Alex Ames - Calendar Moonstone 02 - Brilliant Actors

by Alex Ames

  “I agree. We successfully cleared you off each and every time.” Terrence folded his hands and kept looking at me in a tired fashion. “However, if I may, there seems to be a lack of adjustment or learning experience on your side regarding those matters.”

  “Stop it. You are not my father, Terrence. You are my lawyer. Get me out of here. Earn your money!”

  Terrence got a few copied pages from the briefcase, put his reading glasses upon his nose, and scanned the police report. “According to this, you have been found in possession of a stolen necklace.” Terrence looked up over his glasses. “True?”

  “Yup!”

  “All the other times you were suspected, there never was any smoking gun. This time you actually had it on you?”

  I leaned forward in order to set things straight. “Terrence, please drop out that undertone and stop referring to it as ‘this time.’ The only thing that connects all the jewelry theft incidents is the fact that I had nothing to do with them. Each and every time.” I sat up straight again, crossed my arms.

  “Harder to believe this time, dear.” He raised his hand apologetically. “Just playing devil’s advocate, of course.”

  “You don’t have to believe me, Terrence. I know how shitty it looks without paying you three-hundred dollars an hour.”

  “Three-fifty, night surcharge.” Terrence didn’t joke.

  “Yes, the necklace was found on me, but I didn’t steal it. Someone must have slipped it into my purse.”

  Terrence looked at me without saying anything.

  “So at least a slip, but not on your part?” Terrence scanned the report again. “And according to this witness, actor Rip Delaware—what a terrible screen name—you reworked the necklace in cold blood while police and other people were close by in order to hide the fact that you had the necklace on you.”

  “Yes, I murdered the necklace in cold blood. But I didn’t steal it!”

  “It says something about the original value here, too.”

  “It was a tacky Van Winkel necklace—all for show, many diamonds in rows, sparkling, good quality but no art. Expensive retail. My reworking probably increased the value,” I snorted. “Did Mr. Delaware talk about the shocked look on my face when I discovered the necklace in my purse?”

  Terrence turned the papers, shook his head, and took off his glasses. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Get me out of here. I don’t want to spend the night in jail.” I rubbed my eyes, probably making it even worse on the makeup front.

  Terrence handed me a handkerchief. “You should wash your face before they book you. Your face is bound for the papers when they get ahold of the arrest.”

  Tears started to well behind my eyes again. “Is this necessary?”

  He nodded. “With that necklace in your possession and the witness, there is no chance in hell they’ll let you go without a formal arrest. At this point, all we can do is minimize the damage. How far do you want to play along or deliver something?”

  I shook my head, “No play, no delivery. We offer no counter story, only denials if suitable.”

  “Calendar, do you think that this strategy is wise? The police are after your blood. You robbed two of Hollywood’s most celebrated actresses of their jewels. The press is going to eat you alive.”

  “No, we stick with my strategy. Denials and….” Terrence’s words registered late with me, and I stopped in mid-sentence. “Hang on, what did you just say? Two of Hollywood’s leading actresses? Just for my information: who else did I rob?”

  Terrence almost looked amused. “Okay, your spontaneous surprise convinces me of your innocence. The stolen necklace belonged to Pretty McAllister. The other were two unique large diamonds that belong Mrs. Swan Collins.”

  I closed my eyes briefly. “Two large diamonds? Mrs. Swan Collins? The Imperial—”

  “—Metro. I see you know the assets of the rich and famous. Value high but basically priceless. The second one has a fancy name, too.” Terrence had to refer to his notes. “The Acura. Why do you think the police are so happy to see you behind bars?”

  “Someone framed me. Someone stole Swan Collins’ diamonds and slipped me Pretty McAllister’s necklace to distract the police.”

  “The award of the best original screenplay goes to….” muttered Terrence laconically and got up to call the policemen back to continue the Q and A.

  During the questioning, several details of the heist were revealed to me, always greeted with another round of silence from me and the occasional, “We have no comment, sir,” from Terrence in order to earn his three-hundred-and-fifty dollars per hour. Swan Collins was famous for the diamond collection she had inherited from her late mother, screen legend Laura Collins. Among the collection were two high-carat solitaire diamonds that were not worked into a setting or fitting but were just cut in the finest possible manner. Both had gone missing from the bedroom safe of Swan Collins on the night of the Oscars. They were last seen in the safe positively after late lunchtime when, after dressing and makeup, Swan Collins had selected her jewelry for the Oscar ceremony and then had left shortly afterwards. Very positively, she had relocked the safe. Mrs. Collins was said to be devastated by the loss, a fact she had been able to overplay while she had mimed the hostess and made the table rounds in the party tent.

  I briefly considered Mundy’s words about Swan Collins’ impression on him all those years ago. It made me aware that I was surrounded by brilliant actors.

  Mrs. McAllister had noticed her missing necklace during a restroom break, spotting the missing item while adjusting her makeup in the mirror. The search of all other guests had remained fruitless except for the occasional quantity of drugs. At least Graves had had some success.

  “My client was one of the last guests to be searched. Did you continue searching the guests after you found McAllister’s necklace on my client?” Terrence was asking in a bored baritone voice, checking off an imaginary list.

