The Color of Death (27 page)

Glendale

Saturday

5:20
P.M
.

Sam wasn’t a Bureau hacker,
but he’d been taught by one how to get the easy stuff off the ’net. Financial and tax records were nearly always available through one website or another. It was just a matter of knowing someone’s Social Security number, the mother’s maiden name, and the date of birth, which were usually available on other websites.

He could have asked the Bureau to do it. He still would if he had to. And he could just imagine Kennedy going nuclear when the director asked what in the hell the Bureau was doing prying into the private life and finances of the president’s brother-in-law—without a warrant.

Sam went back to burrowing into private files. Finally, he stretched and sighed.

“Well, I can tell you for certain that Arthur McCloud isn’t worried about where his next Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud is coming from,” Sam said. “He’s richer than God and is closing in on Bill Gates.”

Kate looked up from the piece of intense yellow sapphire rough she’d been studying while Sam used her computer. “Did you think he wasn’t?”

“Always a possibility. Insurance scams are more common than ticks on a Georgia hound.”

“Somehow I can’t see Art killing anyone, even for a million dollars.”

“Most people just hire it done,” Sam said absently while he accessed another website.

“You make hiring a killer sound as easy as getting a housecleaner or a gardener.”

Sam glanced at her with world-weary eyes. “Easier, actually. It’s all a matter of connections. If you have them, getting someone whacked is cheaper and a lot simpler than getting a good nanny. Of course, if you want a pro to do the job rather than some mutt with a drug habit and a gun, you pay more. A lot more. But I haven’t heard any complaints from the people depositing money in overseas accounts.”

Kate was silent for a few moments before she finally asked, “Do you like the world you live in?”

“A lot less than I used to, why?”

“It’s…ugly.”

“Some good guys have to live there or everyone would be forced to. You drink all the coffee?”

“Yeah.”

“Now that’s ugly.”

She smiled without meaning to. “I’ll make some more.”

“I think it’s my turn.”

“I’ll trade a fresh pot of coffee for a smile.”

He smiled the same way she had, without meaning to. They kept taking each other by surprise.

“And a rain check on a hug,” she added.
Since right now you’re about as huggable as a porcupine.

“Three hugs.”

“You drive a mean bargain.” Kate set down the intense yellow rough and picked up the empty coffee carafe. “I’ll be back with more coffee. You want something to eat?”

Sam thought about it and realized that lunch hadn’t had much
appeal for him. Talking to the Mandels had been tougher than he expected. Probably because Mrs. Mandel had sounded so much like Kate.

And then Sam tried not to wonder if Lee had sounded like his father. If the half brother had had Kate’s quickness and courage. If—

“Sam? You hungry?”

He wasn’t, but he knew he should eat something besides coffee grounds or he wouldn’t be much good to anybody. “Is the rest of my lunch sandwich still in the kitchen?”

“Does the garbage disposal count as ‘in the kitchen’?”

“How about some chips?”

“How about some fruit, cheese, crackers, and a nap before dinner?”

Sam didn’t answer, because Kate had thrown the last question over her shoulder before she disappeared in the direction of the kitchen. He picked his cell phone up from beside the computer and punched in the number for Jeremy Baxter’s hotel room. Sooner or later he’d get lucky and catch the man changing clothes or using the john.

“Hello?”

“Jeremy Baxter?” Sam asked.

“Yes.”

Sam pulled a big yellow pad closer and picked up a pen. “This is Special Agent Sam Groves of the FBI,” he said. “I have some questions about seven blue sapphires called the Seven Sins.”

“What’s this about?”

“I’m not free to say at this time.”

Silence, a sigh, and a soft curse. “They were stolen, weren’t they.”

“I’m not free to say.”

Baxter hesitated.

“If you have any doubt about my identity,” Sam said, “go to the big black motor coach in the employee parking lot, knock on the door, and ask for Doug Smith. He’ll show you credentials and vouch for me.”

The sound of ice rattling against a glass came over the line. Sam
could visualize Baxter thinking and swirling the contents of a near-empty drink.

“Okay,” Baxter said. “But I don’t know how I can help you. I don’t know anything about the stones besides the name and the fact that Art McCloud owns them. I never got to see them once they were cut.”

