Diamonds Aren't Forever

by Betty Sullivan La Pierre

  "Thanks."

  The detective sat down at his desk and rolled his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “Boy, it's been one hell of a mess around here."

  "I gathered that. What happened?"

  "I received a call about three o'clock this morning from the jail. They found Carl Hopkins dead in his cell."

  Hawkman almost dropped his cup. “What!"

  "Yep, suicide. He even left a note."

  "Did he hang himself?"

  "No. Slit his wrist."

  "How the hell did he do that. Didn't they frisk him before putting him inside?"

  Williams brushed a hand across his face and leaned back in his chair. “Yep, but they didn't strip him down. They just put him in a holding cell after the hospital visit. Somehow he managed to sneak in a piece of broken glass. I figure he got it from that bullet shattered window at the Schyler house."

  "So what did the note say?"

  "It said he couldn't spend the rest of his life in that hell hole of a prison and death was his only choice.” He let out a long sigh. “And of course, the media is all over this as one of the biggest stories that ever broke in Medford."

  "Were they keeping a close eye on Hopkins?"

  "Oh yeah, one of the jailers said he'd checked him several times and the prisoner appeared to be resting. The doctor prescribed pain killers to be given every three or four hours. When the officer took the medication in, he couldn't rouse Hopkins. Then he spotted blood around the cot and called emergency, but it was too late."

  "Did he mention Jamey in that note?"

  Williams shook his head. “No, he didn't.” He checked his watch. “Let's go out the back door and return to the hospital. I don't want to be hit by the media. They're like a bunch of vultures over a fresh kill."

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Jamey opened her eyes and blinked several times. She tried to focus on the screen surrounding her, but couldn't see out and found it frightening. A wave of fear surged through her as she tried to recall what had happened. When she attempted to sit up, the prick of a needle at the back of her wrist caught her attention. When her gaze followed the intravenous tube running from her arm up to a suspended bottle, she realized she lay in a hospital bed. Then her memory slowly returned.

  She remembered the horrific pain when Carl hit her in the stomach. Lifting the covers, she raised her gown, wondering if he'd stabbed her, but she saw no evidence of stitches. Then why did her abdomen feel sore? She dropped her head back on the pillow just as a nurse shoved back the curtain.

  "Good morning. Good to see you awake."

  "What happened. Why am I here?"

  "Dr. Sloan will visit shortly and it's better that he tell you. Right now, I'm going to take your temperature and blood pressure."

  "What day is it?” Jamey asked

  "It's six thirty, Wednesday morning."

  Jamey watched the nurse slip the cuff onto her bare arm. Panic rose in her chest. “Where's my bracelet?"

  "Oh, don't worry, your personal belongings are all tucked away in the hospital safe and you'll get them back before you leave.” The nurse smiled as she removed the cuff. “Okay, all looks good. Now, let me help you to the bathroom.” The nurse rolled the contraption holding the intravenous tube and bottle alongside them.

  It amazed Jamey how weak kneed she felt walking to the small room just a few feet from her bed. If the nurse hadn't been hanging on to her, she might not have made it. Once she climbed back into bed, the nurse headed for the door.

  "Please have the doctor come quickly,” Jamey called.

  The woman hurried back to her bedside with a concerned expression. “Are you in pain?"

  Jamey shook her head. “No. It's just very important that I talk to him as soon as possible."

  The nurse patted her hand. “He'll be here within the next thirty minutes. Then she scooted the curtain around to give her some privacy and smiled. “And your breakfast will be here shortly."

  "Thanks."

  Jamey's stomach felt queasy and she feared holding down any food might be a problem. Her thoughts were interrupted when a pleasant looking man holding a clipboard stepped inside her cubicle.

  "Good morning, Ms. Schyler. I'm Dr. Sloan. I attended you last night in the emergency room."

  She frowned. “And what does that mean?"

  "Unfortunately, you aborted your baby after the impact on your abdomen. I did a D&C and everything looks okay. You'll be fine, and shouldn't have any problem in getting pregnant again."

