Diamonds Aren't Forever (12 page)

"He didn't identify himself. Said he had instructions to pick her up at the airport, but had lost the schedule. He told me she'd be coming in on a flight from South America either Sunday or Monday. I explained that no flight flew directly into Medford from that country; passengers had to change planes somewhere along the line. He got huffy and said he knew that, but wanted to find out if she'd been scheduled. I told him I couldn't release that information. By the way, I checked the flight schedules again and I don't find Jamey Gray, Jamey Schyler or a Shirley Noland anywhere. In fact, I don't find anyone coming in from South America. It appears we're in for a slow weekend."

"I want you to keep a sharp eye out on Sunday and Monday evenings for any name on the scheduling that looks suspicious. Remember what we talked about earlier?"

"Yes. I'll let you know if I find anything ambiguous,” she said.

"I'd advise you to report the call to your supervisor. Then keep alert and if you hear of anyone else receiving an anonymous query on any of those names, report to me immediately. And by the way, thanks for calling."

After hanging up, he figured Hopkins had embarked upon his search, and motels would be next. Hawkman decided he'd also pass this bit of information on to Williams. Which reminded him to call the detective and make sure he'd catch the man in his office."

Hawkman parked in the station's visitor's area, picked up the file of pictures he had on the passenger seat and glanced around before getting out of the vehicle. He wondered if he'd spot Hopkins strolling down the street or see the old battered Toyota resting at the curb. Observing nothing out of the ordinary, he made his way into the building and headed down the hallway. When he reached Williams’ office, he poked his head around the door frame. The detective sat at his desk, writing furiously on a sheet of paper. His salt and pepper hair swayed to the rhythm of his strokes as he wrote. Hawkman cleared his throat.

When Williams jerked up his head, Hawkman laughed. “Man, were you concentrating. What are you doing, writing the story of your life?"

"Oh yeah. I plan on making big bucks.” He raised both hands in the air, his fingers forming a rectangle. “I can just see the headlines. Read all about Detective Williams in three pages.” He opened his eyes wide. “Ever heard of a bestseller that short?"

Hawkman chortled and took the chair in front of the desk. “You could definitely write more than three pages. At least three chapters. Then you could retire."

Williams guffawed. “Yeah, right! So, what's on your mind this morning?"

Hawkman's expression turned solemn as he slid the folder of pictures in front of the detective. “There's a problem and I'm going to need your help."

"Okay, shoot."

"I've discovered Carl Hopkins has a gun. And that he's purchased a computer and successfully hacked into the American Title Company's files. He knows Jamey will be here Tuesday. I also have a connection at the airport and found out that an anonymous caller inquired about her arrival. I don't like the looks of things and feel Hopkins plans on harming her. She's going to need our protection."

Williams frowned as he sorted through the photos. “This looks and sounds serious."

Hawkman nodded. “I have no doubt."

"What time is her flight?"

"So far, no reservations have been made in her name or in the alias she used before. I suspect she'll wait until the last minute, maybe even go standby in hopes that she won't be discovered. I figure she'll leave Monday evening and arrive just in time for the meeting, then leave immediately after signing the papers."

"Will your snitch notify you?"

"Yes. But my biggest concern is keeping Hopkins under observation. We need to know where he is every minute of Monday and Tuesday."

"Is he working?"

"Yes, at Curly's"

Williams pointed at the photo of the Glock. “Is he carrying this gun?"

"I don't think so. But I suspect that will change as the day approaches for Jamey to make her appearance."

Williams leaned forward. “Without asking how you got this information. I'm assuming these pictures were taken in Hopkins’ room ."

Hawkman nodded.

The detective sighed. “Unfortunately, we've had no complaints on him, so I have no reason to get a search warrant."

"Yeah, so far he's been careful to keep his nose clean."

"What about Jamey checking into a motel? That might be a way to find her."

