Diamonds Aren't Forever

by Betty Sullivan La Pierre

  Carl stepped in front of Jamey and stared into her face. “We can all walk out of here alive, if you'll do something for me."

  She let out a sigh. “What?"

  "Tell the police how you set me up."

  Narrowing her eyes, she cocked her head and glared at him. “I told you, I don't know what you're talking about."

  Carl reared back and slapped her hard across the face. “You're a lying bitch."

  The wig flew from Jamey's head and landed with a thud on the floor. Charley tried to rise, but the restraints held him and he flopped back into the seat. “You scum!” he yelled. “No real man hits a helpless woman."

  Carl shot him a fierce look and pointed the gun. “You stay out of this, old man. Or I'll shoot you first.” He turned his attention back to Jamey. “You're the only one who had a key to my truck. It had to be you who planted those diamonds and then somehow let the cops know. Then my little lady went to South America, met her diamond courier and has been living it up ever since. Have you had one ounce of remorse that you left me holding the bag? Did it ever bother your pretty little head that you ruined my life?"

  Tears filled her eyes as blood trickled out the corner of her mouth. She squirmed and drooped her head, causing mussed hair to fall into thick strands around her face. But she remained silent.

  * * * *

  Hawkman backed his 4X4 to a location where he could view the front and side of the building. Once the detective's squad arrived and took their positions around the house, Hawkman climbed out of his vehicle. He strolled over to Williams. “Charley's truck is here which means Hopkins now has two hostages. We've got to be careful."

  Williams nodded. “I want you to get on the phone and see if you can talk to Charley. Make sure they're all right."

  The detective put the bullhorn to his lips. Hawkman slipped into the unmarked car and dialed Charley's home number. Once satisfied everyone was well and alive, Williams gave the order for his men to relax. “We'll give the situation some time and see if Hopkins will surrender."

  Hawkman stared at the kitchen window shrouded in sheer curtains. Thinking he detected some movement, he retrieved his binoculars from the glove compartment of the Chevy. Focusing in on the glass, he could see the form of a man's back. Due to the outline of overalls across the shoulders, Hawkman concluded Charley sat at the table. He could vaguely make out the silhouette of a masculine figure pacing back and forth in the background. He turned to Williams. “It appears they're all in the kitchen. I can't see Jamey, but I can make out two men. Carl isn't going to let her out of his sight, so I have a hunch she's on the other side of that table hidden by Charley's body."

  "Good,” Williams said. “If we can't talk any sense into Hopkins, we'll go in through the bedrooms."

  Chewing on a toothpick, Hawkman dropped the binoculars to his chest. “I hope Hopkins hasn't lost all sense of reasoning. It will probably depend on how much Jamey irritates him."

  The detective threw him a concerned look. “Surely the woman sees the man's unstable and she shouldn't push him too far."

  Hawkman shrugged. “Hard to know about her."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Charley worked the bindings on his wrists until the small braided sash cut into his flesh. His shoulders ached, but he couldn't seem to loosen the bonds. The man knew how to tie a good knot.

  He glanced across the table at Jamey sitting with her head bowed, staring at the floor. If the man hit that little lady again, Charley knew he'd have to do something. He couldn't stand to see a woman abused, regardless of what she'd done. A male just had more power in his upper body than a female, and this little gal couldn't even fight back. This man didn't rate high in Charley's book and he'd like to wring his neck. He turned and looked out the window through the sheer curtains. The cops were doing nothing. Why weren't they taking some sort of action?

  That big brute Hawkman stood leaning nonchalantly against one of the cars, looking at the house through binoculars. This lunatic could kill me and Jamey, yet no one's trying to save us. So what gives? You gonna just stand around until he shoots us?

  * * * *

  Jamey sizzled inside because Carl had hit her. No way would she ever let a man get away with that. She rubbed her bleeding mouth against the shoulder of her costume, staining it with blood.

  Carl stood over her, breathing heavily. “Are you going to tell the cops how you set me up?” he asked for the third time.

