Diamonds and Cole: A Cole Sage Mystery

by Micheal Maxwell

  “I was approached by a local real estate salesman.” Elias paused, staring at Cole for several seconds, while trying to decide whether to go on. “He tried to bribe me. He said he wanted the zoning changed and that his friends at Malcor could be very generous.” Elias’s face flushed a bit.

  “Allen Christopher?”

  “Do you think he’s connected to the mob?”

  Cole looked at the young man in the out-of-date tie and realized this was not the story he had come looking for. Christopher was more than the sum of his shady parts. This wasn’t stealing sales or—bad as it was—hustling old people. This was felony criminal intent. There was something more than the bribe, though. Elias was not just worried, he was scared.

  “Sven, I don’t think you need to worry about the mob. I don’t see Christopher as a mob type, do you?” Cole tried to sound reassuring.

  Sven Elias needed a friend, and Cole’s big-city confidence and matter-of-fact way of dismissing Christopher made Cole the friend Elias had been praying for. Elias was honest and inexperienced—a combination Cole was smart enough to know was dangerous.

  “You’re right, that’s right.” In that moment, Elias decided to let Cole have it all. “Why is he trying to bribe me then? It is illegal to even suggest payment to a city official. I feel guilty just having been offered the diamonds.”

  “Diamonds, what diamonds?” Cole was caught completely off guard.

  “I didn’t mention that? Let me start over.” Elias suddenly stood. “He brought out a package of diamonds from his briefcase,” he recalled excitedly, “and you never saw such sparkle.” Elias took a small waxy paper envelope from his top desk drawer. “He said he would give me this diamond if I would go to the City Council meeting and propose the zoning change. He said when the zoning was recorded as commercial/industrial. It was all mine! I nearly peed my pants. Who else but a gangster gets little envelopes of loose diamonds? You should have seen them! I bet there was maybe 50 in the little wax paper thing they were in. Any one of them was bigger than my wife’s engagement ring, and that cost me almost $3,000. And you know what?” Elias lowered his voice, trying to stress the importance of his next statement. “I saw, gosh, I don’t know, maybe 10 more of those little packets in his briefcase. That’s a lot of money, Mr. Sage.”

  Cole wasn’t quite sure how to respond. He just sat quietly and watched Elias thinking as he squeezed the top of his well-worn leather chair. There was a lot more to Allen Christopher than he had thought. Where did he get a bunch of diamonds? Why the bribe? Anybody in real estate, industry, even with rental properties knows a zoning change is easy to get done.

  “Sven, who have you told about this?”

  “My wife Karen and now you. There aren’t too many people around here I feel I could confide in. We only moved here three months ago. And I’m not exactly Mr. Popular.”

  “Let me ask you something. Bribe or not, what was going to be done about the airport district zoning?”

  “Nothing. Legally, Malcor or anybody else could do just about whatever they wanted out there, provided it doesn’t violate any state environment or safety laws. There actually isn’t any zoning designation. So many different kinds of usage have all been grandfathered in that unless the whole area was scraped clean, there’s no way to get it straightened out.”

  “Who knows about the status of the zoning?” Cole asked.

  “It’s no secret. Public records are open to anyone.”

  “I know, but is it public knowledge? What I mean is, does everybody know it’s a mess?”

  “Probably not. It’s not a very desirable area as I see it. Sales out there are usually small—old houses or duplexes. I checked with records, and there have been no new businesses started or old ones sold in over five years.” Elias had done his homework.

  “So, there is a good chance the Malcor people wouldn’t know it from a casual visit. They would entrust their real estate representative and lawyers to investigate usage, permits, and stuff like that, right?”

  “Probably.” Elias frowned, not quite following Cole’s line of thought.

  “Christopher stands to make a bundle if he can put together a major industrial complex. A bribe to make it look like he can get things done in town would be a good investment, for him, right? So the zoning is a moot point. It wouldn’t affect the homeowners or small businesses that are already there. The Malcor people see Christopher as the guy who can get things done. If he can bribe you, necessary or not, on paper he comes through looking like he has people on the “inside”, implying he can handle anything that comes up, right? I think the zoning is just a way to make Christopher appear to be a big shot. I bet if you check the records, a guy like Christopher has made lots of sales out in the airport district. He knows the zoning situation going in. Makes a big deal of it and figures he can seal the deal with industrial zoning for the project. You with me?” Cole realized he had been thinking out loud.

