Diamonds Aren't Forever

by Betty Sullivan La Pierre

  No call from Patti yet, but he figured it would be evening before he received any word about Jamey. He'd run by the police station and check on the latest events concerning Carl Hopkins, then drop by Charley's.

  He found Detective Williams deep in conversation on the phone, his shoulder holding the receiver against his ear as his left hand steadied a notepad while writing with his right.

  He sat down on the chair in front of the desk and waited. Williams finally dropped the receiver on the cradle and leaned back.

  "Our boy, Carl Hopkins, has led my guys on a merry chase. They've gone from a gas station, to the thrift shop, fast food place then back to the hotel. That's where they are now. Nothing of importance to report so far."

  Hawkman frowned. “No trip to the airport?"

  Williams shook his head. “Nope.

  "That's odd,” Hawkman said, scratching his sideburn.

  "Why do you say that?"

  "I figured Hopkins might not be able to break into the recently installed computer security system the airport installed. Therefore, he'd be forced to check every plane that landed. Makes me wonder if he found a way to hack into it?"

  "Hard to say,” the detective shrugged. “Companies can barely stay ahead of these guys. They seem to figure out how to get into the system the minute they're put in."

  "Yeah, but this guy's been in jail and even if he had access to a computer, I doubt he'd have enough time to learn about these new systems, let alone practice in breaking their codes.” Hawkman shifted in his seat. “You're sure they're following the right guy?"

  Williams nodded. “Oh yeah. They have his picture and know what that old car looks like."

  Hawkman stood. “Give me a call if anything suspicious starts to happen."

  "Will do."

  He left the detective's office and strolled out to his vehicle. After climbing inside, he stared out the window for a moment. His gut told him something didn't fit. He had confidence in the detective's men, but he didn't trust Carl Hopkins. Driving out of the parking lot, he headed for the airport.

  * * * *

  Carl opened the old Chevy's car door and the smell of stale cigarette smoke slapped him in the face. He left it open for a moment before climbing inside. Just as he shut the door, he heard someone yell Jake's name. He quickly put the key into the ignition and started the engine. Thank goodness it turned over and he quickly drove into the street. He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw one of Jake's old cronies standing in the middle of the parking lot with his fists on his hips.

  "Sorry, old buddy. No ride today,” Carl mumbled as he bounced down the road.

  He noticed how the covering on the dashboard had peeled away, and the sun glinted off raw metal. The upholstery on the seats had big rips and the stuffing poked out in several places. It made him thankful for his old vehicle which at least had everything intact on the inside. Checking the gas gauge with skepticism, he pulled into a station. After filling the tank, he headed for the airport.

  Arriving at the terminal, he spotted a big plane coming in for a landing. Perfect timing, he thought. He'd checked the arrivals from San Francisco and Los Angeles. There would be an hour or two between each, so he'd have to be careful not to look too conspicuous. He didn't want security on his tail. This terminal was so small that someone standing at one door could spot a person entering from the opposite side with no problem. While it might help locate his prey, he couldn't lose himself in the crowd.

  He sat down on a small bench near the door with his gaze riveted to the gates. Then all of a sudden, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a tall cowboy with a patch over his eye stroll into the terminal at the far end of the building. Carl's heart sank as he recognized that damned private investigator. He glanced around frantically and spotted the men's room off to his right.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  As Hawkman approached the airport, he searched for the old gray Toyota alongside the road where people sometimes parked. Then he scanned the lot, but didn't spot it anywhere. This puzzled him, as he figured Hopkins would keep an eye on all the planes arriving today and tomorrow morning.

  Even if the man had cracked the airport security, he had no idea what name Jamey might use. Unless, she'd operated under Shirley Ann Noland when they were together. Hawkman shook his head and mumbled aloud. “No, that's not possible. The Noland name had to be picked by her lover. He's the one who had the contacts to arrange for her fake identification papers."

