Death, Diamonds, and Deception Read online

  “Still, jewelry has to be cleaned,” Prudence said, remembering how Colleen had had to be taught to work with mild soap, a soft brush, and polishing cloths. It was a painstakingly slow process that could not be rushed.

  “We made provisions for that,” De Vries assured her. “Lena’s jewelry is never taken to any of the servants’ workrooms downstairs. Her maid sees to everything right there in my wife’s dressing room.”

  “And you’re determined not to report this to the police?” Geoffrey asked.

  “I am,” De Vries replied. “The New York City Police Department is famously corrupt. I’m not telling you anything we don’t all know. Patrolmen regularly take bribes and sell information to the press. If the newspapers get hold of this story, I’ll be made a laughingstock. Who would want to trust his money to a man who can’t protect his own home from burglary or thievery by dishonest servants? The facts of this case make me look the fool, Mr. Hunter. No man of business can afford to be a figure of fun.”

  “I assume the necklace is insured,” Prudence said.

  “All of Lena’s important jewels are insured,” De Vries said. “I haven’t put in a claim yet, but I’ve begun an inventory to see if anything else is missing, and I’ve retained the services of Tiffany’s appraisers to make a confidential check of Lena’s other major pieces. The firm does not disclose their clients’ transactions, but I can’t be sure the insurance company will be as principled where a large amount of money is involved. For the moment, I prefer to keep them in the dark.”

  Prudence was stunned. What her father’s old friend was implying was acceptance of a loss she couldn’t even begin to calculate. For the sake of preserving his reputation. Appearances.

  “What good is insurance if you won’t claim reimbursement?” she murmured.

  “Again, Prudence, it’s a question of discretion,” De Vries insisted. “Clients will begin to question my ability to safeguard their assets the moment a newspaper breaks the story that my home could not be protected from the predations of a common thief. I’ve seen it happen before. A weakness in one area implies weaknesses in others. And who knows how long the thievery has been going on? I wouldn’t want to do business with someone like that myself. How could I expect anyone else to feel differently?”

  “It makes the investigation more difficult if we can’t reveal what it is we’re doing,” Geoffrey said. He’d had to do that kind of work many times when he was a Pinkerton, and he was good at it, but he’d never liked the constraints it placed on the detective. People were far less likely to answer your questions if they had no idea why information was being sought. When you could provide just enough facts to whet their interest, they suddenly saw themselves as allies in a crusade against crime and criminals. The only problem then became separating what was useful and true from all the other bits of gossip the informant considered pertinent.

  “Will you take the case?” De Vries asked.

  “Why us?” Prudence asked softly.

  “Your father and I were friends. I’ve known you since you were born. You’re family, and Mr. Hunter comes highly recommended by a former client who was willing to share a portion of his experience with me. That’s another thing a successful business runs on, my dear. Information. Without good sources you might as well be a blind mole snuffling in an underground burrow. You’ll never see the light of day.” He paused to finger his cigar case again. “It’s no secret that you’ve stepped outside the boundaries of what is considered proper behavior for a young lady of your background. But I trusted Judge Thomas MacKenzie; I trust his daughter.”

  And there isn’t anywhere else you can turn. A glance at Geoffrey’s nearly inscrutable face told Prudence that he shared her thought.

  “We’ll let you know, Mr. De Vries,” Geoffrey said, rising to his feet, shaking the prospective client’s hand, signaling Josiah to show him out.

  Prudence waited until she heard the outer office door open and close again.

  “Why not accept the case on the spot?” she asked.

  “It has to be an inside job. Someone with ties to the family or a member of the household staff. Even though he’s loathe to admit the possibility, someone working for Tiffany. Once De Vries begins thinking deeply about how the theft could have occurred, he’s bound to have his own suspicions. We can expect him to act on them. His kind of man would never stay on the sidelines of anything remotely affecting him. So whatever we do, wherever we turn in the investigation, he’ll be in our way. And when we do discover who the culprit is, De Vries will want to take matters into his own hands. It could become very messy, Prudence. You need to be sure you realize what we might be getting into.”

