Rarities Unlimited 04 - The Color of Death

drink of choice, but his brain wasn’t pickled yet.
    “Okay. Lee Mandel…gone, no trace…no contact with family…father owns Mandel Inc. courier service…” Sizemore grunted. “No credit card or check transactions…no cell phone use…no description of the missing package or its contents.”
    “That was Arthur McCloud’s choice,” Doug said. “He said he had better means of tracking the lost shipment than we did, and the less said the easier it would be to find the lost package. His insurance company agreed.”
    “But you think it was gems?”
    “Given that McCloud is a well-known collector of rare and extraordinarygems,” Doug said carefully, “the Bureau is assuming that gems were involved in some manner. McCloud didn’t say either way. Nor did his insurance company, other than to put a price of one million U.S. dollars on the missing package.”
    “Must be nice to be the president’s brother-in-law,” Sizemore said. “You don’t have to say dick if you don’t want to.”
    “McCloud has better wires into the international gem community than we do,” Kennedy said, still looking at the Purcell file. “Purcell was a putz. The guy who whacked him did the world a favor.”
    “If being a putz was a capital crime, there would be about two hundred people left alive on the whole planet,” Doug said, relieved to be off the subject of Sam’s CI, “and we’d be hunting each other.”
    “I’d pay to see that.” Kennedy grinned and dumped the file back on one of Sizemore’s stacks. “I have to make a call. Which do you think sounds better—lecherous grandpa or thieving granny?”
    “What did she steal?” Doug asked.
    “Their website was a scam.”
    “Yeah? When were they convicted?” Doug asked. “I didn’t see anything in their file.”
    Sizemore’s empty lite-beer can thumped down on the table. “They weren’t convicted. Nobody wastes time on Internet grifters unless they’re doing kiddy porn.” He flipped to another page of the Mandel file.
    “Besides,” Kennedy said, “since when do reporters care about the fine print? They need sensation to sell ads.”
    “What about the lawyers?” Doug asked.
    “You can’t libel a dead man,” Kennedy said cheerfully, reaching for the phone.

Chapter 33
    Scottsdale
    Friday
    11:20 A.M .
    Peyton adjusted his dark suit jacket and waited impatiently for Eduardo to answer the damn cell phone that Hall Jewelry International paid for.
    “ Bueno, hello!”
    Grimacing, Peyton held the cell phone away from his ear. Eduardo was shouting to be heard over the usual noise of the cutters reworking “estate” stones.
    “Get to a quieter place,” Peyton said loudly. “I’ll wait.”
    “ Sí, yes, of course. Momentito .”
    Peyton waited until the racket and jabber of the stone-cutting room faded to an irritating background.
    “Is more better?” Eduardo asked.
    Peyton didn’t waste any time with small talk. “In three days you’ll pick up a package at the special PO box. About half a kilo. Mix it with the May fourth shipment from Thailand and follow the normal procedures.”
    “ Sí . Yes.”
    “There will be a second package at the same time. Good stuff. Some of it will have to be reworked.”
    “Yes.”
    Peyton tucked his tie beneath his jacket. “Eduardo?”
    “Sí, señor?”
    “If you skim more than five percent of the second package, I’ll cry at your funeral.”
    “ Mi primo is then muy unhappy, señor .”
    “Your primo isn’t the only one in L.A. with a gun,” Peyton retorted. “No more than five percent, understand?”
    “I understand. I not cheat you, señor . You know that, yes?”
    “Saint Eduardo, eh? My ass.” Peyton laughed roughly. “Five percent or you’re dead.”
    And after thinking about the goods he’d seen an hour ago, Peyton knew just who he’d call to do the job.

Chapter 34
    Scottsdale
    Friday
    1:30 P.M .
    Worldwide Wholesale Estate Gems had a booth in the same room that the Purcells had recently inhabited. Everything in the room had been shuffled to cover the gap left when the Purcell booth was removed. WWEG had done its part by expanding with another case of “antique” gems.
    “A big blue sapphire?” Tom Stafford asked, leaning forward over the heavy glass counter of the booth. “How big?”
    Sam put his badge holder in his hip pocket and took out one of Kate’s photographs of the emerald-cut blue sapphire. He put the shiny photo faceup on the WWEG counter. “About forty carats, give