Alex Ames - Calendar Moonstone 02 - Brilliant Actors (26 page)

What would I do in his place? He seemed to imitate me in certain techniques, so why not beat him at his own game? What would Calendar do in his place? First of all, I wouldn’t keep the loot. I would get rid of it as soon as possible. So, let’s assume that most of the earlier heists were already in the hands of the fences or cutters. He had recently acquired the stuff from Swan Collins’ Oscar party, and he had the contents of Calendar’s safe. Somewhere nearby.
 

If it was me, I wouldn’t keep it here. I’d put it in a secure place like any Joe Citizen, the bank. Rent a safe and keep it there until the handover day. Use the mail-it-to-my-fake-identity-PO-box trick.

Just for the heck of it, I wondered: where would Calendar keep it if she were stupid enough to keep it at home?

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Diving Damsel Distressed

Mick jumped in his seat when I tapped stealthily against the side window of the car.
 

“Jesus, you got nerves!” he said after I had slipped into the car.
 

“I need your help.”

“Did you find anything?”

“Not yet, but there is one place I want to check before we go—and I need you to go with me to keep an eye on things.”

“Don’t you think this is the better place?” Mick indicated the empty night street.

“It is a risk we have to take, so come on with me.”

“You must be kidding, a swim?” Mick said, disbelievingly.

“Shut up. I am most vulnerable when I am down there in the water because I can’t take the phone with me, stupid, so I want you up here watching out for anything. And if anyone approaches, make some noise like banging the deck chair several times. The sound will travel into the pool, and I will come up immediately.”

“Are you prepared for a swim at all?”

“No. But as you are my cousin, you don’t qualify as a dirty leering young man.”

He raised his eyebrow, looked nervously around to the neighbor’s home, eyed me, and quickly looked away again when he caught me undressing. I neatly stacked my clothes on the deck chair, ready to grab and go, my briefs going last. I tested the water with my big toe and my waterproof Maglite. Cold! It was hard to get in but only motivationally so.
 

 
I was stepping into the water on the shallow side of the twenty by ten pool, about to overcome the last hurdle and dip in completely. Mick’s phone buzzed. I froze, and we looked at each other, not moving.

“Mick here.”

My lower parts felt cold, my nipples were hard, and I suddenly thought that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Mick looked around several times to avoid staring at my breasts.

He snapped his phone shut with a worried look. “Rip and his girl tried to hit another trendy nightclub but didn’t get past the door. They just retrieved their car from the valet and are heading straight for our location. ETA about ten to fifteen minutes if they don’t stop for a nightcap.”

I said, “Shit,” and took a deep breath and dived down into the water. The Maglite was very bright underwater, and I checked out the far end of the pool were three water out- and inlets were clearly visible. I managed to open the first of them and checked it out with my first round of air.
 

I surfaced and heard Mick say, “Eight minutes, driving fast. I bet they want to have a go at each other, urgently!”

The next round of air held for another two minutes, which I took to unscrew outlet number two. It took some effort, and the second I had it open, I felt the draft of the water pouring out to wherever. I had to be damned careful not to be sucked in while I was feeling my way in there, and just as my fingertips felt something round the bend, my air ran out.

“Six minutes, maybe less.”

“My backpack, the pliers, quick!”

He retrieved it from my little heap of clothing. I gulped in enough air for round three and already felt that I couldn’t hold out two minutes anymore. I reached outlet number two again, my right hand with the pliers vanished in the sucking tube. I felt the object just behind the bend—something soft, maybe a textile bag—grabbed it with the pliers, and pulled. Eureka, I had it … or not. I was looking at a very dead, halfway decomposed rat.

I swallowed some water from the shock, lost my pliers, which vanished in the sucking hole, and had to get up quickly in order to avoid drowning.

“Five minutes, they just got off the highway,” Mick said. “Did you find something?”

I coughed, spit out water, and swam to the side. The water level still looked the same, even though some of it was draining steadily away. “Shit, shit, shit. I just caught a dead rat.”

“Probably better than a live diving rat.” Ever practical.
 

Gulping in air for trip number four, I had to close the outlet first, and I grabbed the screw cap. The rat had already been sucked into the outlet again to accompany my pliers. The rat had probably drowned and sunk to the ground. The pool service technician had not bothered when he had drained the pool for maintenance, and the cadaver had been sucked into the tube—to be retrieved by the esteemed Calendar Moonstone, who had come to hate these animals.

I called the pliers a loss and had just finished screwing in the outlet with the last bit of air in my lungs when a thought hit me. The dead rat had shocked me. I hadn’t looked any further because of the revulsion that I had felt. Could I have invented a better distraction? As intended by Rip?

Coming up for air. “The other pliers, please,” I gulped and gasped. Mick fetched them from my toolset and urged, “Two minutes max. Whatever you plan to do, do it quickly.”

“Clean up here, will you? Take my clothes and stuff with you.” I dove back, unscrewed the outlet, felt the sucking again. My left hand vanished into the tube with the other pliers, and I felt for the first thing to grab. Got out the dead rat again. Because of the flow, I had to pin down the rat with my naked knee to the pool floor before I could put my hand back into the tube. I reached further and felt something else.
 

