Rarities Unlimited 04 - The Color of Death

or take.”
    Stafford whistled silently. “If that photo’s color register is accurate, that’s one fine stone.”
    “You see a stone like this recently?”
    Stafford looked uncomfortable. “Uh…”
    Sam wondered if he should shove his badge up Stafford’s uncooperative nose. He certainly was in a mood to do it.
    Kate had been right: no one wanted to talk to the FBI, even after a grisly murder in their own gem-studded backyard.
    “Think hard, Mr. Stafford,” Sam said easily. “Other people have identified the stone from this photograph. It would be a little odd if you, a dealer who had a booth next to the Purcells, never noticed a gem like this.”
    Stafford shifted his feet, fingered his tie, and drummed fingers on the countertop. “The Purcells had one that might have looked like that,” he said finally. “But I can’t be certain they’re the same stone.”
    “Oh, so you see a lot of stones like this?” Sam asked, smiling.
    It was the kind of smile that made smart people look for the nearest exit.
    Stafford cleared his throat and stroked his tie again. “Well, no, not a lot, of course not, but I’ve heard rumors of a synthetic stone that looked like your photo.”
    “What rumors?”
    Stafford shifted unhappily and glanced toward the booth near the doorway. “I don’t know. You know, you hang around with gem traders and you just hear things.”
    Sam followed the other man’s glance. Sam hadn’t really expected the helpful gray-haired lady trader to keep such a juicy secret, but it would have been nice.
    “Have you seen or heard of either stone since the murder?” Sam asked.
    “No.” Stafford’s face, like his voice, didn’t invite more questions.
    “And you’d tell us if you did,” Sam said cynically, pocketing the photo of the sapphire.
    “Of course. Terrible thing. Just terrible.”
    “The stone?” Sam asked, deadpan.
    “The murders,” Stafford said, trying to look like a preacher or an undertaker—not part of the inner circle of mourners, but sympathetic all the same. “Just awful. I heard there was blood all over the place. Were you there? Did you see it?”
    Jesus, another vulture. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Stafford.” Sam pulled out a business card that had the deep blue and shiny gold shield of the FBI on it. “If you think of anything, or hear anything, at any time, please call this number.”
    “Of course. I know my duty as a citizen.”
    Sam’s smile went no farther than his teeth. “I’m sure you do.” He started to turn away, then turned back, as though as an afterthought. “Is a stone like that sapphire unusual?”
    “Er…” Stafford thought frantically and decided there was no harm in the truth. “If it hasn’t been treated, the stone would be very unusual.”
    “And if it had?”
    “Well, the cut is unusual for a blue sapphire, but large treated blue sapphires aren’t that unusual, if you know what I mean. WWEG sees hundreds of big colored stones every month, especially since the recent turmoil in the Middle East, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Russia, you name it. Those countries were—and are—home to some of the great personal wealth in the world. When times get bad, Grandmother’s jewelry hits the market. The settings don’t have any value beyond bullion, but the stones do quite well for us.”
    “What shapes of blue sapphires have you seen that were forty carats and up?”
    The other man looked uneasy again. “I’m not sure I understand your question.”
    Sam smiled.
    Stafford looked even more worried. “Uh, do you mean have I seen any other emerald-cut—”
    “Shapes. Any and all kinds. Over forty carats.”
    “Uh, shapes. Over forty.”
    Sam waited.
    Stafford looked more like a man wondering if he was going to step on a land mine than a man trying to do his civic duty. “Uh…”
    “Forty carats,” Sam said helpfully. “That would be about the size of your thumb down to the first knuckle.”
    “Carat is a measure of weight, not size. Some stones are heavier than others, so forty carats of a heavier stone wouldn’t be as big as forty carats of, say, feldspar. In fact—”
    “In fact, we’re talking blue sapphire,” Sam cut in ruthlessly. “Emerald-cut, brilliant-cut, cabochon, heart-shaped, pear-shaped,oval, square, any old shape you can imagine. Over forty carats. Ringing any bells yet?”
    “Uh…”
    “Ever hear of the Seven Sins?”
    “You mean like sloth and gluttony and—”
    “Like this.” Sam slapped a