Alex Ames - Calendar Moonstone 01 - A Brilliant Plan (16 page)

Benito collected some papers from a huge binder labeled ‘Thesis Secondary Lit. MX’ and rummaged through them.

“Here is the drawing of the tiara I was talking about earlier.”
 

We studied a bad photocopy of an old Spanish paper. A small straight draft of a piece of jewelry was featured at the end. Straight lines, lots of presumable gold, a few clearly defined stones set delicately around the rim. Some opals for effect. At least an idea of what the ‘Max Jewels’ might look like.

We tortured the old Xerox machine for a while making copies of Benito’s documents.

He finally answered the unanswered questions from the beginning. “Mexican father, Swedish mother. He was looking for a big blonde, she for a Latin lover. So Dad gave me his size and Mom the hair.” I had to laugh at this and Benito pulled a face. “I always wished for it to be the other way round.”

“Wow, a match made up in heaven. How very romantic,” I said.

“Well, Mom got homesick for her fjords and Dad felt ridiculed by a woman 10 inches taller than him. Add to that the California disease… ”

I raised my eyebrow dutifully and he explained. “Divorce, stupid.”

We laughed again together. I didn’t find him attractive but he had a certain charm and I would bet that he had his success with women. Lucky female students.

I thanked him for the papers. He thanked me for the coffee and I had to promise to tell him that when I found out, I would tell him what had become of the Maximilian Jewels.
 

If I lived long enough to find out.

On the drive back to Redondo, I wondered why he hadn’t hit on me and hadn’t asked me out. I felt slightly overlooked. Maybe he was gay?

RON CALLED ME at the store around five.
 

“Found your murderer yet?” I asked him.

“No, but we got a possible lead on the wizard who opened the safe,” he said.
 

“The FBI was of use then?”

He gave a soft laugh. “Not exactly. It was your idea with the San Diego home connection. The list of specialists shrank to two names and then after rechecks down to one. A Norwegian guy named Hans Polter… ”

“Sounds like the Scandinavian version of Harry Potter.”

“Actually, he was naturalized a few years ago, came to the US with his parents when he was ten years old. He’s 28 now, used to live in L.A. and the Silicon Valley area. Worked for various software companies.”

“Let me guess, his parents live in San Diego.”

“Well, close enough. Parents got divorced five years ago, his mother lives in Carlsbad, about 45 minutes drive from San Diego. According to her, Hans had a night out with friends on the night of the break-in.”

“You are on to him?”

“Problem is, he seems to have vanished. His mother hasn’t seen him since last weekend, his apartment in Pacific Palisades is empty, and he hasn’t shown up for work.”

“Pacific Palisades? Posh crib for a hacker,” I remarked.

“He works for a movie special effects company in the Valley, makes decent money.”

I stretched myself behind my workbench and pushed some gold specks into a little expensive heap with my little finger. “What about Altward and Faulkner? Do they know our hacker?”

“I haven’t decided whether to ask them yet or not. If they are involved, they would deny it anyhow. I don’t want to stir up things before I have the chance to talk to that guy or crosscheck phone records.”

I chewed on my lip, tapping my fingernails on the receiver. “Don’t you think it strange that Harry Potter… ”

“Polter, Harry, silly, Hans Polter… ” Ron tried to correct me.

“Hans Polter uses his spare time to break into a jewelry store when he has such a nice well paying job.”

“That is one of the things that make my cases so interesting. Nothing is ever what it seems. People have strange hobbies.”
 

Was that a stab at me? And the thought stopped me from telling him about the Maximilian Set right away.

Mundy visited me at the store after work. He always made a small circle around Mrs. Otis who scared him and he came walking backwards into the workshop.

Finally turning to me, he asked. “I am here. What is so important?”
 

I closed the door to the showroom, put the Benito papers down in front of him, and started my tale. “I bet you a night in Paris that this is what the burglary is all about.”

“Should this be my lucky day?” Mundy started reading, his jaw working some imaginary chewing gum. “The Maximilian Set. Unknown artist or artists, presumably Native Americans, educated in Europe or by Europeans. Presented to Maximilian as a gift at his Mexican coronation as Emperor. Ten pieces. Particular design.”

“Benito’s word was ‘spectacular,’” I added.
 

