by K. T. Tomb
“It is beautiful. Is it not?”
They both nodded, speechless. In a moment, Mr. Lee suddenly clutched the necklace, turned and threw it as hard as he could toward the back wall of his office. It made contact just below a hanging of a large ceremonial wooden spear, where the jade necklace shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. Small shards and jewel dust settled into the carpet.
Ella screamed. Charlie lunged uselessly toward the shards, stopping and sinking into a chair when he realized he was too late. Ella clutched the edge of the conference table.
“As I suspected, it shattered, which shows it to be an intricate forgery. Genuine jade would fracture into large pieces.”
Charlie and Ella both looked at him in shock. Mr. Lee continued. “I paid Ms. Chapman over $200,000 for that artifact. She is stealing from me. Who knows how many other items she has sold to me that are forgeries?”
“How did you know? I mean, clearly you suspected, but...” Ella gestured feebly to the broken pieces against the wall.
“Jade is especially difficult to recognize as being forged. Nephrite, a gem commonly used to replicate jade pieces, has a different breaking pattern from jade. The only way to know is to see a shard of the broken piece.”
“You must have had some idea,” Charlie said.
“Of course,” the man continued. “Carol Chapman was referred to me after the Caracas' National Museum burned down during the last rebellion. I had entrusted Carol with the purchase of the necklace; one of the few pieces that survived the fire. She returned with that thing after I had given her a suitcase full of cash. I have suspected for some time that the piece may be a forgery. Something about the weight of it just seemed... off.”
“I would hope,” said Charlie, “that your actions just now were on slightly more than just a hunch.”
Charlie and Ella nodded, still taken aback by the shattering of what they had thought was a priceless piece of jewelry. Ella took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Where are my manners?” Mr. Lee said, suddenly gesturing for them to sit again in the leather high-backed chairs. “May I pour you both a drink? You have had such a terrible shock at my hands. Please.”
“That would be wonderful, thank you Ella said without pause, placing her hand on her heart.
“Scotch on the rocks,” Charlie said as they both sat.
Mr. Lee brought them their drinks and then poured himself a scotch, joining them by sitting in the third leather chair in front of his desk. The chairs had been positioned so they all faced each other in a small half circle. He then continued his explanation.
“What happened was this: I had suspected the forgery, so I arranged with the performer for the necklace to be used in last night's performance. I watched Carol's reaction when the lights revealed the performer wearing it. At first, I could see she had been fooled to believe it was the real one, but then when her face relaxed she gave herself away. She had seen something, some detail that allowed her to recognize her work and that what she had given me was the forgery. After the performance, I kept up my end of the ruse and continued to behave as if I believed it to be authentic. I collected the item from the actor and had it returned here, with full security detail, to my office.
“Now, what I'd like to do is hire the both of you, not only to determine if the smuggling ring is actually a reality, but also if it is, to find out if Ms. Chapman is working alone. Since we know that this necklace is a fake, I'd also like to find and acquire the genuine article. The two of you are knowledgeable enough to do that, I suspect. Plus, you will have access to the full range of resources that I have to offer, as well as a detective stipend. I also realize that, unfortunately, this is cutting into your much-deserved honeymoon. That being a factor, I am prepared to donate $25,000 in your name to the museum of your choice and create an open booking for two weeks at any of my resorts at any time you wish. In addition to the five thousand dollars, of course.”
“What do you intend to do?” Ella asked. “Once the authentic items are found, what happens to them?”
“What I have always wanted, of course. To keep them preserved, and available to the museum for the viewership and enjoyment of everyone. In addition to uncovering the forged items, I'd like to hire you, Mr. Colton, to curate the museum and its contents, including my private collection, of course. Just to be clear, I only house the items in my private collection as it gets rotated through the museum. It is all part of the inventory,” Mr. Lee said. “I am not very different from the two of you, I think. We both care about the authenticity and the preservation of these miraculous pieces; a picture from another place in time. I am inspired by their presence. Take the afternoon to think about whether or not you want to take the case. Keep the five thousand for your inconvenience, and let me know at brunch tomorrow.”
Ella glanced over to her husband, who gave her a brief nod.
She said to Mr. Lee, “I don't think we need to think about it. We will take the case.”
The man behind the desk clasped his hands together.
“Fantastic, but please, do take the afternoon off. Enjoy the islands. Make use of the resort’s fine offerings. Start the job tomorrow. I insist.”
After shaking hands, thanking each other and having a pleasant exchange with Mr. Lee's personal assistant on the way out, the two went into the hallway, weaving through the resort back to their room. They discussed their strategy as they walked, both noticing in the other a bit of a spring in their step.
“So, Benjamin isn't such a bad guy after all,” Charlie said. “Who would have seen that coming, right?”
“I'm not so sure,” said Ella. “There’s just something about him that is a little bit off- putting. I want to go back and figure out what is going on with Carol Chapman. She said she invited you to see something. What do you think she meant?”
“Not terribly sure,” Charlie said.
“Was she coming on to you?” Ella asked.
“Of course notshe also invited you,” he replied, sounding offended.
