Diamonds Aren't Forever (20 page)

He peeked out his door at twelve-thirty and found everything quiet. Most men on this floor took a nap around noon. Perfect timing he thought, as he eased into the hallway and softly closed the door. As the lock clicked, he realized he'd forgotten the feather. Shrugging, he figured he didn't need it anymore.

He glanced down the corridor and thought about going out the emergency exit, but decided he didn't trust the old metal ladder that supposedly lowered you to the ground in case of fire. It probably hadn't been oiled or maintained in years and would groan like hell if he put his weight on it, waking everyone in the building.

Instead, he moved quietly down the stairs to the first floor. When he reached the back door, he looked out the small double glass window that had wire mesh embedded between the panes. He scoured the area before stepping outside. Hurrying toward the alley, he cut over to the sidewalk and walked casually toward the bus stop.

Not turning his head, he could see out of the corner of his eye, the surveillance team still parked in the lot across the street. His back toward them, he waited near the bench. When the bus stopped, he boarded and took a seat so he could view the cops as they passed. The car made no movement to follow. Carl smiled to himself. So far, so good, he thought. He adjusted his jacket and leaned back in the seat.

It didn't take long before the bus arrived at the destination Carl had in mind. He exited with several others and headed toward the corner coffee shop that had outdoor tables placed along the front sidewalk. It's locale was perfect for viewing the front door and parking lot of the title company. He strolled inside, ordered the cheapest cup of coffee on the menu and almost choked at the price. Where were the good old days when one could get a cup for twenty-five cents? He meandered back outside and had a choice of several tables. Sitting down at the corner one with the best view, he searched the area for cops. Not seeing any at the moment, he decided to follow the plan he'd thought through last night. He got up, tossed his styrofoam cup into the wastebasket and strolled across the street.

Hawkman entered Carl's room within seconds. He reached up to feel for the feather, but discovered it gone. Hopkins must have left in a hurry, he thought. Softly closing the door, he immediately went to the dresser. Careful not to leave any fingerprints, he pulled a bandana out of his pocket and used it around the knob. When he didn't find the gun in it's normal spot, he checked the rest of the drawers, then searched other places in case Carl had changed the hiding place. Exhausting this area, he stepped into the bathroom. The first thing that caught his eye were clumps of hair all over the sink and floor. He glanced into the wastebasket and discovered it almost full of cut locks.

"Damn!” Hawkman exclaimed, aloud. “I should have expected something like this now that Hopkins feels backed into a corner."

Moving into the main room, he searched the closet, and found an empty wooden clothes hanger covered with a big black plastic garbage bag. He figured this had protected a suit or sports jacket from getting dusty. He pulled up the corner of the mattress and found the laptop nestled in its hiding place.

After checking the hallway, Hawkman hastened out of the room. He needed to contact Williams immediately. He hurried down the steps only to come face to face with the caretaker sweeping the front entry.

The man stopped, holding the broom to his side, and glared at him.

Hawkman sidestepped around the man. “Uh, have a good day."

"I plan to. Who's your friend?"

Hawkman hurried out the door without answering.

Jamey drove onto Interstate 5 going north and pulled off at the first exit that showed advertisements for gas and food. Parking at the side of a Shell station, she sorted through her suitcase and removed certain articles, then stuffed them into a large plastic bag. She secured the car and carried the sack into the restroom, throwing the door lock behind her. Yanking off several long sheets of paper towels, she laid them across the floor, then carefully placed the items from the bag atop the paper. She hadn't planned to use this disguise until time to leave, but after hearing Charley's conversation with Hawkman, she figured the private investigator would show up somewhere around the title company.

She planned to wear the garb into the building, find a ladies’ room, change back to her regular clothes, sign the papers, go back and swap into the disguise again, then leave the building. She'd head straight for the airport and board the first available plane to San Francisco.

About the time she'd stripped down, someone pounded on the door.

"Hey, how long are you going to be in there?"

