Diamonds Aren't Forever (17 page)

"Is the girl on it?"

"Yes."

"Has Hopkins appeared?"

"I found him in the parking lot in his buddy's car. After I confronted him, he got all fired up and left. He hasn't returned."

"Think he will?"

"Oh, yeah. But he's aware we know about his plans, so we've got to keep a close eye on everyone coming and going. Hopefully, there won't be too many passengers this late at night."

Carl Hopkins gripped the steering wheel as he drove. So much adrenaline had pumped through his body that his muscles trembled. He'd seen a police car heading for the airport and figured they were getting ready to stake out the place. “Damn private investigator,” he said aloud, slamming his hands against the wheel. “I've got to change my plans. I won't be able to get near Jamey with a hoard of police surrounding the area."

He drove into the hotel lot and parked Jake's car next to his. Taking several deep breaths, he waited a few minutes, then checked across the street for the surveillance car, but it had disappeared.

When he wiped his face with the sleeve of the coat, he cringed and almost barfed from the smell. “I've got to get out of this damned stinking thing.” He lunged out of the car and stormed toward the hotel. Once he reached the lobby, he stopped at the pay phone and called the airport. The plane would land in about forty minutes.

He peeled off the long overcoat as he climbed the stairs, and thought about what the investigator had said. Something about his friend being delayed and questioned by the police.

Carl passed his room and headed for Jake's. Before knocking, he made sure he stood alone in the hallway, then removed the gun from the inside pocket of the coat. He slipped the weapon into his waistband and covered it with his tee shirt. Adjusting the garment over his arm, he tapped on the door, then removed the filthy cowboy hat and held it in his hand

Jake opened the door and grinned. “Hey, Carl, come on in."

"I haven't got time to stay more than a minute. I'm going to change roles with you now and be myself. Here's your keys, coat and hat. Thanks for the help."

Jake frowned. “We need to talk."

"Tomorrow. Let me have my keys."

Shrugging, he lifted the key ring from the dresser and handed it to Carl. “Is everything okay?"

"Not really, I'll tell you about it later."

Carl went back to his room, unlocked the door, caught the feather as it floated to the floor and stepped inside. His mind drifted back again to Tom Casey and their conversation. He concluded that the comment about his friend obviously meant that Jamey had gotten into some kind of trouble. Not having much time to speculate, it appeared from the actions of the investigator, she'd arrive on that incoming plane.

He crossed over to the small closet and hauled out a plastic bag. Removing the gray suit he'd picked up at the thrift shop for a couple of bucks, he stood in front of the dresser mirror, slipped on the jacket and held the pants against his waist. Studying his reflection in the wavy glass, he decided the suit would fit just fine. He threw it onto the bed and headed for the bathroom.

While waiting for the hot water to reach his room, he took a pair of scissors from the medicine cabinet. Chunks of hair dropped to the floor as he snipped at his beard and long mane. Soon, steam rolled up from the sink and fogged up the mirror. He stopped trimming his hair, wiped off the glass with a towel, then lathered his chin, cheeks and upper lip with shaving cream. The dull razor rasped across his skin making him flinch. Within a few minutes, he stared at a smoothed faced man that he barely recognized.

Jamey felt embarrassed after the ordeal with the police, but thankful they'd held the plane. When she boarded, she thought everyone glared at her with scornful stares for delaying the flight. But how would they know she'd caused it? She decided her imagination had worked overtime. Regardless, she headed toward the tail area and found a seat where she'd be alone.

Once settled, she removed her hat and rubbed her throat. The pain still remained where that bastard had gripped her neck. The airline's doctor had examine her injury and assured her no permanent damage had occurred. But he warned she'd have soreness around the area for a few days from the bruising of the soft tissues. She felt exhausted.

When the plane headed down the runway, the rumble of the big engines actually sent a calming effect through her body. Never in her dreams did she actually think she'd be glad to see Medford. She hoped never to relive the trauma she'd just been through. When the seat-belt light went off, she leaned back and closed her eyes, hoping to get a quick nap before the plane landed.

