Rarities Unlimited 04 - The Color of Death

is to leave the body as a warning to the next guy not to be a hero.”
    “Lovely.”
    “Yeah, they’re real sweethearts.” Sam flipped over another piece of paper, frowned, and shook his head.
    “What?” she asked.
    “You said something about Lee having a favorite stop on Sanibel. A café.”
    “The SoupOr Shrimp. Best shrimp on Sanibel. And they had a server there with a great butt—or so Lee said. I never checked him out myself.”
    “Did you tell the cops about the café?”
    “Several times,” she said. “Why?”
    “I don’t see any follow-up,” Sam said.
    “Like what?”
    “Like interviewing the staff at SoupOr Shrimp to find out if Lee was there, and if so, when, and was he alone. Simple stuff. Basic stuff.” As Sam spoke, he thumbed rapidly through the slim file. “Nope. Maybe the cops didn’t give it to us.”
    “Maybe they didn’t bother in the first place,” she said acidly.
    He pulled out a narrow spiral-bound notebook and wrote in it. “We’ll find out.”
    “I’d rather you find out what Purcell knows.”
    Sam looked at his watch. “Too late. They’ve already folded their tables, locked up the pretties, and are well into their second or third drink.”
    “So go to his room.”
    “He’s not registered at the hotel. Just picks up his messages at the desk three times a day.”
    Kate made an impatient sound.
    Sam smiled. “You can’t wait to see the look on his face when I drop my badge on him.”
    She bit her lip but had to laugh anyway. “You’re so right. Payback for all his leers and nose twitching.”
    Sam liked seeing her laugh way too much. It made him wonder if she tasted as tempting as she smelled.
    Don’t go there.
    He flipped to a new page in his notebook. “So Lee always ate at this SoupOr Shrimp place?”
    “As far as I know.”
    “Most couriers are careful not to have a pattern.”
    “If you look hard enough, there’s always a pattern.”
    He lifted his left eyebrow. “You sound certain.”
    “I am. It’s what gives me the courage to take a million dollars in rough and transform it into at least double that value in cut and polished gems. Because if I miss the pattern, I get a handful of garbage and my client gets to explain to his backers where the million in rough went.”
    “So cutting is just a matter of seeing the pattern?”
    “And the guts to throw away what doesn’t fit.”
    Sam thought about that for a few moments. Then he pushed the file toward her. “Read this. Tell me if there’s something that doesn’t fit.”

Chapter 24
    Scottsdale
    Very early Thursday morning
    While Kirby snapped on exam gloves, he watched the golf cart with the Royale logo move slowly through the employee parking lot. The speed didn’t have anything to do with the guard’s alertness. The cart simply didn’t go much faster. A cigarette flared briefly, giving the guard’s face a ruddy glow against the sodium vapor lights that flooded the lot with an odd yellow color.
    Now there’s a real sentry, Kirby thought in disgust. Just in case a sniper couldn’t find him driving under the lights, he sticks a cigarette in his mouth like a frigging laser tracker.
    Even worse, the guard was as predictable as an atomic clock. Every twenty-four minutes he made another tour of the employee lot. And every twenty-four minutes he found the same thing—a two-thirds empty lot with small cars and light trucks crowded close to the nearest hotel employee entrance, and a handful of motor homes and travel trailers parked wherever a newly transplanted tree offered thin shade against the heat of day.
    Purcell’s road-weary home on wheels was huddled next to a palm tree like a fat man trying to hide behind a telephone pole. Kirby glanced from the motor home to the FBI’s rolling strike force headquartersparked less than a hundred feet away. He wasn’t worried about the agents noticing him, because they would stay locked inside until their shift change, which wasn’t for two more hours. As for sound alerting anyone, it would take a really loud noise, like a grenade or an unmuffled gunshot, to pull the agents’ attention from their earphones, computers, and official radios.
    Kirby wasn’t going to make any loud noises.
    As soon as the guard disappeared in the direction of the public parking lots, Kirby grabbed the small duffel bag from the passenger seat of his rental car, got quietly out, and went to Purcell’s motor home. It took less than a minute to open the service panel