“And Donatella, she was alone in the barn? Your other riders, they weren’t around?”
“Mornings are busy for us. They all would have been in and out of the barn, exercising the horses.”
I looked back down the aisle. I didn’t notice any empty stalls. Diaz must have called all the riders in when he discovered the body.
“And what about Tomas?”
“Tomas?” Diaz seemed surprised I knew any of his people by name.
“Yes. Tomas and Donatella are both trainers, right?” I paused to see if Diaz reacted, hoping I’d see some tell or facial tic that might indicate he knew Tomas was involved in the murder. There was nothing. “Was he around this morning?”
Diaz glanced back into the tack room and shook his head. “I haven’t seen him. He may have taken a horse from one of the other barns out into the hills for an early morning trail ride. He does that from time to time.”
I was about to ask Diaz more about Tomas when I heard a scream coming from the other end of the barn. I turned to see Morganstern burst through the barn doors like a madman. Two cops were on him instantly. I knew it was procedure for the police to hold relatives back when a body was discovered. But Morganstern had somehow escaped their hold. He cried out Bunny’s name, clawing at the air as though he were trying to pull his way closer to her body. Overpowered by emotion and the strength of the cops, he fell to his knees, sobbing.
“You’re going to have to excuse me. I need to go to him.” Diaz pushed past me and jogged in the direction of where Morganstern had collapsed.
Halfway down the aisle, where Eric and Donatella were talking, he stopped and said something to Eric. There was a quick exchange, then Diaz lifted a tearful Donatella to her feet and the two walked over to Morganstern. Diaz stopped momentarily, leaned down and touched Morganstern’s shoulder, and whispered something into the grieving man’s ear. Then putting his arm back around Donatella and pulling her to him closely, they disappeared through the barn doors.
Eric looked back at me. Our eyes locked like we were the only two people in the barn. He stood up and I watched as he approached.
“Carol, you got a minute? There’s something we need to talk about.”
I decided to beat him to the punch. The events of the morning were overwhelming. I was frustrated, angry and confused. I lashed out.
“Didn’t you get my voicemail last night? About the message on my home phone? That I needed to watch out for my friend?”
“I got it this morning, Carol. You left it on my cell phone. I thought it was personal. It wasn’t marked urgent. I had no idea it had anything to do with the case. I’ve been up all night with the investigation and I’m beat. I didn’t play it back until an hour ago. By the time our guys checked it out, Bunny was already dead.” Eric sounded like he was measuring his words, being careful to control any sense of emotion. His voice was monotone.
“Dammit.” I couldn’t look Eric in the eye. I turned my back to him. I was angry at myself. Why hadn’t I marked the call urgent? All I had to do was hit the pound sign and he would have known. Had I just assumed Eric would see the call was from me and answer it? I looked back at the body. I wanted to erase the scene, but I couldn’t unsee Bunny’s dead body lying in the center of the aisle. If only I had tried to call her again, gotten hold of her instead of just leaving a message, maybe none of this would have happened. With my fists to my mouth, tight like I wanted to punch something, I said, “I feel responsible.”
I could feel Eric standing behind me, the heat of his body just inches from my own. Another time he might have put his arms around me, but, for now, we were maintaining our professional roles. Instead, he put his hand lightly on my shoulder, like he might a colleague.
“Carol, this isn’t your fault. Investigations aren’t easy. Bad things happen. Things don’t always wrap up in nice neat little packages with the bad guys going to jail.”
I stared into Eric’s eyes. He looked tired, his eyes bloodshot. For the first time, I had an idea of what he must feel like to chase after criminals, knowing, in the end, they just might get away with everything. It had to be tough.
“The good guys don’t always win, Carol.”
I shook my head. “Does Diaz know who you are?” I was angry. I needed to know.
“He thinks we’re all part of the investigation. That’s all I can tell you.”