It seemed like only a few minutes before a tap on the shoulder awakened her.

"Please return your seat to the original position."

Carl Hopkins jumped into the shower and rinsed away the short itchy hairs clinging to his neck and shoulders. After drying, he donned the suit and strutted in front of the mirror. What a change, he thought, looking at his reflection. Clean shaven and sporting a short hair style. “Hell, I even look kinda handsome,” he scoffed aloud.

No one would ever recognize him as the sleazy looking ex-con that lived in this run down hotel. He sat down on the edge of the bed and glanced at his bare feet. Frowning, he went to the closet. He had three pairs of footwear to his name: sandals, work boots and white tennis shoes. He grabbed the tennies and snatched a pair of socks from the dresser drawer. They'd have to do. He needed to hurry. The plane would be landing in the next few minutes. Sitting down on the chair, he put on the foot gear.

He slipped the gun into the outside pocket of the suit coat, but didn't like the bulge it caused, so transferred it to the inside breast pocket. Peeking into the hallway, he made sure the coast was clear before slipping out and locking the door. Carl didn't put the feather on the top, figuring no one would enter his room tonight.

Hurrying out of the hotel, he climbed into his own car, hoping that Jake had left him with plenty of gas. The engine roared to life and the gas gauge moved up to half a tank. Carl breathed a sigh of relief.

When he reached the airport, he circled the lot, but his stomach tightened as he counted three black and whites parked inside. No telling how many unmarked cars belonged to the cops. He drove around the boundary and spotted two more patrol cars near the back side of the terminal. He also recognized the SUV he'd seen earlier and figured it belonged to the big cowboy with the eye-patch.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he felt the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. This isn't going to work, he thought. The police, along with that damn private investigator have this whole place covered. It's a small terminal and there's no place to hide. Even if he got in without being spotted, Jamey would recognize him immediately. She'd probably let out a terrifying scream, alerting everyone. Then if he pulled the gun, the police would shoot him down in cold blood.

No denying it, if he wanted to come out of this caper alive, he'd better skip tonight and go to plan B. He turned the Toyota around and headed back to the hotel. No sense in risking his life, he thought.

Back in his room, he shed the suit and hung it in the closet, then flopped down on the bed. A slow grin curled the corners of his mouth as he thought how that cowboy would be watching for him. At least for now, he had the satisfaction of knowing he'd fooled the authorities.

Jamey pulled the lever to make the seat pop back into it's original position. She hadn't unbuckled the belt, remembering the experience of the earlier turbulence. The forty-five minute nap had done nothing but make her mouth dry and her eyes scratchy. She stretched her arms and wiggled her shoulders, only to feel soreness across her back caused from the hoodlum's attack.

The pressure in her ears indicated the plane had moved into its approach pattern and they'd be landing soon. Opening her purse, she removed the compact and checked her make-up. After smoothing down loose strands of hair, she put on her hat and returned the mirror to her purse. Then she stared out the window as she spotted the lights of the airport below. The sight triggered a chill down her spine.

Trying to ignore the warning, she focused on having a drink as soon as she acquired the rental car. She'd find some out-of-the-way bar where no one would recognize her and have a nice tall gin and tonic. The plane flew low over the airport on its approach and her heart squeezed. Several patrol cars were parked around the terminal and she wondered why they were there at this late hour.

The plane coasted down the runway and into its designated area. Within a few minutes, the workers pushed the tall ladder-like gangplank toward the exit. No police surrounded the plane, so the problem must not be onboard. That partially relieved Jamey's mind. But something had happened inside the terminal for so many black and whites to be present. She felt butterflies in her stomach as she hoisted her purse strap over her shoulder and retrieved her small suitcase from the overhead rack. Fighting to gain composure, she stepped into the aisle.

Even though there were few passengers, it felt like an eternity before she finally made it down the steps. She shivered as a cool breeze whipped around her. Her gaze ventured to the windows of the terminal and she did a double take. She felt her heart pounding inside her ears as she recognized the tall man in the cowboy hat with a patch over his eye. Feeling her knees buckle, she collapsed to the pavement.

