“This is stunning news Mimi’s reporting. She’s obviously extremely excited, but I have to ask—Westin’s still has yet to issue a list of the stolen items, and I’m curious: did you know the necklace had been found?”
“To be honest, I’m as surprised as you and anxious to get the details.” Lewis explained that he was here today because he and his wife were celebrating their anniversary. But he was sure his team would be filling him in shortly.
“Detective, I know you can’t talk specifically about the case, but the police have issued a description and a photo of a possible suspect. Is there anything you can add?”
“Carol, I’m not going to give details on an open investigation. However, I will say, it’s no secret there’s been an increase in the number of jewelry store robberies in the Beverly Hills area, and, despite all our due diligence, we weren’t surprised Westin’s was hit.”
“Not surprised?” Bunny leaned closer to Lewis and, grabbing the mic in front of him, shot me a look. I’ll take this. “Are you saying the police knew Westin’s was going to be robbed?”
Lewis smiled at me. I could see he appreciated my attempts to interview him had been compromised by Bunny hijacking the mic between them.
“Ever hear of a group called the Pink Panthers?” Lewis asked.
“Like in the Peter Sellers movies?” Bunny put her elbows on the table and leaned closer to Lewis. “I love Peter Sellers.”
Lewis answered, “They were named after the series. Partly because their crimes were so cinematic and, for lack of a better word, spectacular. The group’s believed to be behind some of the largest diamond heists of the century. Several years ago, I was assigned to join a special task force to study some of what was happening in Europe. At the time the Pink Panthers had just hit Henry Westin’s in Paris. It was very similar to the hit here. It occurred right before Christmas. Only in Paris it was four men, all dressed as women, with wigs and makeup. They entered the store brandishing handguns, threatening customers and frightening employees. They demanded the safe be unlocked and then made off with one hundred and seven million dollars in heirloom jewelry and diamonds. The only reason they didn’t get away with more was because a lot of Westin’s more exotic pieces were already here in Beverly Hills. They’d been sent ahead for the awards season.”
“And you think this Wigged Bandit Carol’s reporting on is related to the robbery in Paris?”
“There are elements of that case we find interesting. As for the Wigged Bandit, all I can tell you at this point is she’s a person of interest we’d very much like to talk to.”
“And what about the jewels? Were they ever found?” Bunny asked.
“For all we know, they could be in a jewelry store window in Beverly Hills right now. They may have been sold, resold, and remounted, or they could just as easily be buried somewhere where nobody can find them.”
“And you think these people are here in Beverly Hills now to pick up what they missed in Paris? You make it sound like whoever’s behind this came with a shopping list.”
“If there’s anything I’ve learned about jewel thieves, it’s that they take their time plotting their hits and that the jewels themselves are almost never found. As for the thieves, the good ones anyway, they frequently get away with it. The masterminds behind the Pink Panthers remain at large. They consider themselves above the law. For them, it’s more of a sport than a crime. A lot of them are in it more for the bragging rights than the actual jewels. It’s a game for them.”
I jumped in. I couldn’t let Bunny, owner’s wife or not, run away with the interview. This was my story. “Given what you know about these types of robberies, Detective, and the fact that Miss Taylor’s necklace appears not to have been stolen after all, is there any chance LAPD might be luckier here than the investigators were in Europe?”
“We certainly hope so, Carol.”
Matt signaled Kari he had a caller on the line and shoved a small white erasable board beneath her nose. Lewis shifted his eyes to the board and smiled. Carmen, line two.
I locked eyes with Kari. She thanked Lewis and then announced we had a surprise caller on the line.
In a soft voice, not much louder than that of a purring kitten, Carmen came on the air.
“I want to thank everyone who called my agent expressing their concern for my well-being. While I was shaken up by the events at Henry Westin’s, I assure you all I’m just fine.”
“Carmen, dear,” Kari jumped in before I had a chance. “Can you explain to us what happened?”