  “Of course, sir. We are no amateurs. On the jewelry front, we found nothing except the necklace on Mrs. Moonstone, so we had to continue looking for the other pieces.” Lieutenant Graves gave Terrence a tired look that spoke volumes. “And to answer your next question: no, we didn’t find the diamonds on the premises during our search, and we even searched with dogs.”

  Terrence raised an eyebrow. “Dogs can sniff diamonds?”

  Graves rolled his eyes. “Dogs can sniff the perfume of the owner, but the fact that we didn’t find anything is not a reason to be happy for your client. They will be found in due time. Our final puzzle pieces are merely coming in later. We are at the beginning of the investigation, not the end.” He gave me a hard look and continued with his questions.

  Around five o’clock, Terrence ordered pizza and salad for all from an all-night place. This noble gesture didn’t buy us freedom but at least half an hour of munching noises. After that, Lieutenant Graves called the questioning off, read me my rights again, and arrested me formally. I was booked into the adjacent jail building opposite the police headquarters, where I had to surrender my personal belongings and endure a very intimidating and embarrassing search. Afterward, I was marched to a radiology clinic around the corner of the jail building for an intestines x-ray to spot the Imperial Metro. All that showed were the small stones I had swallowed. My head turned beet red but it went unnoticed as Graves stepped closer to the x-ray. “Is that the diamond?”

  The intern who had performed the examination frowned. “No, impossible. The size you mentioned does not fit what we see here.”

  “Are you sure?”

  The intern nodded. “This looks more like the beginning of a small kidney stone in Mrs. Moonstones left kidney.” He turned to me. “You should visit a doctor and have it removed as soon as possible. And maybe change your dietary behaviors.”

  I nodded dutifully, saved by the bell. How long would I need to sift through my… to retrieve them?

  Due to some arrangement between Graves and Terrence and t
he strange circumstances of the night, I was led into a single jail cage, some yards away from a well-filled tank of drunkards, another one of prostitutes, and another one full of Oscar night after-show party drug abusers. What a strange collection of human misery and destiny.

  I felt miserable all over and immediately hunched on the low bed, pulled my knees close, hugged my legs, and pressed my eyes onto my kneecaps until I saw black and white stars dancing on my retinas. What a way to go down! Some asshole slips you a hot item, and the cops grab you. I cried a little more, pulled the blanket over my shoulders, and felt a headache coming. When my ego had enough of my own misery and my suffering, it turned to the other people in my life. Poor Mundy, he would be devastated if heard of my situation—not to mention my parents down in San Diego when they picked up tomorrow’s papers and saw their daughter’s mugshot staring at them over a cup of herbal tea.

  I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew was a change in the sound level and the rhythm of comings and goings on the jail floor. When I had arrived, it was more like a steady incoming stream of offenders, people in more or less the same situation as I was, but now it was the opposite: people were being led out of the cells one by one, and most of them didn’t return. Terrence had arranged for my single cell by calling in a favor with some head warden. My cell consisted of four bunks, a steel toilet, a steel hand basin, three concrete walls, and one wall made of steel bars, leading to the corridor. I received lunch around noon, and I asked the big black matron warden about the goings of my fellow jailbirds.

  “Court hearings,” was all she muttered as she slammed a tray with indefinable content on the floor and left me again.

  I didn’t even make an attempt to get out of the safe harbor of my jail bed. Sometime during the afternoon, which I had spent mostly dozing, another warden called my name, opened up my cell, and led me through a maze of steel doors and concrete corridors to a visitor’s room. He led me to a free table with a phone, and I looked at Terrence through the glass partition. He was dressed in another impeccable suit and a tasteful tie. He pointed at the earpiece, and I picked it up.

  “How are you holding out?” his voice crackled from the receiver, his lips moving like in a badly synchronized foreign movie.

  “Did you already spend my fees on another suit and tie?” I asked him.

  He looked at me mildly. “At least you still have your humor. Did they treat you all right? Did you get that single cell as arranged?”

  I nodded. “I am a little hungry because I skipped the local quality calories and could use a more suitable set of clothes than a ruined four-figure Armani party dress, but otherwise….” I let my voice trail.

  “Okay, darling, hold out. The court hearing will start within a few hours. I am pretty sure that we will get you out on reasonable bail.”

  “Are we good with the money?”

  “As you remember, we have a special deposit for that, and together with a bail bond, we will manage everything up to five-hundred-thousand dollars. And if it goes higher than that, which I don’t think it will, we will find a way.”

  “What will happen to me at court?”

  “Nothing very exciting. The district attorney assigned to your case will open the session and give a brief summary of the facts of the people’s case against you. The judge will ask about our side of the story, and we will say, ‘No comment,’ and ask for bail. The rest will resemble flea market haggling over the amount, and eventually the judge will set bail, and you could be out in about two to three hours after that. Then the district attorney will prepare his case against you, and we will meet in a few months for court.”

  “Can you find me anything better to wear, please? I want to make a good impression on the judge.”

