The Case of the Yellow Diamond (11 page)

 

Chapter 19

J
osie met me at the door. It was immediately apparent she had been crying. Either that or she'd developed a sudden allergic reaction, and it ­wasn't ragweed season yet. I didn't comment other than to raise one eyebrow. “I need to talk with both of you. Is Tod here?”

I was pretty sure he was. I'd seen his car parked carelessly in the driveway. She nodded and waved me into the living room. The heat and humidity had become oppressive so the house had been closed up and the air conditioning cranked. Tod was sitting on the big couch in front of the dead fireplace, head in hands.

“There's been a development,” I said without preamble. Ever the taciturn detective, that's me.

“I'll say,” mumbled Tod. “I think we're screwed.”

That wasn't the reaction I'd expected so I stopped where I was and looked first at Tod, then Josie. She walked around the couch and sank down beside her husband, taking one of his hands in her own.

“Maybe you better explain,” I said, moving to a chair where I could see both Bartelmes and the entrance to the living room.

Tod heaved a mighty sigh and looked at me. “We just had a letter from our charter guy overseas. The first time we went to Yap, we went as tourists. While there we met some people who told us about this charter company in Singapore. They were able to get us a small salvage boat and industrial supplies we'd need to mount a serious search for the plane the second time we went over. So the first thing I did after we decided to make a trip this August was contact the company and reserve the boat and equipment we might need.”

“We even put a deposit down,” Josie said.

“And now?” I questioned.

“And now,” she went on, “we get this letter saying they're sorry but there's been a misunderstanding and the boat isn't available.”

“Not even if we change our dates,” Tod said.

“Did you have a contract?” I asked.

“Sure, and we paid them a thousand bucks. They said they were sorry and the refund would arrive from their London bank in a few days. This really screws up our whole summer schedule.”

“There's no chance of finding another boat to charter?”

Josie shook her head. “At short notice we might be able to get something else, but it'd cost a lot more. Money we don't have.”

Tod lunged up off the couch. “We can sue for breach of contract, I suppose, damages or something like that,” Josie said, watching her husband start to stalk around the room. “But that'll take ages and won't get us closer to the plane. Even if we win.”

“Hang on a minute,” I said. They both looked at me. “Can I see the letter?”

Josie went to fetch it. Tod eyed me and said, “What are you thinking?”

“Timing. Timing might be important. Don't they use email?”

“They do sort of,” Josie said, “but for contractual things it's always been by regular mail.” Josie handed me the letter, written on creamy heavy paper with an embossed crest of the commercial salvage company.

Taking the letter in hand, I said, “I came over here to tell you about an incident of my own. This morning I was at the White Bear Lake station house to find out if there's been any new developments about Cal's shooting.”

“Have there?” Josie interrupted.

“No, but while I was in the building, somebody slashed the rear tires on my car. I take it as a warning that my involvement in this affair is creating some problems for somebody. Or potential problems,” I amended.

“That's awful. We'll pay for the new tires, of course,” Josie said.

“That's kind of you to offer, but that isn't the point and I won't bill you for them, anyway. In fact,” now I was ad libbing, just making it up as I went along. I didn't want to use them like this but my sudden brainstorm would work better if I didn't have to rely on Josie and Tod's acting abilities. “In fact, you aren't going to get anymore bills from me at all, plus the original retainer, less a dollar for the old legal niceties, will be returned as soon as I can get back to the office and cut you a check.”

Tod looked bewildered. Josie shook her head. I couldn't blame them for that. I was springing new deals on them as fast as I could make them up.

“I don't get it,” Tod said. “You better explain.”

“Try this. I've been contacted by parties who wish to remain anonymous but who are interested in your efforts to find your lost relative. The interests of this party are their own, and I wouldn't tell you even if I knew what they were. But I'll be able to bring you substantial financial help in a few days. Your trip to Yap may be delayed for a while, but not until next year, and not forever.

“Now, here's what you should do. Call a meeting, for, how about tomorrow evening or late in the afternoon? Invite everybody involved to come here. Tell your group you have an important announcement. When they get here you explain about this contract breach. Then you explain you've been working to locate a different charter company for a slightly later trip.”

“But— Tod started to protest.

I cut him off. “Do that. Take the afternoon and make some calls. Negotiate another contract with the salvage people, if you can. Or at least, begin the process. And don't be quiet about it. We want the word to get around that you're going ahead in spite of this temporary setback. Call my office and leave a message as to the time for the meeting. I'll show up about fifteen minutes later. Then we'll explain.”

“I don't get it,” Tod said, “but I'll do it.” His grin came and went.

“For one thing, you're going to upset somebody's applecart,” I explained. “This letter is dated almost a week ago. My tires were slashed today. It tells me that if this foul-up is not legitimate, more than one person is trying to mess you up, and they aren't coordinating things. I gotta go. Trust me, we'll sort this all out fairly soon.”

