by K. T. Tomb
“Congratulations! You have assisted in the apprehension of a known bicycle thief, Ms. Colton.”
“Not today, Yates,” another voice said from behind them.
A police officer was steadily approaching them. Someone, possibly a bystander, had called the precinct during the chase; his patrol car was parked nearby with the lights revolving slowly.
“Let him go, Yates,” the officer said. “His father is on his way; uncuff him.”
“My father?” The teenager spoke for the first time, his head darting back and forth from the detective to the police officer. “My father is coming here? Don't uncuff me. Take me to the station. I've behaved terribly. I've committed a terrible crime. I see that now. I need to be put away for a very long time.”
The young man spoke with the telltale ramble of one afraid to face the music in this case, his father – trying to think of anything to avoid consequences.
“See, Barry?” said the detective to the officer.
Ella realized they knew each other from their time together on the police force.
“You heard him. Besides, I caught him in the act. Red-handed! You know I did!”
“You're not an officer anymore. You can't arrest him.”
“But the evidence.” Yates' voice had taken on the tone of disappointment, almost like that of a petulant child, desperate to prove himself and regain his previous sense of status.
A blue sedan pulled up next to the police car. A well-dressed man emerged and exchanged a nod with the officer. Yates recognized him as the boy's father, and he reluctantly unlocked the handcuffs. The boy rubbed his wrists, but lowered his head, casting his eyes to the ground when his father approached him.
Officer Barry spoke first. “Good afternoon, Christian. I trust you'll take it from here.”
“You better believe I will, Barry,” the man replied, giving the boy a severe look. “I appreciate you looking out for him. He's a good kid underneath.”
He turned to the boy, taking him by the ear.
“You, young man, are coming with me.”
Before climbing into the car, the boy's father waved to the officer and called, “See you on the green.”
“Nepotism!” Detective Yates said, as he threw up his hands and returned to his motorcycle, pulling out a tattered notebook from the satchel strapped to the back of the bike.
The boy and his father climbed into the sedan and pulled away, leaving the officer who gave a contrite look to Detective Yates.
“You can't do that stuff anymore, Lander,” he said.
“I have my P.I. license, Barry,” Yates snapped.
“But you can't go around putting people in handcuffs like that. Listen, you're a good detective. You really are, but you've got to get off the juice. It has dulled your capacity. Look at you. You look ridiculous, Yates. Who would hire you?”
“I would,” Ella said.
She had been watching the exchange from the vantage point of leaning against the sidecar. She had remained silent until now. The officer turned to look at her as if seeing her for the first time.
“And you are...?”
“Dr. Ella Colton,” she said, standing up and extending her hand, looking the befuddled officer straight in the eyes. “I'm part of a dedicated team looking into a black market smuggling ring which has moved into the area. I'm here to seek the detective's services for hire.”
The officer shook her hand firmly, pulled back his shoulders and straightened his spine.
“That seems like a pretty serious matter. Perhaps you should let us professionals pursue a case like that. Surely you don't have the resources...”
“Resources?” Ella interrupted. “Your own captain explained to me no more than an hour ago that you haven't had so much as a homicide on the islands in over five years. Seems to me that’s an awful long time to be handing out speeding tickets without letting one's detective skills get a little rusty. Wouldn't you agree, Officer?”
The officer replied, “I see.”
His eyes glanced back to Yates, who shrugged with a smirk.
“Well,” the officer continued, obviously taken aback, “I guess I'll leave the two of you to discuss your... case.”
He glanced again from Ella back to Yates before disappearing into his cruiser and pulling out, leaving a small tire mark in the gravel patch and an echo of silence in place of the loudness of the engine.
“Ha!” Yates erupted when the cruiser disappeared around the corner. “That was fantastic! Did you see the look on his face? Brilliant!”
Ella smiled.
“So how about it, Detective? Are you available for hire?”
He paused, arranging something in the depths of his satchel.