She quickly slipped into the old dress and opened the door a crack. “I'm sorry, my mother and I will be here quite a while. She's having a problem. I hope you understand. Maybe you ought to find another restroom."

The woman put her hands on her hips in disgust, then turned and marched off, grumbling.

Closing the door again, Jamey wished she had an ‘out-of-order’ sign she could hang on the knob. She'd remember that in case she ever had to go through this again.

She checked the time and noted she still had a good hour to get ready, but definitely didn't want to spend it all in this room. The outfit she'd brought happened to be a real costume she'd purchased last year to go to a Halloween party with Bob. People actually thought he'd escorted his mother instead of his girl.

The padding across the back and around the middle of the floral dress distorted her figure. The uneven hem, shawl, vinyl handbag, laced up shoes, and the old lady wig, completely transformed her into a frumpy old woman. She'd even mastered the slow limping walk.

Stashing her good clothes into the plastic bag, she placed the vinyl purse on top, then picked the paper towels off the floor and threw them into the wastebasket. Glancing around to make sure she hadn't left anything, she grabbed her regular purse and the sack, then peeked out the door. Breathing a sigh of relief that no one had hung around, she dashed to the car. She left the station and remembered spotting a rest area on the way. That would be her next stop to put on the finishing touches.

Jamey parked at one of the far slots, away from any inquisitive stares. She checked the plastic bag to make sure she had everything she needed and set it aside. Then, pulling down the mirror on the visor, she adjusted the gray wig, which had been fashioned into a small bun at the crown with loose gray hairs trailing down the back. After tucking her own dark strands underneath the elastic, she removed the green contacts, wiped off her lipstick, then patted her face with a pale powder. She stepped out of the car for a few minutes and arranged the shawl over her shoulders, then scooted the knee high socks down around her ankles. Climbing back into the vehicle, she shoved her good purse into the plastic bag and placed the old vinyl one next to her on the seat.

She checked her watch and figured the complete change back into her regular clothes would take fifteen minutes. Starting the car, she headed for her appointment.

Carl Hopkins stepped inside the title company office at one thirty. A young woman at the front desk glanced up. “May I help you,” she asked.

"Not at the moment. I'm waiting for someone and I'm a bit early."

The girl smiled and went back to her duties.

Carl meandered over to a row of seats along the wall where another man sat looking at a magazine. He glanced up, then went back to his reading. Carl picked up a brochure from a small table and proceeded to the farthest seat. He pretended to be engrossed in the printed material while keeping an eye on anyone who came in the door.

He'd been there for about ten minutes when an old lady limped into the office and went straight to the reception desk. Carl yawned and placed the advertisement folder on the chair next to him.

"May I help you,” the girl asked.

"Yes, honey,” the little old lady said in a low voice. “I need to go to the bathroom before I have my meeting. Could you please tell me where I can find it."

"Oh, sure.” She turned and pointed. “It's down that hallway to your left. The second door on the right. It's marked. You won't have any problem spotting it."

The old lady sucked her lips together. “Thank you, honey. You're a sweet girl."

She limped toward the designated area and disappeared around the corner.

Carl strolled up to the reception desk. “Could you tell me the time?"

The girl adjusted her wristwatch. “It's about ten minutes till two."

"Thanks."

He crossed over to the glass doors and looked outside. No sign of Jamey, but he did notice extra cars parked across the street with men sitting inside. He figured they were cops.

When he turned around, his mouth dropped open. Jamey, dressed in a sharp green pants suit, hurried past without so much as giving him a glance. She brushed by the receptionist's desk and walked swiftly to an office on the far side of the room.

"Damn,” he muttered. How'd she get inside without me seeing her. He surveyed the large office complex. There must be another door, he thought.

Carl noticed the other man had stood and spoke adamantly into his cell phone as he paced in front of the row of seats. His riveting gaze toward the office where Jamey had gone gave him away. The cops had obviously planted a plainclothesman inside. This made Carl uneasy and might make his plan a bit more difficult. But if he kept his head and played his cards right, things should work out just fine.

