Rarities Unlimited 04 - The Color of Death

ended up with oneof the Seven Sins,” Sam said. “My CI proved it when she palmed the real stone, left the synthetic, went home, and studied the stone and the photographs she’d taken of it before she put it in the courier’s pouch.”
    “No doubt that the two stones were the same?”
    “None.”
    Doug nodded and went to work on the next curve of the paper clip.
    “When she was certain,” Sam said, “she took the real stone back and swapped it for the one she’d left.”
    “Why?”
    “She’s not some lowlife thief,” Sam said impatiently. “She just wanted to have evidence that the stones were the same so that the FBI could squeeze Purcell and make him talk.”
    Silence.
    Doug took the last curve out of the paper clip and spun it between his fingers. He was looking at the faintly rumpled line of metal, but he was thinking about something else. Whatever he was thinking, he wasn’t happy about it. He looked like a man sucking on a turd.
    “But before I could get to Purcell, somebody else did,” Sam continued. “I’ve had Mario going through Purcell’s papers—what few he had—but he hasn’t run across any mention of a big sapphire purchased in the past five months, or any big cash withdrawal or transfer of funds that might, could, and should have been involved in Purcell getting his hands on a stone like that.”
    Doug made a snarling sound. He could see where Sam was going. He really didn’t want to be taken there.
    “I figure Purcell had had the stone for at least two months, maybe more,” Sam said. “You want to hear my reasoning?”
    “Not yet.” The words came through Doug’s clenched teeth.
    Sam chose his next words very carefully. He didn’t like where he was going any better than his SAC did.
    “Purcell flashed the stone around some other gem shows before this one in Scottsdale,” Sam said. “No problems. He showed it here.No problems. And then I caught a woman doing a stone swap and Colton shot off his big mouth about it at the strike force meeting in Sizemore’s suite. By the time I ran down the real identity of Cutter and the reason for the swap, Purcell was dead, and so was any chance of the FBI finding out how a bottom-feeder like Purcell got his hands on a really choice bit of goods.”
    Doug began putting a curve in the straightened paper clip.
    “Just to put the cherry on the cake of my investigation,” Sam said, “Purcell’s killer does the Colombian necktie dance, and suddenly Kennedy and Sizemore are seeing South Americans behind every door.”
    “You don’t think it was the South Americans?”
    “Purcell didn’t handle Colombian emeralds or drugs. Why would they whack him?”
    “To shut him up.”
    Sam made an impatient noise. “If the Mandel hit was South American, it was one of a kind. Trunk wasn’t forced. Courier vanishes instead of being left with a mouthful of his own genitals as a warning to others. Mandel’s car is turned in to the rental company—after a shampoo—late at the airport. You ever hear of South Americans returning a rental car for a dead man, much less washing it?”
    Doug put a second curve in the mangled clip.
    “Rumors of a blonde with big boobs begin circulating,” Sam continued relentlessly. “Mandel’s name is dragged through the mud. He’s pretty close to his family, but he never calls home, never gives a hint that he’s okay. He’s totally silent, yet all the cops seem to ‘know’ that Mandel is in Aruba or Rio, bouncing on the mysterious blonde. Have I mentioned his gay lover? He doesn’t hear from Mandel either.”
    Silence.
    The paper clip broke. Doug fired the pieces into a trash basket.
    More silence.
    “All right,” Doug said finally. “I’ll keep backing up your requests and ducking Kennedy. Did your CI save the answering machine message?”
    “The one with the threat? Yes.”
    “Send it to the lab.”
    “I did.”
    “Anything?”
    “Not so far.”
    Doug looked Sam straight in the eyes. “Get this son of a bitch. Get him fast.”
    “Tired of the headlines?” Sam asked.
    “Fuck the headlines. If the leak is in the Bureau, you’re a dead man walking.”
    Sam had already figured that out. What he hadn’t figured out was how to keep Kate from getting killed along with him.

Chapter 45
    Scottsdale
    Friday
    7:15 P.M .
    It had been a long time since Sizemore had retired from the FBI, but he hadn’t forgotten the moves. He never would. He still lived and breathed the Bureau.
    “I’m doing a