Chapter 72

 

Caplin almost laughed at the look of pure shock on Frank Morrell’s face when the con man spun to face him.

“Surprised? Yeah, even American cops can have a passport these days.” He loosened his grip on Morrell’s collar when the man turned to him with a smile.

“Bill! How good to see you here!”

Caplin felt his eyebrows rise. “Let me guess—you were just looking for me because you have that necklace with you?”

“Well, no. I don’t have the necklace anymore.”

Caplin sensed he was telling the truth.

“So, then you’ve got my share of the money,” he said. “You were about to bring it to me, huh?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. Well, I should say I was going to head home and bring it to you in Phoenix tomorrow. The cash is in the safe at my hotel right now.”

Caplin watched the man’s face. Frank kept his eyes locked with Caplin’s and there wasn’t a trace of a stammer in his voice. Yet something was off.

“Who’d you sell the piece to?”

“Some guys.”

“Come on, just any old guys? Was it somebody connected with this show?” Caplin gave a nod toward the building. “Or you just happened to be walking by and decided to hang out here awhile?”

“Actually, yeah. I saw there was a gem show in town, wanted a look. Guess my name didn’t make it to the invitation list. Couldn’t get in.” Frank’s gaze dropped, first to his shoes then slid to a spot somewhere on the ground behind Caplin. “What about you? Been inside? Bet it’s quite the deal in there.”

Caplin sprang while the con man’s guard was down, reaching out and grasping his throat, shoving him hard, driving him up against the building ten feet away.

“Listen, punk. I’m not impressed with your good-old-boy manner and your breezy friendliness. You and I are not pals. You’ve taken something of value from an unsuspecting woman and then proceeded to screw your partners. That behavior makes me want to choke the shit out of you.” He tightened his grip on Morrell’s throat, enjoying the surge of power he felt as the man’s eyes bulged.

Morrell tried to speak but only guttural crackles came from him.

“What’s that? I can’t hear you too well.” Caplin let up slightly on the pressure.

“Golden Tigers,” Morrell gasped. “They have … the necklace.”

“The international jewel thieves? How’d you get in with them? Never mind. Where are they keeping the stolen jewels?”

Morrell’s eyes darted side to side as he dreamed up a story. Caplin shoved his head against the stone wall again. “Don’t make up some bullshit story, man. Nothing says I have to let you walk out of here. Tell me where they are.”

Morrell tried to clear his throat, but his words came out with a rasp. “I don’t know. They talked some … some foreign language.”

“So tell me the parts you did catch. I see it in your eyes, dude. You know more than you’re telling me.”

“A house on Rue Trois, like a safe house. Anton took me there.”

“Give me the street address. Now!”

“One twenty-two.”

“What else?” Caplin again tightened his grip for a moment.

“I caught … mausoleum.”

“Hey, you there!” Down the walkway a uniformed officer was running toward them. “Qu'est-ce que tu fais?”

Caplin’s attention focused on the man who came toward him, nightstick drawn.

“I’m a police detec—”

But in the moment of inattention, Morrell wriggled free and ran. He grabbed something from the ground near a park bench and headed east. By the time the gendarme reached Caplin, Morrell was out of sight.