Pulling another file in front of him, Hawkman concentrated on the new case and took down some notes. About six thirty, his phone rang. He reached across the desk and punched on the speaker phone.
"Hello, Casey here."
"Hawkman, Williams. This has become one hell of a mess."
"I can imagine. Is there any thing I can do to help?"
"No, but thanks for offering. The reason I called is, this Jamey thing isn't going to hold water now that Hopkins is dead."
"I agree. We have nothing but hearsay."
"Ms. Schyler's lawyer came by about thirty minutes ago. A shrewd guy. His name is Joseph Rosenberg and he's with a very prestigious San Francisco firm. From what I hear he's one of their best, that is, if you can afford him. He dropped by the station about thirty minutes ago and talked with me about Jamey. He's headed over to see her now."
"It sounds like you and I have come to the same conclusion. Jamey can't be held accountable for her part in the Oklahoma heist."
"That's about what it boils down to. And under the circumstances, I can't afford to use more men to pursue her. It would be a waste of taxpayers money."
"I definitely see your point. Appreciate all you've done. Let's hope the suicide mess will soon pass."
"Thanks. I'll be talking to you soon."
Hawkman leaned back in his chair, and rested his feet upon the desk. Staring into space, he stuck a toothpick into his mouth. Jamey would leave the country as fast as possible, which would probably be tomorrow morning. Before she left, he wanted the satisfaction of telling her he'd figured out her involvement in the heist. He didn't expect it to make much difference, but sure as hell would make him feel better. So, if he wanted to talk to Ms. Jasmine Louise Scyhler, it better be tonight.
He glanced at his watch and figured the lawyer wouldn't stay with Jamey much over an hour. He dropped his feet to the floor with a thud, stood and stretched. So, he'd best be going. Closing the file on his desk, he put it away, and unplugged the coffee maker. He wouldn't be returning to the office. Turning out the lights, he locked the door and left.
When Hawkman entered the hospital swinging doors, he brushed shoulders with a distinguished looking gentleman on his way out. He wondered if he was Jamey's lawyer. Glancing over his shoulder, Hawkman noticed the man had stopped in his tracks, staring in his direction. There were few men with eye-patches and Jamey had probably described him to her lawyer.
He continued through the lobby toward the elevators with an occasional look back. The man finally shrugged, turned around and headed toward the parking lot.
When he strolled into Jamey's room, the screen had been pulled, hiding her completely. He walked around to the side and spoke to her through the curtain. “May I talk to you?” he asked.
"I don't have to see you,” she said.
"I know. But it'll only take a minute."
"Oh, all right. Come on in, but you can't stay long. I'm very tired."
He pushed open the curtain a few inches and stepped inside. Jamey had her gaze on the television, the remote control resting on her stomach. She had on a soft looking brown robe with the collar turned up touching her chin. She turned her head slightly. “Where's your detective friend?
Hawkman scooted a chair around so that it faced her. “He's busy at the police station."
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, I can imagine, since a man killed himself in his jail."
Hawkman figured the lawyer had clued her in on all the events. “That should make you feel better now that you don't have to worry about Carl telling his story."
Her brown eyes bored into him like hot pokers. “And what does that statement mean?"
"Carl could have at least interested the press about how you conned him into stealing the diamonds last year in Oklahoma. And the adventures he encountered when he caught up with you in Medford. Then, along with the aid of your boyfriend, Bob Evans, how the two of you set him up as the patsy for the heist."
"I don't know what you're talking about. Who's Bob Evans?” she asked, turning off the set.
Hawkman leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs. “You know damn well who he is. You've been living with him in South America ever since you fled the country."
"May I ask where you got this ridiculous information?"
"I have my sources."
"I see,” she said, stifling a yawn.
Hawkman ignored her feigned boredom. “You ended up not only with thousands of dollars worth of diamonds, but also some rare gems worth several million. Unfortunately, Carl didn't learn about those until later."
Jamey raised up on an elbow and chuckled. “And pray tell, how did this all come about?"
"My bet is Bob hid the big gems in the hotel room or else got them to you before you fled."
Jamey shook her head. “Oh, brother, do you have an imagination."
"Don't forget I witnessed you shooting your girlfriend's lover in self-defense when he showed up hoping to get his cut."
"Sounds like you have this all figured out. So, continue. I want to hear the rest of this fairy tale."
"Something happened that kept you in Medford longer than planned. Maybe Bob had legal problems and couldn't get out of Oklahoma as soon as he wanted. So you had to pawn a couple of the marked diamonds to survive. Your job at Curly's didn't pay enough to take care of the bills. When you were questioned about where you got the gems, you told the jeweler they belonged to your grandmother. That tipped us off that your story smelled mighty fishy.
Then somewhere along the way, you set fifty of the real diamonds into that zircon bracelet that you wore constantly. And then placed the fake diamonds into the bags with the real ones.
You also used Curly's son, Mark to help you keep the diamonds hidden, almost ruining his life. When Carl Hopkins showed up you got scared. You had his truck keys in your purse. I saw them when Detective Williams made you dump the contents on the table in search of the diamonds. I didn't think much about it at the time. But now I realize you're the one who planted the diamonds in his vehicle. You decided to sacrifice him for your freedom."
Jamey sighed. “Why would I do a thing like that?"
"Because you cared nothing for Carl Hopkins and the diamonds were like pennies compared to the big gems. This way you could get off scott free and let Carl take the blame. You managed to sneak by the authorities and fly to South America where you met your partner in crime. The two of you have been living off the wealth of those gems for over a year."
She cocked her head. “You think you've got this all figured out."
Hawkman leaned back in the chair. “Sounds pretty feasible if you ask me. So, tell me Jamey, why'd you risk coming back here just to sell the house? And of all things wearing that bracelet? Surely, you haven't run out of money. If so, you could have sold those diamonds in South America and lived off the proceeds for another few years."
Her eyes narrowed. “Mr. Hawkman Private Investigator, it's none of your damn business why I wanted to sell the house. But I did. And now your friend Mr. Charley Sullivan will have a cute little cottage and a garden to live out his days. And you know this whole cockeyed story that you've made up?"
"Yes."
"Well, it could all be true. But you know what Mr. Hawkman, old boy?"
"What?"
"You'll never be able to prove it. I'm outta here in the morning. I'm going home. But I'll guarantee you one thing."
"And that is?” Hawkman asked.
"You'll never see this rich bitch again."
* * *
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Diamonds Aren't Forever Page 20