by Toby Neal
What she knew about Bell was only the beginning.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Sophie: Day Nine
Sophie glanced around the very public venue Elisa Bell had chosen for their meeting: the Music Concourse in San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park. She sat on a stone bench facing the large central fountain and the Academy of Arts building; directly behind her, the famous de Young Museum trumpeted its latest art exhibit.
Laid out in a cross shape, four concrete entrance paths led to the central fountain area. A stone-flagged performance bandshell anchored one end, and statuary and trees filled the interior of the segments laid out around the fountain.
The plane and Scotch elm trees of the Concourse stood rock-steady, their heavily-pruned and pollarded branches held aloft like gnarled arms; but their leaves, in shades of scarlet, ochre, yellow and brown, trembled and released from their moorings on a brisk gust of wind, and swirled around Sophie’s legs.
She’d dressed carefully for her part as the insurance investigation agent for a major company, wearing comfortable black stretch pants, a sweater in an amber color that brought out the color of her eyes, and carrying her faithful calfskin briefcase. She tugged her thin jacket tighter, grateful for the neck protection of a fall-toned scarf she’d bought to brighten up her outfit.
Elisa Bell approached from the south end of the park. Her short, angled black bob gleamed in the sunshine peeking through last of the morning’s fog. Bell wore a short skirt with boots that came to her knees over tights, and a large, multicolored shawl draped artfully around her shoulders. A pair of wraparound sunglasses obscured her eyes and a slash of red lipstick brightened her mouth. She could have been any elegantly dressed San Francisco sophisticate, here at the Concourse to browse the Park on her lunch break from some high-powered job.
But she was here, now, in response to Sophie’s carefully-worded email.
Sophie moved a little further to the right, making room as Bell eyed the bench she sat on. “I don’t bite,” Sophie said, patting the slatted wood, making sure both hands were visible.
Bell perched on the bench, one arm clamped over a bulging black Coach bag, the other concealed beneath her shawl. “You said you had knowledge of an additional inheritance from my mother.”
“I did say that, didn’t I?” Sophie smiled. “Yes. My company contacted me about an additional life insurance policy you stand to benefit from. Your mother, Melanie Samson, who we spoke of before, made you the beneficiary.”
“You didn’t mention it when you broke into my apartment last time.”
“I didn’t because I didn’t know at that time.” Sophie lifted her briefcase onto her knees. “Fidelity Mutual has updated me since. We just need you to sign some forms to submit your claim. It’s lucky for you I was still in town when I got the memo; sometimes these things take months.” Sophie fussed with the briefcase’s brass clasps. “Did that detective ever talk with you?”
“No.” Bell frowned. “I went out of town. The news of my mother’s death hit me hard.”
“I don’t believe you.” Sophie drew her weapon from within the case and shut it with a snap. She held her own police-issue Taser on Bell. “About Mel Samson’s death hitting you hard.”
Bell stood up, clutching her bulky Coach purse like a life preserver. “You’re an insurance agent. Insurance agents don’t tase people.”
Sophie smiled, but it held little warmth. “I am no more an insurance agent than you are Mel Samson’s daughter.” The abandoned computer had been a gold mine for Sophie. “You used the publicly recorded death of Samson’s daughter as a starting point, and Samson was just one of your marks. You reached out to her, impersonating her child, of course never telling her that her real child had died. You appeared in her life at just the right time and preyed on her guilt, getting her to steal to pay for treatment, and yet planning to inherit everything from her in the end. You’re a grifter, a con artist.” Sophie spat on Bell’s shiny, high-heeled black boots. “Shame on you, preying on a dying woman’s hopes and dreams.”
“Bitch,” Bell snarled. She whirled to run, but Raveaux stepped out from behind one of the trees, blocking her path, his arms spread.
“Pardon, Mademoiselle. Stay with us, please.”
Bell bolted in the other direction, and slammed into Fremont’s sturdy chest. “I’ll take this, thank you.” He grabbed for the bag. “I’m sure it contains a few missing diamonds.”