Bingo, you are a dead winner soon, Cal!
 

I pulled out a small plastic wrapping, took it in my left hand with the pliers, and let the rat be sucked in again.

I could hear a scraping and banging sound through the water, Mick signaling danger.

My air was running out fast. I screwed the outlet cap back on, fumbled with the outlet thread, had to do it again, screwed and screwed with one hand, the other one desperately held tight to pliers and wrapping, my air running out, lungs almost bursting, longing for air, finally finished screwing on, stars before my eyes, wobbly arms….

“What a marvelous view!” the honey blonde sex pot exclaimed merrily.

“Did I promise you anything less, baby? What about a drink?” Rip said. When he was charming, he was straight out of a fifties Cary Grant movie.

“Martini dry, please.” Well, she was right for the part, too. Maybe they were rehearsing for an audition?

“Coming right up.”

Don’t look left
, I prayed.
Absolutely! Do! Not! Look! Left!

I heard Rip walking back into the living room and clinking glasses and bottles. The blonde didn’t move, probably enjoying the vista over the valley. I was pressed closely against the long side of the pool, just part of my head over the water’s surface. I was invisible from the terrace as long as no one took a step toward the pool.
 

Rip came back, they touched glasses, drank, and chatted some pre-coital stuff while I thought desperately,
Let’s get it on, guys! Forget foreplay; it is overrated. Drink up and go. Bang your brains out.

But my prayers seemed to go unanswered. Nothing seemed to happen. Did they fall asleep watching the view? I finally dared a look, as slow as possible to keep the dripping sounds from my wet hair low.
 

Okay, partially answered prayer. They actually had moved into real foreplay and were into heavy kissing; as far as I could see, Rip’s hands were moving in the right directions. Hers, too.

After two or three minutes—or years—I heard them exchange heavy breathing before they moved slowly back into the house. Rip closed the terrace door behind them. At least they hadn’t attempted a quickie on the deck.

Another look after one minute confirmed: no one there. Could I dare to get out of the pool, back down the pylons, and to the car without being seen? I felt a slight shiver running down my muscles; the tension of holding tight to everything and being too long in the water were beginning to show.
 

“Cal?” Mick whispered from somewhere.

“Yeah,” I whispered back.

“They just closed the door to the bedroom this second. Clear.”

“Clear,” I confirmed and raised my head again. I moved toward the far end of the pool, close to the railing, and got out of the water silently. The worst part was that I had to leave a trail of water on the deck that would be discovered by anyone stepping close to the pool. I tried not to hurt myself as I climbed naked with chattering teeth and trembling muscles, dripping water over the railing, down the pylon I had come up.
 

Down in the bushes, Mick was waiting with all of my gear. He handed me my clothes, and I made a snap dressing, using my t-shirt as towel. He then climbed up with my t-shirt to clean up my drippings.

“Call that a close shave,” he muttered after he had rejoined me. “Dad will kill me.”

“Call that a winner,” I said, showing him our prize.

Right then and there, we unwrapped the small package that was maybe three by four inches. I held a shaking Maglite while Mick did the cutting ceremony.
 

I had not really expected to see the content of my safe. If Rip was indeed a professional, those were long gone.
 
Instead we stared at a collection of freshly stolen jewels of good taste. Various rings with big stones of high quality, a Harry Winston Sunflower necklace with approximately 25 carats of smaller diamonds, some colorful bracelets. All in all, a good take of a good thief.

“And this is the high point of tonight’s show!” I gave Mick a kiss on the cheek as a finder’s fee.
 

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Henry’s Leap

I wasn’t asleep but was annoyed anyway. And somehow I knew right away that it was Henry. Did that already qualify me as a cop’s girlfriend? Caring for my partner at night when he was on patrol? Or was I expecting him to call me up during the night to make sure that I had an alibi? What a great beginning of a beautiful friendship.

“Catholic girl school, Virgin Watch Night Squad,” I said into the receiver.

Two seconds delay, only. “Sorry to wake you, Calendar. It’s me, Henry,” he said unnecessarily.

I yawned loudly into the receiver and stretched. “May I remind you that it was you who left me around ten tonight?”

Henry stayed serious. “Can I pick you up in about fifteen minutes to take you to a crime scene? I want you to look at some things and tell me your opinion.”

I’d had this type of conversation before with another cop I had liked, and at that time it had turned out afterward that he had used me to catch a thief and a killer. Did I fall for these kind of men?
 

“Henry?” I said carefully to test the waters.

“Yes?” he sounded a little gruff, but maybe that was due to the fact that it was after four o’clock in the morning.

“Do I have a choice?”

Henry seemed a bit startled at my direct question. He cleared his throat and said in an official type of voice, “I would have picked you up, anyway. I’ll send someone over in fifteen minutes.” He hung up on me.
 

Calendar, can’t you keep your stupid mouth shut for once?

I lay back for a minute, fought with sleep and panic, got up, stepped for a minute under the shower, and quickly dressed. A quick self-assessment didn’t show any warning signs of a coming cold—no running nose, clear throat. The coffeemaker whipped out a triple espresso. I dialed Terrence’s home number, and after five rings he picked up personally and sleepily.

“Hi, Terrence, this is Calendar.”