  Parking in the long term lot, Hawkman made his way through the rows of vehicles, checking each one. Still, no sign of Hopkins’ car. He went in the side entrance of the airport and glanced around. Several people were gathered at the large glass wall watching the big jet touch down.

  Hawkman leaned against the window casement and studied the passengers as they hastened through the door of the terminal. Not one person resembled Jamey. He moseyed through the assembled crowd, and made his way to the exit.

  It didn't hurt to check, although he expected Jamey's arrival later tonight. He'd be here for sure, even if he hadn't received a call from Patti by then.

  Leaving the terminal, he strolled slowly, checking each row of cars as he passed. Reaching the 4X4, he climbed inside, and headed for Charley's.

  * * * *

  Carl cursed to himself as he peeked out of the men's room. “Damn P.I.,” he mumbled.

  He eased around the corner and spotted Tom Casey gazing out the window toward the runway. As the passengers meandered into the terminal, he noticed how he scrutinized each person. At one point, Carl felt his muscles tense when it appeared their gazes locked. He pulled the wide brim of his hat lower, and darted back into the restroom.

  Carl waited several minutes before he ventured back into the main area. Most of the crowd had dispersed and he didn't see the tall cowboy. Clenching his fists, he scowled under his breath. “If he'd missed Jamey due to that private investigator, he'd kill him."

  He scurried out the front entrance and scanned the area for any signs of his former girlfriend or Tom Casey. Not seeing either, he hurried back inside and stopped at the small snack bar where he bought a bag of peanuts, crackers and a soda.

  The less anyone saw of him, the better. Especially security personnel. He decided it wiser to go sit in the Chevy and munch the goodies while waiting for the next plane's arrival. Carl parked in the long term lot, figuring it would be worth the few extra dollars in case he had to leave in a hurry.

  Trudging down the rows of vehicles, he felt the sweat running down his back and trickling down the side of his face into his beard. Unbuttoning the heavy coat, Carl wished he could shed the stinking thing along with the hat, but decided against it. Preoccupied, he didn't pay any attention to the 4X4 that passed him as he headed toward Jake's car.

  * * * *

  As Hawkman drove toward the exit, he noticed a seedy looking character coming toward him. The man's coat flapped in the breeze and he had his hat pulled down practically covering his face. Something vaguely familiar about the figure caught Hawkman's eye and he glanced in his rearview mirror. He watched the man climb into an old green Chevy, and it dawned on him, that he'd seen the same derelict inside the terminal.

  The guy must have taken a buddy to catch a plane, for he obviously hadn't picked anyone up. Stopping at the pay gate, Hawkman paid the attendant, and turned onto Airport Road. He veered onto Biddle, then turned off toward Charley's place, pulled up in front of the house and parked.

  The old farmer glanced up from examining some plants and gave a wave. “Hey, I'm out here in the garden."

  "Why does that not surprise me,” Hawkman called, as he sauntered toward where the old man stood. He put his fists on his hips and looked out over the garden. “I can't get over how everything has grown in just a week. You definitely have a green thumb."

  "Yep. Looks like I'll get a bumper crop this year.” Charley bent over, pulled a weed, tossed it aside, then turned toward Hawkman with a twinkle in his blue eyes. “I'm in the mood for
a sandwich and a domino game. How about you?"

  Hawkman laughed. “It's been a while since I played. But I've got an hour or two to kill, so I'll take you on. Sandwich sounds good, too."

  The two men went inside the house. Charley washed the garden mud from his hands, then cleared the kitchen table. He motioned for Hawkman to have a seat, then poured two cups of coffee and made a couple of baloney sandwiches. He pulled a bag of chips out of the pantry and said, “I'll get the dominos. We can eat and play."

  His gaze skirting the ceiling, he mumbled. “Now where the hell did I put that game?” Reaching up, he flipped open the cabinet above the kitchen sink and grinned. “Ah, here it is.” He removed a small rectangular wooden box, placed it on the table along with a pad of paper and pencil. Rubbing his hands together, Charley sat down opposite Hawkman. “You ready to get your butt whupped?"