“Do you know anyone who did?”

“Art and whoever appraised them for insurance purposes. And the woman who cut the stones, of course.”

The FBI had already vetted the insurance appraiser back to the sixth grade and come up with nothing, but Baxter didn’t need to know that.

Kate’s vetting had been even more thorough.

“What about fellow collectors,” Sam said, “friends, girlfriends, anyone?”

Ice rattled against glass again. “Art has friendly competitors, not friends. As for family, I never met any outside of the newspapers. Girlfriends? I’ve never heard any gossip about any,”

The FBI had, but none lately and certainly none who’d had hard feelings about their severance pay.

“How about unfriendly competitors?” Sam asked.

“Oh, he pissed people off by having more money than a Saudi prince. But no one was laying for him that I know of. It just irritated us that he could outbid us without really thinking about the bank account. Thank God all he liked were sapphires and occasional rubies.”

“Did you bid against him for the rough that was cut into the Seven Sins?” Sam asked.

“Yes, for all the good it did me.”

“Who else was in the bidding?”

Kate walked in as Sam started writing quickly on the legal pad she used to make notes about whatever piece of rough she was working on. She set food and coffee near the pad.

He reached for the coffee. Phone tucked between shoulder and ear, he sipped coffee and wrote and asked questions. “Who handled the rough?”

“CGSI. Colored Gem Specialties International. Anything else? I have an appointment in a few minutes.”

“I’m trying to pin down a show that was held the second week in November.”

“There were several. Cut gems or rough?”

“Which ones did you attend?” Sam asked without missing a beat.

“Only the one in Fort Worth that featured Russian estate jewelry. Amazing goods. Really amazing. Of course, they knew what they had. I only bought a few old emeralds. Basilov cleaned up.”

“He was there?”

“Hell, he put the thing together and got some guys in from Singapore and Hong Kong who still had money. Like I say, he cleaned up. The Asians are finally getting into colored stones for investment, as well as their traditional pearls and jade.”

“Any of the other regulars there too?” Sam asked. A moment later he began writing quickly. Then he stopped writing and started putting checks next to names Baxter had already given him. “And that was from the eighth through the ninth of November?”

“Yes, but everyone who knew ruby from spinel left after the first day. There were no previews, so it was nonstop from eight in the morning until nine that night. After that, the good stuff was gone. Excuse me, but I really have to go now. I’ll be late.”

“Thank you for your help,” Sam said. Then added quickly, “Someone might be calling you on a follow-up.”

“Whatever, just not now.”

Baxter hung up.

Sam finished his cup of coffee and reached for the pot.

Kate put a plate of cheese, fruit, and crackers underneath his hand and looked at him.

He took the hint and started eating. Once he got past the first few crackers and some really prime red grapes, he began to realize just how hungry he was. He ate faster, with real interest. When he discovered salami hidden under the cheese he grinned.

“Did you get anything from Baxter?” Kate asked.

“A lot more than I got from the tight-ass citizens at CGSI.” Sam
swallowed salami and chased it with cheese and a swallow of coffee. “I’m going to enjoy dropping a warrant on them. Any of these names familiar to you?”

She scooted her work chair closer to him and looked at the names. “The names, yes. The people, no. They’re collectors and traders. I’ve cut stones for two of them.”

“Are they clean, dirty, crazy, what?”

“You mean would they kill for the Seven Sins?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know them well enough to say.”

“Guess.” Sam crunched into a grape and reached for some cheese. “If you had to start, which name would you draw out of the hat?”

Kate frowned over the list. “Basilov, I guess. He came on the scene five years ago out of nowhere.”

“In his case, nowhere was Georgia, former Soviet Union.”

“He has a lot of cash to spend. He’s not like Art—he doesn’t buy what he falls in love with and to hell with ‘value’—but Basilov’s a real force when it comes to buying choice material.”

Sam swallowed some coffee and said, “I’ll tell the boys to start with him.”

“Did you talk to Art?” Kate asked curiously.

“Yeah, while you were on the phone with your mom.”

“Was Basilov one of the names you got?”