  "I'll have to think about it. But you slap me again and I won't even consider it. You can kill me and it won't do you any good, because then I'll be dead."

  He shook his head and paced the floor, swinging the gun to and fro. “I don't understand you, Jamey. You made me believe you loved me and then you pulled that stunt."

  She cast a glimpse at Charley. If she confessed to anything, the old man would let the police know. Of course, she could always claim that Carl made her say these things under duress. She noticed immediately Charley didn't like it when Carl struck her and would probably back her up. That is, if they got out of this alive.

  Selling this house for personal income might not have been such a bright idea. Jamey now wished she'd paid more attention to the chills down her back and stayed home.

  She needed to think, but the hard slap interfered with her concentration. Her cut lip burned and her arms ached from being tied behind the chair back. Hair kept falling into her face and every time she shook her head to get it out of her eyes, a pain flashed through her jaw. She hoped the blow hadn't broken any bones.

  She didn't regret what she'd done to Carl. That had been the plan. Too bad he'd been suckered into falling in love. His problem, not hers. She noticed he had a hard time admitting his part in the heist. After all, he did willingly steal the diamonds.

  Closing her eyes, Jamey tried to focus on a plan even though her body ached like hell. She tried to will the pain away, and get her mind to working. Shifting in the chair, she suddenly felt the rag loosen around her wrists. The material must be rotten, she thought.

  Carl moved to her side and grabbed a handful of hair. His nostrils flaring, he yanked back her head and pointed the barrel of the gun at her face. “The cops aren't going to wait outside forever. They're going to make a dash for the house soon, and they'll be emptying their guns as they come. If that happens, I'll shoot the two of you before they ever reach the door. So you better think about what I just stated."

  "Don't listen to him,” Charley said. “He's nothing but a damn wimp."

  Carl narrowed his eyes and pointed the weapon. “Don't make me shoot you early, old man. I don't like you either."

  Charley glared at him. “You're a goddamn coward."

  Jamey saw the fire in Carl's eyes and dealt a swift kick to his shins. The gun went off as he grabbed his leg.

  Charley ducked. He and the chair hit the floor in the nick of time. The bullet crashed through the window, shattering the pane. Glass fell all around Charley's body and he managed to palm a large piece.

  Jamey let out a blood curdling scream. Carl leaped over and slapped his hand across her mouth. “Shut up! You want to make matters worse?"

  * * * *

  Hawkman, the detective and several of the police ducked behind the parked cars with drawn guns. “What the hell,” Williams said, from his crouched position. “Why is he shooting? No one even approached the house."

  He grabbed the bullhorn. “Hopkins. What's going on in there?” Then he turned toward Hawkman. “Grab the phone. See if he'll answer. Try to talk some sense into him. See if you can speak to the old man and the girl. We want to make sure they're okay."

  Hawkman quickly punched in Charley's number. After the third ring, Carl answered.

  "What the hell you want?"

  "Proof that Jamey and Charley are okay."

  "The gun went off by accident. No one's hurt."

  "Let me talk to Charley."

  "You're going to have to take my word."

  "Then we're coming in."

 
; "Dammit, hold on a minute."

  Hawkman put his binoculars to his face. He could see Hopkins at the window pulling on something. He stiffened when Charley's back came into view. “Damn,” he muttered. “If the old fellow is wounded, he's going to need medical attention."

  Hopkins’ voice came back online. “Listen closely. Speak up, grandpa."

  "I ain't your grandpa, so quit calling me that. The son-of-a-bitch has threatened, but ain't shot us yet,” he yelled.

  "Okay, you satisfied?” Hopkins asked.

  "No. I want to hear Jamey."

  "Jamey, tell the man you're okay."

  "I don't hear her."

  "The damn broad is just shaking her head. Jamey, for god's sake, say something or they'll come in here shooting and we'll all be killed."

  Hawkman could hear Charley's booming voice in the background. “Go on, girl, say something so the police will know you're okay. We don't want a bunch of lead flying around and end up getting hit by a ricocheting bullet."