  Josiah knocked perfunctorily on Geoffrey’s door, new client folder in his hand.

  “I am sure, Geoffrey. I agree that it could become acrimonious. But at least it’s not murder. What may be more to the point is that Aunt Gillian seems to have been the first to suspect something was wrong with Lena’s necklace. I can’t believe a reaction to smelling salts would cause the kind of fogging over Mr. De Vries described.”

  Geoffrey waited, an intrigued Josiah beside him, still clutching the newly inked file folder.

  “I think she deliberately breathed on the necklace, Geoffrey. When she held the smelling salts under Lena’s nose, Aunt Gillian must have leaned in solicitously and breathed on the diamonds. It’s not as obvious a test as scratching on glass, but for someone who’s worn a king’s ransom of them nearly every day for twenty years, it’s apparently just as reliable.”

  Josiah whispered something that sounded like Dear God in Heaven.

  “You haven’t met her because she hasn’t been to the office yet, Josiah,” Prudence told him. “But it’s only a matter of time. She has to have something to occupy her, and my marriage prospects are out of the picture. At least for the moment.”

  “You had the conversation?” Geoffrey asked.

  “I did. Yesterday in fact. Over tea. It seemed the safest time.”

  “And how did she react?”

  “Not as indignantly as I’d expected. I can’t figure her out, Geoffrey. She’s American, but she’s not. She looks and sounds like a born member of the British aristocracy she married into, but she has a sharpness about her that’s at odds with an inherited title. Did I tell you that my father said she more than tripled her personal fortune after her husband’s death?”

  “How did she manage that?”

  “Shrewd investments, apparently. He said she got in the habit of reading the financial news every day and took no one’s advice but her own. A very keen mind and nerves of steel.”

  I might say the same about you, my dear Prudence, Geoffrey thought.

  “We don’t want her interfering, especially not if you’re right about Mr. De Vries getting in our way,” Prudence mused.

  “So we’re taking the case? You’re sure?”

  “I think we have to,” Prudence said. “Don’t you want to find out who had the nerve to steal Marie Antoinette’s diamonds from right around Lena De Vries’s neck? I certainly do. Josiah can telephone William’s office to let him know our decision.”

  Josiah laid the client folder containing an information sheet on William De Vries and the sketch he’d made of what he was privately calling the Marie Antoinette necklace on Geoffrey’s desk. He’d transcribe his shorthand notes this afternoon and perhaps make another try at using the Remington Standard No. 2 typewriter currently taking up an inordinate amount of desk space in the outer office.

  “I think the first thing we have to do is locate the fence who handled the stones,” Geoffrey said. “We need Ned Hayes for that, but it’s going to be difficult with Billy McGlory temporarily out of the picture. He was Ned’s pipeline to everything shady going on in the city.”

  “What’s McGlory doing?” Prudence asked.

  “Nothing, at the moment. Lying low. Plotting and planning, I suppose. He sold the Armory after it was finally closed down. Ned says he thinks Billy’s looking fo
r another property to buy, one that won’t be as ready a target for the do-gooders.”

  “That’s a strange relationship, an ex-detective and New York City’s most notorious saloon keeper.”

  “McGlory owes his life to Ned Hayes. Saving him was what got Ned cashiered, though it was only the last straw in the department’s case against him.”

  “All we need to get started is a name,” Prudence said.

  * * *

  Three hours later they had one.

  “Word on the street is that a gem cutter named James Carpenter recently came into a cache of diamonds whose provenance is murky enough to be suspicious.” Ned Hayes settled himself comfortably into the client chair in front of Geoffrey’s massive oak desk. He wasn’t an official partner or even an employee of Hunter and MacKenzie, Investigative Law, but only because he wanted it that way. He was well aware of the baggage his name carried.

  “What exactly does a gem cutter do?” Prudence asked.

