“Is this your place?” Frank asked once the two of them were inside with the door closed.
Anton gave one of his customary down-the-nose looks. “Something like that.”
Geez, Frank thought, a little friendliness wouldn’t kill you. The apartment was furnished minimally with modern chrome and leather furniture, a black furry-looking rug over the scuffed wood floor, a kitchen with downsized, basic appliances.
As if Anton had read his mind, he relented slightly. “Sorry. It’s only that I have bigger things on my mind right now.”
Bigger than a million dollar piece of jewelry? Hmm … Now that might be worth knowing.
“The gem show?”
“You know of it?” Anton almost covered his surprise but not quite.
Frank prided himself on being observant, and the headline on the business page of a newspaper he’d seen someone reading on the train had not escaped his attention. “Everyone knows about it,” he answered with his own hint of haughty one-upmanship.
“Then you know it will be the most closely guarded exhibition of the year. Police and electronic surveillance will be at an all-time high alert status.”
“Naturally.” Frank wasn’t sure where this was going. All he wanted was to sell the piece that was increasingly making his belly itch.
“The Pink Panthers plan to rob the place blind.”
What? Frank turned toward a chrome-and-glass shelf that held a few books with French titles, magazines about architecture and a few cheap vases and knick-knacks. Gave himself a moment to consider Anton’s statement. He’d heard of the Pink Panthers, of course. Most thought of either a cartoon character or a Peter Sellers film. So, there truly was a jewel theft gang by that name. By the time he turned where Anton could see his face again, his sophisticated expression was back in place.
“How will they get away with it?” he asked.
“They won’t. The Golden Tigers will be there first.”
All these gangs with their pretentious names. Frank’s mind flitted through the possibilities. What could he get for himself here? With the Russian piece as his ticket, he might persuade the big guys to take him seriously, let him in on the deal, turn the present three-fifty into multi-millions. He felt his pulse quicken.
“You cannot be seen with me, you know,” Anton was saying. “If the Tigers see you, it’s quite possible you and the necklace you carry will become a target.”
Frank considered this while Anton went to the kitchen and turned on a burner under a kettle, offering coffee. His necklace making him a target with one of the jewel theft rings? It didn’t quite add up. Then again, a niggling feeling told him he was out of his league with these guys and anything could happen.
Always dream big, Frankie. His father’s voice came back to him.
“Sure, coffee would be great,” he said, settling into character. If he could be an inside stock trader on Grand Cayman, he could just as easily become a sophisticated international jewel thief here on the Côte d’Azur.
Chapter 62
Gracie turned in a circle, staring at the lavish furnishings in their suite at the Palais de la Mediterranee. “Pen, I can’t thank you enough for sharing this experience with me. With all of us. Sandy and Amber probably wouldn’t ever be able to do this on their own either. This place is exquisite.”
Pen waved off the compliment. “You’ve all pitched in so selflessly to help me with something I could never have managed alone. It’s a fair trade.”
“So, now what? We need to come up with a plan.”
“My first thought is that you and I need disguises. Frank Morrell has seen us and we need to make him believe we lost track of him when he left Zurich.”
“Agreed.”
“I wish I had a better feel for this jewelry show, what types of people will be there, what methods we might use to blend in.”
“I worked a few trade shows before my kids were born,” Gracie said. “I could pretend to be an exhibitor, walk around the show floor with a badge of some sort.”
“It’s a thought. Let’s ask Amber if she can figure out how to make something like that.”
“But it’s not quite enough. He’ll know our faces … we need more.”
They discussed it over a three-course seafood dinner and decided a good night’s sleep would help clarify their thinking. The other team members would arrive in the morning.
* * *
Amber arrived prepared to work, Pen was pleased to see. The youngest member carried a computer and wireless printer in her luggage and in no time at all had set up a little office on the desk in the suite. While Sandy napped to recover from the long flight, Gracie took a shopping list provided by Amber and headed to an office supply store for specialized paper.
“The problem with posing as exhibitors is that those badges will no doubt contain a magnetic strip, hologram or some other type of encryption,” Amber said. “They’re not going to allow anyone behind the scenes who poses a risk to the whole show. You can bet security will be tight.”
Pen had to admit she was correct.
“What about if we attend as potential buyers, wealthy ladies who are on a huge shopping spree?”
Amber looked up from her screen and nodded. “That could work. Now how do we disguise ourselves?”
She scrolled through a few pages on her browser then her face lit up. “Pen! What about this?”
Pen had just chosen a plum from the complimentary fruit basket and she walked back to the desk to see what Amber was looking at.
“Perfect. Absolutely perfect!”
Chapter 63
William Caplin considered himself a good cop, one of the best at his job, honest to the core. He told himself this each of the past three mornings after sleepless nights peppered with nightmares about his role in the museum robbery cover-up. He’d arrived in Nice on a late flight, immediately gone to a low-price hole in the wall hotel because it was the only thing available, and thought nothing in the world would wake him.
