The Face of the Seal

by Jennifer Cumiskey

  A knock on the door startled Gerel out of the haunting memory. She headed to the door, wondering if Madame Landlady was there to remind her to pay rent on time. She opened the door, ready to apologize, but the person in front of her was a total stranger. He was a man of about forty years old, wearing a dark blue woolen peacoat. His hair was mixed shades of brown and grey, it needed a cut badly. “Ms. Garnier? I’m sorry to bother you,” he said, smiling rather sheepishly, “I’m detective Ryan, from New York.” He held out his badge for her to examine.

  “Aren’t we supposed to meet later? At Mr. La Croix’s office?” Gerel hissed, tightening the belt of her robe. She glanced at the badge, glared at Ryan, letting a long silent moment pass before she stepped back to let the rude detective in.

  *

  “I’m sorry to barge in like this,” Ryan apologized. “Surprisingly my plane got to Paris a little earlier than expected, so I contacted Mr. La Croix immediately to see if he could talk to me–”

  “Let me guess,” Gerel cut him off. “Detective Ryan, you and André had your meeting first, and after that, he gave you my address and you decided to, what’s the word? Oh, ‘barge in here.’”

  For a second, Ryan was concerned by Gerel’s sharp-tongued talk. Could be hard to get her to cooperate. But he had a plan and so far, it had worked well with André. Ryan decided to push on. “Again, Ms. Garnier, my apologies, but to be fair to Mr. La Croix, he did call to warn you about my visit here, but you didn’t answer. Check your phone, he left you a message.”

  Gerel opened her mouth, but no words came out. She turned to peer at the cell on the bedside table. “I must have muted the phone,” she admitted, her tone softened slightly.

  Ryan mulled over how to redirect the conversation. He felt guilty that he had never intended to keep his official appointment with Gerel and La Croix. His plan was to question the two separately, before they had a chance to talk to each other. Experience taught him that in a murder case, witnesses were often nervous or afraid. If given a chance, they often compared notes before police could get to them. It wasn’t unusual for them to play up or dumb down what they really knew, hoping police would never bother them again. To get useful information from Gerel and La Croix, Ryan decided to hit them when they were least prepared, to divide and conquer.

  “Ms. Garnier, I have to say this place is very charming and cozy,” Ryan said, looking around the four-hundred-square-foot space.

  “Gerel, you can call me Gerel,” Gerel said, appearing from the bathroom where she’d shed her robe and changed into a black sweater and a pair of faded black jeans. “Cozy means small,” Gerel quipped. She motioned Ryan to sit down on the couch. “I see we’ll be here for a while. Would you like some coffee?”

  “Thanks, I’d like some, considering I haven’t had any shut-eye since I woke up in my own bed twenty-four hours ago.” Good, her temper’s been downgraded from annoyed to forced politeness.

  “In a much larger place I hope,” Gerel said, handing Ryan a cup of coffee and settled down on the far side of the couch.

  “Thanks,” Ryan said, examining the woman in front of him. The size of the couch didn’t really put that much space between them. He noticed a slight upturn of the corners of Gerel’s mouth—a faint smile, and a beauty mark the size of a kernel of rice on the left side of her upper lip. Her eyes were gold and black, matching the amber necklace she wore. They stared at him, fiery in color yet cold in temperament. “Not much bigger than yours, but it’s home so it’s cozy to me no matter what size,” Ryan smiled disarmingly. “Have you ever been to New York City?” He decided to continue the small talk a little longer.

  The question hit the air like frost descending on budding spring flowers. Gerel’s nascent smile froze. She lowered her eyes to the coffee cup in her hands, it was only for a second. “Yes, Detective Ryan, a while ago. Now, I know you didn’t come all the way here to talk about leisure travel, why don’t you ask me what you’d like to know so we can both get on with our lives.”

  “All right Gerel, and by the way, you can just call me Ryan.”

  Gerel nodded, holding his eyes directly.

  “So Gerel, how long have you—actually, did you know Mr. Blackwell?”

  “I’m not sure ‘knowing’ is a good word to describe our relationship. He was Cartier’s client and Cartier hired me to replicate an antique seal that’d been in Mr. Blackwell’s family for a long time. I never met him until after the production of the replica was completed, when Mr. Blackwell asked me to deliver it to his house in London.”

  “Did you personally deliver it?”

  “Yes, I did, upon Mr. Blackwell’s request.”

  “When was that?”

  “About a month ago, a few days before he invited me to attend the ceremony at the Tate Museum in London, commemorating the return of the original seal to China.”

  “Did you spend time together during this trip?”

  “Not much. I delivered the replica to his townhome in London, chatted with him for less than half an hour. At the Tate reception, there were a lot of important people Mr. Blackwell had to attend to. But he did tell me he was very impressed with the replica seal and invited me to accompany him to Beijing for the ceremony to hand over the original seal to the Palace Museum.”

  “So, you went.”

  “I didn’t want to at first, because he wasn’t the kind of person I’d like to spend a lot of time with. But he was rather convincing when he said it was a career-advancing opportunity for me, a way to capitalize on the name I’ve already made for myself in Paris. And it was time for me to make a push into major cities like Beijing and Shanghai since demand for luxury goods from the West is in high demand in China. And when I told André about the invitation, he thought I should accept since it was in the interest of my career and the brand name of the House of Cartier. So, I accepted his invitation.”