“Damn!” Ella exclaimed. “We could use it to our favor if she was coming onto you. I have an idea. Why don't you try to track down Ms. Chapman, set up a time to see what it is she wants you to see and we'll meet back at the room around six-ish for dinner. Sound good?”
“What are you up to?” Charlie asked. He recognized the gleam in Ella's eye. She got this every time they had just taken on an especially interesting case. He felt rather amused because he too felt the heady rush of having just landed a new case. Maybe they just were not the honeymoon/vacationing types. They needed the excitement of their work to keep their fire lit; or, at least the feeling of adventure.
“I know what I'm doing. I'm going back to the police station, if you must know,” she said.
“Alright, I'll see you at the room around six.”
“That sounds good. Remember, if you see Carol Chapman, be charming,” she said, with a stern tone followed by a grin and a quick kiss as they parted ways. “But not too charming.”
“Of course,” he said, returning the smile as he watched Ella exit the revolving doors of the hotel, her strawberry hair ablaze in the bright tropical sunlight.
He turned to head back to the room to plan his next strategy. When he opened the door to the room, something caught his eye. Someone had been in the room. A small gold coin had been placed on the pillow, his pillow. He walked over and picked it up immediately thinking of the story he had told Carol the night before. Examining the coin for significant markings, Charlie could see that this was not a Pre-Columbian gold coin. One side had the etching of the bust of an Incan chief, but the other had a picture of a bundle of condor feathers. He recognized the Spanish style of the item, but could not place the date.
Charlie checked the safe and their other belongings before changing clothes. He picked up the coin once more and placed it in his pocket without thinking. Once into his swim trunks and T-shirt, he grabbed his beach towel and headed downstairs. As he passed through
the lobby, he spotted none other than Carol Chapman standing alongside the large wall on the east side of the atrium, open to the third floor. Behind her stood the two men who had been wearing hard hats that first day at the pool. Carol was speaking to them with her arms outstretched toward one of the atrium walls. The men watched in a similar posture, gazing up at the wall where she gestured. She was showing them where to hang a giant fresco in the lobby. He briefly considered walking over to say hello, but then he remembered how he was dressed. Charlie had not expected to see her so soon. He felt awkward dressed so casually, as she looked sharp and professional in the gray pinstripe suit.
“Charlie,” she called. The sound of her voice from across the lobby brought him back to the present. “Charlie, is that you?”
He gave a slight wave. She walked to him and looked him over with a grin.
“I'm loving the view. Headed to the pool, I see.”
“Yeah, hi,” Charlie said.
He stood for a moment, feeling awkward. Carol seemed to revel in his discomfort, glancing him over with a small smirk on her face. She stood with her arms casually crossed.
“Um, I'm glad I ran into you, though. I wanted to ask you about what you wanted to show me. You mentioned it last night at the show?” He fiddled absently with the coin in his pocket.
“Of course,” she said “I'd love to still do that if you are up for it. Bring Ella.”
“Yes, yes. Sure,” Charlie said, still trying to sound relaxed but feeling like an idiot.
“Eight o'clock. Tonight. Come to the marina. Dress casual for dinner, but also...” She paused and let her eyes drift and linger over him, “...bring your swimsuit.”
Chapter Five
On the other side of town, Ella pulled up to the police station; the same as they had visited the day before. This time, she could see lights on in the building and the activity of people inside. She thanked and paid the driver before heading inside.
“May I help you?” A young Cayman woman wearing the police uniform greeted her from behind the desk.
“My name is Ella Colton. I'm looking for your department detective.”
“He is no longer with us,” she explained without much emotion.
“Oh, I am so sorry,” Ella exclaimed. “I didn’t realize. My condolences.”
The woman looked at her with a blank expression.
“He is not dead. He is no longer with us. He was fired last week. Wait here a moment.”
The woman disappeared down the hallway of the small building. A moment later she returned with a sergeant following her; a tall, thin man with a trim beard. His uniform looked pressed, the white of his shirt nearly blinding in the tropical sun coming in through the window.
“May I help you?” he asked. “I'm Sergeant Laurent.”
“My name is Ella Colton. I wanted to find a detective for hire.”
“I'm sorry,” the sergeant replied. “We only had one detective on staff and he was let go a while ago. He couldn't keep out of the bottle, if you catch my meaning. Truth is, the crime rate around here is minimal, so we only employ a few officers at a time. I'll be honest with you; there hasn't been a homicide in over five years, so we have little need of a detective. When we do, we outsource to Cuba or sometimes Jamaica.”
“The detective that you let go, does he work with the private sector? Is he still taking cases?” Ella asked.
“I believe so.” The sergeant rummaged around on the desk for a slip of paper and jotted down some numbers. “Here it is; his name is Yates, Lander Yates. This is where you can find him. He may not be the best, but he's the only P.I. in the area. When he's not drinking, he's an alright detective.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ella said as she took the paper and then exited the building.