“And Donatella? You just questioned her and let her go?” I pointed back in the direction of where Eric had been sitting with Donatella. “You can’t possibly believe this was an accident. That she’s not somehow connected to everything you’re investigating. She’s got the same last name as the woman killed in the jewelry store. Pero. That can’t be a coincidence.”
“It’s a name, Carol. And it doesn’t matter what I believe, not right now. We need proof and that isn’t always easy. It’s not like it is on TV. Things don’t come out in an investigation when you want them to. It takes time to find evidence and to make it stick. And off the record—between you and me—sometimes it takes a little help. But I can tell you we’re getting close. We’ve got another videotape with the Wigged Bandit on it.”
“You mean Tomas?”
I caught a flicker of surprise in Eric’s eyes. “So you know his name?”
“That Tomas is probably Tomi, a.k.a. the Wigged Bandit, and works for Diaz? Yeah, I do. And if I’m right, he’s not alone. He may have a few of his buddies traveling with him.”
Eric smiled. “You’re a good investigative reporter, Carol. Better than anyone gives you credit for.”
Right now I felt like I needed to be a better reporter than a girlfriend, and the two, just like Bunny had said, made for a difficult mix.
“So what? Why are you telling me this? I can’t do anything with it.”
“I wouldn’t rule that out. Not yet. There’s something more you need to know. This other videotape is from the Beverly Wilshire. It was taken when Annabelle’s was setting up the auction for the Huguette Clark collection. The missing jewels you reported on from the collection, they were stolen from the auction before the public showing. Before the show was open to the public and the jewels were all officially mounted in the display cases.”
“But Annabelle’s reported it after the auction opened.”
“That’s when we discovered it. Someone switched out some of the jewels prior to the auction.”
Eric explained how the cameras inside the Beverly Wilshire Hotel had caught Tomas on tape, working as an assistant to the auctioneer, just as Annabelle’s was setting up the auction. Annabelle’s had believed Tomas was an employee of the Clark Estate while the Estate claimed never to have seen him before.
“But it gets better, Carol. As a matter of practice, Annabelle’s invites potential big buyers for a private viewing. It’s a big deal, happens a couple days before the public viewing, and guess who was one of those buyers invited to the event?”
“Diaz,” I said.
“And who do you suppose he brought with him?”
“Donatella?”
“Exactly. And according to Diaz, he also brought along a ring, similar to Ms. Clark’s two-million-dollar diamond ring, that he had purchased from an estate sale in Europe. It appeared he wanted to compare the two. It’s an old sleight of hand trick. Diaz looks away, something or someone diverted his attention. On the tape, it looks like Donatella has pulled him away. At that point, the assistant, Tomas, switches the rings, and Diaz goes home with a two-million-dollar ring in his pocket, thinking it’s the ring he brought to compare. The ring in the display case is valued at a fraction of the one the late Ms. Clark owned. It’s a two-hundred-thousand-dollar fake.”
“A big difference,” I said.
“But not something the untrained eye looking through a glass display case is going to notice.”
“And Diaz knows?”
“He does now.”
“Which means he knows he’s been set up.”
“Possibly. And that’s one of the reasons the FBI needed you not to say anything about what we’ve been doing. Like I said, we’re getting close, Carol. We’re just not there yet.”
“And what about the ring? Where’s it now?”
Eric suggested I sit down. I found a tack box outside one of the stalls and sat on top of it.
“It’s the ring Carmen was wearing the night of the awards show. The ring she left in the hotel room—in her bag—before joining Mimi at the after party. And, more importantly, the ring she asked me to fetch for Churchill the night she was murdered.”
“It was Huguette Clark’s ring?” I slapped my hand to my chest. My heart was beating like a racehorse.
“She believed it was just another ring Diaz wanted to sell. And as you thought, she was trying to skim off the top from those jewels she delivered from Diaz.”
“She didn’t know it was a two-and-a-half-million-dollar ring?”
“Diaz is sure she had no idea.”