  “He’s the master craftsman who cuts, shapes, and polishes the stones that go into the creations you dear ladies love so much. Most of them work in the design studios of a famous jeweler like Tiffany or Dreicer & Son, but there are smaller firms, also. Sometimes it’s just one man working alone.”

  “They can straddle the line between legitimate craftsmen and receivers of stolen goods,” Geoffrey said. “The temptation to work with really fine stones is strong. And it’s lucrative if all the gem cutter has to do is cut up or refacet a purloined stone that would be recognizable.”

  “This James Carpenter is well known in the trade,” Ned went on. “He started out as a cutter, then a few years ago he opened a small jewelry store on Eighteenth Street just off Fifth Avenue.”

  “It’s a good location,” Prudence commented. “He must have attracted a substantial clientele to afford a building in that area.”

  “My source says he’s particularly adept when it comes to getting the best out of a stone. He has a way of shaping the facets that captures more light than most of the other New York cutters have been able to manage,” Ned said.

  “What went wrong?” Geoffrey asked.

  “My guess is that he got greedy. He had his own store where he was creating his own designs, and he still contracted with the big jewelers on special commissions, so that should have been enough. But it wasn’t. My source said he couldn’t be clear on the first few times Carpenter picked up something from a fence, but when he didn’t get caught, he let it be known that he might be interested in quality stones that couldn’t be sold elsewhere.”

  “Where are the police in all this?” Prudence asked.

  “Where they always are. Standing in the doorway with their hands out. It’s a victimless crime, so they wink at it.”

  “Victimless how?” Prudence demanded. It always astounded her that the police could be so dismissive of any but the most horrific and bloodiest of crimes.

  “The owner of the stolen property gets reimbursed by his insurance company, then turns around and buys another piece of jewelry for his wife or mistress or daughter. If the thief was clever and lucky, he was in and out of wherever the jewelry was being kept without anyone noticing him. He jimmied a lock or found a door or window a careless servant had left open, so there wasn’t even evidence of a break-in. Nobody got hurt. Nobody got killed. As I said, a victimless crime.”

  “Back to James Carpenter,” Geoffrey said. “How widely known is it that he’s open to purchasing stolen gems?”

  “If I made it sound like every thief in Manhattan is aware of his under-the-counter business, I need to correct that impression,” Ned explained. “My source says Carpenter is still a well-kept secret. He’s dealing with three or four fences at most, and he rarely buys directly from whoever lifted the jewelry. He’s greedy, like I said, but so far he’s managed to control the risk. What’s going to do him in is when he tries to pass some loose stones on to a larger retailer and an appraiser recognizes one.”

  “But I thought you said he recut them,” Prudence interrupted.

  “He does. But cutting is a long, laborious process if it’s done right. He’ll get impatient for a quicker turnover eventually. They all do.”

  “How much do we owe your source?” Geoffrey asked. No point asking for a name. “Let Josiah know and he’ll get the money for you.” Cash. No check. No paper trail. “It’s time to pay a visit to this James Carpenter.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Prudence said. “He’s less likely to be suspicious if you seem to be picking out a gift for your fancy woman.”

  “Ned?”

  “I don’t think I ever ran into Carpenter when I was working for the police department, but it’s better not to take a chance. So I won’t go, but I don’t think there’s any danger at this stage of the game. The Ladies’ Mile has some of the safest blocks in the city.”

  “I’ve been to unsafe places before,” Prudence snapped. She hated it when Geoffrey or Ned or anyone else implied that she couldn’t do a job because she was female.

  “My apologies. Of course you have,” Ned said. He raised one hand in a languorous salute. And smiled.

  CHAPTER 4

  “I’ll let you out here on the corner,” Danny Dennis called down to the two passengers in his hansom cab. “Something’s happening on Eighteenth Street. It looks like there’s a crowd in front of the address you gave me. I can see a morgue wagon blocking the way and uniformed policemen on the sidewalk.” He reined in Mr. Washington, a big white horse with enormous teeth, recognized on sight by every cabbie in the city.

  Geoffrey Hunter hopped out of the hansom, turning to extend a hand to Prudence.

