Who Killed Tiffany Jones? (24 page)

The doctor arrived first and confirmed that her injury was not serious; however, as a precaution, he wanted to keep her at the hospital for observation until the next day. He also told her that St. Claire had died en route to the hospital and offered his condolences before leaving.

The hard-nosed Cajun detective who entered a moment later was not nearly as amenable. Detective Louis Benoit questioned Kim for more than a half hour about the hit-and-run killing, insisting that she must have known the driver because witnesses said the car appeared to be pursuing her and St. Claire. Kim had no intention of revealing anything about Mojo, the diamonds, or the events preceding the attack to the New Orleans police force before she had time to think about it. So she steadfastly insisted that she didn’t know the driver, which was not a lie. She did provide as detailed a description of the assailant as she could, pointing out that all she had seen before she blacked out was the silhouette of a figure with long hair behind the tinted windshield.

Annoyed with her unwillingness to provide any information about why she had come to New Orleans to see Josephine St. Claire and what had precipitated the attack, Benoit finally threatened to hold Kim as a material witness to the murder. When she revealed that she was a former New York police officer, however, he backed down.

“Don’t leave New Orleans without informing us,” he said before stomping out.

When he left, Kim immediately tried dialing Lt. Jackson in New York to report what had happened the previous day. She couldn’t reach him, and, when lunch arrived a few minutes later, she realized she hadn’t eaten in twenty-four hours. She was famished. She settled back in bed and eagerly devoured the plain, institutional meal. Shortly after the tray was removed, the bedside telephone rang.

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“Hello?” she said in a questioning tone, surprised that anyone knew where she was.

“Hallo, Kim,” the singsong Swedish voice replied.

“Klaus? Klaus Svrenson . . . where are you? And how . . . how did you know I was here?”

“It didn’t take a genius, my friend. You’ve been all over the local news, and, well, did you think Josephine was working alone? Of course, I knew.”

Kim paused, noting that he said local news, which suggested he was somewhere in the area. “Right, right,” she said, “but where have you been? You know that everyone, including the police, is out looking for you.”

“I am aware of that, but, like our friend Ruff Daddy, I’m not anxious to be seen right now. I know all this looks bad for me, but believe it or not, I’m as frightened by these events as Ruff Daddy. I called because I’d like to know if you’ve discovered anything that might help me find out who’s killing these people. I need to protect myself.

Frankly, Kim, I’m scared.”

“What? You’re scared!”

“Of course! That’s why I need to know who you saw at Josephine’s house yesterday. You’re the only one still living who’s seen the killer.

What happened there? Who was it?”

“Wait . . . wait a minute. How did you know I was at Josephine’s home. That couldn’t have been on the news since I didn’t tell anyone and Josephine is dead.”

“As I said, Josephine was not working alone. I know exactly what time you arrived at her house. What I don’t know is what happened inside. Who did you see? That’s the person we should both be looking for.”

Kim hesitated. She didn’t trust Klaus and wasn’t sure of his motives.

But he obviously knew that she and Josephine had met and then 16470_ch02.qxd 7/12/02 4:40 PM Page 176

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escaped from the house with someone in pursuit. She was sure that he wasn’t the intruder, the person had been much smaller and far too short. But it might have been someone he sent. Klaus could just be digging for information to determine if she could identify an intruder who might later identify him.

“Look, Kim, the killer knows who you are now. You’re no safer than I am. Tell me what you know.”

“First, tell me something. Was it you who set up this whole diamond-smuggling operation, recruiting people from Europe and Africa? How big is it, Klaus? And how could you involve your own wife?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Kim. But that’s not the point now. And, if I did, do you really think I’d talk about it on this phone with that nosy detective lurking around the hospital? It’s time to stop playing at being a cop. It’s foolish. Tell me what you know, and maybe I can help prevent your being hurt.”

“Why don’t you meet me, Klaus, let’s talk about this. I can help you if you’re involved.”