“And you still have it?”
Eric laughed. “Not on me. But trust me, we have it.”
I stood up and stared into the stall behind me. Inside, a bay-colored polo pony with a dark cropped mane and tail cribbed at the door, biting the rough wood beneath the bars. I reached for a handful of hay from the feedbag and extended my flat hand beneath the bars. Then, turning around, I looked at Eric and brushed my hands clean.
“And yet come Sunday, the FBI’s just going to let Diaz and his team get on a plane and fly back to Europe. When it’s becoming more and more apparent Diaz is either involved or being played and hasn’t got a clue what’s going on around him.”
“You know that’s not something I can talk about.”
I stared into his eyes, leveled and focused on my own. He didn’t have to tell me. I was getting good at reading his masked expressions. This was a setup.
“Because Diaz isn’t just going to fly out of the country, is he? That’s why you want to talk to me. The FBI’s giving them all—Tomas and Donatella and anyone else involved—just enough rope to hang themselves.”
“No comment.”
“So we are on the same team.”
“I hope so. But you and I? We never had this conversation.”
I looked into Eric’s eyes. I missed our conversations, those late night phone calls when he would call for no other reason than to say goodnight or just to hear my voice.
“We haven’t had a lot of conversations lately, Eric. In fact, we haven’t had much of anything.”
Eric looked away quickly then back again, as though to check no one might overhear us. “I’m sorry about the way things are between us right now, Carol. I didn’t plan it this way.”
“No. I know you didn’t.” I stood up a little straighter and backed away an inch, enough to give me a little space. “We each have our roles to play, don’t we?”
“Which is one of the reasons I needed to talk to you. We need you to broadcast something.”
I took my notepad from my bag. My pen was poised and ready.
“So what is it the FBI would like me to report?”
“Ms. Morganstern’s death was an accident and Diaz and his team will be returning to Spain on Sunday as previously scheduled. And you can include a quote that a source close to the investigation has told you they have no reason to suspect either Diaz or his team has any connection to Ms. Montague’s death or to the recent jewelry store heists in Beverly Hills. They are cleared to go.”
I finished writing. “Anything else?”
Eric glanced back over his shoulder and in a voice barely above a whisper, said, “About that conversation, the one we haven’t had lately? Just so you know, I miss it too, Carol. I promise we’ll have plenty of time to talk after this case is over. I’m planning on it.”
I called the station from my Jeep. I didn’t want to file news of Bunny’s death from the barn. I had the uncomfortable feeling someone too close to the crime might not only be listening but also watching.
“Police were called to the ranch of Umberto Diaz de la Roca in Simi Valley this morning after a body was discovered in the barn. The body, believed to be that of Bunny Morganstern, wife of KCHC station owner, Howard Morganstern, appears to have died after being injured in a horse-related incident. When asked to comment, Mr. Diaz claimed he had no idea Ms. Morganstern was visiting the ranch and says he is devastated by the loss.
“In other news, Mr. Diaz has confirmed he is expected to return with his polo team to Spain on Sunday. Sources close to the investigation into the death of his wife, Carmen Montague, confirmed there is no evidence either Diaz or any member of his team is responsible for Ms. Montague’s death. And that rumors suggesting Ms. Montague may have been a target or possibly connected to a string of jewelry store robberies in the Beverly Hills area completely false. This is Carol Childs reporting live from Simi Valley.”
Chapter 31
I knew the FBI and the police had a lot to do before there could be an arrest. Far as I could tell, the FBI had nothing on Donatella, and Tomas was nowhere to be found. Suspicion was one thing, but only hard evidence would secure an arrest warrant. Cases that moved too quickly risked getting kicked out of court for lack of proper procedure.