  "We'll see about that,” Hawkman said, as he dumped the dominos onto the middle of the table and moved them around.

  The two men squared off and the game began. After an hour and a half of bantering and laughs, they finally decided to quit at a tie. Hawkman put the game pieces back into the box and chuckled. “You sure didn't beat my butt."

  "Blast it all, you're better than I expected. Who'd have thought a private eye could play so good. Next time you come around, I'll get out the checkers. Bet I can beat you at that game."

  Hawkman laughed. “Better put your money where your mouth is. I used to be a checker champ. Could beat anyone who put a board in front of me."

  The old man slapped a fist into his hand and guffawed. “I'll find something I can whup your butt at."

  "You seen any more of that Hopkins guy?” Hawkman asked.

  "Nope. Just that one time. He ain't been by again. I'd have called ya if he had."

  "Figured you would.” Hawkman stood and stretched. “I better get on my way. Enjoyed the game, and thanks for the sandwich. Good seeing you. Take care of that garden. Jennifer expects some fresh produce."

  Charley smiled. “Tell her not to worry. There'll be plenty."

  Hawkman had just scooted into his 4X4, when his cell phone vibrated. “Hello."

  "Hi, Hawkman. This is Patti. I just arrived at work and only have a minute. I found the flight confirmation on Shirley Ann Noland. She's registered on a plane leaving out of Rio de Janeiro at twelve AM their time. In fact, she's airborne right now. She'll arrive in San Francisco around seven or eight tonight. And it would be my guess that she'll catch the last plane that leaves for Medford from San Francisco. I'd judge she'll arrive here about eleven thirty. Oh, and she's also rented a car.” She laughed. “And don't ask me how I know that."

  "I won't. But that's an interesting tidbit."

  "I gotta run. Hope you can keep her safe."

  "Thanks, Patti. I'll do my best."

  He'd no more pulled away from the curb when the phone rang again. “Hello."

  "Hawkman, Detective Williams."

  "What's up?"

  "Just thought I'd let you know, we've got everything set up for an undercover guy to be at the title company. And there's nothing new with Carl Hopkins."

  "That's a great idea to have a plainclothesman there. Hasn't Hopkins left for work?” Hawkman asked.

  "No. Look's like he's holed up in his hotel room."

  "Oh, yeah, I forgot. Curly's closed on Monday night. Tell the guys not to ease up on surveillance. Our girl is due into the airport about midnight."

  "You gonna be there?” Williams asked.

  "Wouldn't miss it."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Bob stood with his arm around Jamey as they waited outside the security checkpoint at the terminal. She'd learned earlier it would be best to buy the ticket for the flight instead of trying for standby. The airlines had informed her that rules had changed since the 9/11 catastrophe. So, she arrived a few minutes early and prayed the flight she wanted hadn't been booked solid. Jamey breathed a sigh of relief when the attendant told her there were plenty of seats available.

  When the time came for her to go through the security check point, she hoisted the long purse strap onto her shoulder, and took the small suitcase from Bob. “As soon as I get out of the meeting with the title company, I'll head for the Medford airport. And when I reach San Francisco, I'll get the earliest flight home I can. I'll call you as soon as I know.” She lifted her head and gazed into Bob's eyes. “Wish me luck."

  He rubbed her arm. “Nothing's going to happen, honey. This is just a business deal.” He gave her a big kiss and stepped back as she tossed her bags onto the conveyer belt leading through the x-ray machine. “I'll be waiting."

  She glanced around the room. “It sure doesn't look like there are many passengers. That will speed things up at the other end, when I have to go through customs. It's such a pain.” She lowered her voice. “Maybe I'll get a row of seats all to myself."

  Security waved for her to step through the scanner.

  Jamey stood on her toes and gave Bob a peck on the cheek. “See ya in a couple of days."

  He gave her shoulder a squeeze and grinned. “That's my girl."