  “Exactly when was the ceremony in Beijing? How long were you with him? Mr. La Croix told me you were supposed to be away for a week, but you later decided to extend your trip.”

  So far, Gerel’s answers to his questions were straightforward and spontaneous. Ryan could see she was telling the truth. But now she lowered her eyes, staring into the coffee cup again. When she looked up a moment later, she squinted as if trying to recall her itinerary.

  “I remember the ceremony was late afternoon on a Saturday, almost two weeks ago. After the ceremony we all went to a state-hosted banquet. I was around Mr. Blackwell almost the entire time, but we didn’t get to talk too much since he was the guest of honor. Too many important hands to shake and one important speech to make.” She paused.

  “I can see that.” Ryan nodded. There was sarcasm in her tone when Blackwell’s name was mentioned and yet he was likely her most important client.

  “It was very late by the time we got back to the hotel. I was exhausted, so I went to my room immediately. During the next few days, we did spend a few hours a day together for sightseeing, but that’s it. He had other scheduled events to go to and I went around the city to see the things I wanted to see.”

  “When you were with Mr. Blackwell, how were his mood and behavior? Anything unusual?”

  “Not that I can think of. He seemed to be very content, basking in the glory of being an honored guest.”

  “So, what did you do for the rest of your trip? I’m sure there is a lot to do in Beijing, but two weeks is quite a long time for sightseeing in one city.”

  “You’re a travel cop now?” Gerel blurted.

  Ryan couldn’t tell if she was serious or joking.

  “One could spend days in the Forbidden City alone, just to see all those treasures of the old dynasties. You may not care about jewels worn by imperial court concubines and consorts, but for someone like me who makes a living on jewelry design, seeing the real thing is different from looking at some picture in a magazine or an auction brochure. Besides, there’s so much history there. One pavilion of the Forbidden City was dedicated entirely to the pala
ce treasures that were lost during the Opium Wars. They had so many photos of the stolen pieces—vases, seals, jewels, gems. I don’t think the country will ever recover them. But they are out there, showing up in auctions around the world. I think I owed it to myself to learn more of what really happened during that period, a time when court jewelry designs of the East and West influenced one another, and different cultures came together—or clashed . . .” Gerel stopped abruptly. Ryan had been observing her with an amused smile on his face. “I’m sorry, Detective Ryan, I know you didn’t come here to listen to my blabbering about my work. On the other hand, you’re not asking me to produce a travel itinerary during my visit in China, are you?”

  “I don’t think it’s necessary, Gerel.” Ryan took a sip of the now lukewarm coffee. He had pictured the woman in front of him to be making a living by selling fantasies to the rich, convincing them that a diamond could somehow extend a moment of romance into eternity, or that a cluster of gemstones were as beautiful as the flowers in nature’s garden, or a certain colored stone could stir up a fiery passion, a sense of power and status.

  Before Ryan left for Paris, Ive had done some research on Gerel’s jewelry design. “You’d better take a look at her website. With my salary there’s a snowball’s chance in hell I’d be able to afford anything she’s designed. Any chance of a raise so those Chinoiserie earrings could grace my earlobes?” Ive said, laughing, as she pulled up Gerel’s website and showed Ryan a photo of a pair of blue lapis lazuli and diamond earrings. To Ryan, it was just another pair of earrings with some froufrou description: The jewelries of the Qing imperial court were not designed to show the beauty and rarity of the materials. Their designs were not aimed at simply displaying extravagant wealth and superficiality but instead, their moral connotations. Therefore, the designer has used highly esteemed stones from the ancestral land of the Middle Kingdom for worshiping the deities of the heaven, earth, sun, and moon. The motif and design of the earrings convey auspicious and celebratory meanings—peace, calm, balance, and longevity.

  Ryan had laughed at Ive’s girly silliness. “You actually believe this? You know what they say . . .”

  “Yeah, yeah, only filthy rich people buy this stuff, I’m well aware of that. But a girl can dream once in a while,” Ive scoffed, eyes still trained on the gemstone earrings on the screen.

  “Look at you, you’re practically drooling over some cold stone. No wonder they say illusion is the first of all pleasures.”

  “Don’t go Shakespeare on me, Ryan.”

  “Actually, Oscar Wilde. Trust me Ive, people like Gerel makes a living selling fantasies that only rich people are stupid enough to buy.”

  “But sometimes we need some fantasy or romance in life, especially in our line of work. Or we could completely lose our faith in humanity. As much as you think you’re Mr. Shakespeare, you don’t have a single romantic bone in you, Ryan, that’s why you’re still single.”

  True. But it was exactly his line of work that had killed Ryan’s romantic relationships before they had a chance to blossom. He was married to his job. And he was quite sure he knew the likes of Gerel Garnier, even if he’d never met her.

