Midnight in Ruby Bayou (44 page)

“You haven't managed to dig out on your own,” Walker agreed. “You sure you don't want a helping hand?” He sounded kind and understanding, unless you looked at his eyes.

Davis groaned like a man turning on a spit over a big fire. “Jeffy, I'm really sorry, boy. I tried so hard since your sweet mama died. So hard.”

Jeff's eyelids flickered with pain.

Walker hooked his boot under a side chair, yanked it toward the sofa, and said to Jeff, “Sit down. I got a feeling you're not going to like what your daddy has to tell you.”

Jeff sank into the chair and watched his father with eyes that didn't want to believe, but already did. The last of the child inside him died as he took his father's hand between his own and said to him what he himself had so often heard as a boy. “Whatever it is, tell me. We'll find a way.”

After a shuddering breath, Davis nodded. Both men ignored the tears welling from the older man's eyes.

Faith bit her lip and fought against the sympathy that came when she thought how she would feel if she was in Jeff's place.

Walker lifted her hand, rubbed his cheek against it in silent comfort, and released her before she could object to the intimacy.

“The jewelry that I've been taking on consignment for the last several years comes from Russia,” Davis said tonelessly.

Hello, April Joy,
Walker thought savagely. But he didn't say it aloud. “Stolen.”

“I . . . didn't ask.”

Walker grunted. No surprise there. “But you got a real generous slice of any sale, right?”

Unhappily Davis nodded. “It kept us out of bankruptcy until I could develop Bayou Estates and sell them. It should have worked. It would have if the—”

“Dad,” Jeff interrupted with as much gentleness as impatience. “That's over. We have to go on from here.”

“Who was your contact for the jewelry?” Walker asked.

“Tarasov International Traders. They're legitimate,” Davis said, but he didn't sound completely convinced. “I checked. They have licenses and Customs stamps and everything.”

That was April Joy's problem, not Walker's. His problem was figuring out why the Feds were camped on Faith instead of on the folks who were laundering stolen Russian jewelry in America.

“How about the appraisals on the Customs forms?” Walker asked. “Bet they always came in kind of light.”

Davis sighed. “That's where the real profit was. The stones were always a lot better than the import documents suggested. But it's much harder to appraise stones that are set, so we never had any trouble.”

“Especially when the good is mixed in with a lot of routine estate junk,” Walker said. It was an old scam, because it was a successful one. Customs didn't have many inspectors who were GIA-certified appraisers. A lot of civil servants wouldn't know top-quality pink amethysts from decent rubies. “So what went wrong?”

“I guess I got something I shouldn't have in a shipment. Something really valuable.”

“A high-quality ruby?” Faith asked sharply. “About the size of a baby's fist? Engraved?”

Walker almost smiled despite the adrenaline flooding his veins; Susa Donovan hadn't raised any dumb ones.

“Yes,” Davis whispered. “It was the most beautiful gem I've ever seen, as good as the best gems that were supposed to be in the Blessing Chest. Bigger than a walnut and surrounded by tear-shaped natural pearls. The rest of the necklace was gold with fourteen Burmese rubies, all at least two carats. They weren't well cut, but they were very fine as to color and clarity.”

Jeff stared at his father in hurt and disbelief. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I wanted to keep you out of it,” Davis said.

“Did it have a name?” Walker asked.

“What?”

“The big ruby. Did it have a special name?”

Davis looked confused.

“Never mind,” Walker said impatiently. “What did you do with it?”

“It was made to detach from the chain, so it could be worn as a pin as well as a necklace. I took it off and brought it here, to my own safe. I didn't want Jeff to see it at the jewelry store. He would have asked . . . questions.”

“I sure as hell would have,” his son said bitterly. “Was it as good as the rubies in Mel's necklace?”

“Better,” Davis said simply.

“Jesus. A stone that size would be worth millions.”

“When were you at the exhibit?” Faith asked.

“While you were at lunch,” Jeff said.

“Getting mugged?” Walker asked coolly.

Jeff flinched. “I didn't know anything about where the rubies came from then. I just wanted to see the necklace. Anyway, I still don't believe my father knew about the mugging.”

Walker switched his attention to Davis.

“Who else knew the big ruby was in your safe?” Walker asked.

“No one. I'm the only one with the combination. Except Jeff, now.”

Jeff shifted uncomfortably. He still got a sick feeling when he thought about how he had forced his father to sign over power of attorney.

“When did you give your son the combination?” Walker asked.

Davis thought about ducking the question. The memory of that scene in the library was too painful. He rubbed his bristly chin, winced when his split lip protested, and dropped his hand back to his side.

“Just before you got here,” Davis said unhappily. “Jeff made me agree to give him power of attorney.”

“How?” Walker asked bluntly.

“It had nothing to do with the rubies,” Jeff said quickly. “It was personal.”

“So is being murdered.” Walker fixed his cold blue eyes on Davis and waited.

“Hell,” Davis mumbled. “He wrestled me to the floor and wouldn't let me have a drink until I signed.”

Walker's estimation of Jeff's backbone went up. “Where is the ruby?”

“I don't know!” Davis said hoarsely. “I told him and told him, but he didn't believe me either. Goddammit, the ruby is gone!”

“No sign of forced entry or dangling earphones?” Walker's voice was matter-of-fact, but the line of his mouth was thin and flat.

“Nothing.” Davis covered his face with his hands, hissed at the pain of touching his nose, and dropped his hands again. “Nothing,” he said in despair.

“Who was the guy you told again and again that the ruby was gone?” Walker asked.

“I don't know his name. About a week after the consignment arrived, I got a phone call. The man spoke English but in a foreign kind of way. I assume he works for Tarasov.”