I left a quiet Bartelme living room and headed toward Minneapolis and the home of Madeline Pryor. I hoped she'd been sincere at the dance when she'd told me she was prepared to help in any substantial way she could. I was about to find out.

 

Chapter 20

T
he Pryors lived in an upscale part of Deephaven, a community on the southern shore of Lake Minnetonka, just west of Minneapolis. It took me twenty minutes to drive to the town and another ten on the winding lanes and multifarious cul-de-sacs and alleys to locate the address. I didn't call ahead. For all I knew, Mrs. Henry Pryor, Madeline, was at Cape Antibes or on the Cote d'Azure enjoying a holiday. But I didn't think so. The way she had talked to me at the country club dance led me to believe she was keeping close tabs on the state of the Bartelmes' south seas project.

I was keeping close tabs on my rearview mirror as I wandered about Deephaven. The efficiency with which my rear tires had been dispatched to the recycle bin during my short time in the PD building suggested I was being followed. I didn't see any obvious tail on the freeway to this western enclave, but there was enough traffic to make detection difficult, especially since I tend to watch where I'm going more than where I've been. Keeps me out of the wrecker's clutches.

Finally I found the right address and had myself buzzed through the gate. It, the gate, closed after me, which pleased me, since I doubted the tire slasher was on the premises. Mrs. Pryor, looking considerably less elegant than when I had last seen her, met me on the front steps.

“You're fortunate to find me at home. Do you always drop in without calling first? Let's go around to the patio. It's cooler.”

“Thanks. I do usually call ahead. In this case, I just took a chance. Even if you hadn't been able to talk to me, it's a nice drive.”

“I assume your presence here has something to do with the Bartelmes and their search for the missing plane?”

“That's right. I'm here today because I hope you were serious when you told me the other night that you willing to help Josie and Tod, should they need it.”

“Oh, I was and still am absolutely serious. We like the Bartelmes. I admire her efforts to locate that plane wreck. My family has a military background, and the idea of not being able to locate the bodies of our deceased fighters is distressing. I have been a supporter of efforts to locate MIAs for years.”

I explained to Madeline the foul-up over the Bartelmes' charter and the financial bind they now faced. I was beginning to suspect it was more of somebody's effort to scuttle the search. I still had to find out why in order to nab the skell messing things up.

After my explanation, we arrived at a sum that would cover my expenses and the inflated costs of finding a new charter salvage crew. Then we figured out how to conceal the source of the new funds.

“It would complicate the relationship between Josie and her employment if it becomes known I'm bankrolling her search. Do you see?”

“I do. We'll find an intermediary.”

“I have a suggestion,” she said. “I know of your friend, Catherine Mckerney, and her profession. She comes highly recommended. And I suspect the cash flow from her investments and her massage therapy school and contracts will make it possible to launder a contribution. Is that the right word for what we're doing?” She smiled.

I was getting the impression she was enjoying herself. “Yes, that would work. You can make out the check to her, and I'll deliver it. Then she'll write a check for the identical amount to the Bartelmes.”

We finished our iced teas and I left with a check for $26,000 in my hand.
Nice doing business with you, Mrs. Pryor
. I wondered if she was even going to tell her husband about our transaction. Well, that was her business. Mine was to help salvage the Bartelmes' search and trap the scoundrel who was killing people and dropping mines in their path. I did register the fact that Mrs. Pryor had some prior knowledge of the kind of under-the-table financial dealing we had engaged. Yes, I now believed there was some kind of conspiracy at work, a conspiracy dedicated to keeping the Bartelmes away from their granduncle's downed bomber.

Back in my slightly overheated office, I examined my mail and decided to catch up on some other business.

I went to my file of due and overdue bills and to my checkbook. Paperwork was not my favorite part of the business, but vital. I tended to require cash or check payments up front to cover daily expenses. I learned early on that even apparently upright citizens could renege on agreed payments to the detective after the fact.

Not long ago I'd had a fairly tense conversation with a client. I'd been hired to locate the possible hiding place of a series of packages. It seemed a small manufacturing firm was experiencing a surprisingly high number of delivery losses. Their plant would manufacture the gizmos, in this case some sort of complicated electrical switch, and then package the order. The order would be inventoried and go to the truck for delivery. Delivery truck guys would load a hundred packages of switches. A day later the gizmo purchaser would report the delivery short by five or ten items. Apologies and adjustments would follow.

There were always such occasional adjustments, my client had said. But he was noticing a disturbing increase in the frequency of such claims, and, therefore, some loss in profits. He hired me to do some surveillance and to try to locate a thief, if indeed there was one.