“I can only tell you that, after Tiffany’s death, I may have unwit-tingly set all of this in motion. Some of my associates, it seems, are more brutal than I suspected.”

“What are you sa—”

“Enough, Kim! I don’t have time for this! And neither do you. If you won’t cooperate, I can’t protect you. You’re on your own.”

Before Kim could respond, Klaus hung up.

Frustrated, Kim slammed the receiver down and sat up in bed. She wasn’t sure whether to believe Klaus or not. But if he had found her in the hospital, then the hit-and-run driver could easily do the same thing. Klaus was right about one thing though, she was in danger—

from the intruder or maybe even from Klaus. She wasn’t safe in the hospital.

She got up and, on wobbly legs, went to the closet to check for her clothes. Within a half hour she had dressed and slipped out of the hos-16470_ch02.qxd 7/12/02 4:40 PM Page 177

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pital. She walked a few blocks before hailing a cab. After stopping at a cut-rate drugstore in the Quarter, where she bought sunglasses and a cheap Afro wig, she continued to the airport. It was after two o’clock when she bought a ticket to New York. While waiting for the plane to depart, she called Lt. Jackson and, this time, got through to him.

Lt. Jackson was silent as she related in detail everything that happened in New Orleans, including the call from Klaus. When she finished he told her that they had put Kwabena and Mojo under surveillance, but both of them had left New York on Thursday. Since they had no real evidence, neither could be detained. Neither had returned to his knowledge. He would, however, immediately order someone to watch Mojo’s house and store this afternoon.

“What about you,” he said finally, “are you going to be all right?”

“Yes,” Kim said. “No one will ever recognize me in this tacky outfit.

I’m taking a four-thirty flight to LaGuardia. I’ll call when I arrive at my apartment.”

“Fine, but I’m going to station someone outside, just in case.

They’ll be waiting when you arrive at your place.”

“Thanks, Maurice,” Kim laughed. “I knew that deep down you always loved me.”

“Yeah, right. I’ll talk to you when you get here.”

New York

Mojo carefully pulled the curtain away from the side of the window, leaving a half-inch opening. He stooped and peeked through the slit.

The unmarked police car was still parked across the street from the Old World Music Shop. Mojo stepped away from the window and moved to the rear of the darkened store. Passing through the office, he went to the windowless back room; the lone overhead light was turned on. Mojo sat on the floor next to a large attaché case that he had 16470_ch02.qxd 7/12/02 4:40 PM Page 178

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packed when he cleaned out the safe, then checked his watch. It was 8:45 P.M. Another hour and he’d be on his way.

He had arrived in New York earlier that morning, after flying in from New Orleans. Avoiding his Lenox Terrace apartment, he went directly to the record store. No one had been watching the shop, but he entered through the rear, leaving the front door padlocked from the outside and making sure to keep the lights off. He slept in the office. It was during those hours of restless sleep that he determined to get out immediately.

He had gone to New Orleans to see Josephine St. Claire and get the diamonds from her and from Lester’s grave. When he found the Hispanic burglar rummaging through St. Claire’s things, he’d been forced to kill him. No one was going to take what he had worked so hard to accumulate. That’s when he decided he’d have to leave Josephine behind. Someone was on to her, and he couldn’t afford to let anybody else discover that they worked together. He hid the Hispanic man’s body in the attic, but before he could go back to get the diamonds, Josephine returned. Then the other woman arrived.

He was waiting for the opportunity to snatch the diamonds when the second intruder arrived. He had watched the struggle in the foyer from the second-floor balcony, and, if the other woman hadn’t hit the attacker with a lamp, he would have intervened. But it had worked out perfectly. When the women left, the intruder was unconscious and Mojo took the opportunity to retrieve the diamonds from the sanctuary. As far as he knew, he had escaped without being noticed. After a quick trip to the cemetery, he had gone to the airport.

