The Case of the Yellow Diamond

by Carl Brookins

  “He was afraid if they found the plane, they might also discover items that should not have been in the plane,” I said. “Specifically, uncut jewels. Like these.” I took a small white envelope from my shirt pocket and spilled three small pebbles into my open palm.

  Mrs. Pryor looked down and poked at the gems with one slender, well-manicured finger. She sighed softly. “Yes, these look just like the uncut diamonds I saw at my jewelers. A little dustier, perhaps.”

  “These are most likely smuggled. I have to return them to the bank from whence they came. But I wanted you to see them because they represent a part of what this whole caper has been about. There’s also the possibility there is information still preserved on the aircraft that could prove embarrassing.”

  “To Preston, or perhaps my family?”

  Quick on the uptake, Mrs. Pryor. I nodded and continued. “During World War Two, military traffic out of Southeast Asia was focused on the war effort. A lot of flights came in with only cursory examination and some smart folks realized that smuggling small stuff with a high dollar value was better than trying to get bulky drugs across our borders, although there was certainly some of that as well. I’m sure that a certain pilot, acting as a courier and a transporter of planes, was able to carry contraband into the country fairly easily.

  “He probably did it mostly for hire. He didn’t make a lot of money, but he also didn’t have to deal with processing the jewels at this end. He apparently made multiple trips with gems, which were then hidden away to be used as needed for the operations of some construction firms in Illinois, Iowa and Minnesota. Later, Anderson and Hillier became the trusted couriers who took the uncut jewels from wherever they were being kept and sold them discreetly. The resulting funds were fed into the firms’ operations. The extra cash apparently gave the firms certain advantages.”

  Madeline nodded. “I see. And you believe there may be evidence on the airplane that would tie the smuggling to Preston and perhaps others? Have you discovered where the gems were being stored?”

  “Not for sure, which is why this mystery is still unsolved. I’m persuaded they are probably in Saint Louis somewhere.”

  “What about the wounding of that young boy? Calvin?”

  “I think that was another botched attempt to place the family in such turmoil they’d forget all about Yap.”

  “Will you look for the jewels?”

  “Until Richard Hillier is arrested, definitely. I don’t like loose ends, and Mr. Hillier needs to answer for his crimes.”

  “If you find the ‘stash,’ as you call it, what will happen to them? The jewels, that is, if any are left?”

  A thought wiggled into my mind that Mrs. Pryor seemed mighty interested in this sidelight. But I dismissed that thought and said, “I don’t really know, although I think the government might show up in the form of customs and maybe the IRS.”

  “Is there anything else you wish to report?”

  “No, I think that concludes our business, until Mr. Hillier is apprehended. I think Josie and Tod will be able to return to a relatively normal life of preparing for another trip to Yap Island to look for their granduncle, assuming they can secure financing. With no more interference.”

  As I drove away and headed to my home in Roseville in the hot afternoon sun, I wondered where Hillier had gotten to. I wanted to bring him down. He was a killer and needed to be stopped.

  My house, having been shut up for several days, was stuffy and the cats were upset. They weren’t hungry but I gave them treats and some attention and then saw to routines around the place. By the time I finished, it was getting dark so I called Catherine to say I’d spend the night alone at home.

  Chapter 36

  My instincts were out to lunch when I called her, because Catherine didn’t pick up, and I didn’t react. She said she’d be going home. Well, maybe she was in the pool or the shower. Neither was true.

  It was dark and very early when my second line buzzed and flashed, which woke me. Very few people knew the unregistered number of that line. A few cops, my cyber specialists down the hall, and Catherine.

  I fumbled the phone to my ear and rolled over to sit up on the edge of the mattress. I heard breathing, distant thumps, and a voice I almost recognized. The voice seemed to carry menacing undertones, but under the circumstances, that wasn’t surprising. I hummed something soft and unrecog­nizable. No response. With the phone stuck to the side of my head, I pawed at my clothes and began to dress.

  Whatever this was, it wasn’t good.

  Moments later, a sibilant hiss, punctuated by gasps, said, “Sean. Hillier has me.”

  Even with the stress, I knew that voice. Somewhere, Richard Hillier had laid his hands on Catherine and was holding her hostage.

  Apparently she’d been able to speed dial my number on her cell. I listened harder. In the background, Hillier was talking. It also sounded like he was moving stuff around.

  “This is silly,” came Catherine’s voice. “I’m of no use to you.”

  “Shut up, bitch. Cooperate and maybe I won’t shoot you after I get clear.”

  “What’s in the bag?”

  His voice was suddenly louder and clearer. He must be right next to Catherine. “What’s in the bag? Why would you care? What’s in the bag is my passport, my personal stash of rocks, my code to the bank in St. Louis, and the gun I’m gonna kill you with.”

  “Have you ever really killed anybody?”

  “Jesus. Why’m I talking to you? Yeah, sweetie, bombs and bullets, that’s me. If those damn kids hadn’t insisted on diving in Yap an’ got her dad all worried, he’d be alive and we’d still be sittin’ pretty.” His voiced faded. He must have walked away.

  Catherine muttered, “We’re in Hillier’s apartment.”