So, why am I standing here at four in the morning? He stared into the mirror above the rickety washstand in his room, hating the dark bags below his eyes, the droop of the jowls he’d never much noticed before this month.
It’s an attack of conscience, his better half replied. You’ve never done anything like this in your life.
But you’re in it now. Your retirement fund is gone if you don’t do something to get it back.
The thing about justifying bad behavior was that after awhile the arguments in favor began to nag at him, began to sound weak, like the whiny words from those crooks he’d prided himself on putting away. Those guys always had a million excuses—they had their reasons, they needed the money, their victims could afford the losses, it was nothing to them, mama always needed an operation. Something. Something decent human beings didn’t do. Something a good cop would never do.
He should go to the local department head, meet the Interpol men, tell them everything he knew and let Frank Morrell suffer the consequences.
Retirement fund.
Justice.
Do the right thing.
Do the profitable thing.
Then there was the Fitzpatrick woman—what had she been doing in Zurich? At the police station. It couldn’t be coincidence she was there at the same time as Frank Morrell. Did the foolish woman think she could actually catch the con man herself? And now that an international police force knew about her stolen necklace, what chance did Caplin have of getting to Morrell first?
He drew back his fist, wanted to punch the mirror. A stupid move, a thing one of those two-bit punks he’d sent to prison would do. Injuring himself and waking the rest of the hotel wouldn’t be smart, no matter his emotional state. He dumped two aspirin into his palm from the bottle in his ditty bag, swallowing them with a swig of bottled water. The toilet was down the hall and he made it there and back without making much noise.
He flopped back on his bed, cursing the sagging mattress and lumpy pillow. What the hell was he doing in Europe
anyway?
When dim light began to show through the thin curtain at his window, he got up and dressed. Surely a beachside resort town would be stirring at this hour. Coffee might help put his dilemma into perspective.
Chapter 64
Sandy emerged from her bedroom, a little fuzzy around the edges, yawning but awake.
“I figured I’d better get up or I would sleep all day and be awake all night,” she said.
“Hungry?” Pen asked. “I was thinking of some lunch.”
Amber spoke, not taking her eyes from her computer screen. “I’ll wait for Gracie.”
“It’s probably best if we don’t all four go out together anyway,” Sandy said.
“True. We don’t want to draw notice as a group,” Pen said. “I can bring back something for everyone, or just order room service if you’d like.”
In the end it was decided that Pen and Sandy would take a walk and check out the area, while Amber did more research on the gem show and waited for Gracie, who’d been sent on a second errand after returning from the office supply store.
Pen put on her large hat and big sunglasses, making certain to wear slacks and a jacket Frank Morrell had never seen before. The last thing they wanted was for him to spot her before she spotted him, and they had to take into account that he could have already arrived here and be somewhere in the vicinity of the gem show venue.
According to Amber’s research, the big event opened tonight with a champagne gala for the wealthiest buyers and she was doing her best to get Pen onto the invitation list. The goal of attending wasn’t so much to take in the fabulous displays of jewelry on offer, although that part of it would be an enticing sidelight—they wanted to scope out the layout, entries and exits, and the likely ways robbers might target the place.
“Of course, I need all of you to keep an eye out for my necklace,” Pen told Sandy as they left the hotel, walking alongside the lengthy Promenade des Anglais which stretched for miles along the beach front. “There is always the chance Frank Morrell sold it quickly and it may turn up.”
“Surely no one would be so foolish as to put a recently stolen item on display,” Sandy ventured.
“Yes, that’s probably true. We shall most certainly need to keep our ears as well as our eyes open.”
They kept up a brisk pace—the rocky beach and sea on their right hand and ornate buildings backed by green hills to their left. They passed a tourism office and a large park with some kind of monument and a sign indicating a theatre nearby. Beachside restaurants dotted the way but they put a mile or more behind them before they reached the end of the walking path, turned around and began earnestly looking for a lunch spot. The Beau Rivage offered beachside dining, views through floor-to-ceiling windows, linen tablecloths, and a French menu featuring delectable crepes, for which Pen had suddenly developed a craving.
“For once, I don’t care about the extra butter,” she told Sandy, dipping into her pasta. “This is delicious.”
She was about to take a second bite when a man walking laboriously across the rocky beach caught her attention. Wearing a business suit and overcoat with dress shoes that must have proven extremely painful on the rock surface, he plodded along with his eyes directed toward his next potential misstep.
Pen’s fork dropped to her plate. “Oh, my god,” she said barely above a whisper.
“Pen? What is it?” Sandy looked up from her plate.
“Out there on the beach, that man.” Pen had begun to rise from her chair.
Sandy saw the only person within view who wasn’t wearing beach attire.
“I know him. It’s the police detective who tried to find my necklace back in Phoenix. What the heck is he doing here?”
Chapter 65
Detective Caplin tossed the paper coffee cup he’d been carrying. With a good breakfast in his stomach, two cups of strong coffee with the meal and this one he’d requested to go, his attitude had improved. He would do the right thing and go to the police. If the French police could catch Frank Morrell here, at least the man would do time for his crime. Serve him right for screwing his partners and heading out on this international chase. Damn the crook and damn the whole situation!