“As you all know by now, I’d gone by Henry Westin’s to drop off a diamond necklace and earrings. They needed to be cleaned and I wanted the mountings checked. Like my sister, I planned to wear them for next week’s awards show. It’s my understanding that after I had left, there was an explosion and my necklace was stolen. I know Mimi thinks this must have something to do with my husband’s activities, but, honestly, much as I love you, Mim, you do tend to be a little dramatic. I’m afraid there’s really nothing to this. I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time and, fortunately, everything is fine. I’d like to say thank you to my fans, the Beverly Hills police, and the LAPD for all they’re doing to recover any lost jewels.”
Kari wrapped the show, and I glanced down at the pre-approved news reports Tyler had selected for my portion of the show. I wanted to trash the stories. News of Carmen’s reappearance and Lewis’ statement on the recent rash of robberies, how they appeared to be related and perhaps even connected to an international jewel ring, seemed far more important. Certainly more substantial than the chick-lite features I was required to read. But with Bunny sitting next to me, I didn’t dare. I was forced to stick with the script.
“Looks like Santa Claus might have to give two young boys a black mark against their names this Christmas. The two dialed 911 in an attempt to reach Santa and ended up sending emergency response units to their home. The boys’ mother said she had no idea what the boys had done until a fireman showed up on her doorstep and asked if there was a problem.”
Chapter 9
I hadn’t planned on going to the polo matches in Santa Barbara on Saturday, but by Friday, Monday’s robbery was old news. There was little happening with the investigation, the Wigged Bandit was still at large, and I hadn’t received any other mysterious calls to make me think “Tomi-with-an-i” was anything but a prank. Whoever the Wigged Bandit was, she had gone dark, and with no further robberies to report on, I’d hit a dead end in my investigation. The police department had nothing new, and I hadn’t heard a thing from Eric.
Meanwhile, Tyler had assigned me to produce KCHC’s annual Christmas Wish Campaign, which had me reading through stacks of listener letters, most of them hard-luck stories, and selecting one that KCHC’s Christmas Santa could answer. Every day I produced a sixty-second vignette, selecting bits and pieces from the letter I’d read over holiday music. Something that KCHC’s Christmas Santa could easily fix, either with a few hundred dollars from the station’s Christmas Fund or in the form of gift certificates from some of our advertisers. It made for a very poignant feel-good moment, but by Friday my Christmas wish was to get away from the station. I needed a break.
Sheri suggested we check out the polo matches in Santa Barbara. Charlie was going off to his dad’s for the weekend and had asked Clint to go with him, so why not? Sheri didn’t want to miss an opportunity to see Umberto Diaz de la Roca up close, and since I’d never seen a polo match, I thought it might be fun.
The drive up to Santa Barbara was postcard perfect. Just past Ventura, the 101 narrows and hugs the coastline. On one side, the Pacific’s sparkling blue waters were dotted with surfers in black wetsuits, straddling their boards and waiting for waves, while on the other, the green rolling hills were bunched with bungalows nestled among wine vineyards, avocado trees, and citrus orchards. It was exactly what I needed; even the air was intoxicating.
As Sheri drove, I pulled up as much information as I could from my iPhone about polo. Teams were made up of four players, who may ride as many as four or five horses per game. Games were one and a half hours long. Periods were called chukkers. And polo ponies weren’t ponies at all, but actually horses known for their agility, not because of their size or breed. “And get this; it’s one of the few sports where you can’t be left-handed. It’d be like driving on the wrong side of the road.”
Sheri wasn’t listening. Her mind was elsewhere. With no comment concerning my research, she started talking about Diaz: his aristocratic roots, his business holdings, and his many extra-marital affairs. According to Sheri, Diaz had as many ex-lovers in his stable of stars as he did polo ponies in the barn, and he liked to travel with many of them. It was no wonder Carmen had left him. What I didn’t understand was why someone like Carmen would remain so closely involved in her husband’s affairs.