“No!” Bell kicked Fremont in the shin with her pointy-toed boot. Fremont howled but kept hold of the bag. Bell tossed off her wrap and brought up the hand she’d kept concealed, and shot Fremont with her Taser. The man fell, twitching. She wrested the bag from the cop’s nerveless fingers and fled.
Sophie leaped after Bell. She brought up her own Taser, and shot the woman from behind. The prongs nailed Bell between the shoulder blades and she slammed to the ground, spasming on the concrete not far from Fremont.
Raveaux put his hands on his hips. “You knew Bell had that Taser under her shawl, and you didn’t want to get shot with it. Nice move, Sophie.” Raveaux was smiling, and damn if that man didn’t have a set of dimples.
She’d made Raveaux smile at last.
Sophie savored the sight of his grin, smiling right back. “Fremont will get credit for Bell’s capture, and he will have earned it.” She leaned over and detached the prongs of Bell’s weapon from the detective’s shirt front. “He’ll be fine. Grab his cuffs and restrain her. I’ll check the bag and see if she’s carrying any of the stolen gems.”
Sophie upended the purse on the bench as Raveaux put the restraints on a still unconscious Bell.
The bag contained, along with sunglasses, lipstick, tissues, a bottle of pain reliever, and other contents common to women’s purses, a bulky Ziploc bag of rubber banded cash and several passports.
No diamonds.
Bell had to have kept some. She seemed like the type . . . Sophie flipped the bag to and fro, turned it inside out, stroking the seams. She felt a nubbin of something, an odd shape in the lining. She picked at the handsewn seam, and found a small locker key as Fremont moaned, curling onto his side and holding his head as he sat up. Sophie palmed the key and slipped it into her pocket.
She replaced Bell’s items in the bag and set it in Fremont’s lap as the man continued to groan. “Here. This ought to make you feel better. All you need to put Bell away is right here.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Sophie: Day Ten
Sophie walked into the exclusive women-only gym dressed for the occasion in spandex workout shorts and a black Lycra running bra, her zip front nylon parka open to expose her tight abs. She’d told Raveaux she was going to a gym, blowing off steam from their takedown and the lengthy police station interviews that had taken up the rest of that day . . . but instead, she was tracking down the key’s origin.
Sophie strode confidently to the fitness center’s reception desk, the key a tiny weight in one pocket of her parka. “Hi. I called an hour ago about trying your gym out for a membership?”
The blonde, ponytailed receptionist swept Sophie’s physique with a glance and met her eyes with a welcoming smile. “Oh yes, Ms. Smithson. I’m happy to give you a quick tour of the facilities and let you use them for a complimentary workout.”
Half an hour later, Sophie stood in the locker room, hands on her hips, and looked for Bell’s locker. She’d scanned the key, then hacked into a proprietary FBI database of key types and manufacturers. From there, it had been a simple matter to match the key’s type to a membership Bell had at the posh gym.
Sophie checked that the room was empty, and approached Bell’s locker. She slid the key into the lock, turned it, and opened it.
A red canvas bag hung from the hook at the top. Bell’s gym shoes rested on the floor of the locker with a deodorizer sachet in each. Sophie took out the bag, carried it to one of the bathroom stalls, and searched it quickly as other women came and went.
Nothing but a clean towel,
a change of clothes, and some toiletries. The seams of the bag held no further hidden treasure.
Sophie waited for the locker room to clear once more, then searched the inside of the metal locker for any irregularities. Nothing.
That left the shoes.
Sophie took out the cloth sachets and felt inside, pulling up the insole, exploring the toes. Nothing.
Sophie palpated the sachets as she slid them back into the toes of the shoes, and felt several hard lumps inside. Rather than search now, she slid the sachets into her pocket and re-locked the locker. She walked over to her own locker assigned for the day, took off the parka, and hung it up inside, locking it securely.
She might as well get that free workout since she was here. She headed for the weight room.