Todd Wainwright’s face came to him briefly. The pudgy museum employee who’d gotten himself deeply in debt and talked Caplin into looking the other way. He wanted to judge the guy, but hadn’t he done the same thing? Let money become an excuse for breaking his own personal code of conduct?
Caplin would face disciplinary action—that was a certainty. He might lose his pension. But he could once again feel good about himself. And, with luck, Mrs. Fitzpatrick might get her family heirloom back.
He walked onto the rocky beach and stared out at the rolling sea, calm and blue, dotted with white sails as the regatta competitors moved into position. He’d always liked the sea. Maybe he could still find a way to spend his final years in Mexico, even though his dream life aboard his own boat seemed unlikely at this point. A shack near the beach in some little town like Punta Lobos would suit him. Hell, he could still improve his Spanish in a place like that.
“Detective Caplin.”
The voice sounded very nearby and he turned, startled. Penelope Fitzpatrick stood no more than ten feet away at the edge of the concrete promenade. He felt his plan crumble.
Chapter 66
Pen pulled her shoulders back, standing tall as she watched Caplin’s face register a range of emotions. He was startled to hear his name called out but didn’t seem especially shocked to see her.
“What are you doing here?” Pen demanded, her face hard as granite.
Behind her, Pen sensed Sandy watching from the restaurant. She’d dropped her fork and rushed out so quickly, no doubt her friend wondered what was happening. Caplin picked his way through the rocks and came to face Penelope.
“The same thing as you, I imagine,” he said.
She drew herself up, hiding the thousand thoughts coursing through her right now.
“I am here to recover my stolen property,” she said. “I’ve tracked the thief this far and I won’t give up.”
He nodded agreement.
“But … but you closed the case! You’re here tracking a nine-hundred-fifty dollar necklace?” It made no sense.
Caplin hung his head. “I was wrong about that.”
“You most certainly were! I tried to make you see—” Her emotions welled to the surface and she turned away for a moment. “Detective, what ever was going through your mind?”
He attempted a half-smile and a little shrug, but she sensed he was still hiding a great deal from her.
“At this point I want to help you,” he said.
Skepticism registered on her face.
“Really, I do. I trailed Frank Morrell and a man who is probably his buyer. I’m going to contact the local police this morning and report what I know.”
“No!” A hundred thoughts went through Pen’s head.
Caplin gave her a puzzled look. “Why not?”
She took a breath, looking around to see if Sandy had come outside. She hadn’t. “I have a plan—actually, we, some friends and I, have a plan. We’re going to locate Mr. Morrell’s contacts and steal back my necklace. We heard of a few other heirloom pieces and we want to get those back to their rightful owners, as well.”
The detective’s face registered mild humor and a dash of patience. “My dear lady, you don’t have a clue, do you? There is a major international theft ring behind these losses. You are—”
“Oh, I know,” she replied. “I’ve heard all about them.”
His face registered surprise.
Actually, Amber was at this moment doing the research but Pen refused to let Caplin have the upper hand.
“And how do you plan to stage this big theft of yours?” he asked.
“You’ve heard about the gem show this week?”
He nodded.
“Tonight is a gala event to kick off the festivities. I still have a few con
nections in this world.” Never would she admit her connection this time was a twenty-one-year-old computer hacker.
“That might be a good start,” he said. “But you won’t find the Golden Tigers attending a swanky party. One of their leaders escaped prison two weeks ago and there’s no doubt he’ll be lying low for a while. Interpol is combing most of southern Europe looking for this guy.”
Pen thought about that. If the police charged in, captured these thieves and confiscated all the stolen items it would be months, if not years, before she saw her necklace again once it was held as evidence in such a major case.
“Let me help you,” Caplin said, surprising Pen.
“What—assist us in stealing my necklace back?”
“Yes.”
“But the local police …”
“I’ll use them to learn what I can but my information will come directly to you.”
She pondered this. No doubt Caplin had inroads she and the Ladies could not hope to break, but could she trust him? What could possibly be his motive in offering assistance?
Chapter 67
There’s something so fine about a really good con man, Frank thought. No one observing a great player ever knew what was going on in his head, what his real goal might be. Not the case with the men in this room. One look at these dudes and you knew—they were thugs.
Thugs bothered Frank. They didn’t talk their way out of a jam, they used force. They thought nothing of pulling a gun, leaving you for dead in an alley. They did prison time without missing a beat—although, granted, the slammer was better than college for an education. Frank just didn’t want to take the extra time away from the game.
The guy over there in the corner, for instance, jabbering away in nasal French. He had the look. He’d been sent up and now he was out. Body language said it all. The dude hadn’t earned his release—he’d broken out somehow. Didn’t matter the details, Frank had seen a million of ’em, guys like this.
Diamonds Aren't Forever Page 18