MOONLIGHT ON DIAMONDS (5 page)

John passed his hand
over his eyes trying to think of how to respond to his ex-partner’s invitation.
“You know, I just don’t think I’m ready to come back. I don’t know if I ever
will be,” he said, trying to be honest.

“That’s too bad.”
Quinn sounded disappointed. “We’re so swamped here these days with all this
terrorist shit and now they’re reorganizing all the computer files and
upgrading the systems. I swear to God, my eleven-year-old daughter has a more
advanced computer network in her grammar school than we do here.”

John shook his head
in the dark. “I know, it’s ridiculous, but can’t you get someone else to help
you out over there?”

“Yeah, I can, but not
someone who’s tracked the Ghost for as long as you have.”

“Unsuccessfully
tracked him.”

“Listen, no one has
been able to get anything on the Ghost, not Interpol or Scotland Yard—nobody.”
Quinn reminded him.

“True,” John
admitted. “So there’s no word from California?”

“Well, Katherine Park
had quite a few words to say, but other than that, we got nothing,” said Quinn
gloomily.

“Well, at least you
have the whole thing on film. Every TV crew in the world must have been there.”

“Yeah, I’ve been
combing through it frame by frame all day, but Katherine Park didn’t take the
route up the red carpet she was supposed to. So all I have is a shot of her ass
for the most crucial moments when she was hamming it up with her fans in the
bleachers. There was one old lady who looks like she could be the Granny, but
it’s hard to tell from the camera angle. She’s also wearing a hat with a veil
which clouds things even more.”

“Ah, the Granny,”
said John with a smile. After nine years of chasing down jewel thieves, he had
developed a certain amount of affection for some of them and she was one of his
favorites. He had first become aware of her when she toddled into Tiffany’s and
asked to try on a ten carat, $480,000 star sapphire ring. She slipped the ring
on her finger and watched it flash blue in the store’s perfect lighting.

“I’ll take it!” she’d
declared continuing to view the ring. “Only…wait…may I please see how it looks
in the box?”

The well-trained
salesperson had obliged by carefully placing the ring in a box so that it
sparkled to its best advantage. Granny had held the box in her hand and
examined the ring from all angles. Then snapping the box shut, she’d ordered
the salesman to wrap it up! She was just going to step outside and get her
checkbook from her driver.

Only later did the
unfortunate salesperson discover that, like a magician at a kid’s birthday
party, Granny had switched the box and taken off with her loot, leaving him
with an empty box in his hands and a lot of explaining to do. He had to give
her credit, the old lady had guts.

John had eventually
tracked Granny down in Stockholm where she had taken the sapphire to be cut and
sold. But remarkably, despite mountains of evidence, a jury had found her
innocent. Probably because they just didn’t have the stomach to send such a
sweet old lady up the river in her golden years.

“How is the old
broad?” asked John.

“Way too active for a
woman of her years.”

“Well, it sounds just
like her to pull something like this. She has the balls for it, we know that.”

“Could be her. We’re
just not sure yet. The whole Ghost hysteria is really just the press trying to
sell papers,” admitted Quinn.

“Everyone loves a
good Ghost story.” John remembered the packs of rabid reporters he’d had to
deal with every time the mysterious jewel thief took off with another rare gem.
“Besides, there hasn’t been any real Ghost activity since we put away Dornal
Zagen.”

“I can’t argue with
that,” said Quinn, sounding as if he’d like to.

“Maybe he’s the
Ghost,” observed John.

“You still working
that angle?”

“I’m not working any
angles anymore,” John replied matter-of-factly.

“What would you say
if I told you Zagen busted out of Sing Sing this evening?”

“You’re kidding!”

Quinn sighed. “I wish
I freakin’ were.”

“How did he get out?”
John was curious despite himself.

“How’s he do a lot of
things?” asked Quinn, disgusted. “No one has any idea. The alarm went off and
they found his cell empty.”

“So he vanished into
thin air?”

“That’s exactly what
he did.”

John was silent. He
automatically began laying a plan in his head to catch the notorious thief and
maybe find out for sure this time if Zagen really was the Ghost.

“Look, here’s the
thing,” said Quinn, interrupting John’s thoughts. “I’m using all my resources
right now to deal with this Puck Diamond mess. You can imagine with the press
and Katherine Park what a nightmare it is. Now Dornal Zagen breaks out, and, on
top of that, the First Lady has decided to throw a big charity event—The
Diamond Ball. All the big jewelers, like Cartier and Bulgari, are going to be
there with models wearing their loot. The event’s being held at the Smithsonian
and do you happen to recall what’s in the Harry Winston Gallery of the
Smithsonian?”

“The Hope Diamond. I
just read about it in
The Post
.”

“That’s right, the
fucking Hope Diamond. The most famous jewel in the world. It’s like the worst
security nightmare since…I don’t even know when!”

“I am so glad I don’t
have your job.” John shook his head in the dark.

He could hear Quinn
nervously lighting a cigarette. “Are you sure?”

“Oh yeah,” said John,
emphatically.

Quinn changed his
tactics. “But it could be a great time to catch a few thieves, huh? You know
they’re all out there salivating—old Granny, the Ghost, Maggie the Cat,
Nicholas Bezuhov, and now Dornal Zagen is on the loose.”

“I feel so out of the
loop.” John couldn’t help the old thrill that was starting to run through him.

“So come back and
help me out!” begged Quinn.

John sat back and
thought about it.

Quinn exhaled. “You
there?”

“I’m thinking,” said
John, watching a tugboat float down the Hudson. “I wish there was some way I
could sort of stick my toe in. I don’t want to go back to the FBI and get into
it again. I realize it’s too soon and feel like I fucked up enough the first
time around.”