Back at her hotel room, Sophie dumped the scented sawdust filling from the sachets out onto a clean white hotel towel. She smiled, smoothing the dust away from several large, glittering diamonds. One from each heist, most likely.
She plucked the stones out and rinsed them under the tap. They glittered from her palm, each of them several carats in weight, the blue one from the San Francisco job an exquisite teardrop the color of a peacock’s breast.
She had ruined the chain of evidence by taking the key and tracking down these diamonds, but Fremont wouldn’t need the stones to make his case against Bell—he had plenty else to work with. Not only that, Finewell’s would never miss them—they’d already been compensated by insurance for their loss.
She had hunted down these stones to right a different wrong.
Sophie wrapped the diamonds in tissue and slid them back into the cloth sachet bag she’d found them in. She inserted that into a padded postal mailer. She printed a note from her computer onto plain white paper via the hotel’s office station:
This donation of genuine diamonds is made anonymously to the American Cancer Society in memory of Melanie Samson and Detective Deke Pellman. Please sell them, and use the funds to further research into the treatment of cancer.”
Sophie sealed the envelope, zipped up her parka for modesty, and rode down in the elevator. She left the mailer, with a ten-dollar tip, at the front desk to go out with that day’s post.
Sophie took the stairs on her way back up. She and Raveaux were planning to meet for a quick meal on the way to the airport, and she still had to shower, change and pack.
The Ghost wasn’t the only one who could mete out a little justice.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Raveaux: Day Eleven
Seated in the corporate conference room back on Oahu, Kendall Bix was well-dressed by Hawaii standards in khakis and a short sleeved linen button-down. His dark hair was short and gelled; he was freshly shaven. Bix was the one who had hired Raveaux, and the man’s careful grooming had been a contributing factor in Raveaux’s decision to work for Security Solutions. An operations director who cared enough to pay attention to his appearance would also pay attention to workplace protocols. So far that had been true.
“I have your final reports, and I’m submitting billing to Finewell’s,” Bix said to Raveaux and Sophie, seated on either side of him at the company’s long koa wood conference table. “The client expanded from just Mr. Childer to the corporation of Finewell’s, as you two connected the dots on their breaches. They seemed very pleased with your work, and they’re a good client to have.” He made a hand gesture that encompassed both Sophie and Raveaux. “You two make a good team.”
Sophie inclined her head. She wore her usual simple, elegant black, and her dense, shoulder-length curls were swirled into a knot atop her head. Pearls the size of cherries dangled on their tiny chains from her ears, and red lipstick emphasized the lush curves of her mouth. “I spoke with the Executive Vice President in charge of the San Francisco branch of Finewell’s. He was pleased with our discretion, and with the fact that we were able to plug the leak permanently without any further information reaching the public. I hope they will use us for jobs in the future.” She indicated Raveaux. “Your background and connections proved most helpful . . . even if a little complicated by that shootout.”
“I regret the death of my confidential informant, and the fact that none of the diamond dealer’s men survived long enough to be interviewed,” Raveaux said. “But I have other contacts in the high-end art and antiques market that we can tap should we have need in the future.”
“You both will have to be available for more questioning regarding the investigation into Kramer’s operation,” Bix said. “Since that connects to their investigation, I can do a supplemental billing to Finewell’s to cover any expenses that would ensue.”
“I’m taking a week off, Bix. I’m going to Thailand,” Sophie said. “You may give my private number to any detectives who follow up and need to speak with me.”
Raveaux felt a pang—he’d hoped to ask her to dinner again. He caught her eye. “Seeing family?”
“You could say that.” She addressed Bix. “When I get back, I want to discuss a slight reorganization of the company’s management structure. I’d like to take a more active role in investigations, and hand off more of the administration duties to you. I’m sure a job title change and a raise will be involved.”
Bix’s brows lifted. “What brought this on?”