Jamey's eyes flitted open as strong arms lifted her gently onto a gurney. Her head cleared immediately and she thought about protesting, but decided against it. Let them get me through the terminal and out to the ambulance, she thought.

She let out a groan. “What happened?"

"You're going to be all right, ma'am,” one of the paramedics said.

"You went down pretty hard,” the other said, pushing the rolling bed toward the terminal. “We're going to run you to the hospital and have them check you over."

"I'm cold,” Jamey said, pulling up the coverlet so it partially covered her face.

Hawkman searched the building from one end to the other but saw no sign of Carl Hopkins. Phone in hand, he continued checking with the officers in the parking lot every few minutes. He'd warned them to watch for an old gray Toyota or a green Chevy. Neither had been spotted.

The plane taxied down the runway and coasted to a stop near the building. Hawkman moved toward the window and watched the assistants roll the staircase to the door of the plane. The first few people exited and Hawkman moved toward the rear of the crowd inside so he had a good view of the passengers entering the terminal. Also, he could keep an eye on the entrances into the main room from outside.

It made him nervous that Hopkins hadn't shown. Suddenly, he heard a siren and his attention riveted toward the sound. He spotted red lights flashing against the front windows as the emergency vehicle pulled up alongside the building. Some attendants yanked back the tall fence and allowed it to drive partially onto the tarmac. He craned his neck to see what had happened. Had Hopkins secured a rifle and somehow managed to get to the roof? He hadn't heard a shot and noticed Security appeared unfazed as they moved people out of the way of the incoming passengers. Yet, the paramedics were huddled over someone on the ground.

Detective Williams flashing his badge, raced toward the exit.

Hawkman followed. “Any of your men spotted Hopkins?"

"Not a sign."

A large man heading toward the door bumped into the detective.

"What happened out there? Williams asked.

The man shrugged. “Just some lady fainted,” he said in broken English.

Suddenly, a hoard of people, jabbering their native tongue and laughing, congregated around the man, forcing Hawkman and the detective to push their way through the crowd. By the time they reached the outside, the emergency vehicle was on its way out the gate, lights and siren blaring.

Hawkman stepped aside and viewed the other passengers entering the terminal. At that moment, his cell phone vibrated. “Casey, here."

"Hawkman, this is Patti. Shirley Ann Noland has been taken to the hospital."

"Do you know if she'd been shot?"

"Dear God, I hope not. The paramedics think she either fell or fainted. She seems okay, but they're going to have her checked out."

"That's a relief. Where'd they take her?

"Rogue Valley Medical Center."

"Thanks."

Hawkman glanced around for Detective Williams and spotted him on his cell phone heading toward him. Meanwhile he kept an eye out for Carl Hopkins.

"They've taken Jamey to the hospital,” Hawkman said.

Williams pointed toward his phone. “Yeah, just got word. You think she planned this?"

"Anything's possible with that woman,” he said, as they walked back into the terminal.

"What do you think Hopkins is up to?” the detective asked.

"That's got me puzzled. I thought for sure he'd be here. But with all the patrol cars around and the police swarming the area, he may have decided it wasn't worth the risk."

The detective scratched his head. “I think I'll pull my men. Since Hopkins didn't appear and Jamey's on her way to emergency, there's no need to keep them here."

"You're right. I'm heading for the hospital."

"What are you going to do when you arrive?"

"Damned if I know,” Hawkman said, rubbing his chin. “At least I can check and make sure that Carl Hopkins isn't around."

"Well, he didn't show here, so how would he know that she's been taken to the hospital?"

Hawkman shot him a look. “He'll find out somehow. This keeping up with Jamey is driving me crazy and you're not helping with those questions. Here we are, trying to protect her, and she's avoiding us like we've got a disease."

Williams grinned. “She doesn't know what we're doing. Her fear is we've found something against her that deals with the diamond heist. She's scared to death to show her face around law enforcement, afraid we'll arrest her."