Hawkman shook his head. “I doubt she'd risk it. Her stay won't be long enough. Even if she did register for one night, she'd pay cash and use some strange name we wouldn't recognize. She's smart enough to know that's what we'd check first thing. Jamey will do anything to avoid us. I have the feeling she fears we've found evidence that links her to the Oklahoma diamond heist. The major problem is, she has no idea Carl Hopkins is here. And with his changed appearance, I doubt she'd recognize him. I'm afraid things will come down fast. So, as soon as I get the information she's aboard an arriving plane, we'll have to move quickly. That's why I need your help. I don't think I can handle this operation alone."

Williams returned the pictures to the folder. “I'll put a couple of men on Hopkins starting Sunday evening. But I need a mug shot.” His fingers flew over the keyboard, then he smiled. “There we go.” The printer hummed. He yanked the sheet out and held it toward Hawkman. “Is this the man?"

Leaning forward, Hawkman studied the print out. “Yep, that's him, beard and all."

"Figured he had to apply for a driver's license.” Williams made several more copies and handed one to Hawkman. “You might need this."

"Thanks.” He folded the duplicate and slipped it into his pocket.

"If you spot him at the airport, give me a call and I'll send backups.” Williams leaned back in the chair. “You know, it might even be worthwhile to place a plainclothesman at the title company on Tuesday."

Hawkman slapped his hand on the desk. “That's a great idea."

The detective stared into his face. “You'd sure like to see that gal behind bars, wouldn't you?"

"Yep,” he nodded. “She's a con-artist and has hurt several people. I doubt the day will ever come where we can prove Ms. Schyler had anything to do with that heist. But she doesn't deserve to be killed."

"You're right. Unfortunately, our hands are tied as far as trying to warn her about Hopkins. We don't have any proof that he's the one who made the call to the airport or that he has any intention of harming her. Unless something changes."

Hawkman sighed. “Yeah, I know, but I sure would like to confront that woman before she slips away again."

Williams picked up a pencil and made some notes on a pad of paper. “Maybe you'll get your chance."

Hawkman stood and picked up the folder of pictures. “I won't keep you any longer. Thanks for your help. I'll check in with you Monday morning. Chalk this up as my owing you one."

Williams grinned. “Don't think I won't. I've got a thick ‘owe you one’ file with your name on it."

Chuckling, Hawkman left the station. Climbing into his 4X4, he had the feeling of being wedged between two hard spots. If the detective decided that things were getting hot and sent a warning to Jamey about Hopkins, she'd never get off the plane. Yet, if they didn't caution her and something happened, he'd feel mighty guilty.

Sunday night Jamey stood in front of the bathroom mirror and studied her reflection. Tomorrow evening, she'd leave for Medford. Since Bob kept insisting she had nothing to fear, why did that shiver of apprehension keep running up and down her spine? Maybe her own thoughts primed her emotions.

She glanced around the ornate room with its gold faucets and huge Jacuzzi tub where she enjoyed soaking with bubbles up to her nose. The servants kept everything glistening clean. Would she have to give all this up for a five by eight cell with a filthy toilet in the corner? She shuddered at the image.

The worst part, she'd be on her own. No way could Bob help. He'd risk arrest if he entered the States. Sure, he'd hire the best attorney to defend her, but it wouldn't be the same without him there.

She fingered the beautiful soft blue negligee. Delicate lace straps graced her tanned shoulders and a sheer panel of pale blue gauze covered her breasts. The skirt flared out in soft waves when she walked or turned. Bob had presented it to her as a going away gift and requested she wear it to bed tonight.

The idea he thought this might be the last time they'd have together for awhile ran through her mind. He loved her to a point, just like she loved him. When either faced danger, egos took over and individual safety became paramount. She understood the concept and wouldn't push him to accompany her to Medford. And she really didn't care to hear him say anything more about his risk.

Arranging her long dyed brown hair around her shoulders, she let a few strands fall forward over her bosom, then checked her bracelet to be sure the clasp was tight. She sprayed Bob's favorite perfume across her throat. He'd be home anytime now, aching for a romp. More than likely, he'd been thinking about it most of the day. She chuckled and strolled out of the bathroom to find him standing naked beside the bed. He sported a grin that beat the Cheshire cat's any day.

"Oh my God. You're beautiful. You remind me of an angel in that gown."

Jamey whirled in a circle, advancing toward him. The skirt billowed out and draped around his legs as she wrapped her arms around his waist. He picked her up and carried her to the bed.