  “I think so.” Elias knew he was out of his depth.

  “I have an idea. Don’t mention the bribe thing to anybody for a while. Let me do some sniffing around. I think this might just be a piece in a puzzle. Let’s see if we can figure out the whole picture before we do anything. What do you think?” Cole knew this was a hot potato that Elias would love to toss to somebody else.

  “You mean the diamond.”

  “Yeah, that just doesn’t smell right. Where does a guy like Christopher get a bunch of diamonds? From what I gather, he’s successful, in a lowbrow kind of way, but at the price of popularity. The bribery thing can wait for a bit. Just sit tight and let’s see what else we can find out. Here’s a number where I can be reached. If he shows up again, let me know. Just stall him, tell him whatever you want but don’t agree or disagree, get it?” Cole stood and handed Elias a piece of paper he had taken off a desk pad and scribbled his number on.

  “I tell you, Cole, I am just not used to this kind of thing. I really didn’t mean to dump all this on you. I sure appreciate your help, I don’t have anyone I can really talk to.”

  “I think dealing with Mr. Christopher will suit both our purposes. If we do this right, it will bolster your credibility with the doubters around here.” Cole jerked his thumb over his shoulder, signifying the office behind him. “See ya around.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And Sven, don’t worry. I’ve helped trap rats a lot bigger than Christopher.” Cole made his way out of the outer office and through the swinging door.

  “You see what I meant?” Judy waited for the conspiratorial reinforcement from Cole.

  “No, actually I think you got the guy all wrong. Don’t let that nerdy look fool you. You’ve got a bit of a tiger back there. He certainly showed me what’s what. Lot more to your Mr. Elias than meets the eye. If I were you, I’d let him get to know you. Could pay off big time for a talented girl like you.” Cole knew a butt kisser when he saw one and with this new information, Judy was all ready to pucker up for her new boss.

  “You think so?” Judy said, somewhat amazed.

  “Hey, in Chicago, I have to deal with hard cases like Elias all the time.” Cole was afraid he was laying it on a bit thick, but Sven needed all the help he could get.

  “Thanks, I had no idea.”

  “No reason you would, my dear, no reason you would.” Cole winked and walked away.

  Out on the sidewalk, Cole flipped open his cell phone and hit “7” for Precinct 51. “Lieutenant Harris, please.” Cole never called his friend’s cell phone.

  After what seemed like a hundred rings, a familiar voice said, “Harris.”

  “Tom, it’s Cole.”

  “Hey, where you been? I thought we were playing poker Friday night?”

  “You won’t believe it, I’m back in my ol’ home town.” Cole tried to sound lighthearted.

  “Why? What’s wrong?” Harris knew his friend far too well to know this wasn’t a case of homesickness.

  “It’s Ellie. She—”

  “Ellie? Yo
u kidding me? What’s the matter? Is she okay?”

  “No Tom, she isn’t,” Cole felt a catch in his voice. “I need a couple of favors.”

  “Out of my jurisdiction,” Harris said, trying to relieve the tension.

  “I need to find somebody. The name is Erin Christopher. She’s believed to still be in the state but that’s about it.”

  “Got a middle name?”

  “Uh, no. I’ll have to get it.”

  “You all right?”

  “Just a little overwhelmed. Look, Ellie is very sick. Erin is her daughter, and they haven’t spoken in a couple years. Ellie needs her.”

  “She called you? It’s been a long time, Cole. I am a little surprised by this.”

  “Join the club. The other thing is a little weird. I’ll fill you in later. I need the names of a couple of small-time crooks around here. Think I’m onto something that involves her husband.”

  “Her husband? God, Cole, what’s he up to?”

  “I’m not sure exactly, but how about bribery of a city official for starters? Here’s the weird part, he offered the guy diamonds.”

  “Diamonds?”