Mundy held up his hand, continued to skim the papers while I picked up my work, my mind not really into it.
 

“I must say, this looks convincing to my investigative eye.” Mundy carefully stacked the papers and put them back on my desk.

“This is what Thomas Cornelius is looking for!”

Mundy chewed his lip, tapping his fingers on the desk. “What is the scenario? Andrew Altward somehow brought the long lost Maximilian Jewels into his possession and stored them in his showroom safe?”

“Exactly. A burglar breaks in, nicks the Maximilian Jewels and kills Wally Eastman, the night watchman,” I continued the tale.
 

“Altward finds out that the Maximilian pieces are gone and tells the police that a different set has been stolen. Why?” Mundy didn’t sound convinced.

“Because he got them from illegal sources. According to Benito… ”

“Who the hell is this Benito?” Mundy interrupted. His cheeks slightly flushed with jealousy, poor Mundy.

“Professor for Latin American history at UCLA. He wrote some of these papers. Anyway, where was I?”

“Maximilian, illegal sources, Altward….” Mundy helped out.

“Right! The Maximilian Set was stored at a Mexico City museum. So how would they get into Altward’s possession? Illegal sources! So he was afraid that the police or the insurance company would ask awkward questions about its origin if he reported the theft,” I said.
 

“So the Maximilian is stolen by our unknown thief. What is Thomas Cornelius’ role in all this?”

“Altward’s wife said that they did some dealing together. Come to think of it, even Thomas admitted it to me. Maybe Thomas helped to finance the initial purchase of the jewels. Or he is in his classical role as a middleman and already has a buyer lined up.”
 

“And now that the jewels are gone, he is worried about his investment,” Mundy nodded. “How much money are we talking about anyway?”

“The only description we have of the set is not very specific,” I picked up the thesis copies. “Most of the pieces were small, mainly made of gold, great simplicity and some few, extraordinary stones set into the body.” I thought for a minute. “If you talk material value here, a ring might be in the higher five figure range, maybe eighty thousand dollars, and the larger pieces like the small crown or the tiara could go well into the six figure range.”

“Like two hundred thousand?” Mundy asked.

“Yeah, depending largely on how many stones were used for each piece. So we come out at a retail value around a million-five or two million dollars.”

“Retail?” Mundy was probably thinking of a jewelry display in a Wal-Mart store.

“Mundy, you go into a shop, you buy retail. Wal-Mart, Tiffany’s or Jane Craft, doesn’t matter.”

“Never figured you for a retailer, your stuff is so exclusive and all,” he waved his hand around my workshop.

“I am not a retailer. I am an arts and crafts store.”

“Figure the difference,” Mundy rolled his eyes.

“Anyway, go into a chain jewelry store like Tiffany’s and buy something made of the same materials and craft-quality similar to the Maximilian Jewels and you would probably pay around one million dollars for all ten pieces.”

“But the Maximilian Jewels are antiques. Collectors items, aren’t they?” Mundy asked.

“That is the gazillion dollar question. How much would such a set bring on the market? Are we talking antique? Then maybe double or triple retail value.”

“This is ridiculous. Are we playing ‘How high can you get?’ or what?”

I shrugged. It is all a matter of buying and selling markets. The Maximilian Jewels come with a great story and history. It may thrill a serious collector.”

“How much thrill when we talk Picasso?” Mundy saw where this was going.

“Maybe six to eight million.”

“Talk about Mauritius?”

“Come again?”

“You know, rarest stamp in the world,” Mundy knew it all.

“I see. Above ten million dollars. Easily. No limit.”

We were silent for minute, let the figure sink in.

“Ten million reasons to kill for,” Mundy mused.

“Ten million reasons for Thomas to kill me,” I sighed.

Later, lying in bed, I thought about the Maximilian Jewels and their extraordinary value. Maybe we had just stabbed in the dark and the jewels turned out to be non-attractive stuff that didn’t pique the interest of collectors and investors at all. Then we would talk about considerably lower sums. But I assumed that Thomas knew what they would fetch and that it was a good investment.
 

The thing I wondered was why Thomas was dealing with such a local player as Andrew Altward, who was not even known in the high-class art circles back East? Perhaps Altward had initiated the deal or had the connection to the original source. And had brought Thomas along for the investment.
 

Dead of the night. My eyes opened suddenly, something or the other had woken me.
 