“Why would you want to hire me anyway? I’m just an out-of-work alchie; a has-been police officer who can't stop playing cop.”
“I have to admit, I am skeptical. What is your success rate, Detective?” Ella asked. “Numbers don't lie.”
“Here's a thought,” he answered. “Why don't we go back to the apartment? My office is there and I need to feed Kiki anyway. You can explain to me what exactly it is that you are looking for.”
Ella climbed into the sidecar and placed the helmet back on her head.
“That sounds like a plan, Detective. Let's go.”
Once back at the disheveled apartment, the detective looked around as if seeing the mess for the first time. The small dog greeted him at the door with the small nub of his tail wagging with enthusiasm. Detective Yates' eyes scanned his apartment as they entered and he exclaimed, “This place is a wreck!”
Ella suppressed a smirk. After tossing a couple of scoops of kibble into the silver dog bowl next to the door, Yates promptly grabbed a garbage bag and piled things into it; pizza boxes, empty beer bottles. Once he had cleared a reasonable semblance of order back to the arrangements, he offered for Ella to sit. She did so, gingerly, on the edge of the faded couch. He sat across the living room at his roll top desk, pulling up some information on his small laptop computer.
“What is it you are potentially wanting to hire me for?” he said.
“We are working on uncovering a ring of forgeries related the Museum of Ancient Cultures. Several of the artifacts may be false. What if we hire you to track down the path of purchase for some of these items, from the point of discovery to the current location? Is that something you have the resources for?”
“Absolutely!” he said with gusto. “I'm your guy.”
“The first one,” Ella said, producing the item from her pocket, “is this forged jade.”
Chapter Six
Several hours later, Charlie was lounging in the bedroom area of the hotel suite, letting his hair dry after an afternoon shower. He was scanning through the museum inventory list that Benjamin had sent to him. Charlie's initial task was to gather a list of items that he suspected to be forged, and then they would track down the purchase history, allowing them to find the divergence of the purchase path and identify the source of the forged items. Once the sources overlapped, they could find a connection between multiple items and they would have enough evidence to close it down. Charlie looked up when Ella entered the room. She was carrying a stack of books and pamphlets which she placed on the table and bounced onto the bed next to him.
“Hello, Mrs. Colton.” He greeted her with a smile. “Did you find us a detective?”
“I did,” she said. “Did you get yourself invited to Carol's little soiree?”
“I did,” he answered. “We are both invited to meet her at the marina tonight at eight.”
“Oh, I can't possibly go,” Ella said.
“Why not?” Charlie asked.
“These dreadful headaches.” Ella pretended to swoon and placed her hand onto her forehead. “I simply must go to bed by nine o'clock.”
“Ah, yes,” Charlie said. “Headaches.”
“Come on, darling.” Ella tried to encourage him toward going alone. “If I'm there, she'll be less likely to spill the
beans. You have a rapport with her and you know it.”
Charlie nodded. “Yeah, but I get the impression she's looking for more than just 'rapport', if you know what I mean.”
“That's the idea,” Ella said. “I mean, don't actually do anything, but maybe give her a little impression that you might...”
“You mean I should manipulate her?” he said.
“If by manipulate, you mean skillfully convince her to give you information, then yes.”
Ella grinned and Charlie returned it. He marveled at the capacity of his new wife to trust him in what anyone else would consider a compromising situation.
***
Two hours later, Charlie hesitantly stepped onto the docks of the boat harbor and marina; the ocean breeze ruffled his hair as he approached it. On one side, the dock extended out into the inlet. Boats of all sizes rested in their slips. The sun sat just above the horizon, giving everything an orange glow. Charlie was glad he’d worn his linen suit, as the breeze still held onto the tropical heat from the day. He walked along, looking for the slip number. At last he saw Carol's yacht. Carol was lounging on the upper deck; when she saw him, she waved. Charlie was taken aback by the size of the ship, a sleek Pershing yacht, white with gleaming silver accents. The red lettering showed the name emblazoned along the side, The Gemstone. Carol seemed to have coordinated her clothes to match the ship. She wore a flowing, red, ankle-length dress the exact same shade as the lettering of the yacht's name. The dress curved against her torso in a manner that, despite himself, Charlie could not help but notice. The cowl neckline accented her figure even further. The color gave Carol's pale skin and severe red lips a softness which made her appear more relaxed and at ease, unlike her usual attire of streamlined pant suits.
