching the premises. My daughter always confided in me, so I knew where her notes were hidden. Although her computer had been confiscated, no one had found the notes that I’ve sent to you. They will, no doubt, retrieve the information from the computer in due time; and I’m sending another copy of the disk to Scotland Yard. I hope that this information will help in the search for those responsible for my daughter’s murder. Please, keep me advised.

  Sincerely,

  Winfred J. Blair

  After reading the note, Kim rushed to her computer and inserted the disk. The first entry was dated January 19, 2001. It noted Mariana’s 16470_ch02.qxd 7/12/02 4:40 PM Page 185

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  initial introduction to Kees Van derVall in Amsterdam and described her curiosity about his connection to Ruff Daddy. Kim quickly scrolled down, scanning the single-spaced pages on the screen. The last entry was dated July 30, the day Mariana died. Kim read carefully, hoping to discover a clue that might point to the reporter’s killer. But there was no smoking gun, no decisive bit of information that clearly pointed to a person or a group of persons who may have been responsible for the killings, or even to a motive. Disappointed, Kim rose and went to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. When she returned to the desk, she printed the file then settled on the couch with the pages and a cup of strong black coffee. She reread the notes, underlining everything that seemed pertinent.

  An hour and a half later, she rose and poured another cup of coffee.

  Returning to the couch, she hunched over the pages laid out on the coffee table, poring over the sixteen underlined entries.

  FEB. 15 - Kees V. in London for two days, aside from hotel and drinks with Ruff Daddy, only stops are at De Beers Central Selling Office and a Mayfair flat, unable to determine who he saw.

  MARCH 30 - Informants say police investigating Kees V.’s possible connection to heroin sales and gun smuggling—supplying arms to Sierra Leone Revolutionary United Front.

  APRIL 5 - Amsterdam-K.V. & Petris N. meet young American at Grand Cafe, heated discussion. American registered as Riccardo Napolini at Swissotel Ascot. . . . Petris drives R. Napolini back to airport.

  APRIL 6 - Klaus S. & Tiffany J. arrive in Amsterdam. Klaus meets Kees V. at De L’Europe Hotel night of Tiffany concert.

  APRIL 7 - Tiffany leaves for Paris—loud argument with Klaus at airport. Kees accompanies Klaus to Antwerp. (activity unknown) 16470_ch02.qxd 7/12/02 4:40 PM Page 186

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  APRIL 8 - Ruff Daddy arrives, meets Klaus at De L’Europe. Both go to airport, take flight to Paris.

  MAY 3 - Informant: Kees V. meets swarthy American at airport.

  Visitor stays in his apartment and rents car under the name Brian Woods????

  MAY 14 - Confirmed, Brian Woods, low-level hood who worked at KCS Collection Agency in Los Angeles before moving to Las Vegas. KCS a subsidiary of a K. Svrenson parent company.

  MAY 26 - Kees V. & Petris N. invite members of rap groups Watts Up and Kool Aid to a suite at the Renaissance Hotel on Dam Square after their concert. Entire group celebrates at ‘Koe-pelkerk,’ the landmark 17th-century reception hall across the street.

  JUNE 6 - Kees V. and Ruff visit Lester B. at Paris apartment, then accompany him to funeral of Luther Olson, expatriate U.S blues singer who died of heart attack on stage??? Rendezvous at The Emerald Isle.

  JUNE 19 - Introduced Brixton to Ruff, reluctantly!!!

  JULY 9 - Kees and unidentified English business type visit T.

  Jones backstage after concert at The Palladium. They are followed by Asian woman and companion (appears to be Latino) when they leave.

  JULY 10 - Petris N. leaves London on flight to Antwerp. Informant confirms that P.N. meets Kees V., they are seen in and around diamond district during next two days.

  JULY 13 - Suspicious Asian woman spotted in Amsterdam, appears to be following Kees V. (informant) Who is she?

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  JULY 24 - Petris N. at De Beers, spends two hours inside. (contact unknown)

  JULY 30 - Confirmed, R. Napolini nephew of Frank Napolini, Ohio mob underboss.

  After an hour, Kim was certain that her suspicions about the deaths of the performers were correct. Somehow they had been involved in a scheme with Kees Van derVall and Klaus to smuggle diamonds into the country. Kwabena must have been the inside man in Africa. She also concluded that Cheeno had been involved, which would explain his high living even before he broke out as a popu
lar recording artist. Clearly they had been shipping the gems back to the States in coffins, she’d derived that much from the encounter with Mojo in New Orleans. But the artists must also have been used in some other way. How?

  What had gone wrong? Why were they killed?

  After scrutinizing the notes again, she went to her computer and began checking foreign and domestic newspapers for information on Kees’s Dutch associate and Frank and Riccardo Napolini. Without a last name, however, she was unable to find any references that matched Mariana Blair’s scant description of Petris N. But a quick search of Las Vegas and Ohio newspapers revealed that Brian Woods had been murdered recently and that Frank Napolini’s nephew, Riccardo, was among the chief suspects in his uncle’s death. Neither story mentioned anything about diamonds; both incidents were considered mob hits. There were no named suspects in the Vegas murders, although police said that the killer knew the victims. Casino security guards were being questioned, but none had provided any useful information. In Ohio, authorities attributed Riccardo’s possible involvement in his uncle’s death to either his lingering anger over 16470_ch02.qxd 7/12/02 4:40 PM Page 188

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  Frank Napolini’s complicity in the death of Johnnie Napolini, Riccardo’s father, or an internal struggle for control over the Ohio mob.

  Kim went back to the couch and, for the next four hours, continued poring over her own notes as well as Mariana’s, trying to integrate all the information she had accumulated.

  It was midafternoon when she called Lt. Jackson at the station. She told him about the arrival of the disk from Mariana Blair’s father. Yes, she would immediately fax a copy, she assured him, before hurriedly describing its contents. She informed him of Mariana’s findings about the previously unknown Dutchman Petris N. and the American Brian Woods. Woods, she told him, had been killed a day after Mariana was murdered in London. Then she pointed out that, according to Mariana, it was Riccardo Napolini, not Frank, who had been actively involved with Kees Van derVall and his associates in Amsterdam. Riccardo was also acquainted with the Dutchman Petris N.