Faith watched Walker. It was like watching Archer when he was all business and no compassion. Uncomfortable.

“What kind of accent?” Walker asked.

“Russian, probably,” Jeff said impatiently. “That's where the shipment came from, isn't it?”

“I didn't ask you. I asked your daddy.”

“Look,” Jeff retorted. “If you're not going to believe his answers, why badger him?”

Walker spun with the deadly grace of a hunting animal. “I like you for standing up for your daddy. It's an admirable thing in a son. Do you know anything about rubies, Russians, and robbery that you haven't told me?”

“No.”

“Then shut up.”

“Who the hell are you to—”

“Faith,” Walker interrupted without turning away from Jeff, “go holler up Special Agent Peel. Jeff wants to talk to folks with badges. Good thing, too. He's sure going to see a lot of them.”

“No,” Jeff said quickly. “I just don't like watching you after Daddy like a cat after a rat.”

“Then close your eyes, sonny.”

Faith flinched at the soft words.

So did Jeff.

Walker looked back at Davis. “What kind of accent did your nameless caller have?”

“It wasn't French or German or English,” Davis said. “That's all I could tell.”

“What did he want?”

“The big ruby. Right now.”

“How long had you known it was missing?” Walker asked.

“I don't know when it was taken, honest. It could have been any time in the last week.”

“Bullshit. Anybody with a stone like that takes it out and rolls it around in his hand at least twice a day and three times on Sunday,” Walker cut in savagely. “The nice lady with the badge isn't going to watch Mel make coffee much longer, so cut the crap.”

“Three days. Four, maybe. Hard to remember. I got so I didn't believe I ever had it in the first place.”

“Yeah, too much bourbon is hell on the brain cells,” Walker said without sympathy. “What did you say when this guy demanded you give the ruby back?”

“I was really scared,” he whispered. “He said he would kill me slow and painfully if I didn't tell him where the ruby was,
and I didn't know!
”

“What did you tell him?” Walker asked.

Davis looked longingly at the bourbon. This was the part he didn't like, the part that made him hate to see himself in the mirror. “I said . . .” He cleared his throat and tried again. “I said I had sent it out on consignment.”

Walker knew the answer to his next question, but he had to ask anyway. He had been wrong too many times already.

“Who did you nominate for dying slow and painfully in your place?” he asked coldly.

“No one! I wouldn't—”

“Bullshit,” Walker said. “You knew you were a dead man if you didn't have the ruby. Who did you select as your stand-in?”

Faith knew before Davis opened his mouth.

“Me,” she said. “He told the Russians I had their gem.”

Walker watched the older man the way a cat watches a rat. “Davis?”

“I didn't know what else to do,” Davis said, weeping slowly. “He was going to kill me.”

Walker wouldn't have minded doing the job himself. “Seems like a lot of folks are trying to kill you, Mr. Montegeau,” he said. “That's what comes from playing marbles on the wrong side of the schoolyard. But the bottom line is that the rubies you gave to Faith were in the same consignment as the big ruby, right?”

Davis closed his eyes. His mouth flattened as though in pain or in anticipation of pain. “Yes,” he said hoarsely.

“Part of the same necklace?” Walker asked, wanting no possibility of misunderstanding.

“Yes.”

Walker asked the multimillion-dollar question as casually as a man asking for a match. “Where is the big ruby now?”

“I don't know.”

“Bad answer.” Walker's voice was cold, as cold as the fear in his belly. He looked at Faith as though to make sure she was still safe. Then he glanced at Jeff.

“Get a lawyer,” Walker said. “Your dear daddy just might live long enough to need one.”

T
wo hours later, April Joy showed up on the shabby front porch of the Ruby Bayou mansion. A tight-lipped Cindy Peel briefed April over cold coffee in the parlor while Davis Montegeau's lawyer drafted a plea and protection agreement in the kitchen. The terms of the agreement were clear: In return for Davis's full cooperation, all charges would be dropped against the entire Montegeau family. As soon as arrangements could be made, the FBI would take Davis into protective custody so that he would stay alive long enough to put Sal, Joe, and Buddy in federal prison.

If the choice had been April Joy's, she would have wrung the old bastard out herself, but she knew the FBI would squawk all the way to the president if she tried to steal their witness. Turf battles irritated her, especially when she knew it was wiser to let the other side win. The best she could do for now was to send Max Barton to listen in on every interview the FBI had with Davis.

The real reason April didn't pull rank and set off a federal pissing contest was that Davis didn't appear to know anything about the only thing that mattered to her: the Heart of Midnight. The old drunk kept insisting that he'd lost it. Cindy Peel claimed to believe him.

April hoped that Faith Donovan knew more than she admitted. That hope was the only reason April had left Seattle in the first place.

“All right,” she told Peel in a frosty voice, “the drunk is yours. But you send copies of every sentence he says about the Russian pipeline the moment he says them. If he so much as hints that he knows anything at all about the Heart of Midnight, you get me ASAP. Agreed?”

Peel was a realist. April Joy might be petite and damned gorgeous, but she hadn't gotten where she was on her looks. She was smarter and tougher than anyone—man or woman—Peel had ever known. If April wanted to make life hell for someone, she could.

And would.

“Of course,” Peel said smoothly. “We're always glad to cooperate with other federal agencies.”

April snorted and shoved her hands in the pockets of her sleek black slacks. “Sure you are, sis.” She shifted her shoulders beneath her carelessly draped scarlet jacket. The clothes were off-the-rack, but on her they looked like custom designs. Her long, intensely black hair was held back in a severe knot at the nape of her neck. “Where are the rest of the civilians now?”