  Jamey's eyes widened. “Baby? That's impossible. I take the pill."

  "If you didn't take them for a few days, that can make a difference,” the doctor said.

  Her mind flashed back to about six or eight weeks ago when she ran out. She'd tried to make Bob leave her alone, but he'd insisted on making love, saying that a couple of missed days wouldn't matter. “Damn him,” she mumbled.

  "Pardon?"

  She grimaced. “Nothing. I just thought about something. When will I be able to leave?"

  "You lost quite a bit of blood.” He flipped through the pages of the chart. “Your vitals are normal, but I want to check your blood count again, since the nurse said you were unsteady on your feet this morning. If you stay stable, you can leave tomorrow."

  "Could you ask someone to bring my jewelry, please?"

  "Uh, I'm sorry Ms. Schyler, Detective Williams confiscated your personal items. You'll have to talk to him."

  Jamey raised up off the pillow. “The police?” she gasped. “Why would they want my things?"

  "I have no idea."

  She set her jaw and glared at the doctor. “Did a man with an eye-patch, wearing a cowboy hat, show up here at the hospital?"

  "A man of that description accompanied Detective Williams, but I don't recall his name.” The doctor shifted his position. “Look, Ms. Schyler, I only handle medical problems. You'll have to talk to the admitting office about anything else.” He flipped the sheets back in order on the chart. “Is there anything else I can do for you?"

  Jamey flopped back on the pillow and pointed at the phone. “Is it okay if I make an international call?"

  "I'm sure you can make arrangements through the operator."

  "Thanks."

  As soon as the doctor left, Jamey picked up the receiver. After several minutes, she heard the phone ringing.

  "Hello."

  She felt the tears rushing to her eyes, and her voice quivered. “Bob, I'm in the hospital. I just lost our baby."

  "Jamey! My God. What are you talking about?"

  "Everything's gone to hell,” she sobbed.

  "Honey, get hold of yourself. Tell me what's happened."

  She fought for composure and finally stopped trembling enough to give him a quick rundown of the events. “I'm so scared, Bob. What are we going to do? I may never get to come home."

  Silence.

  "Bob, are you there?"

  "Yes, sweetheart, I'm trying to think. If the police want to talk to you, tell them you have the right to a lawyer and he's on his way. They'll just have to wait until he gets there before you answer any of their questions."

  "I don't know a lawyer in this town,” she sniffed.

  "Don't worry, I'll have one there in a few hours. Give me the name of the hospital, and what name you're using?

  "Everyone's calling me Jamey Schyler. Probably because of Carl Hopkins. So I might as well stick with that one."

  "Just as well. It'll make things easier for the lawyer to use your legal name.

  How long are you going to be in the hospital?"

  "Until tomorrow, if everything stays normal."

  "What's the number of your room, so I can reach you?"

  She raised up, pulled the phone toward her, and recited the number off the front.

  "Okay, honey. Hang tight, we'll get you out of this mess real quick."

  "Bob."

  "Yes."

  "Are you sorry we lost the baby?"

  "Look, Jamey, we don't n
eed to talk about that now. Let's wait until you get home."

  After hanging up, she stared into space for several minutes, her hand resting on her stomach. Finally, she scooted down in the bed, pulled the sheet over her shoulders and let the tears flow freely down her cheeks.

  She jerked her head around when she heard someone approaching her area.

  "Time for nourishment,” an orderly said, holding a tray filled with cartons of food.

  Jamey fumbled for the controls and raised the head of the bed.

  The woman placed the tray on the over-bed table and pushed it forward. “Need your energy, so eat up."

  Jamey wiped her face with the edge of the sheet, then raised the lid and almost gagged. A soft egg and one piece of toast met her gaze. A carton of orange juice and a container of decaffeinated coffee sat on the edge of the tray. As unappetizing as it all appeared, Jamey forced herself to eat. She nibbled on the toast, ate about half the egg, drank a little of the juice and sipped the luke warm coffee, even though she preferred regular. Covering the plate, she figured she'd throw up if she had to look at it any more. As she pushed the table aside and glanced up, her heart thumped. Hawkman and Detective Williams stood in the doorway.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Jamey sucked in a deep breath, then pulled the sheet up over her breast as Hawkman and the detective strolled into the room. Hawkman hung back as Williams approached her bedside.

