Alex Ames - Calendar Moonstone 01 - A Brilliant Plan (21 page)

“How is that?”

“At that point, they were not on the market. They belonged to a museum, a state museum, come to think of it.”

“Why is that bad?” Ron asked.

Nakamoto snorted with disgust. “These types are sponsored with tax money, rarely sell what they already have, just hold on to it and hide it in their vaults.” Nakamoto took the hand of one of his water girls and moved it to another part of his body. “I wasn’t actively looking.”

“But then Mr. Altward offered you an invitation to bid.”

“Yes.”

“Was that suspicious in any way, being a museum piece and all?”

“No.”

“Why?”

To regain a little of my consultant authority, I explained. “It is not unusual practice for museums to hire a go-between to sell pieces. Attracts less attention and leaves the selling to a specialist. As Mr. Nakamoto said, museums usually only buy and they rarely sell. But rarely does not mean never. So it is not unheard of.”

Ron nodded. “Understood, not suspicious.” But his tone clearly indicated, ‘Cover your fat ass.’ For effect, he paused briefly…
 
“Did you bid?”

“I did and Mr. Altward contacted me again a few days later. I had to increase my bid twice. Then, about two weeks ago, Mr. Altward told me that I had won the private auction,” Nakamoto sighed.

“Would you tell me the price you were willing to pay for the set?”

“It was high, I tell you.”

“Five million US dollars—or more?”

“Not even close.”

“What happened then?” Ron continued.

“I did the preparations to travel to the US to inspect the goods and I pre-arranged the financial transaction with my bank here.”

“But the deal didn’t go through?”

Nakamoto shook his head once. “A few days later, Mr. Altward called and told me that the complete set had been stolen in the gallery robbery that you spoke about.”

“He told you that in so many words?”

“He apologized profusely but he said he wasn’t able to deliver the set.”

“Altward specifically said ‘stolen?’”

“Yes, he did.”

“You arrived when… Monday a week ago?” Ron flipped through the pages in his notepad.

Nakamoto nodded his head, almost trapping the hand of one of his geishas under his chin. I wondered how many clicks I would get on YouTube if I filmed this spectacle.

“But the jewels had been stolen already. Why did you come anyway? And even stay for a week?”

“Everything was already booked, so why not make the trip? I enjoy L.A.” With those bath-babes around him, even I couldn’t spot any irony.

“Did you speak with Altward in person while you were here?”

Nakamoto gave a very sharp small smile as if the cat and mouse game had just begun. “No, why should I?”

“To inquire… ”

Nakamoto interrupted Ron with a short quick movement of his hand. “I believed Mr. Altward, his reputation is extremely good, and I didn’t doubt his word. Even if he had a better bidder, he knew that I would have raised my bid even further when asked. So why should he miss out on a spectacular deal?”

“Would you have bought the Maximilian Jewels if they had turned out to be stolen?”

“They were stolen, weren’t they?”

Ron was as patient as a pit-bull terrier. “No, I mean stolen from the museum that originally owned them.”

Again, Nakamoto had this sharp smile around his lips. “Of course not, that would have been against ‘your law.’” The way he said ‘your law’ made it sound as if Ron was personally responsible for the law.

“You are a serious collector?”

“I am a serious and honest collector, to correct your insinuation.”

“You collect with passion, rare pieces?”

“Of course.”

“Never bought any ‘hot’ items just for your personal collection, for your eyes only, ever?” Ron poked, too far.

“Of course not, Officer. And this concludes our conversation. Goodbye, Officer. Miss.” A quick nod in my direction. He had already dismissed us. The three girls kept on massaging.
 

“He is lying,” I said with conviction as we rode down in the elevator.

“They all do,” Ron was unperturbed by Nakamoto’s brashness.

“Do you think he is right in the middle of the transaction with whoever stole the stones?”

“No, I think he is simply sitting in his web like a Sumo spider, waiting for ‘The Max’ to come flying in.” Ron held open the side door for me to climb into his car.

“And that San Diego fence, Mr. Ching,”
 

“Chong Lee.” Ron corrected me.

“Chong Lee is simply one of his web threads?”

Ron nodded and we drove off. “Know a good restaurant for dinner around here?”

“What about heading into Santa Monica, we could watch teeny girls and boys on the Third Street Promenade and eat Greek,” I recommended.