“Where is your lovely wife?” she called to him from above, motioning for him to climb the stairs up to the lower deck.
“She fell ill,” Charlie said after climbing up. “She gets these headaches. She sends her regrets.”
“What a shame she couldn’t come. I'm so disappointed.”
But the gleam in Carol's eyes and the satisfied smile indicated that she was anything but disappointed. Carol climbed down the small ladder from the upper deck to the lower deck to greet Charlie.
“Would you like a drink? Wine spritzer?” she asked.
“That would be fine, thank you,” he answered. “What is it you wanted to show me?”
Carol laughed in an unnerving way that made Charlie feel as if she had practiced it.
“The night is young,” she purred. “Let's all relax for a bit; you are on vacation after all. Please sit for a while. I'll tell you a little bit about what I wanted to show you.”
He sat down in a lounge chair on the lower deck. Carol moved to the ice box and returned with two wine spritzers handing one to Charlie; he was looking out to sea. The tangerine sun kissed the surface of the ocean, leaving bright orange streaks on the water.
“Tell me,” Carol began, “How long have you and Emma been married?”
“Ella,” Charlie said.
“Of course, Ella,” Carol corrected herself, not sounding a bit sorry.
She sat down in the lounger across from Charlie, crossing her ankles and leaning on one elbow to speak to him. Charlie thought she looked like a model in a magazine; only cold, distant and calculated.
“Less than two weeks,” Charlie said with a small laugh. “It's hard to believe, really. We've been together for such a long time. To think this is only just the beginning.”
“That must be a lovely feeling,” Carol purred.
“It is,” Charlie replied.
The tension between them had begun to build. Charlie felt immediately on the defense. He did not like Carol talking about his wife, and he remained cautious. For whatever reason, he suspected that Carol might want him unsettled; off of his game. She turned to watch the sunset for a moment. Charlie took the opportunity to change the subject.
“This is a nice yacht,” he commented, taking a sip of his wine cooler. “Tell me about her.”
“The Gemstone was a gift from an old acquaintance.”
She spoke without taking her eyes off of the sunset.
“He must have been quite an acquaintance to give a gift like this.”
“She,” Carol said.
“Ah,” said Charlie. “I see.”
Carol turned to him, standing with measured grace.
“Let me give you the tour; she's a beautiful vessel. You’ll love her. Besides, the sun is almost down and the night air might chill us this close to the water.”
“Alright,” Charlie said.
Carol led him down a small staircase into a large, opulent salon and sitting area. He saw a bar on one side with a display of crudités and small finger sandwiches alongside an ice bin which was chilling more wine coolers. The seats against the wall looked like brushed leather, with red and white throw pillows and accent rugs. A large oriental rug completed the room with swirling designs and patterns. Across from them Charlie saw a small galley way with another door.
“What do you think of the salon?” Carol said, sweeping around the room with her arms extended, presenting the space to him.
“It's really quite spacious,” Charlie said.
“Isn't it?” she gushed. “Watch this. This is my favorite thing.”
She walked over to the galley and pressed a small button, holding it down. With a faint hum a cover opened up above them, revealing a large sunroof. The cool air conditioned atmosphere allowed them comfort while they watched the stars start to wink to life against the pale indigo night sky.
“It's beautiful,” Charlie said in a hushed tone, taken aback.