“Even though I initiated proceedings to have Sheldon Hamilton declared dead, I kept hoping he would return. I was keeping things going for him.” Sophie shook her head in a gesture that was both thoughtful and sad. She raised warm brown eyes to meet Raveaux’s gaze. “But I know Sheldon’s not coming back, and life is short. We met people on this investigation that reminded us of that.”
Raveaux nodded. “Yes. Sometimes the most important things you learn on a case are not written in the report.”
Bix glanced back and forth between them. “Like what?”
“Like, if you have a chance at love, you should take it.” Sophie stood. “Well, gentlemen, if that’s all, I have to pack.”
Bix gathered his things and took his leave. Raveaux lingered in the doorway, waiting for Sophie to close up her laptop and join him.
“I enjoyed working with you.” A tightness in his chest and throat closed off Raveaux’s ability to ask her for a date. He cleared his throat, trying to get his vocal cords to work.
Sophie’s smile infused her beautiful face with vivacity. “We will do it again. Soon, I hope.”
Raveaux inhaled the faint scent of coconut oil infused with jasmine as she passed him, and he shut his eyes to savor it.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Sophie: Day Thirteen
Sophie walked down the short flight of steps off of the corporate jet where it had landed on the short runway that paved Connor’s private island of Phi Ni. She paused on the tarmac to take in the waving palms and the peaceful turquoise Andaman Sea, lapping gently against the white sand beach that rimmed the island. The light breeze that kept the island cool was calming with approaching evening, and she enjoyed the sight of the dazzling clouds reflected on the water’s surface.
She stifled a stab of guilt that Momi was still on Kaua`i. Her daughter had long since recovered from her flu bug, and she would be here soon enough. Sophie had made arrangements for Armita and Momi to be flown out in a couple of days . . . after she had met with Connor.
They deserved privacy for this meeting.
He had texted that he was arriving a few hours after Sophie was, by boat, and her pulse picked up at the thought.
Nam, Connor’s faithful houseman, drove up to meet her in the estate’s pick-up truck. Nam inclined his head in that dignified way he had, a smile lifting his seamed cheeks, his dark eyes bright. He spoke to her in Thai, and the sound of her native language caressed her ears. “Welcome, Mistress Sophie. Yindī t̂xnrạb nāy Sofī.”
“So good to see you as well, Nam,” she replied in the same language, as she set her tightly packed tote into the truck bed and got into the cab with its familiar smell of clove cigarettes.
“When is
Little Bean coming?” Momi’s nickname persisted with those close to them.
“In a few days. You will find my child much changed when she arrives with Armita. She will make you old before your time, like she’s doing to us.”
“I could never be anything but pleased to see my Little Bean.” Nam put the truck in gear, and they trundled off the airstrip. Glancing at him, Sophie couldn’t help being reminded of another favorite retainer of Connor’s—Thom Tang. Thom had been Connor’s driver, pilot, and also a friend.
Thom was one of the men massacred by her mother. She would always miss him, and feel responsible for his death . . .
“The master arrives soon, but we are ready for both of you,” Nam said. They turned onto the crushed coral road, leaving the jet already wheeling around to return to Hawaii. “We have been looking forward to your visit for a long time.”
“It has been too long since I’ve come. Thank you.” Sophie didn’t try to converse further with the generally quiet houseman. Instead, she feasted her eyes on the details of an island that had come to feel like a long-lost home: groves of coconut trees, grown in some previous owner’s agricultural attempt, surrounded a sheltered aquamarine bay containing the island’s boathouse. The drive they followed, its crushed, white coral surface gleaming brightly in the sun, wound through rock outcroppings and heat tolerant palms, bushes, and grasses toward the rise at one end of the island where Connor’s mansion had been built.
Nam parked, and Sophie got out of the truck and walked around a large utilitarian storage barn past gracious tropical plantings. She ascended wide stone steps leading up onto the house’s veranda. The building, a perfect blend of east and west, clung to the edge of a bluff overlooking the sea, and she looked forward to the views she’d see out of its huge double-paned glass windows.