  “Yeah, evidently he’s got a sackful. This guy is a real bastard. What he isn’t is big time. He’s a cheap sleazeball, in hock up to his eyeballs. I can’t figure out this whole diamond thing. I figure it’s somebody else’s deal and he’s riding along. Just a hunch. That’s where the locals might help. I don’t think they’re hot, couldn’t be. Too risky, he wouldn’t be flashing them around.”

  “Brother, what you don’t get into. I’ll try the girl first. How old is she?”

  “About twenty-three. Ellie thinks she may have gone into nursing.”

  “Did you ask her dad?”

  “Less than helpful.”

  “That old Sage charm?” Harris laughed.

  “Something like that,” Cole answered softly. “Tom, this is important to me.”

  “I know. I’ll do the best I can.”

  “Thanks, be in touch.”

  The line went dead and Cole stuck the phone in his pocket. He had always been ready for the chase, Sherlock Sage, “the games afoot” and all that. His reputation was built around his ability to ferret out information. To him it was like a game. Watching the pieces move around the board. He got paid to find the story, dig the dirt, and expose the bad guys. This time it was different. This time it was personal, and that devil-may-care approach to success seemed shallow. As he stood on the corner waiting for the light to change, he was jerked from his thoughts as a silver Mercedes came slowly around the corner. Allen Christopher was driving it.

  NINE

  The wind blew hot and dry through the car window. The air conditioner worked just fine, but this was the “summer” Cole remembered. He enjoyed the radiant glow of the heat. Like a dry sauna, burning, roasting, in a slow bake. It was the summer of soft hot pavement in shopping center parking lots, the mirage of distant water on the road, rotten fruit, humid irrigation, orchard roads, and tumbleweed dust fields. As he rolled along, his thoughts drifted slow and disjointed.

  Harris found Erin within 12 hours. Wouldn’t say how, just that it was magic and he never gave away the secret. For all of Ellie’s worrying about her whereabouts, she was only a two-hour drive away.

  The radio played loud and bass-y. Classic Rock. Cole always thought of classic rock as doo-wop “oldies but goodies” stuff he didn’t hear the first time around, but now, “classic” was the music of his life. Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young wailed, “Four dead in O-Hi-O, Four dead in O-Hi-O.” He drifted to a picture, black and white, a body laying on the ground, a girl with long dark hair, mouth open in a shocked wail. Kent State, “Four dead in O-Hi-O.”

  How many people hearing this song now knew the pain? How many remembered the grief? Television documentaries, Hollywood blockbusters, and books dulled the rage, the ache, the frustration that was Vietnam. It seemed so small now. Bosnia, Afghanistan, Iraq I and II, Afghanistan again—each slowly overshadowing Vietnam. Where was the outrage now? Where was the movement? Movement? How many people hearing Ohio even know there was a Movement? Where were the voices of dissent? America had been lulled into a media hot tub of materialistic complacency. The Movement. Cole wasn’t a member of anything. You don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows. But he had seen, he had heard, and he had felt the open wound that was Vietnam. And he remembered April 24, 1971, San Francisco and the Moratorium against the War!

  As the highway hummed, he rolled back in time. It was as though it were yesterday. In fact, it was so clear, it could have been today. Cole remembered the bluest sky he ever saw and, and clouds, my God, the clouds were so billowy, so white, so huge. That day God smiled down on his children of peace and gave them a glorious day to march. Cole was back on the Bay Bridge, the top down on his white Triumph, while the sun shone bright overhead. Ellie was beside him, an off-white muslin scarf tied around her head to control her curly brown hair. She wore big black sunglasses, like Sophia Loren. The eight-track was chuggin’ out “Lookin’ Out My Back Door” by Credence Clearwater Revival. No wonder he remembered.

  The March changed his life. Not in some great cosmic awakening, not a rebirth to an antiwar firebrand, nothing so great and cathartic. But he changed. He saw thousands and thousands of people marching, all in one accord, all with the same commitment to stopping a war. Not just stopping a war but the government of the United States of America. The free expression of their right to freedom of speech, the right to gather, and the voice of the people, by the people, and for the people in the streets and on the rolling hills of San Francisco. Long hairs, short hairs, men, women, nuns, and rabbis clad in black, framed against the saffron of Hare Krishna robes. Drag queens, businessmen, and G.I. Joes side by side, a hundred thousand, two hundred thousand, half a million, who knew? Together chanting, singing, waving signs; an ocean of bodies, human waves on a sea of protest.