  Terrence smiled softly. “It is not the judge you have to fear in your stylish dress. It is the press. There are several media teams around the courthouse all day. They are not out to get only you, as some of your fellow party goers with drug problems are of interest to them, too. But your case will come almost last, so there won’t be much going on, and they surely will pick up your story for tonight’s late news and tomorrow’s paper editions.”

  “Do they already know my name and everything?” I asked, a lump in my throat already.

  “I don’t think so. There had been a statement around noon from the police about the stolen jewels, but your name wasn’t mentioned. The police had the courtesy not to release the details of the stolen diamonds to the media. Everyone assumes we are talking about pick-pocketing style of theft.”

  “But not much hope to keep a lid on it?”

  “No, not much,” Terrence said with a sympathetic sigh. “The DA will have to specify the stolen goods at the time of the hearing. The cat will be out of the bag then, at the latest.”

  “Thank you for everything,” I said, meaning it. “Remind me to give you a big kiss when I get out of here.”

  “I can’t wait for that, ma’am,” Terrence said, feigning a traditional hand kiss and signaling to the warden that the interview was over.

  I settled down in my cell again, standard position, hugging my knees and blanket around my shoulders. The same matron warden served dinner in the early evening, white bread sandwiches with rubbery salad and two layers of corned beef. This time, I had no choice but to pick it up and wolf it down as my stomach was asking for some nourishment.

  Just when I wondered if my hearing would start before bed time, I could hear shuffling and rattling in my section, and my cell door was opened by none other than Lieutenant Graves. He had a brown paper-wrapped package in his hands and a strange frown on his face.

  “Lieutenant, please step into my office.”

  He made two almost timid steps into the cell and placed the package onto the edge of the bed. “Your lawyer said to give you this, clothes for your court appearance.”

  “Thank you. Will you turn around while I change?”

  “Oh no, not necessary, I will leave right away, but there is one thing I had to arrange.”

  I lifted my right eyebrow at him. “You are not talking about rubber hosing a confession from me?”

  “I am glad you still have your wit, Mrs. Moonstone.” Graves gave a weak smile. He looked tired and burned out after two days of hunting down Oscar guests and court appearances. “There is a … gentleman to see you,” he said, and the way he hesitated before gentleman made me realize that the only thing needed to complete my luck today was—

  “Fowler Wynn. He is….”

  I interrupted Graves. “An insurance detective from England, thank you. I’ve met the ‘gentleman,’ as you called him. I have no interest at all in seeing him. I want to make you aware of some court restraining orders against him, prohibiting him from coming within one-hundred yards of me in the greater Chicago area.”

  Graves obviously wasn’t aware of the fact because he glanced into the hallway, where Fowler Wynn was probably waiting for his entry. Graves licked his lips, unsure what to do, but then his wise cop sassiness took over. “Well, you know, technically speaking, Beverly Hills qualifies as the greater Chicago area, but let’s make an exception.” He cocked his head a little but didn’t smile, so I felt this was something serious.

  “Listen, Lieutenant Graves,” I said. “I am aware that Fowler Wynn probably is one of your dream character witnesses in the case against me. But nothing he has ever claimed has ever been proven beyond any initial police investigation. That man has a crazy streak, and by some coincidence, he found his nemesis in me. Whatever he has shown you, look at it with critical investigator’s eyes and draw your own conclusions. It may save you embarrassment later.” That had been my longest speech so far in front of the police, and Graves seemed to be astonished that Fowler Wynn’s appearance had gotten such a prominent reaction from me. In order to put him back into his limits, I added, “And I want to make you officially aware of the fact that I want to have a lawyer present when there is any contact with the police or any witnesses. Otherwise, we wil
l see my civil rights injured and note so at the court hearing.”

  Graves looked again in the direction of the corridor, rubbed his tired gray face, and took some steps back. He was obviously unsure what to do. He held up one hand to indicate “one minute” and stepped out of the cell and out of view. He forgot to close the cell door, but where was I going to go anyway?

  After a minute of muted conversation in the corridor, of which I could make out the words, “Just give me one minute with her…” uttered several times, Graves reappeared and sat down on the made jail bed opposite of me. He looked at me, rubbed his face again, and spoke. “Listen, I know that Mr. Wynn is probably your worst enemy and he has troubled you several times in the past. When I asked him about the Chicago restraining order, he admitted it, even blushed a little.”

  “Poor guy, did it hurt him to squeeze out a crocodile tear?”

  “This is all against regulations, and if you decide to say ‘no’ after my final appeal here, so be it, then I will lead Mr. Wynn outside and we will continue the process as it should be.”

  “What process are you talking about, Mr. Graves? My hearing, you mean?”

  “Exactly.” He looked at his watch. “In about thirty minutes or so, you will be called up to the judge, and your hearing will begin. We will release the material to the media and so on.”

  “And would my conversation with Fowler Wynn change any of that?” I asked skeptically as I started picking at the clothes parcel.

  “See this case for a minute from my point of view, Mrs. Moonstone. I catch you with a stolen necklace in your possession, and the federal computer lists you in conjunction with other similar investigations. Plus: jewels are your trade. This is one of the best starts I’ve ever had in a case.”

  “To find more evidence against me, you mean.”