  I grabbed the other phone to dial 911. When it rang before I could punch in the three numbers, it startled me. It was Ricardo.

  “Sean, we’ve located Hillier. He appears to have someone with him. Maybe a woman.”

  My heart was thundering, and I had trouble capturing a full breath. “I know. It’s Catherine. The bastard’s holding Catherine. What’s the address?”

  “I’m coming,” I said louder, hoping Catherine might hear.

  After scribbling the address on a scrap of paper and dropping the phone, I ran to the gun safe and grabbed my Colt .45 and a box of ammunition. Feet slid into shoes and I scooped up keys, ID, wallet, and bolted out the door. The address Ricardo had given me was a place on the east side of Minneapolis, south of Franklin. At 3:00 a.m., or whatever time it was, there was little traffic, and I sped through town hoping to not encounter a patrol car. I probably upset a few wandering dog-walkers as I screeched around corners and ran a red light. A block from the address a Minneapolis prowl car blocked the street, and I parked, jumped out and ran toward the shotgun-toting cop, waving my ID.

  The cop looked, nodded and pointed down the dark street. I turned away and he began to talk into the radio pinned to his shoulder.

  Detective Simon materialized out of the dark and dragged me to shelter beside a fat elm. “He’s made one trip to his vehicle, the car parked by the door with the trunk lid up. He must have restrained Catherine while he packs up.”

  “She called me, and she’s sort of got him talking. I left the recorder on so you’re gonna probably have a confession of sorts. What’s the plan?”

  “Wait him out and take him down the next time he appears.”

  “I’m gonna get closer. Maybe I can jump him when he comes out.”

  “Don’t!” hissed Ricardo. “There are several cops out here with guns. You could get killed.”

  I ignored his warning and trotted silently across the street. It was easy to avoid the two dim streetlights. When Hillier appeared in the doorway dragging Catherine by one arm, I raised my gun. Maybe he didn’
t know we were there. Hillier pulled the door to the sedan open, and the cops revealed themselves. Two big spotlights and four pairs of headlights in a rough semi-circle lit up the corner and the building entrance. A voice from a bullhorn crackled, then roared, commanding Hillier to raise his hands and release the hostage.

  Hillier slammed Catherine into the open car door and reached to his waist. Catherine cried out. Hillier raised a pistol, and someone off to my right fired a rifle. The bullet caught Hillier high on his left shoulder, knocking him back. Hands tied, Catherine lunged across the seats toward the passenger door.

  I wrenched it open and clawed at her, dragging her out of the car and onto the warm pavement behind the front tire. Hillier raised his weapon and fired into the empty front seat. Another shot rang out and I heard Hillier grunt from the impact. He took two staggering steps and crumpled to the sidewalk. For a long moment there was no sound, then I heard the shuffle of many feet as a squad of cops rushed forward and surrounded a prone and dying Richard Hillier. Ricardo’s partner, Leon, reached me and said, “You’re okay, right? Didn’t shoot, right?” I shook my head, reached to help Catherine up, slid my arms around her, clutched her to my chest. We stood pressed together, sobbing with relief and trembling with the adrenaline surge.

  I put my weapon back in its holster and covered it with my shirt. I untied Catherine’s wrists, wincing at the red marks left on her skin by the tight cord. Uniforms and a couple of strangers in suits with badges prominently displayed walked by, barely glancing in our direction.

  “Guy’s dead,” I heard. An ambulance, lights flashing, no siren, showed up and the routines of forensic detailing a shooting scene moved into high gear. Leon escorted us back across the street and outside a line of yellow plastic tape. I was having trouble walking normally. The EMTs gave Catherine the once-over and declared her good to go.

  More police vehicles arrived in a steady stream.

  “Go. Home,” said Leon. “Come to the station in the morning to give a statement. Okay?”

  I shook his hand and Catherine and I sat in my car, winding down, watching the circus of cops for many minutes until the shaking went away and I felt I could handle driving us to the apartment.

  Afterword

  After cleaning up the telephone recording I’d provided, the county attorney had what amounted to a full—if rambling and expletive-filled—confession from Richard Hillier. He and his buddy Anderson had indeed couriered and sold uncut diamonds that had been stolen and smuggled into the states toward the end of the Second World War. Hillier essentially confessed to killing Preston Pederson and Gareth Anderson and shooting at Calvin. Even though the man was dead, his guilt in all this was certain, which meant the danger to the family had ended.

  Hillier’s luggage had several pounds of rough diamonds, and Josie’s father’s will revealed a bank safe deposit box with a small fortune in uncut jewels, including a rare top-grade fancy yellow diamond. Its sale alone would secure Josie and Tod Bartelme’s financial situation and pay for more diving trips to Yap, which they arranged and took as soon as they could.

  Josie and Tod’s most recent expedition had pinpointed the location of the bomber that carried Josie’s granduncle. What new secrets might be revealed would wait for another season and another trip to the South Pacific.

  Strangely, with the right wreck found, Josie seemed less interested in what might be discovered inside the shell of that bomber.

  Tod and Josie explained all this to me when we concluded our business where it had started, in the shade of umbrellas on their deck overlooking a peaceful lake. I drove home through the hot summer afternoon to a cool gin and tonic and the love of my life.