  "I'm okay,” she said softly.

  "Did you hear that?” Hopkins asked.

  "Barely. So what's the delay? What do you think you're going to accomplish by holding those two people hostage?"

  "She's going to clear my name or none of us are coming out alive."

  The phone clicked.

  Hawkman stared at the receiver. “I'll be damned. He wants her to confess to the diamond heist."

  "What'd you say?” Williams asked, sticking his head inside the car.

  "He wants Jamey to admit planting the diamonds in his truck."

  Williams raked a hand across the stubble on his chin. “The man's lost it. How does he think such a confession under this sort of situation will hold up in court?"

  "He's desperate.” Hawkman glared at the kitchen window, then turned to Detective Williams. “I've got to make sure the girl's okay. I didn't like the sound of her voice. She could be hurt. I'm going to the house."

  "Not on my watch,” Williams said, shaking his head and pointing a finger in the air. “You could get killed."

  "I'll take the chance. Carl Hopkins sure as hell doesn't want murder on his record."

  "The man's crazy. You don't know what he'll do."

  "I'll head for the street and then cut back in on his blind side. He won't know I'm there until I pound on the door."

  Before the detective could stop him, Hawkman tossed his binoculars onto the car seat and took off toward the road.

  Williams grumbled under his breath, then put the walkie-talkie to his mouth. “Cover Hawkman."

  The officers crouched behind their vehicles, their guns aimed toward the building.

  Hawkman moved swiftly and soon stood alongside the kitchen door. Drawing his Beretta from the shoulder holster, he reached over and banged on the wood.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  While Carl stood near the cabinets against the far wall concentrating on the phone call, Jamey scooted the chair around so that he couldn't see the back. She twisted her wrists against the rotten bindings. Not wanting Carl spotting the ties if they fell on the floor, she loosened them just enough so that her hands could slip out easily. Now she'd wait for the opportune moment to make a move.

  Carl slammed down the receiver, his gun dangling from his fingers, he stomped across the room to the broken window. Glass shards crunched under his feet. He glared at Charley. “You move fast for an old man. You're lucky you didn't take that bullet."

  "I may be old, but I ain't stupid,” Charley snipped.

  Jamey scrutinized the room. She wanted Carl out in the open, not standing by the window next to the old man. The police weren't going to burst in unless they heard a commotion, so she had time. Her gaze fell on the stove against the wall opposite the kitchen table. An iron skillet rested on the cold burner, and above it, on a small metal shelf, sat a colorful crock full of wooden cooking utensils. A butcher block of knives rested on the counter.

  She admired the new cabinets that lined one side of the room and ended at a small built in pantry at the corner. The door stood slightly ajar and she could see a broom and dust pan hanging on nails. Through another window on the opposite wall she spotted two police cars parked on the lawn where she'd slept in the Cadillac. She didn't see any sign of the blue Honda she'd rented, but then remembered Carl had parked it near the front door on the other side of the yard.

  "The house is surrounded by cops,” Jamey said. “You don't have a chance."

  He turned and glared at her. “You can save us, if you do what I asked."

  "They found the diamonds in your truck."

  He swiftly moved around the table. Jamey ducked, afraid he might hit her again.

  "You've got to tell the authorities you put them there,” he said, shaking her shoulder.

  She glanced up cautiously. “Do you think they'll believe me, with you holding us at gunpoint?"

  Carl took a deep breath, crossed over to the window and peeked out. He then meandered over near the kitchen sink, leaned against the counter and stared at Jamey. “The old lady costume is very becoming. Why are you dressed like that? Did you think you'd fool me?” he sneered.

  "I had no idea you were within a thousand miles of Medford. I had my own personal reasons for the costume."

  Carl grinned wickedly. “Who were you afraid might recognize you? The police?"

  Jamey gritted her teeth. “It's none of your business."

  She cringed visibly when he walked over to her side and ran a finger along her shoulder. “Pretty little lady is afraid of being thrown into the slammer with a bunch of hard-core babes,” he chided.