“I know,” Carol said. “Please, come in. Have a seat. Help yourself to anything. ”
She motioned toward the couch, and then handed him another wine spritzer, swapping out the empty bottle in his hand. Carol walked behind the bar and brought out a black briefcase. Charlie noticed the combination lock at the top next to the handle, as well as a fingerprint recognition scanner beside the lock.
“I'm sure you are curious as to why I asked you here, Mr. Colton,” Carol said, placing the case on the small coffee table. “The truth is, I'd like to hire your services. I understand that you may have recently come into contact with Mr. Lee?”
She glanced toward him, raising her eyebrows.
“I couldn’t confirm or deny having met with anyone regarding my professional services, Carol. I don't discuss my cases with others,” Charlie said. “We have a strict confidentiality clause with all of our clients, whether potential or otherwise. I cannot and will not confirm if Mr. Lee is one of them.”
“That is what I thought you might say,” Carol said. “That is largely why I wanted to show you this; because of your discretion.”
Carol crouched on the opposite end of the table, placed her fingers gently on the number dial and spun each carefully into position. Then she placed her finger onto the scanner until she heard a faint click. She turned the case toward Charlie so he could see the contents as she raised the lid. The full moon floated down into the range of the sunroof, casting silver light on them as she opened the case. Charlie saw the creamy green glow of jade. The bejeweled necklace bore a striking resemblance to the one worn by the performer and then destroyed by Benjamin Lee that very morning. Only this one was authentic. This close to it, Charlie knew it right away to be the real deal. His trained eye recognized the gleam on the surface in the moonlight, radiating a dim green light as if from within. Carol watched his face, seeing the rapture there.
“May I?” Charlie asked, as he hesitantly reached for the necklace.
Carol nodded. Charlie carefully reached for the necklace, lifting it out of the velvet enclosure within the case. He lifted it before his face, all else fading away as he became consumed with the magic of the cool, smooth item in his hand.
Without warning, he found he was being kissed. Carol had leaned across the table, taken his face in her hands i
n a gentle but firm grip and was kissing him full on the lips, dancing her tongue in a teasing way against his mouth. He pulled back instantly.
“What are you doing?” he asked coldly.
“I'm so sorry,” she gushed, placing her hands to her face.
Kneeling there in the moonlight, Charlie briefly thought she looked like a praying mantis.
“You just looked so... I mean, I could see it in your face. The way you looked at the jade. You were so overcome by it. You understand the magic of this piece. I thought that I was the only one to see these things in such a way. I shouldn't have tried to kiss you. I'm sorry.”
Charlie stood to leave and began walking toward the door.
“Wait,” Carol said. “I haven't explained anything yet. What happened just now isn't why I asked you here.”
“Can you explain why you have this necklace? Why you have the authentic piece after having sold a very close likeness of it to Benjamin Lee?”
“That was an unfortunate necessity,” Carol said, standing to meet Charlie's accusatory gaze. “What I am asking you to do is to take this one back to the states with you. You are very influential. I'm sure it would be easy to get it past security.”
Charlie crossed his arms.
“And then?”
“You would meet my contact there and deliver the necklace to him. Then you would receive your payment. That's it. Simple, really,”
“Why would I do that? The piece belongs in a museum, not with some private collector, hidden away from the world.”
“You see,” Carol continued, stepping to the side, carefully circling toward the door. “It is precisely for that reason I wanted to speak to you. You, of all people, should understand the importance of how difficult it is to acquire these pieces and restore them to their proper place. This piece, this jade necklace, belongs to the descendants of an ancient Mayan tribe. My contact in the states has found one of the descendants.”
She walked toward him, still trying to position herself between Charlie and the door.
“Just think how much more satisfying it would be knowing that you have returned an artifact to the very family from which it came, rather than sitting on some cold shelf somewhere in a dusty glass box. This necklace is not a dead thing, Charlie. It was made by an artisan, and in many years ago. The blood that flowed the veins of whoever made this necklace flows in the heart of the one to which it would be returned; life returning to life. Think about it, Charlie.”