  "Thought you might like to have your personal belongings from the rental car,” the detective said, placing the small suitcase on the foot of the bed. “I stuck your purse inside.” Then he held out a large brown envelope. “Here's the items you had on when they brought you into emergency last night. Everything's accounted for, except the bracelet."

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you keeping it?"

  "We discovered the diamonds were marked and ran a check. They matched the missing stolen gems taken from the Oklahoma heist. You have anything to say about that?” Williams asked.

  Jamey shrugged, as she took the package and placed it beside her. “No. Other than I guess diamonds aren't forever.” She cocked her head and glared at the detective. I suppose it was Carl's idea that you come here and ask me about the robbery."

  "No, he didn't say a thing about it. But I'd like to ask you some questions."

  She waved a hand and shook her head. “I'm not saying anything without a lawyer present."

  "That's your prerogative. Do you have one?"

  "Yes. He'll be here soon."

  Williams turned and gestured toward Hawkman for them to leave. “We'll be back."

  After the two men left, Jamey sighed. She pulled the suitcase toward her and rummaged through it, pulling out a gown, robe and her purse. “Ouch!” she cried as the needle pricked at her wrist. “Dammit, I'll be glad when they remove this thing."

  Anxious to take a sponge bath and get out of the hospital garb, she carefully slid from the bed, planted her feet on the floor and stood for a moment, making sure she had enough strength to support her weight. She pushed the intravenous pole in front of her into the small bathroom, then maneuvered around it so she could close the door. After cleansing herself, brushing the tangles from her hair, and applying fresh makeup, she felt human again. She discovered she couldn't put on her own negligee until they removed the drip bottle. That would have to wait until later.

  Returning to her bed, she stuck her nightgown back into the bag and removed a fresh set of clothes. She shook out the wrinkles and hung them in the tiny closet. Taking out the small hat box that held her Gaucho, she cringed at the dented side, but breathed a sigh of relief when she found the hat had no damage. After popping out the impression in the cardboard, she returned the hat to the box and set it inside the closet. She placed the suitcase on the floor near the head of the bed, and slid her purse into the cabinet. By this time, her spurt of energy wavered and she pushed the curtain aside and climbed into bed. Shortly, a nurse approached with a small paper cup.

  "When will they take this tube out of my arm?” Jamey asked.

  The nurse checked the chart. “When it's finished."

  "Good."

  She handed Jamey the medication and poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the small table.

  What's this?” Jamey asked.

  "An antibiotic."

  "Okay, thanks. Could you draw the curtain. I'm going to try and get some rest."

  "Sure."

  Jamey pushed the controls to lower the head area and glanced at the phone. Wondering why Bob hadn't called, she rolled over, covered her shoulders and closed her eyes. She drifted into a light sleep, only to be abruptly awakened by the jangle of the phone. Grabbing the receiver on the second ring, she pushed the button to raise her head.

  "Hello."

  "Jamey, it's Bob. Can you hear me all right?"

  "Yes."

  "How are you feeling?"

  "Much better. The detective has already been here. They're keeping my bracelet. I pray you've gotten a lawyer."

  "Yes. He's one of the best out of San Francisco and should be there by six or seven this evening. His name is Joseph Rosenberg. I clued him in on what's happened so far.” He paused. “Why the hell did you wear that bracelet?"

  "I don't want to talk about it. Just tell me if the lawyer gave you any indication of my chances."

  "He just said, don't worry. And told me to tell you not to talk to anyone until he gets there."

  "So far I haven't said a word."

  "Good girl. I can hardly wait until you get home."

  "Wish you were here with me. It's sure lonesome going through this by myself."

  "You know that's impossible unless you want me thrown into the slammer. Relax, everything's going to be just fine."

  She fingered the edge of the sheet. “I hope so."