  Now sitting face to face with the creator of the earrings, Ryan had to admit his judgement on her might have been a bit harsh. Listening to her talk about her work, how the history of the jewels seemed to ignite her passion. Ryan could sense it in those ember eyes. If she was after a piece of rich people’s vast fortune, she was also searching for something else. He just didn’t know what it was, yet.

  Ryan downed the last bit of coffee and changed the subject. “Gerel, my partner and I are doing everything to find the person who killed Mr. Blackwell. To do that I hope you can shed some light on the seal itself. You said you didn’t even meet Mr. Blackwell until after the work was completed. But did he ever let you see the original?”

  “No, I never even knew where the original was or if it even existed. I replicated from a set of sketches Mr. Blackwell provided—actually, the sketches were provided by Mr. Walters. I believe he was Mr. Blackwell’s friend and gallery partner?”

  “So, you met Mr. Walters first.”

  “Yes, André and I met him in the Cartier building about three months ago. Mr. Walters handed me the sketches which specified exact size, dimension, even which materials I should use to create the replica.”

  “So how much did Cartier House charge Mr. Blackwell?”

  “He said Mr. Blackwell’s desire was to strictly adhere to the original—the body should be royal blue cloisonné, twenty-four carat gold for the phoenix inlay, and a ruby, preferably Burmese, for the face in the shape of a rose. André and I told Mr. Walters that the most expensive part would be the face of the seal, at least three million euros. Mr. Walters didn’t seem to be concerned at the time. But Mr. Blackwell later contacted us himself to switch the ruby to the less expensive garnet. In the end it cost Mr. Blackwell about three hundred thousand euros instead of the initially proposed three and half million.”

  “It’s a big difference, you and Mr. La Croix must have been disappointed,” Ryan said.

  “Of course, any jeweler would have been,” Gerel said matter-of-factly.

  “Did you ever ask Mr. Blackwell why he changed his mind?”

  “Uh, no, I didn’t, that wouldn’t be prudent, actually rude.”

  “But when Mr. Walters first came to you with the sketches of the original seal, he clearly specified that the face should be a ruby.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “But the original seal belonged to Mr. Blackwell and the cost of replicating the seal was born by Mr. Blackwell. Why would Mr. Blackwell send his friend to you first instead of coming to you directly himself?” Ryan spoke at a deliberate pace.

  “You’ll have to talk to Mr. Walters to find out,” Gerel said curtly, giving Ryan a look that meant I have nothing to say anymore and it’s time for you to leave.

  She seemed to be telling the truth. But Ryan wanted to give it another try.

  “Gerel, I’m not sure if you know how Mr. Blackwell was killed,” Ryan said, unzipping the notebook on his lap and pulling out two eight-by-ten-inch photos that he laid on the couch between them.

  Gerel looked down and her eyes met Blackwell’s vacant stare. She cringed. She glanced at the second photo—Blackwell’s naked body covered with rivulets of blood. She turned away and closed her eyes. “Mon Dieu,” she uttered in French.

  “Hard to take in, isn’t it? If you look at it closely, you can see the blood comes from one hundred cross-shaped cuts. Fortunately, he was already dead when the murderer did this. He was strangled first,” Ryan lowered his voice, observing Gerel’s reaction.

  “Why would someone do this?” She swallowed, a tremor in her voice.

  “We don’t know yet, that’s why I’m here talking to you, to Mr. La Croix. What’s strange is that nothing in his penthouse was missing except for the replicated seal. And there’s no sign of break in.”

  “I find that hard to believe . . .”

  “Gerel, I know a lot has happened in the past few weeks, and you just got back from a long trip. Here’s my card, contact me if you remember anything else,” Ryan said, handing over his card. He didn’t want to push further, he’d done everything he could at this point.

  Ryan stood up. “Thank you for your time, Gerel.” He’d expected to see a sign of relief on her face. She should be jumping up, shaking his hands and rushing him out of the door. But Gerel didn’t respond to his outstretched hand. She remained seated and seemed to be pondering something.

  “Unless the face of the seal—unless the thief or the killer thought the face of the replicated seal is more expensive than it really is.”

  Ryan lowered himself onto the couch again. “How many people, other than you and Mr. La Croix, knew the value of the replicated seal face? Does Mr. Walters know?”

  “I’m not sure. But at the London ceremony, before all the guests arrived, I saw Mr. Walters standing in front
of the glass case, admiring the original seal. I asked him what he thought of it. He didn’t answer my question, only said it’s a shame that William didn’t want to make the replica as authentic as it could be. I told him a replica could never be as authentic as the original. He had no comment, just shook his head and stepped away.”

  “So, I assume Walters and Blackwell had quite a disagreement.”

  “But you’re not suggesting that Mr. Walters had something to do with the murder?” Gerel appeared to be alarmed.

  “Not at all, but it’s our job to talk to anyone who knew Mr. Blackwell.” Ryan wasn’t going to talk about the specifics of his investigation, especially with a woman who was not in the clear herself. “Thank you, Ms. Garnier, for your help,” he said. “I need to get going. As I said, let me know if you think of anything else.”

  She’s not telling me everything she knows. There has to be a reason why Blackwell switched to a cheaper stone at the last minute. It’s not going to be easy, but something I need to look into. And Ryan would mull it over on the plane ride back home.