Rarities Unlimited 04 - The Color of Death

pencils, and erasers.
    And sticky notes. Lots and lots of sticky notes.
    The computer was within arm’s reach for the times when Sam needed to get public—or not so public—information on the people they were discussing.
    “Okay,” Sam said, “it’s your turn to read. Take it from the beginning.”
    Again? Kate wanted to bang her head on the table, but silently reached for a yellow tablet instead. When Sam had told her that a lot of investigative work was a waste of time, Kate hadn’t really believed him. She did now.
    “June of last year,” she said in a flat voice, reading the time line they had been working on for too many hours already, with nothing to show for it but a headache and dirty coffee cups. “Arthur McCloud buys blue sapphire rough at a CGSI auction. Six bidders. Presumption is that McCloud bragged about Seven Sins to one or more of the unsuccessful bidders. Same six bidders attended a different auction in Texas on the day Lee is presumed to have been killed and the sapphires stolen.”
    “Put those bidders on the Last Resort list,” Sam said, lifting a cup of cold coffee. “Even if they bailed on the morning of the Texas auction instead of the afternoon, they’d have had a hell of a time getting in place in time to pick up Lee at the airport and follow him to the SoupOr Shrimp. So far, their alibis look good. Someone in headquarters is running their financials for me. If something pops, we’ll take a look at it. Until then, forget it.”
    Kate pulled pink sticky notes with six names listed and put them on a legal tablet whose heading read Last Resort. None of the notes had opportunity or means written across the bottom. The motive—greed—was represented by a big G on each note.
    “In addition to McCloud, three other people were known to have information about what was in the missing courier’s packet,” Kate continued. “The cutter, the owner of Mandel Inc., and the owner’s wife. None of these four—”
    “They don’t even make the Last Resort list,” Sam finished when Kate paused to turn to a new page. “McCloud has no motive except money, and he’s got plenty of that. Money isn’t a motive that flies with you or your parents. And even if it did, there’s not one clue in anyone’s financial records that hints at money from a questionable source. Yes, we have a forensic accountant working on your family in case I missed something, but my gut isn’t buying it. Without motive, opportunity and means don’t add up to spit. Put those four names on the When Pigs Fly list.”
    Kate duly transferred the white sticky notes to another legal tablet with the appropriate heading.
    “It’s probable, but unproved,” she continued reading, “that NormGallagher knew what Lee was carrying, and when. As for motivation, so far there isn’t any. I haven’t been able to reach Norm to ask him if he knew.” I haven’t even been able to tell him that the FBI is assuming Lee is dead.
    Not that Sam would have let her. That was privileged information. Even her parents had promised to tell no one about their son’s near-certain death.
    Sam peeled the note with Norm’s name off the table and pressed it onto the tablet labeled Active.
    “Approximately two days after the courier’s death,” she read, “Seguro Jimenez is approached by a man or a woman who may or may not have been blonde and blue-eyed. Said unknown person had one of the Seven Sins. Seguro claims not to have purchased it.”
    Sam reached out, pulled the red sticky note with Persons Unknown on it, and stuck the note to a third legal tablet, which was labeled Prime Suspects. Seguro’s name, on a pink note, went to another tablet labeled Pipeline.
    With a stifled yawn, Kate went back to reading aloud. “The first investigation into the missing courier was conducted by…”
    While she recited the dreary facts that had led nowhere in an investigation that had interested the various local, state, and federal cops not at all, Sam watched Kate with a gentleness and hunger he kept hidden from her. If nothing else came of the past tedious hours, at least she could now recite the facts surrounding her half brother’s death without flinching. It wasn’t much, but he’d learned through the years that a little something was a whole lot better than nothing at all.
    She flipped the page without transferring any sticky notes anywhere. None of the investigations had turned up anything worth pursuing, period.
    “You think the