  After Jamey hung up, a nurse came in and took her blood pressure, temperature, removed the needle from her wrist, then rolled the drip bottle contraption away. Shortly after that, a lab technician entered and drew blood.

  "My Lord, how does a patient get any rest with all these interruptions?” she asked.

  The young man smiled. “Hospitals are like that. No rest for the weary.” He winked. “If you hurry, you might snatch a cat nap before they bring ye lunch."

  His fake Irish brogue made Jamey grin. “Thanks for the advice."

  "You're more than welcome, me lady.” He bowed and left.

  Jamey dozed for a few more minutes, only to be awakened again. This time by the clatter of food trays.

  She almost complained, but gasped when she noticed the woman who brought her lunch looked like her disguise when she went to the title company, except for her pink uniform. “Do you work here?” Jamey asked.

  "No, I'm a volunteer."

  "Do you like it?"

  Her faded blue eyes hinted of a sparkle. “Yes. It's nice to be needed and it keeps me busy.” She pushed the table in front of Jamey. “Now you eat, so you can get strong.” Patting Jamey on the arm, she limped away and could be heard pushing the cart down the hallway.

  Jamey removed the dish cover and decided this meal didn't look so bad. A broiled chicken breast with a small salad, mashed potatoes and a chocolate pudding cup. She had juice and hot tea for her drinks. I think I can handle this, she thought.

  After lunch, she changed into her own gown and finally napped for a couple of hours without interruption. When she awoke, she freshened her face, and noted the swelling around her mouth had almost disappeared. After combing her hair, she donned her robe and took a walk down the hallway. Jamey felt her energy returning, even though she still had some discomfort in her abdomen. When she returned to the room, she adjusted the curtain around her bed, then flipped on the television and watched a couple of sitcoms.

  Another volunteer brought dinner. Jamey searched for the little old lady who'd served lunch, but didn't see her. She finished her meal and tried to focus on the television, but her gaze kept flitting to the door. Her watch showed six-thirty. H
ad the lawyer let them down? Apprehension surged through her and she gripped her hands together. What would she do if he didn't show?

  Get hold of yourself, she thought. If Bob said he'd hired a lawyer, he'll be here. Maybe he got delayed. After all, he did have to fly in from San Francisco. Her thoughts were interrupted as a man poked his head around the edge of the curtain.

  "Hello. Are you Jamey Schyler?” he asked, in a low, rumbling voice.

  "Yes."

  Stepping around the screen, he held out his hand. “I'm Joseph Rosenberg."

  Jamey shook the man's firm grip. “Nice meeting you.” She figured him to be in his mid-fifties. He had a full head of black hair, slightly tinged with gray and deep olive skin. His eyes were a deep brown, sunk above high cheek bones. The tall body and broad shoulders fit the dark blue silk suit to perfection. He carried an expensive looking leather briefcase.

  Pulling a chair close to her bed. he sat down and put the valise in his lap. “Do you feel like talking a little business? I understand you've been through quite a trauma."

  She nodded. “I'm feeling fine. I want to get out of here and go home as soon as possible."

  He smiled, exposing perfectly straight teeth. “I think we can make that happen. Oh, by the way, I'm late because I stopped by the police station and had a conversation with Detective Williams on your behalf."

  "I hope he agreed to a deposition. I certainly don't want to spend a year in this burg waiting to testify at Carl's trial."

  Mr. Rosenberg frowned. “I guess you haven't heard that Mr. Hopkins committed suicide in his jail cell?"

  Jamey gasped and put a hand to her throat. “Oh, my God!"

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Hawkman left the hospital and drove to his office. Today, even the fragrant doughnuts didn't tempt him. He thought about the battle Williams faced. The questions over Carl Hopkins dying in his jail cell by self-inflicted wounds meant several investigations into his department, along with being hounded by the press for weeks. He didn't envy his friend's position. He hated to approach the detective about Jamey Schyler. More than likely, that case had been pushed to the back burner. Now that Hopkins had died, and his suicide note didn't mention Jamey, no way could she be linked to him or the diamonds without his testimony.