“Well, there actually
might be a way for you to do that.”

“What are you talking
about?” asked John.

“There’s this old
family friend of the First Lady, some Park Avenue brat, Veronica Rossmore. She
has a treasure trove of jewels and is coming down for the party. Her father asked
if we knew of anyone who could drive her and her booty down to DC and watch out
for her at the Diamond Ball…”

John cut to the
chase. “In other words, she’s looking for a bodyguard.”

“Exactly. It pays
insanely well. I mean,
really
good
money, and all you’d have to do is hang out with a beautiful, rich girl and
escort her to the ball. I’d have the benefit of knowing someone who had a clue
was watching her so I can do my job and not have to worry about it.”

John hesitated. “I
don’t know.”

“Listen, you just
said you wanted to get your feet wet and you’d be doing me a big favor. There’s
no one I’d rather have around at this Smithsonian thing than you,” urged Quinn.
“And who knows…some of our old friends might show up. Maybe we’ll finally put
the Ghost to rest.”

The whole idea gave
John a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he did need to make some
money. He couldn’t put it off any longer.

“How much did you say
this pays?”

“Twenty thousand. I’d
do it myself, if I weren’t so slammed.”

“Twenty thousand dollars
!” John was certain
he had heard wrong.

“That’s right.”

John was instantly
suspicious. “Why so much?”

“They want the best.
With people like this, the more money they spend, the better quality they think
they’re getting,” explained Quinn, like he knew the rich.

“Just tell me what I
have to do to get this job.”

“You just need to
call her old man. Buzzy Rossmore, I think the name is.” John could hear his old
partner routing around looking for the information. “I’ve got to get a better
filing system,” Quinn complained.

“Why don’t you just
call me in the morning with the information?” suggested John, picturing the
usual mess of files, photos, old coffee cups, and whatever else had found its
way onto Quinn’s desk.

“Yeah, I’ll do that.
My wife’s going to kill me if I don’t get home soon.”

“Say hello to Diane
for me.”

“Okay, talk to you
tomorrow.”

“Okay, and thanks. I
appreciate your help.” John could hear Simon lecturing him in his head about
gratitude and remembering to be thankful for the help we receive.

“Sure thing.”

****

Dornal set sail at
dawn, taking the boat down the Hudson River to New York harbor. Not wanting to
answer a lot of questions at the various marinas in town, he anchored offshore
and jumped into the yellow rubber dinghy he found tied to the back of the
sailboat. The launch sped along the polluted water until he reached the small
private dock that serviced The Water Club. The swanky restaurant was located
aboard a barge that could be accessed from the highway or the little dock off the
East River.

Dornal threw a line
to the white-jacketed boat hand, who quickly secured the dinghy and welcomed
him to the club. He slipped his sunglasses on as he entered the elegant dining
room with its plush booths and magnificent view of the river.

The maitre d’ approached. “Are you here for brunch,
sir?”

Dornal nodded.

“Will it just be
you?” inquired the maitre d’ politely.

“Yes.” Dornal scanned
the room for the most secluded table. “May I have that one?” he asked in his
clipped, nearly perfect English, indicating a corner booth.

The maitre d’ smiled.
“Right this way.” He led Dornal to a table with crisp white linen and a small
crystal vase filled with black lilies. Dornal couldn’t remember the last time
he’d eaten a decent meal as he took the menu and began to review its offerings.
That pathetic alcoholic from the FBI had made sure of it.

Dornal flashed back
to that cold night in Chicago. He could still see the snow floating down
outside the posh little jewelry shop, the diamonds glittering like ice in the
moonlight. He could smell the scent of pine from the Christmas wreath that hung
over the shop door and feel the end of John Monroe’s pistol pressed up against
his kidney. In that moment, his fifteen-year crime spree had come to an end.
That scene was seared into his memory banks more than any other.

The waiter
approached. “Good morning, sir. Would you like to start off with something to
drink?”

“Black coffee,”
responded Dornal, “and I’ll take the scrambled eggs with crab cakes, too.”

“Very good,” replied
the waiter, with a slight bow before heading into the kitchen.

Dornal pulled the
dead man’s cell phone out of his pocket and punched in a number. The call
connected and his employer answered.

“It’s Dornal.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m in Manhattan and
I need money.”

“Didn’t you get the
envelope I left in the glove compartment?” His employer sounded annoyed.

“I never made it to
the car.”

There was silence for
a long moment. “Go to the Three Brothers’
Diner on Eighty-Sixth Street and Columbus at five this afternoon. At the
coat-check booth, tell them you left a brown suede jacket there. If they ask
for the check slip, say you misplaced it but that there is a green wallet and a
set of keys in the pocket of the jacket. Inside the wallet, you’ll find money and
your instructions.”

“Got it.”

“When you arrive in
Washington, I’ll call you at the number we agreed upon.”

“I’ll call you,” said
Dornal.

“That’s not the
plan…”

But Dornal had hung
up; he liked to make his own plans.

After the food
arrived, he resisted his urge to wolf it down, eating and then finishing up
with hot, black coffee. He paid with the dead man’s credit card. He didn’t care
if the Feds traced it because he’d be out of Manhattan in the next few hours
anyway. He left the dinghy tied to the restaurant’s dock and exited The Water
Club through the main entrance on East Thirtieth Street.

Dornal walked a few
blocks north along the river promenade. When no one was watching, he chucked
the cell phone into the water where it sank to the bottom with the rest of the
trash. He wished it was John Monroe’s lifeless body which was slowly sucked
under the murky olive waves. He reassured himself that he’d track Monroe down
with the same ruthless efficiency he performed all his tasks. Soon, John Monroe
would be the only ghost left in town.