  She waved and stepped through the structure that looked like a door frame without a wall. The attendant had her remove her shoes and Gaucho hat. While he checked them, she stepped barefoot toward the conveyer belt and removed her belongings. Everything went through without a hitch. She slipped on her shoes and hat, then headed toward the next line.

  Within twenty minutes, she had a boarding pass made out to Shirley Ann Noland. She glanced over her shoulder and waved it at Bob. He gave her a thumbs up sign and walked away.

  Once on the plane, she found her assigned seat and pushed her small suitcase into the overhead luggage rack. They soon closed the doors and she discovered she actually had the row to herself. She scooted next to the window and plopped her large purse onto the aisle seat in hopes of discouraging anyone from moving there. She fastened her seat belt and stared out the window. The plane moved along the runway and made a turn; then the engines roared to life and within seconds the jet lifted into the air. She felt the jolt of the wheels as they nestled into their compartments in the belly of the big plane.

  She was thankful she'd decided on low heels, a brown pant suit with a beige silk blouse, the plain brown Gaucho hat and little jewelry for the long flight. Not wanting to bring any attention to herself, she'd twisted her dyed brown hair back into a bun with no ringlets framing her face. She appeared more like a business woman. But when she caught her reflection in the window, she had to stifle a laugh. She actually looked more like an old maid school teacher.

  Also in the glass she could see the image of three serious looking men sitting across the aisle. She turned her head and stared at the handcuffs that shackled the man in the middle to the left wrist of the man who sat closest to the aisle. The prisoner winked, gave her a crooked smile, then raised his free hand in a greeting. She felt the warmth in her cheeks and immediately looked away. Her stomach tied into a knot as she wondered how far they were taking him. She hoped they'd get off in San Francisco. She didn't need any press snapping pictures of a famous prisoner being transferred back to the States.

  Once the seat belt sign blinked off, she dug into her purse for the self-defense book. Shifting her position so her back faced the three men, she studied the instructions from page one to the end. It surprised her that she remembered many of the moves. Why she thought it so important to refresh her memory, she couldn't figure. She certainly didn't fear Hawkman in that manner, and Medford just wasn't that kind of a city. She shook her head, closed the manual and tucked it into her purse. Removing her hat, she placed it on the empty seat, leaned back, and stared out at the stars, wondering if Bob had any inkling on why she'd been so adamant in making this trip.

  She knew their affair had been one of convenience and a mutual understanding about a diamond heist. The words love or marriage had never entered the picture for either of them. Even though Bob loved having sex and had seen to all her ne
eds, none of the money he'd collected for the jewels had ever been put into her name. She had to rely solely on him for anything she wanted. He gave her a checking account, but monitored the money.

  Being so dependent on the man bothered her. What if someday she tired of his favors and wanted to leave? There would be no way in hell she could afford to do it. Or what if he found a new, younger woman? This made her wonder if he'd planned it that way. On the other hand, it didn't seem to bother him that she wanted to make this trip, knowing it would put a nice hunk of money into her hands. And he'd told her, when she'd admitted having concerns about coming back to Medford, that she didn't have to sell the house. They had all the money they needed to live comfortably for the rest of their lives. She gnawed her lower lip, pondering if she'd made the right decision.

  The other side of the picture still remained. The only thing she actually owned was that little house her aunt had willed her. And the only money she could claim as hers, came from the rent which amounted to very little. So when the tenant appeared interested in buying the house, she realized she'd have a nice lump sum in her name, as no mortgage or lien encumbered the property.

  Finally, after reaching the conclusion that her best interest still rested in having her own money, she closed her eyes. But she couldn't get comfortable as a nasty chill kept running up and down her back.

  * * * *

  Carl Hopkins saw the big jet circling and wondered why it hadn't set down. Then he noticed the red lights out past the building near the head of the runway. Something had happened, but he didn't know what. Playing the part of Jake, he meandered into the terminal and up to the ticket counter.

  "Say, what's happened out there? How come that plane ain't landin'?"