“I got zip from McCloud. He said if he felt like talking to anyone in the Bureau, he’d get in touch with the director.”

“Ouch,” Kate said.

“Yeah. Nothing personal, from all I know about the man. He’s just a prick with money and connections.”

“I suppose it would be tactful for me to disagree with your description of Art, seeing as how I’ve worked for him in the past.”

Sam smiled as he snagged some more cheese and grapes. “Only if you want to cut more stones for him in the future.”

“Arthur McCloud is a fine, upstanding—”

“Yada yada yada,” Sam cut in. “If I’m ever privileged enough to
talk to him, I’ll be sure to tell him you defended him to the last gasp of hypocrisy.”

Kate looked at the dates Sam had circled. “Eighth?”

“November.”

“When Lee…”

“When Lee was murdered,” Sam said evenly. “Yes.”

Kate flinched.

Sam knew he sounded cold. He also knew from experience that dancing around the reality of death didn’t do anything except draw out the painful process of acceptance.

“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” he said, standing up and drawing her close.

“I know.”

Her breath was warm against his neck. Her body was warm against his. And if he didn’t let go of her right now, he wasn’t going to let go of her until it was way too late.

“Anyway,” he said, stepping back and grabbing a handful of grapes, “according to Baxter, the same people who were likely to know about the Seven Sins, the same people who bid for the rough, were all in Fort Worth on the day Lee was killed.”

“Convenient,” Kate said bitterly.

“Maybe, maybe not. I get the feeling a lot of these people go to a lot of the same sales.”

She sighed. “Yes, they do. Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply…. It’s just that I’m…”

“Yeah.” He looked away because it was that or reach for her. If he did that, he’d be making love to her instead of trying to save her life. As much as he wanted her, it was no contest. The cop won by a mile. “I’ll check out every name, but I’m not counting on it going anywhere. Whoever killed Lee wasn’t buying stones in Fort Worth on the eighth.”

“The car wasn’t turned in until the ninth.”

“The car didn’t kill him. Someone who was on Sanibel Island before noon on the eighth did, someone who knew Lee’s habits, someone
who either called Lee away from his lunch or screwed up popping the trunk so that Lee saw or heard, came running, and got killed.”

“Why?” Kate asked starkly. “Why not just rob him or beat him up like the other couriers?”

“That’s the million-dollar question,” Sam agreed. “Of all the couriers, his is the only one whose body was hidden. Why? The answer is our killer.”

“What do you mean?”

He fiddled with his coffee cup, thought about not telling her, and decided she’d do better with the truth than with well-meaning evasions.

“I think whoever killed your half brother is part of a group I call the Teflon gang. I think they’re American. I think they have someone on the inside of the gem trade. Way inside. I think Lee must have recognized whoever robbed him in Florida. I think that’s why Lee died.” Sam looked up. His eyes were as grim as the line of his mouth. “And I’m afraid the gang has someone on the inside of the crime strike force too.”

“You don’t mean just someone with ambition and media contacts and loose lips?”

“I mean someone who knows just what he’s saying and just what the results will be.”

Kate closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. They looked the way she felt—angry and afraid and determined. “What can we do?”

“First I’m going to put you in a safe place.”

“Already taken care of. Look around you, Special Agent. Dead-bolts and locks and alarms everywhere. What’s second?”

“I want to move you to another place.”

“I don’t want to go. I’m safer here than I would be in a motel room going nuts staring at bad art and wondering if the next guy coming through the door will be you or a killer with a badge. I mean it, Sam. I’m staying. I’m safer here.”

“I’m just one man. I can’t protect you twenty-four-seven.”

“I’m just one woman who can put bullets into man-shaped targets at twenty-three feet with either hand.”

Sam lifted his eyebrows. “Did the targets have guns?”

“Our instructor said that came under the heading of postgraduate work, and she hoped to hell we never had to do that dance.”

“So do I.” Sam looked at his watch without really seeing it. Whatever the readout said, it didn’t matter.

There wasn’t enough time.

But whatever it was, it was all they had. “Okay, we’ll do it your way until that doesn’t work anymore. Then we’ll do it mine.”