“My favorite pastime,” Ron said.

“WHAT DO YOU think?” Ron asked. We were eating inside the Greek restaurant on Santa Monica’s 3rd Street pedestrian promenade, lots of shoppers and tourists were passing by outside.

“I have two storylines that fit, more or less,” I said, nibbling on a piece of bread. “One—Altward has named Nakamoto as the buyer. Suddenly, a new, higher bidder comes along offering more money for ‘The Max’. Altward is in a spot, does he reject the new bidder or call the deal off with ‘The Japanese?’”

“By coincidence, the gallery is broken in to,” I continued the tale. “Altward uses that as an excuse to tell the world that his Max Jewels were stolen. Secretly, he contacts the new bidder and sells them to him. The Japanese will sit in his Jacuzzi until he is blue in the face.”

“There is one major thing in your story that I don’t like,” Ron said.

“That is?”

“It has nothing whatever to do with the murder at the gallery. The murder is all I care about, nice theory and all,” Ron poked his fork at me. “You may stick to your jewelry and all. But murder is my business!” Delivered Chandler-eske.

I didn’t give up. “OK, this is where storyline number two, the Mundy variation, comes up. Altward has ‘The Max’ ready for sale. Father and Daughter Eastman break-in and steal ‘The Max’. Wally Eastman gets caught either by Altward or by his companion and is killed in a struggle. Phoebe gets away with the jewelry.” Pause for a sip of Coke and some quick thinking. “Phoebe is Altward’s girl, so she may know who the bidders are for the Max. She may even know that ‘The Japanese’ is the auction winner. She contacts Nakamoto; he comes flying into L.A. and waits for her to sell him the Maximilian Jewels. For Phoebe, it is a low-risk business transaction because she doesn’t need any fence and she can immediately resell the stuff for an obscene amount of money.”

“I like that one better—it has a killer.” Without success, Ron used his fork to chase a single olive around his plate, finally conceded, and picked it up with his fingers.

“Which bring us to the question: Why didn’t she already? What takes her so long?” Maybe I could motivate Ron to start looking for Phoebe a little bit harder.

Ron shook his head.

“Still don’t like it?” I asked, crossing my arms, sulking.

“Again, who killed Wally Eastman?” Ron looked around for the waitress to order refills.

“You are no fun,” I said.
 

Ron’s phone rang; he pulled it out of his jacket and listened for some moments. “Where?” he asked, listened and snapped the phone shut.

“Have to go!”

“What is it about?”

“I have a nice explanation why Nakamoto will shrivel and shrink to the size of a Japanese compact car in his pool, waiting for his jewels,” Ron said.

“Will he tell me?”

“The police have found the body of Phoebe Eastman. Last night she drifted ashore, north of Huntington Beach.”

“I FEEL LIKE your dog,” Mundy stated after he picked me up on PCH at the Santa Monica pier. “You whistle and I come running.”

“Stop it; your ears are still flapping.”

“And my tongue hangs from the corner of my mouth!” Mundy made a grimace. “So they found poor Phoebe at last. Not in Altward’s apartment but on the beach.”

“Someone disposed of her after stashing her in the bathroom of Altward’s pied-a-terre.”

“I bet she died because whoever stole the Maximilian Jewels wanted the missing piece.”

“I thought we had her pegged as one of the lead suspects.”

“OK, your story comes next. But first me, Phoebe was together with Altward. Maybe she sometimes borrowed some of the antique jewelry from Altward’s inventory so she could strut around with it on. Or perhaps he sometimes gave her stuff on a temporary basis. She stumbles upon ‘The Max’ Collection, wears a piece now and then. By coincidence, she has the Maximilian necklace around her neck when the gallery is robbed and Wally Eastman dies. The thief finds one piece missing, goes looking for Phoebe, kills her and retrieves the missing piece. Now the thief has the complete set in his possession and can sell it to ‘The Jacuzzi Japanese.’”

“Flaw, counselor,” I interrupted. “How does the robber slash killer know about Phoebe’s neck?”

“Don’t bore me with details. Maybe the murderer visited her the same day that Ron and you did. I don’t know. Now your turn,” Mundy gave up.
 

“The Altward theory. She knows about ‘The Max’ or maybe even about the murder in the gallery. Maybe even too much. She threatens to spill the beans to the police because of the murder of her father. So Altward kills her. Or maybe one of Altward’s associates kills her. Still looks best to me,” I said, yawning.