As for me, I still had a lot of dots to connect before the big picture made any sense. Right now, it was just a bunch of moving pieces: Ms. Pero and Donatella had the same last name. No way was Donatella a horse trainer, and far as I knew, Ms. Pero had to have been Tomas’ inside contact, but I didn’t have any real proof they even knew one another. And Paley, if he was to be believed, may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. As for Diaz and his relationship with Donatella, I had my suspicions, but who was using who? Was Diaz just using the girl to satisfy his male ego or perhaps to knock off Carmen, maybe even promising Donatella marriage in return? Or was she using him, helping position a team of international jewel thieves?
The only thing I did know was that the clock was ticking. And if Diaz and his polo team got on their plane Sunday and left LA, we might never know who had killed Carmen, who was behind the robberies, or where the jewels were. It would just be another unsolved case. Exactly like those in Europe. And if I was right, Donatella, Tomas, or the Wigged Bandit, and his team of thieves would win. All I knew for certain was that I had promised Nina to find her sister’s killer. And now with Bunny’s death weighing heavily on my mind, I owed that much to her as well.
After leaving the ranch, I went back to Henry Westin’s. I wanted to return to the scene of the crime and talk with Churchill. I had questions about a couple of the women in his life, specifically Ms. Pero and Carmen Montague.
Churchill was behind the counter when I entered. He was dressed in a double-breasted blue blazer, a red bowtie, and gray slacks. He looked spiffy, every bit the British gentleman he was, right down to the pocket square in his left front pocket. I explained I wanted to talk to him more about the day of the explosion.
“Mr. Paley told me you weren’t expected in the store that day. He said you had called in sick with an upset stomach. And that you informed Ms. Pero Carmen Montague would be coming in.”
“That’s partially correct. Ms. Pero and I had dinner together the night before the robbery. We do, or rather we did, from time to time. I’m afraid I still can’t come into the store and not think about her. I miss her dearly. But that night, I got food poisoning. I must have eaten something at dinner that didn’t agree with me. I had ordered the Chicken Amandine and woke up with a nasty case of the runs about two a.m. But by ten o’clock the next morning, I was feeling much better and decided I’d best go in. I remember Ms. Pero seemed quite surprised to see me.”
“Did you share that with the investigators?”
“Oh, yes. And they seemed quite concerned. I believe they think she was involv
ed. I have trouble with that, but you never know. People can surprise you.”
I believed Churchill was surprised. In his orderly world of ascots and matched pocket squares, I didn’t imagine he was much for personal conversation. It would make him too uncomfortable. But still, he had to know something about the woman.
I asked, “Can you tell me anything about her?”
“Not much.” Churchill ran his fingers through his thinning hair as though it might help him to remember. Then as though he’d stumbled upon a thought that might help, he said, “I can tell you we spoke French together, and a smattering of other languages. She said she had grown up somewhere in the south of France. She teased she was a gypsy. Said she’d traveled a lot, never really settled anywhere. I think the longest she’d ever been anywhere was here in California, and she’d only been here a couple of years. I’m afraid our conversations really weren’t personal. We talked mostly about art and jewelry.” Churchill paused and placed his hand on his heart. “We weren’t…involved, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“No.” I laughed to myself. I was certain Churchill hadn’t been involved with anyone in years, much less a woman. “I just was hoping to get a better idea of who she was.”
“Well, I can tell you she had quite a good eye for detail. In fact, I think I may have something of hers. I probably should have given it to the detectives when they were here, but I’m afraid it slipped my mind. Let me check.”
Churchill walked back into a small office at the end of the showroom and returned moments later with a jeweler’s loupe.
“It’s really of no value. She often wore it on a chain around her neck. I found it on her desk after the explosion. Poor dear, she must have taken it off and left it there. I remember she said it had been a gift from a friend from the old country. I got the feeling it was maybe from an ex-lover or husband.”
“May I see?” I held my hand out, hoping to get a closer look.
“Here, you can have it.” He piled the loupe and chain loosely in the palm of my hand. “Like I said, it’s not worth much. The chain maybe, but it was mostly sentimental value.”
Without a Doubt Page 19