He turned back to the young lady at the desk. “Is there another door leading into here?"

She shook her head and pointed toward the front entry. “No, that's the only way in or out."

"Thanks."

This time, Carl sat down by the entrance of the short hallway leading to the restrooms, a grin curling the corners of his mouth. “Jamey, you've just made this whole thing a lot easier,” he muttered, picking up a magazine.

Within ten minutes, Jamey exited the office. “Thanks Marge. I hope that takes care of everything and I don't have to make another trip."

"That does it,” a woman's voice echoed from the office.

Jamey closed the door and hurried toward the restroom. Carl noticed she carried the same plastic bag that the little old lady had in her hand when she entered the building. He held the periodical high, shielding his face, as Jamey rushed past without giving him a second look. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the plainclothesman put the cell phone to his ear.

Hawkman raced to the 4X4 and peeled rubber as he rounded the corner. He glanced at the clock on the dash and it read one-thirty. Snapping his cell phone off his belt, he punched the memory button for the detective.

"Williams, Hawkman here. Are your men set up at the title company?"

"Yeah. They're all in place. What's up."

"I just came from the hotel. Hopkins’ car is still in the parking lot. So, I checked his room. He's not there and the gun's gone. From the remnants of hair I found on the sink and in the wastebasket, looks like he's shaved off his beard and cut his hair. Other telltale signs indicate he's probably wearing a suit or sports jacket."

The detective groaned. “You're such a bearer of good news."

"Have you seen any signs of him?” Hawkman asked.

"No. And no trace of Jamey either. But if her meeting's at two, I wouldn't expect her to show until almost time."

"I can tell you, Hopkins is out there somewhere. I don't know how he arranged it, but he's probably watching you guys. So keep on the lookout for a clean shaven man in a business suit. I'll be there in about five minutes."

When he arrived at the scene, Detective Williams hurried over to the Chevy. “Just got a call from my plainclothesman inside. He said that Jamey appeared out of nowhere. He ranted and raved that no one told him about another entry to the office. We tried to tell him there wasn't one. He insisted she didn't come through the front door."

"Did he see anyone else come in?"

"Yeah. A little old lady and a businessman were the only two people in the last twenty minutes.” Williams slapped his forehead. “Damn! That's probably Hopkins."

Hawkman jumped out of his vehicle. “And Jamey in disguise. Let's move in closer on foot.” He hastened toward the title company building as the detective gave instructions to his men.

Jamey quickly donned the costume and threw on the wig. She wanted to get out of this place as fast as possible. Taking a deep breath, she hunched over and limped out of the bathroom, down the short hallway. When she turned the corner to head for the front door, she'd have stepped on Carl Hopkins’ foot if he hadn't quickly moved it.

The minute she passed him, Carl rose and followed her outside. He took long steps until he moved alongside her and took her arm. “Now watch that curb, dear,” he said, poking the gun barrel into her ribs.

She glanced up and almost stumbled trying to pull away, but his strong arm held her tight.

"Hello, Jamey."

"Carl! What are you doing here?” she gasped.

His eyes narrowed. “Looking for you my sweet little grandma. Now, just remain calm. Play like I'm your son helping you to the car. You have on the right costume, so act the part."

She felt the hard rod against her side and her stomach knotted.

"Smile. Remember, you love me."

Her lips quivered.

"That's better. Now which of these cars is yours. Don't point, just tell me."

"It's the blue Honda,” she said, her voice trembling. Glancing up at him, she saw his gaze fan the parking lot.

"It's right in front of us."

He jerked her arm. “Shut up and open the door."

When she inserted the key into the lock, Carl placed his hand over hers. “I'll take those now.” He gave her a slight shove. “Get in and scoot across to the passenger side. Don't try anything funny or I'll kill you on the spot."

She could see the weapon plainly now and her heart beat rapidly as she wiggled across the console and settled into the seat.