Mundy drove on.

And after five minutes, he muttered under his breath, “We make shitty detectives!”

Phoebe made a small item on page five of the
L.A. Times
. The police learned that she was dead prior to being thrown into the water and her father had died a few days earlier in a robbery. No connection between the two crimes, at least not seen today. Investigation pending. The
San Diego Tribune
had a larger item, Altward connection and all. But it was neither comprehensive nor enlightening.

WEDNESDAY EVENING RON called.

“Mind joining us for a little trip south?”

“San Diego is a nice town this time of year, but two times in a month is too much,” I replied.

“I don’t mean San Diego, I mean Mexico City.”

“You have a lead there?” I asked.

“The thing is, I don’t have enough leads. We have had search orders for Altward’s Newport apartment, the gallery and Altward’s San Diego home. Found nil regarding the case.” He sighed heavily over the phone. “And now Altward’s lawyer, the judge and the district attorney are raising issues as to whether there was actually enough probable cause to justify the search orders. My options are running out.”

“Anything about the Maximilian Jewels?”

“Just some general stuff, the same that you got. The thesis of that UCLA guy, some newspaper articles. Nothing of substance pointing to the value, the private auction or anything else.”

I thought about the valuations and expertise I had seen in the office at Altward’s Newport apartment. I couldn’t tell Ron about those.

“So why Mexico?” I inquired.

“The Maximilian connection seems to be the best lead. I agree with your theory that the Maximilian Jewels and their value have something to do with both murders. It’s exactly why people kill each other, loads of money or the possibility of money.”

“And you hope to find answers about ‘The Max’ in Mexico City?”

“Everything so far has been hearsay and some articles. I want facts. Authenticity. So we start at the beginning. The National History Museum in Mexico City. Plus, so far, you are the only one who has spotted a single piece of the set. Maybe the rest is still lying in the vaults of the Mexican museum?”

A good point I hadn’t yet considered.
 

Ron already had an appointment with the head of the museum for tomorrow, early afternoon. We discussed our travel arrangements.

“A thought occurred to me over the weekend, has nothing to do with the murder, however,” I delivered in an attempt at tactical influence on the investigation.

“Tell it to me anyway,” Ron humored me.

“Collectors like Nakamoto don’t buy jewels just by the looks. Especially when such an amount of money is involved. Altward would need to produce expertise to prove the authenticity.”

“But we didn’t find anything in Altward’s possession. No receipts, no valuations, and no official looking papers bearing any relation to ‘The Max,’” Ron said.

“Maybe he is good in hiding. I bet he is pissed off about the police ransacking his homes so shortly after the burglary,” I said. “Anyway, don’t look near Altward but ask the source.”

“What source?”

“The experts who wrote the valuations. There are not too many jewelry experts around, and I bet Altward hired the best.”

The long silence at the other end of the line told me that this was a good idea.

“I will mail you some good contacts to start asking. The insurance detective Fowler Wynn can give you additional names. Gives you guys something to do.”

I managed to buy a ticket for tomorrow morning, a United flight leaving LAX around six a.m. would bring me into Mexico City around noon. I was also able to reserve a room in the same hotel where Ron was staying, the Galleria Plaza Hotel.

A quick call to Mrs. Otis arranged my absence for the next two days. She would manage the place and try not to forget to lock either the shop or the safe in the evenings. Then I made another quick call to Mundy to make sure that every evening he checked the locks and the safe at the shop and got a quick update.

“Can you give me one good reason why you should be with Officer McCloseky in Mexico City? He can ask questions alone, can’t he?”

“Do I detect a hint of jealousy?” I asked annoyed, instantly regretting it as Mundy hung up with a bang.
 

The trip was uneventful. I hated getting up early but flying business class made it bearable. I managed to persuade the steward not to wake me whenever he was running around with food or drinks, which was all the time. That settled, I slept like a log through the whole flight. I was shielded by the pack of common travelers by class distinction but the second I left the business class finger that led to the terminal, the anthill hit me like a hammer. LAX had the feeling of a solid big city airport for a multimillion citizens but Mexico City Airport felt like a vibrating high pressure cooker on an overheated plate. After immigration and luggage retrieval, I caught a taxi and made my way to the hotel.