  “Hell no, we won’t go!”

  “Ho Ho Ho Chi Min!”

  “One, Two, Three, Four, we don’t want your dirty war!”

  And they sang, “All we are saying is give peace a chance....”

  “And it’s one, two, three, four, what are we fightin’ for?”

  Cole’s strongest memory was of Ellie, though. That is what changed him. As they crested a hill, ahead all they could see were people all the way to the bay. Behind them, even greater numbers. She turned and, with a smile that would have paled the glow of an angel, she said, “We can do it, Cole, we can stop the war. I love you!” It was the first time she ever said it. In a world gone mad with war and protest, he found peace. She wrapped both arms around his and squeezed. There were thousands of people on the street, but for those few moments there were really only two.

  “Crosby....Stills...Nash.....and Neil Young here on the Rock Pile 106.5, your classic rock station. Coming up, Zeppelin, Bowie and a top of the pile classic from the Beatles right after this—”

  Cole snapped off the radio and glanced at the low-slung black Corvette passing on his left. The road sign said 94 miles to Jessup. Cole forgot how much he enjoyed the open road. Since moving to Chicago, there were very few occasions to drive any great distance. The road before him acted as a tonic.

  The town of Jessup was nothing to brag about. Population 15,890 according to the city limits sign. The new highway passed by about 12 miles away, and the space between the off ramp and the town was brown, dry, and pretty much uninhabited. As he pulled in, he realized it could be any little town in any state. A hardware store, a cafe, a boarded-up movie theatre, a video store, and a Mexican restaurant lined the main street.

  Cole pulled up in front of the Hillside Cafe and went inside. One young mother and her toddler sat in the corner booth. A tiny little woman no more than four-foot-ten came sprightly out from behind the counter. Atop her head sat a beehive of carrot red hair. As she approached, she smiled a smile that Cole couldn’t help returning.

  “Hi, Hun. By yourself today?”<
br />
  “Yes, ma’am!” Cole shot back. I did it again, he thought. Where is this ma’am thing coming from?

  “I’m Mickie, and I’m your only choice for a waitress today.” Mickie was at least 60, maybe more. Women half her age would kill for the spring in her step.

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way. What’s good?”

  “Everything but the cook’s reputation,” she giggled.

  “Thanks for the tip.” Cole grinned.

  “That’s my line after you pay the bill. Haven’t seen you in here before. Passing through?” Mickie inquired.

  Cole realized that beneath the perky smile and bouncy step laid the heart of the town gossip. You would have thought they installed Mickie at the Hillside Cafe the same day as the grill. Her crisp powder blue uniform and white nametag probably hadn’t been updated in years. This was her domain, and she reined over it with love and a definite sense of control.

  “Actually,” began Cole, “I’m here on family business.”

  “That right? Well only about 10,000 people here anymore, no matter what the city limits sign and the silly city council says. Anybody I know, you suppose?” Sly old fox, Cole thought as Mickie waited for a reply.

  “A friend of mine is very ill and the last anyone knew, her daughter was here in Jessup. So, I’m doing some Sherlock Holmes work to find her. Her mother would really like to see her,” Cole hesitated, “before she goes.”

  He suddenly felt like he would throw up. The reality of looming death, Ellie’s death, had been suppressed beneath the need to find Erin. Now he made it real, he spoke the words, and somehow sealed Ellie’s fate. Cole realized he was staring out the front window, but he couldn’t blink, he couldn’t move. My God, he thought, I’m going to start crying. He clenched his teeth until they ached, he felt his eyes begin to blur. He willed himself to not blink. His broad shoulders began to shudder. With no control over his body, his hands flew over his face, and he began to sob. The booth and table shook with the force of his quaking. He was nearly silent in his grief, which only added to the force of his tremors.