The minute we pulled into the parking lot of the Santa Barbara Polo and Racquet Club, I felt like we’d entered another world. A valet took Sheri’s car and directed us to one of the four polo fields, where white hospitality tents with red-vested attendants had been set up for the event. Inside the main hospitality tent, celebrities and fans intermingled, all casually dressed in their sporting best and drinking champagne from Waterford crystal goblets and eating caviar off silver trays. A server offered Sheri and me glasses of Dom Pérignon, and we wandered outside to the field, where the scene was only slightly less ostentatious. In the warm sunshine, guests stood idly checking on the string of polo ponies, talking casually with more Hollywood stars, trainers, and grooms, while riders, dressed in their breeches and boots, milled about. It was no wonder polo was called the sport of kings. I felt as though we’d been invited to the court and were rubbing shoulders with Hollywood royalty.
We hadn’t been outside but a moment when Sheri poked me in the ribs and nodded to the string of polo ponies. Following her gaze, I noticed Mimi standing with Diaz and another young woman who appeared to be grooming one of the horses.
I’d never seen Diaz in person, only in small black and white headshots in the newspaper. Most of them were old, perhaps taken ten years ago when he and Carmen were in the midst of their never-finalized divorce. But with his dark curly hair, deep tan, and white jodhpurs that left little to the imagination, Diaz could have been a stand-in for Michelangelo’s David.
“You see that remarkable creature over there?”
“The horse?” I joked.
“No.” Sheri laughed. “That girl.”
I glanced back at the young dark-haired woman grooming one of the polo ponies. Even with her back to us, it was easy to see she was attractive. With long wavy hair hanging loosely over her shoulders and dressed in riding breeches and tall black riding boots, she was a knockout.
“That’s Donatella. The young trainer Diaz left Carmen for. Like I said, he never leaves them behind on a trip, and judging by way Mimi’s standing next to him, she’s here to protect her interest.”
“In Diaz? I thought Mimi said he was—”
“Was what? Married to her sister?” Sheri gave me a look that told me I was beyond all hope. “Don’t you ever read the tabloids? Mimi’s had her eye on Diaz since the day they met.”
I was about to go on about how silly I thought tabloid journalism was when I noticed a red convertible Maserati approaching the end of the field. Sitting in the passenger seat with a silk scarf about her head was Carmen Montague and driving, wearing a sports coat and cap I’d never seen before, was Eric.
Sheri turned to me. “I get that we’re not supposed to be talking about it, but did you know Eric would be here?”
“No,” I said sternly. “I certainly did not.”
“Well, then this is going to be interesting.” Sheri stepped back and said she was going to check out the polo ponies, leaving me on my own.
I had no idea exactly how I was going to handle meeting Eric socially, particularly with Carmen on his arm. I didn’t want to make the situation uncomfortable. I realized this was accidental, but there was little I could do. The two of them were approaching the front entrance of the hospitality tent. Carmen’s arm was linked loosely in the crook of Eric’s elbow. My feet refused to move. I had to think fast.
“Carmen?” I extended my hand and ignored Eric’s gaze. “I’m Carol Childs, with KCHC talk radio. I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“The reporter?” She stopped and adjusted her dark glasses. I thought for a moment she might be about to shake my hand, but instead she squeezed Eric’s elbow tighter, pulling his arm closer beneath her breast. I wanted to kill her.
I smiled through my teeth. “Yes, I was—”
“I apologize,” she said. “I’m afraid I can’t talk to you now. My publicist is around here somewhere; perhaps you could chat with her.” Carmen looked over her shoulder, spotting Diaz and Mimi, and turned to Eric. “James, could you help find Penny and introduce her to Carol? I need to talk with my sister.”
I watched as Carmen unleashed herself from Eric’s supporting arm and sashayed off in the direction of her sister and Diaz.
“Is it James or Jason? I’m having trouble keeping up.” I smiled disingenuously, enjoying the moment, and waited for Eric’s response.
Eric glanced back in Carmen’s direction, then put his hand gently on my elbow, leading me towards the front of the tent. “What are you doing here, Carol?”