After a bout of passionate love making, Bob rolled over and fell into a deep sleep. Jamey scooted out from under the sheet, grabbed the gown off the floor where Bob had tossed it and went into the bathroom. Her face felt unusually hot and flushed. She glanced in the mirror to discover she'd been whiskered by Bob's day old beard. Her cheeks were so rosy they looked chafed. She immediately rinsed her face with cool water, then applied a cream that soothed the burning sensation. If the blush didn't go away, she'd definitely have to apply a heavier makeup tomorrow night. No way did she want to bring attention to herself with a red complexion.

Knowing she couldn't fall asleep right now, she slipped on the gown and robe then traipsed downstairs. Pouring a stiff gin and tonic, she carried it into the den and searched the bookcase. She'd been required to buy a book last year when she and Bob attended a class in self-defense. He'd insisted they both attend when they got settled in their home. Living in a country where crime was rampant, a person needed to know how to defend oneself if ever attacked. Why she thought of it at this moment, she wasn't sure, but finally found the small book and pulled it from the shelf. Thumbing through it, Jamey decided to take it with her on the plane to refresh her memory. It would help occupy her mind on the long flight. She finished her drink and went back upstairs. Tucking the book into her purse, she slid into bed beside Bob and closed her eyes.

Carl finished mopping the floor around the bar, dumped the water down the drain and stored the cleaning equipment in the closet. He walked back into the room, plopped a dollar on the counter and took a soda from the refrigerator. Climbing onto the stool, he took a big swig of the drink and let out a sigh.

Curly came around the corner, spotted the bill and handed it to Carl, smiling. “I think I can afford to give you a bit of refreshment. You've done a good job."

"Thanks,” Carl said, sticking the money into his pocket. “There weren't as many customers today as Friday and Saturday. At least I had a chance to take a breather every now and then."

"Never is much of a crowd on Sunday. That's why it doesn't pay to stay open late, then I'm closed on Monday to restock. I found out over the years, the first day of the week hits everyone hard and they don't feel like going out.” He laughed. “They play hard on Friday and Saturday. Then if the truth be known, I think it all catches up with them by Monday and they feel like hell."

A slight smile creased the corners of Carl's lips. “Yep, I know what you mean.” He drained the can and tossed it into the trash. “If you don't need me anymore, think I'll get on home."

"Everything looks pretty much in order,” Curly said, glancing around the room.

Slapping his hand on the bar, Carl jumped off the stool. “Then, I'll see ya Tuesday night."

Curly gave him a wave as he placed clean towels on the counter.

A bright spotlight flooded the alley where Curly's employees parked. Carl climbed into the Toyota and inserted the key. As battered as the outside of the car appeared, the engine sounded smooth and hadn't failed to turn over. He'd just treat it gentle and hope it would last him awhile.

As he drove toward his one room home, the headlight beams from a car turning in behind him off a side street flashed across his rearview mirror. He didn't think too much about it until he observed it followed him all the way to the hotel parking lot. He took note as the car passed and rounded the corner. Squinting, he tried to read the license plate, but the shadows prohibited a good view. At least he'd know the fairly new model Buick if he spotted it again. Being an ex-con, he worried that someone might be checking on him.

He hurried to his room, removed the feather, then locked the door from the inside and threw the chain. Tossing the key onto the bed, he immediately went to the dresser, checked the drawer for the gun and breathed a sigh of relief when he found it still wrapped in the underwear. Crossing over to the head of the bed, he lifted the corner of the mattress. The computer rested in its hiding place untouched, just like he'd left it. Relieved that nothing had been disturbed, he shed the uniform which Curly supplied and dumped the beer smelling clothes into the box he used for a hamper. He then took a quick shower and after toweling dry, turned out the lights, then strolled over to open the window. Looking down at the alley below, he jerked back when he spotted the dark blue Buick. “Damn,” he growled, leaning on the sill. “Why are they tailing me? I haven't done anything to make them suspicious.” Stepping to the side, he glanced out again and saw the soft glow of a cigarette. “Maybe it doesn't mean anything. After all, I'm not the only ex-felon in this rat-hole."