  “Can you stay in the area, Danny?” Geoffrey asked. “I don’t know how long this will take, but I have a feeling we’ll be needing you.”

  “Mr. Washington and I will go as far as Twenty-Third Street in front of the Fifth Avenue Hotel, then double back,” Dennis decided. “As long as we’re not standing still the coppers stay happy and leave us alone.” He flicked the heavy reins over his horse’s back and moved up Fifth Avenue, threading his way expertly through foot traffic, horse drawn carriages, hansom cabs, and delivery wagons. Being on retainer to Hunter and MacKenzie, Investigative Law, meant studiously ignoring the angrily waving arms of would-be passengers who frequently yelled colorful invectives after his empty cab. The trade-off was steady pay and as much adventure as a hardened survivor of imprisonment in Dublin’s infamous Kilmainham Gaol could wish for.

  “I don’t like this,” Geoffrey said as he guided Prudence onto the sidewalk, carefully stepping around piles of fresh horse dung and torn sheets of newspaper. It was mid-December, so the street stench wasn’t too bad, but even with cold weather and a brisk wind off the river, it could never be described as pleasant.

  “Do you think it’s Carpenter’s shop?” Prudence asked.

  “Let’s find out.”

  Geoffrey made his way steadily through the throng of onlookers who were clearly waiting for something to happen. A body to be carried out and loaded into the morgue wagon? A man in handcuffs thrown into the Black Maria pulled up beside it?

  Prudence kept her ears open for bits of conversation that might answer some of their unspoken questions, but it didn’t appear that the curious bystanders knew any more than she did.

  A newspaper reporter pushed rudely past them, pencil and notepad clutched in one fist, the other hand propelling him through the crowd. In his wake followed one of the sketch artists who sold lurid drawings of bloody gore and slashed body parts to the sensationalist weekly magazines printed on cheap, flimsy paper. New Yorkers loved the vulgarity of yellow journalism, never more than when it invaded the enclaves of the wealthy denizens of Fifth Avenue.

  By the time Geoffrey and Prudence reached James Carpenter’s jewelry store, policemen had formed a cordon to keep back the crowd. Nightsticks at the ready, they cleared the sidewalk in front of the store, maintaining open passage to the morgue wagon and the Black Maria.

  “Do you s
ee anyone you know?” Prudence asked, teetering on heels that were not meant for the free-for-all shoving of a crowd.

  “Isn’t that Mick McGuire over there?” Geoffrey nodded toward a handsome, blue-eyed, burly cop guarding the shop’s open door.

  “I thought he’d been made to resign after being accused of murder last year,” Prudence said. “He doesn’t look much the worse for wear, despite the third degree they put him through.”

  “He was one tough Mick when things were going badly, right up until he was exonerated,” Geoffrey said. “He probably bought his way back into the good graces of the higher-ups by keeping his mouth shut about the beatings at police headquarters.”

  “I remember Ned saying that everybody knew about them and nobody cared.”

  “That’s only because no reform do-gooder has taken up the cause,” Geoffrey said. Taller than almost every other man around him, he raised one arm in McGuire’s direction until Mick noticed him, then nodded toward the shop.

  “Do you think he’ll let us go in?” Prudence asked.

  “He owes us. If we hadn’t solved the case, he might have been railroaded to the gallows or up the river to Sing Sing. Let’s see if he’s bright enough to know it’s in his best interests to pay back the debt.”

  Apparently he did, because a few minutes later Prudence and Geoffrey were escorted into what remained of James Carpenter’s jewelry shop.

  Glass littered the floor and crunched under their shoes. Every display case had been smashed, the valuable contents taken. Here and there cheaper pieces of jewelry lay broken on the floor where they’d been flung. Paintings had been torn off the walls, as though the thief had searched for small safes hidden behind them. A man’s trousered legs stuck out from behind the central display counter, rivulets of bright red blood congealing under the fabric. Recent, then. The theft and the killing had occurred within the last few hours.