“Sheri invited me. She thought it might be fun. Besides, I needed a break from the day to day. You know, burglaries, robberies. That kind of thing. They can be such a bore.”
Eric shook his head. “I get it, Carol. I know—”
“Believe me,” I interrupted. I knew Eric couldn’t explain his situation, but I could at least justify my own. “I had no idea you’d be here. But since you are, would you mind introducing me to Carmen’s publicist?”
Eric nodded in the direction of the parking lot where a twenty-something woman was getting out of a convertible Volkswagen. “Her name’s Penny Salvatti. But I assume you already know that.”
I smiled.
Carmen’s publicist was maybe six feet—taller than me—and thin, with a mass of red hair she wore in a ponytail beneath a baseball cap low on her brow. Getting out of the car, she spotted Eric and waved, then, clutching a clipboard, came running like a gawky young Army recruit.
“Miss Salvatti, this is Carol Childs with KCHC Talk Radio. Miss Montague suggested you talk.”
Penny glanced at the clipboard then back at me. “Yes, KCHC radio. We’ve actually spoken.”
“I was hoping I might be able to talk to Carmen about her experience. Where she’s been. These last couple of days, it’s like she just vanished,” I said.
Eric stepped back slightly, a thin smile on his lips as he crossed his arms and waited. I could read his mind. No way was I going to get the real story.
“It’s not something she wants to talk about. But if you like, I know Mr. Paley, the security guard from Westin’s, is here. Miss Montague insisted I send over tickets to both Mr. Churchill and Mr. Paley as a thank you. I’m sure I could find him for you and you could discuss whatever you like about the robbery with him.”
I glanced back at Eric. He shrugged his shoulders and winked. I felt a spark in the pit of my stomach and had to bite back a nervous laugh. Pretending I wasn’t involved with Eric, particularly in front of strangers, had a sense of intrigue about it. My eyes followed him as he excused himself and disappeared into the tent.
Despite my awkward encounter with Eric, I enjoyed the first half of the game. It was fast, furious, and muddy. It had rained the night before. Not enough to drown out the game, but enough to soften the field and make for a lot of muddy divots that needed to be stomped back into place for the game to safely continue. Sheri told me halftime was traditionally when the grooms and their families used to go
out onto the field and do the dirty work. Today, it was like a seventh-inning stretch. Fans were invited to the field, drinks were refreshed, and the divots, muddy or otherwise, were replaced by patrons who under other circumstances would never get their hands dirty.
During halftime, I pulled Sheri with me out to the midfield where I did my best to navigate us inconspicuously close to Eric and Carmen. I was hoping to catch bits and pieces of their conversation. Perhaps Carmen might drop some hint about the robbery or, equally as interesting to me, some clue about how things were heating up between the two of them. After all, far as I knew, Eric had spent the last four days in her company. As her “escort.”
I was standing with my back to Carmen, miming a conversation with Sheri when I heard Mimi.
“You need to back off.” The voice was high-pitched and threatening.
I turned around to see Mimi with a muddy divot in her hand, facing off with her sister.
“Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it? Are you threatening me?” Carmen, half a head taller than her sister, took a step closer to her, another muddy divot in her hand.
“He doesn’t love you. You’re never going to get him back. He’s just using you.” Mimi’s face was red with rage.
“Well, that’s my problem, isn’t it? He’s my husband, and I can do whatever I like.” With that, Carmen stuffed the muddy divot down her sister’s snowy white cashmere sweater, then smeared the palm of her hand against Mimi’s chest.
“You bitch!”
Mimi grabbed what remained of the grassy, muddy divot from between her breasts and, making a fist, started to pound on Carmen’s shoulders. Eric grabbed Carmen by the hand and pulled her away. Leaving Mimi like a spoiled child, a fashionista in breeches and riding boots with tears streaming down her face.
“You’ll be sorry,” Mimi yelled. “He never wanted you.”
I stood in the center of the field trying to take in everything I had just seen when my thoughts were interrupted. Penny Salvatti came running in my direction.
Without a Doubt Page 6