Now he sat waiting for Shawayne, one of his first recruits, to come and drive him to the airport. He had called Shawayne when he noticed the police car outside the record shop earlier that afternoon.

He instructed the eager young disciple to bring him a change of clothes, park the car around the corner on 119th Street, and come to the back door after dark. He would be arriving any minute, Mojo thought; the young man was never late.

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He wasn’t pleased at having to leave on such short notice or at having to distance himself from Josephine St. Claire. She had been a loyal worker and a generous lover. He would miss her. But, he told himself, he couldn’t allow his personal feelings to interfere with the greater cause. He had accumulated over $12 million in diamonds and another million or so in cash, most of which was stashed in offshore accounts. It was enough to begin constructing the compound in St.

Croix and take one more step toward his dream. He leaned back against the brick wall and patted the attaché case.

The familiar patterned knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

“Shawayne?” Mojo shouted.

“Y-yes, Mojo . . . it’s me.”

Mojo stood, walked over to the heavy door, and began unlocking it.

When he opened the second bolt, the door was pushed hard against him, and, as he stumbled backward, Shawayne was flung inside onto the dirt floor. Two men rushed into the room and slammed the door after them. Mojo caught only a fleeting glance of the two hulking figures before one shoved him down onto his stomach, clamped a heavy foot on his spine, and shouted, “Don’t move and don’t turn around.”

Beside him, Mojo heard Shawayne pleading for forgiveness. “I’m sorry, Mojo! I didn’t see them . . . they said they were gonna kill me if I didn’t do it!”

“Shut the fuck up!” one of the men shouted.

A moment later, Mojo heard the pop of a silenced automatic weapon, and Shawayne collapsed beside him. Mojo reached for his revolver and struggled to turn over, but with his face pressed into the dirt and the weight of a foot on his back he couldn’t move fast enough.

The last thing he saw was a gloved hand reaching down to pick up the attaché case before the bullet crashed into the back of his skull. The men calmly left the room, leaving the door ajar, and walked through the adjacent abandoned building. The junkie who crouched amidst the building’s debris and crumbling walls hardly noticed the two men, 16470_ch02.qxd 7/12/02 4:40 PM Page 180

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but his eyes lit up when he saw the partially opened door and swinging light in the building from which they had departed.

Kim Carlyle had arrived at her apartment around 8 P.M. and immediately called Lt. Jackson to let him know that she was safe. She was still shaken by the New Orleans events, so the presence of the uniformed officer outside her apartment was reassuring. Upstairs, she showered and bundled herself in a cotton gown before settling on the couch with a glass of French table wine. A Miles Davis-John Coltrane CD

played on the stereo. She went over everything that had happened the day before, trying to find a pattern and integrate that information with what she had known before she went to New Orleans.

The more she scrutinized the facts available to her, the more confusing the puzzle became. There was no doubt now that the murders were the consequence of the diamond scheme. Something had gone wrong, Josephine said to herself. But what had it been and who was behind the murders? Mojo definitely had something to do with it, but he wasn’t behind the wheel of the Mazda. Still, his stealing diamonds from a mobster was apparently the motive for Josephine’s death and his disappearance. And if the Dutch hood, Kees, was also stealing, well, that might have led to his death. It seemed that the mob was very much involved in the killings, but aside from Kees and the mysterious Frank Napolini whom Josephine had mentioned, she had no information about organized crime. She hoped Lt. Jackson had discovered something.

And although she still couldn’t bring herself to believe it, both Ruff Daddy and Klaus Svrenson could also easily be involved. In fact, after the call from Klaus, she was almost convinced that it was more of a threat than a warning. Was he trying to scare her off? Still, there were just too many holes, too many missing pieces of the puzzle.

At eleven o’clock when she turned on the TV news, several of those pieces suddenly surfaced. The lead story was a breaking news report in 16470_ch02.qxd 7/12/02 4:40 PM Page 181