A sleepy glance at the alarm showed two-fifteen, all quiet. My subconscious had given me a message and I wondered what it was. Something I had thought of or said last evening but it hadn’t clicked then. I mentally rewound the conversations I had with Mundy and my thoughts from last night before falling asleep.
 

‘Non-attractive stuff,’ what if it turned out to be non-attractive jewelry. Benito’s words: “spectacular jewelry.”

And I knew why I would never become a good detective.

“I am not decent!”

“Open up, you moron,” I knocked again at Mundy’s door.

Mundy stood in his doorframe in teenager PJs, uncombed hair, and without glasses. “You need another alibi?”

“Not decent? With those PJs, you can walk in on every cocktail party in town without raising a single eyebrow,” I stated.

He stepped aside to let me in.

“I am so stupid,” I told him and walked past him into his living room. He had a small two-bedroom apartment on the second floor in a typical L.A. style complex, 20 or so four-apartment units with central pool and community areas.
 

He continued standing in the doorframe, looked out to see if we had disturbed anyone, shrugged and closed the door. “Coffee, water?”

“You asked me if we had a description of the jewels and I said that we didn’t.”

“Coffee!” Mundy trotted behind the kitchen counter to throw the switch on the coffee maker, filling in water, rummaging in drawers.

“I have seen the Maximilian Jewels,” I shouted.

Mundy’s head came around the cupboard like a flash. “You did?”

“Well, not all of them but one piece.”
 

“Will she tell me?”

“Around Phoebe Eastman’s neck when I interviewed her with Ron. I later remarked on the particular classy design and Ron and I even mused how a poor artist like her could afford such a piece of jewelry. I had used the word ‘spectacular’ to describe it, same word as Benito used to describe it, too.”

For the next two minutes, all that could be heard was Mundy’s effort to create a hot strong coffee. I slumped on his sofa and he sat akimbo on the floor, handing over the steaming mug.
 

Mundy rubbed his beard stubbles. “Let me see if I get that right, because it is obvious that we had the wrong story earlier this evening.” The steaming mug fogged his glasses and he fingered them clean.

“Phoebe Eastman has one of the Maximilian pieces in her possession and runs around with it on.”

“That means that they are not stolen?”

“Altward and Cornelius have a project going on with the Maximilian Jewels. Burglary at Altward’s gallery, something got stolen but not the Maximilian Jewels.”

Mundy picked up the story. “Altward enters the gallery in the morning, discovers the burglary and the dead watchman. He has an inspiration. Why not take the break-in as a good excuse to have the set to myself. Altward tells his partner Cornelius that the Maximilian Set has been stolen. So he is able to double-dip.”

“Double-dip?”

“Maximilian Set plus the Montenhaute pieces that he claims from the insurance.”

“Where do we think the inspiration came from?” I asked and then answered myself. “Because Altward has a better buyer at hand,” I added.

“How did Phoebe get into possession of the set?”

“Altward had to find a safe place. Not the office obviously. Not his home, also too obvious. So he stored it at her place to get it away from the police and his partner.”
 

I wagged my head, “Think so? Another place where the police are most likely to turn up because of her dead father.”

“And, of course, it still does not explain how the necklace ended up around Phoebe’s neck.”

We sipped our coffees for a while.

“You know,” Mundy said suddenly. “There is another possible storyline.”

“There is?”

“Maybe there is a much simpler explanation, Phoebe has the Maximilian Set in her possession because she stole it.”

My mouth was agape. “Come on, Mundy!” I exclaimed and fell back on the sofa.

“No, think it through. The question of the ‘how’ is still open. But not anymore if you come to think of the Eastmans as a team. Daddy works for the security company. Probably has some codes or knows some overrides. No alarm. Phoebe sleeps in Altward’s bed and maybe has pillow talk access to the alarm deactivation code or door key or whatever. And maybe she even knows what pieces are most expensive. Father and daughter plan and execute the break-in. They are discovered by Altward. Some confusion, Wally Eastman in his uniform is standing beside a masked unknown person, Phoebe, rummaging in the Maximilian Set hideaway. A fight. Wally Eastman dies. Altward kills him, maybe an accident. Phoebe gets away with the Maximilian Set, unrecognized.” Mundy folded his arms as if to say, ‘Beat this!’