I did and there was. Now the client was balking at the final payment. I knew there was something odd about the set-up when I showed the client the digital tape of the culprit. I'd recently converted from a still camera to a small hand-held digital video camera for jobs like this one. But I didn't carry a laptop. I brought a disk.

“So this is a copy of the original?” he asked, all the while staring intently at the screen.

“Yep. The original is in my safe.” I didn't explain that my safe wasn't much, but I used phrases like that to calm concerned clients who might be afraid of revealing something unintended. Or embarrassing.

“Do you recognize the guy?” I pointed at the screen where the culprit was off-loading some cartons of the missing gizmos. Culprit was male. I knew from the way he moved but I was too far away to ID the guy and why would I risk it? I wouldn't know him, right?

“Okay,” the client sighed. “I've seen enough.”

“Here's the address of that storage unit,” I said, “and my final bill.”

That was more than a month ago and I still hadn't received a check. Usually I tried to get final payment at the time I deliver the final report. I don't remember exactly why I hadn't in this case.

Today I knew why. When I checked back to the storage unit location, I discovered—and videotaped—just what I'd expected. Client and culprit were there together, piling the gizmos into a panel truck from the storage unit. I recorded more video.

When I later showed the video to Catherine and we studied the movements of the two men, it was obvious they knew each other and that the client was pissed at the culprit.

“I bet the smaller one is a relative. You think?”

“Exactly my thought,” I smiled. “Let's send a letter—no, better, let's email my client that I'll be forced to take my evidence and my case to his company board if I don't get a payment ASAP.” So we did that.

 

Chapter 21

I
went to my office, parking around the corner instead of in the lot where I regularly put the car. I figured whoever the dork was who'd cut my tires, he knew my vehicle and he'd find it all right, but if I parked on the busy street instead of in the quiet lot, he was less likely to take a chance and tamper with it.

Because it took a few minutes longer to reach my office, I wasn't there to get the phone call from Josie. One might think that was a significant event, my missing that call, because, if I had, I would have realized . . . and so on. I find phrases like that in what I call my training manuals, that is, my detective novels. Wilkie Collins did that sometimes. Pregnant phrases or pauses. Sorry, it wasn't like that. This time I'd remembered to leave my answering machine on so I could listen to the message.

There were four messages. Two were from a lawyer in Eden Prairie who wanted me to find a former client, somebody named Darrel who had taken it on the lam and left a large bill for services rendered. Another call was from my honey, who was packing to drive to Rochester for some business meetings. She'd be gone overnight. Wow. I was footloose and so forth tonight. The last message was from Josie, telling me the family and some of the investors were gathering for a war council to make decisions after this latest disruption.

I dialed home. It was important I talk to Catherine before she left town. She didn't yet know I was about to use her as a laundry service to protect the identity of a new investor. Fortunately, she was still home.

“Hey, Sean, glad you caught me. I'm within inches of trotting out the door.”

“Me, too, and I know you're in a rush to get going, but I have a big favor to ask. If you weren't about to leave, I'd beat it home to talk with you, because this is something I'd prefer to do face to face.”

“Whoa. Sounds ominous. It is legal?”

“Yes, but it involves a lot of money. Your money.” I went on to explain my plan and the circumstances that led up to it. “So I really need a check to take with me tonight.”

“You want it on my personal or my business account?”

“Personal, I think. That way if there's a hassle, the school and your contracts won't be involved.”

“Good thinking. How much did you say? $26,000? I can handle that, but I'll have to make a transfer while I'm in Rochester. So the Bartelmes shouldn't rush off and cash it tonight.”

I knew that wouldn't be a problem. They didn't need cash right now, and I planned to lay the check on them well after the banks closed this evening.

“Okay.” She came back to the phone. “I've left the check on the table by the phone. See you don't spend it all at once. Oh, and here's an idea. Get a promissory note. The lawyer will be there, right? Anderson? He can write it with you as my agent. Some kind of easy terms. You know, like low or no interest for some long term. That'll make the whole thing appear more legit.”

“Good idea. And I'll make this check from Mrs. Pryor over to you and deposit it in your bank when I come pick up your check. Have a good trip. I'll figure out a way to thank you later.”

We made kissy sounds at the telephone, and I sat back to plot out my next few hours. This was going to be an interesting meeting this evening. I hoped all the principals would be there.

* * * *

I rolled into the driveway and parked beside a dark-green Lincoln I recognized as Preston Pederson's ride. I briefly considered where I might put the Taurus midst several highly polished newer vehicles. But hiding it was not an option. Its faded, unwashed blue exterior stood out like a used digit.

I pressed the doorbell and unlatched the gate. Tod met me at the door to the house, and we went on through to the veranda where this whole business had started. The entire cast was present, plus the other two Js, Jennifer and Julie. I got a few sketchy waves but no smiles. Apparently they'd already had some of the bad news.