  She gripped her hands behind her and tried to shift her body away.

  "You used to like my touches."

  "Hey, why don't you leave her alone,” Charley piped in.

  Carl jerked up his head and stared at the old farmer. “Look, grandpa, none of this concerns you. So just keep your big mouth shut. Too bad you happened to get mixed up in this. But since you're here, I'll just have to put up with you."

  Charley guffawed. “I happen to live in this house. You invaded my privacy by breaking and entering. Ever thought about that, big man?"

  "You know, grandpa, you're really getting on my nerves."

  "Leave him alone, Carl,” Jamey said. “He's done nothing to you."

  At that moment, someone pounded on the door. Jamey jumped and Carl stiffened. He raised the gun and aimed toward the entry. “Who's there?” he shouted.

  "Hopkins, it's Tom Casey. Let's talk."

  "I don't have anything to say."

  Hawkman slowly inched the door open. Carl aimed at the top edge and fired. Wood splintered in every direction.

  Hawkman flattened against the outside wall and aimed his gun. “You're being foolish. If you release the girl and the old man, the authorities won't come down on you so hard."

  The door opened a bit farther and Carl moved behind Jamey with the gun barrel touching her temple.

  Hawkman holstered his gun, then stepped into Carl's sight at the edge of the steps and raised his hands. “Let me come in and see if we can make a deal."

  "You take one step closer and she's dead meat. Now get the hell out of here.” He yanked one of Jamey's arms and the binding fell off, freeing her hands. Jerking her out of the chair, Carl pulled her body in front of his and walked toward the door. The gun at her head, he glared at Hawkman. “You want to see Jamey dead or alive? If you want her to walk out of this house, then call off those men and get the hell outta here."

  "I can't do that, Carl. I'm not in command."

  "Then tell whoever's in charge, dammit!"

  "Jamey, you all right?” Hawkman asked.

  She nodded.

  "How about Charley?"

  The old man's voice bellowed from within the room. “I'm okay, Hawkman. He has us tied up, but ain't shot us yet."

  Carl waved the gun. “My patience is wearing thin. Don't come up here again or send any of the goons."

  Yanking Jamey back, Ca
rl slammed the door with his foot. But with the damaged wood it didn't shut properly and creaked open. Carl released his grip on Jamey's wrist and shoved a chair against it.

  That was all the time she needed. Jamey reached over to the stove and grabbed the black skillet with both hands. Swinging it high above her head, she brought it down on Carl's back. The gun dropped from his hand as he whirled around and slammed a fist into her stomach.

  Charley had managed to cut through the ties with the broken piece of glass and leaped up. He grabbed the chair by the door and clobbered Carl over the head. When the man crumpled to the floor, Charley reached for Jamey. She'd dropped to her knees, holding her waist and crying.

  "Come on, little girl, we've got our chance to get out of here.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and practically carried her outside.

  Hawkman hadn't stepped too far away and dashed to assist Charley. But before he could get a good hold on Jamey, she collapsed to the ground.

  As the police converged on the house. Hawkman knelt beside the girl's limp body. “There's blood coming from someplace.” He glanced at Charley. “What happened in there?"

  The old man scratched his chin. “Well, as far as I could tell, after she hit Carl with the iron skillet, he socked her in the stomach. I'd managed to cut free my bindings and when I saw my chance, I walloped him over the head with a chair. I hope that sorry wimp's hurt bad.” Charley's attention reverted to Jamey and as he smoothed the dress down over her legs, he frowned. “She's bleeding pretty bad down below. You better call an ambulance."

  Hawkman punched in the emergency number on his cell phone, then dashed to his truck. He grabbed a small car blanket from the rear seat, returned and draped it over Jamey, noting the pool of blood seeping from under her body had widened. “Stay with her Charley."

  The old man nodded and adjusted the cover around her.

  Hawkman headed for the door of the house just as Detective Williams stepped out. Two police officers followed with Carl, bleeding from his head, handcuffed and stumbling between them.