She glanced at the address and realized it was located just a few blocks away. She turned and began walking with purpose toward the street. She soon found herself in a part of town where the homes were stacked on top of each other. There were tin roofs and minimal room between the houses. She took off toward the residences, her sandals making small clopping sounds against the sidewalk. The surroundings faded from open market booths to residential homes and apartments piled together. Lines of laundry hung from some of the windows. Shabby, but the homes were painted in bright reds, yellows, and greens; covered in the same tin roofs, standing out against the deep blue tropical sky. She found the matching street name and turned, searching the house numbers. Finally, she saw the correct one. On the front door a small sign hung with the words, “Yates, P.I.” written in humble black plastic lettering. The door jutted up to the edge of the sidewalk. When Ella knocked, the door swung open on contact, unlatched.
“Hello?” she called out tentatively. “Detective Yates?”
She stepped into the entry way of the small apartment, walking forward with careful steps.
“Is anyone here?” Ella heard a strange sniffling sound coming from a doorway just down the dusty hall. It was definitely something organic, some kind of animal. She leaned against the wall to approach the open door and saw a small white mongrel dog – or at least it would be white after a proper bath and grooming – sniffling around and scrounging on the dingy floor. The trash can had been knocked over and the tangled creature rooted through the debris, searching for anything edible. The room looked dank and musty with a ratty green sheet hanging across the back window; a hole allowed one beam of yellow sunlight illuminating the dust motes. Dishes piled in the sink and water dripped from the faucet, the sound of which echoed in repetition.
She walked forward to the next doorway. The living room was strewn with at least twenty beer bottles and an open pizza box which lay on a small coffee table next to a large ceramic ashtray shaped like a floating penguin. The penguin’s bowl-shaped stomach held a rather large collection of butts and its painted, smiling face was marred by a chip on its orange beak. Ella looked further and found a patio door on the other side of the living room standing open. She saw a man, or rather the backside of a man whom she presumed to be Detective Yates, crouched below the edge of the porch with a pair of binoculars, peering over the ledge. His brightly colored T-shirt and considerable girth did little to assist in his attempts at stealth. He adjusted his pants and scratched absently at his lower back, revealing a patch of dry skin just above his waistband. Ella cleared her throat, allowing her foot to kick against one of the beer bottles.
“Shhh,” the man hissed and gestured to her to be quiet, never lowering the binoculars.
In the same motion, he reached down and picked up a bottle of Red Stripe and took a generous swig. He then motioned her over, patting his hand on the empty spot of concrete beside him. Ella tentatively crouched next to the large man. He lowered his binoculars, but continued to peer over the ledge. He wore a bright yellow shirt with the face from a famous comic magazine on it and the words ‘What? Me, worry?’ emblazoned on the front. His dark brown hair had been neatly trimmed, but she noticed a yellow patch, a birthmark perhaps, on the side of his hair just above his left ear. Ella watched him scanning the buzz of activity. His patio butted up against the back side of the market, full of people haggling, street vendors selling jerk chicken, and students meandering among the tourists, who stood out with their backpacks, sunglasses and ear buds.
“What are you doing?” Ella said in a muted stage whisper.
“Catching a thief,” he said, then placed his fingers to his lips to indicate quiet. “My Smartphone says so.”
The detective spoke in a thick Jamaican lilt, which contrasted against the French influenced dialects that Ella's ears had grown accustomed to while being in the Caymans. The detective glanced at the phone in his hand and then back to the binoculars. Ella noticed the phone looked quite new and modern, quite possibly the most modern model she had seen on the islands.
“There he is!” he said.
“There who is?” Ella replied.
“Okay, get ready,” the man said.
Ella thought he resembled a
large lion crouching for the pounce. She was about to ask what she should be ready for, but before the words could be formed, a skinny teenaged kid with a backpack emerged from one of the nearby shops, jumped onto a moped and started the engine. Detective Yates leaped from the edge of the patio and out of Ella's sight. She exclaimed out of surprise.
“Let's go! Let's go!” he yelled.
Immediately, Ella realized they were only about two feet up and her athletic body easily jumped the rail. The detective sat atop his sleek motorcycle that was already running. Ella scrambled into the sidecar of the vehicle, pushing aside a small dog bed covered in tiny pink flowers. She only had time to toss on the helmet before she was lurched forward as they took off. They raced after the youngster on the moped, whizzing through the streets. The kid zigged and zagged through the crowded marketplace, occasionally glancing behind him to see who could be in pursuit. Detective Yates handed the Smartphone to Ella and yelled, “Record this!”
She fiddled with the device with one hand while clutching to the vehicle with the other. Ella saw the profile on the phone's screen of the young man they chased, before finding the camera and beginning the recording. They turned down an alley, squeezed between two large buildings, which then opened into a small causeway close to the beach. The kid skidded out as the wheels almost slid completely out from under him. He jumped off the moped and tried to scramble up the chain link fence at the edge of the causeway. Yates followed, surprisingly agile for a man of his size, and grabbed the young man by the back of his shirt and belt, setting him back down on the ground before slapping a pair of handcuffs on him. He sat the boy down on a patch of grass next to the fence.
“Hi, there,” the man turned to Ella and extended a hand. “Detective Lander Yates.”
“Dr. Ella Colton,” she replied with a small grin. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