“Sorry to be late,” I murmured, sitting in a chair on Tod's left so I could see the faces of the people there.

Josie nodded at me and continued. “Anyway, the killing of Mr. Lewis—” I thought her voice wobbled a bit there “—and the loss of whatever information he might have been bringing us, and all these other things that have happened, have put a real crimp in our plans for the trip to Yap this summer. I'm just not sure what we can do except delay the search until we can save some more money. Tod and I have talked about it, and we don't feel right asking you to put up more money for this obsession of mine. You've already been so generous and understanding.”

I glanced around at the faces. They all looked pretty solemn.

“One of the things we can do to economize is terminate Mr. Sean, here,” Preston said. “I was never in favor of hiring him in the first place.”

I stood up. Looked around. Smiled. “That's your choice, of course, but I don't think you're going to be ready to dismiss me after you hear what I have to say.”

Making speeches wasn't one of my strengths, but over the years I'd learned a thing or two about the dramatic moment, the build-up and then the fist in the gut, so to speak. “It's true I can't pin down the party responsible for these problems you've been having. Yet. I'm sure I'm getting closer to answers.”

“How do you know that?” said Hillier.

“Somebody slashed two of my tires. Whoever it was took a big chance and did it while I was at the police department in White Bear.” There were murmurs. “I think I'm being warned off because I'm getting too close to answers.

“We now know Stan Lewis was not only murdered but was robbed. It's very likely he was bringing some files of papers here, records and other materials he'd developed over the years having to do with the activities of men in the bomber wing. You see, Lewis apparently thought some of the boys in the group were doing a little business on the side. You've probably all heard about the drug running that happened during Vietnam, right?”

Gary Anderson stood up and stretched. “Excuse me.” He smiled around the group. “This is beginning to sound like a long session. I wonder if I could have some more iced tea?”

“I can get you something stronger,” Tod said.

“Iced tea's fine.”

After everybody settled again, I went on. “The smuggling business didn't originate with World War Two. The government conducted a fairly extensive investigation after the war. They were looking into charges and evidence of smuggling drugs, money, and jewelry aboard military transportation.”

“I don't think I ever heard anything about that,” Pederson said.

“You were probably too young, and the government didn't do any publicity on it. There were very few prosecutions. But then came Stan Lewis. Apparently he decided he should have been cut in to whatever deals were happening out in the South Pacific, or maybe he thought they shouldn't have happened at all. We'll probably never know. What I do know, and so do the cops in Winona and St. Louis, is that Stan Lewis was murdered and the briefcase he was carrying was lifted. What's more, several files pertaining to the men and missions of the bomber group he was assigned to on Los Negros that Stan developed are now also missing.”

Was I stretching things a little? You could say that. More like stretching close to the breaking point. That's okay. Cops lie, so why can't a PI have a little flexibility?

“But, that's not what I came here to say.” Always leave 'em wanting a little more, right?

“An individual with whom I'm closely acquainted has stepped forward and expressed interest in this project. I have here a check.”

Tod leaned toward me and plucked the paper from my finger. He whistled.

“Wow! Twenty-six thousand. This will give us enough to replace the lost gear and hire a new charter boat.”

Josie and some others began to make appropriate noises, and Maxine grinned and applauded quietly. Jennifer stood up and did a little victory dance and whistled through the attractive gap in her front teeth. I watched all of them, trying not to be too obvious about it. After a little hesitation Josie's dad stood up and ceremoniously shook my hand. He didn't look what I'd call enthused. Neither did Anderson or Hillier.

After the celebration died down, Preston said quietly, “I suppose this means we're going to have to put up with your investigation a while longer.”

“I suppose so,” I responded. “I sort of feel obligated to keep an eye on my lady's investment.”

“You must have had a time convincing this Catherine Mckerney to put up twenny-six g's,” smirked Alvin.

“Not really,” I said.”She trusts my judgment on many things.”

“Mckerney, Mckerney,” Gary Anderson said.”Why is that name familiar?” He took the check and peered at Catherine's signature.

“Maybe because she's a board member of a small bank your firm represents,” I said. “First Meridian in Robbinsdale?”

Anderson looked blank for a moment and then shrugged. “I take it this is why you haven't returned my calls.”

I nodded. “That's a logical conclusion.”

Josie looked at us. It was apparent she was picking up some undercurrents between Anderson and myself. That was all right. Without revealing the questions I had about Anderson's agenda in this congregation, I wanted Josie and Tod to be more cautious around all these people because somebody here, I was convinced, was responsible for their troubles. I still didn't know why, or who, but I would find out. Oh, yes. And if there was to be blood in the street, I was going to make sure it wasn't mine or my clients. About the others, I wasn't so certain.