Chapter 168

word count 1214

Mr. Yoo sat at his desk in the tiny office tucked behind the busy tea room, examining his latest consignment, the Princess Diana diamond. He held the ring up to the light, admiring its rainbow facets. Once he found a buyer and got his cut, he'd be a rich man. He was used to fencing jewels for the mob, and they were expensive pieces, but never one like this. He would definitely be looking on an international scale to find a buyer. It would take someone who was willing to be discreet and also who was rich, very rich. The gem would be recognized in most elite social circles, so the new owner would have to enjoy it in private. But the right buyer would have no problem with that.

“That is certainly a very pretty stone,” a soft voice said.

He turned to see his daughter, Tiffany, an elegant Asian beauty in her early twenties with sleek, black hair and brown, almond-shaped eyes with pupils that shined like black pearls.

“Yes, a little something Mr. Big sent me to dispose of.”

“It looks so distinctive, easily identified. Do you think that will be a problem finding a willing buyer.”

“No, I should find someone,” Mr. Yoo replied. He turned and opened his wall safe by turning a dial and stopping, dialing and stopping again. It popped open. He snapped the diamond's jewel case closed and placed it in, then secured the safe again.

“I need to go and speak with some people,” he said, after first donning his favorite fedora and glancing in a mirror to check his appearance.

* * *
Algernon and Mrs. Dunn arrived at the precinct amidst a flurry of quarreling between them. Winnie wanted to bare it all and get help from the police, while Algie still had dreams of getting the jewel for themselves.

“You men are all alike,” she grumbled. “But I don't care what you say, Algie! You can forget about possessing the stone. I know it would make us rich, but too many people can be hurt by those kinds of shenanigans. Poor Priscilla has already died. We're going to Detective Miller and tell him what we know.”

That said, she charged across the reception area on a direct route to Buzz who stood at his desk with his office door open, talking on the phone. She entered the small room and sat on a chair opposite. A forlorn Algie arrived and settled in a chair beside her. Buzz motioned he'd be off the phone soon. Just as quickly, he hung up.

“Mrs. Dunn, Mr. English, what can I do for you?” he asked.

“Detective Miller, I have a confession to make,” Mrs. Dunn said.

“A confession? Oh my, dear! What did you do? Burn the muffins? Forget to make the beds back at the house?” Buzz smiled.

“No, Detective Miller, you see, I'm not a housekeeper at all. I met you under false pretenses.I came fresh in from Britain to your house, and I came with a specific purpose.”

Buzz sat at his desk, his face an expression of alertness.

“You see, Algie and I...we are part of Her Majesty's Secret Service. We do undercover work. But when we came to America, it was on our own. We knew that the Princess Diamond was in this area, in New Albany, and I figured if I got involved with the police in some capacity, sooner or later they would be working on the case, and we'd find out exactly where it is...so we could steal it for ourselves.”

Buzz didn't answer, but merely studied her carefully. Mrs. Dunn continued.

“So when I got wind of your need for a housekeeper, I got to work on it.” She paused, an awkward expression crossing her face. “Detective Miller, it was our sole intention to snafu up the diamond for ourselves, not for the Queen, but just for us.”

“And why are you telling me this now?”

“Because Priscilla, who was part of our party, has probably been killed. And we want to help find the scoundrels who did it. I can't deal in greed when innocent people are getting hurt, Detective Miller.”

Algie broke in. “I find that I am in one hundred percent agreement with Winnie. I admit I didn't come by such good intentions easily, but I'm here now to help as well.”

Buzz stood and started to pace. “So you two are international spies and were hoping to steal the gem for yourselves. And when Priscilla presumably got killed, you decided to change course.”

“Yes, Detective Miller, that's right.” Mrs. Dunn folded her hands on her lap and looked attentive.

Buzz stroked his chin in contemplation. “I assume you two can provide papers and references to prove you are who you say you are.”

“Yes, certainly.”

Buzz remained silent, contemplative until he appeared to realize he was forgetting to speak and remarked, “I'm sorry! I'm just trying to wrap my head around this! Mrs. Dunn, are you trained in the martial arts? Do you ever use disguises? Just idle curiosity, mind you!”

“Yes and yes, but only for special jobs. Normally, our work is mundane. Lots of following people and surveillance.”

“I see. Well, for your information, at the moment we have no idea where this ring is. Pull up your chairs and let me fill you in with the details.”

The three huddled together over Buzz's desk and got to work.

* * *
Gil got off the elevator to go his apartment and found Hank standing at his door.

“Wassup?” the older cop murmured.

“What? Are you here to give me the third degree again, you son of a bitch?”

Hank stepped back, clearly alarmed. “Gil?” he said.

“What?”

“What are you talking about?”

Gil moved closer, getting into Hank's face. “You questioned me back there like some two-bit moron with no regard for the fact I'm a cop, and your partner, and your friend. And the worst part, I'm pretty sure you already assumed I was guilty before you even started! So what do you say to that, detective!”

“What are you talking about?” Hank said the words in protest, but his eyes told a different story, an observation not lost on Gil.

Oh my God, he thought. It shows all over his face. He really did think I was guilty of killing that nurse. Something deep inside snapped. All self control blew like a volcano up and out the top of his head. He was left composed of nothing but pure anger. Balling his fist, he cracked it against Hank's jaw before the guy ever saw it coming. With a few choice words under his breath, Gil proceeded to open his apartment door.

Hank, who had landed on the floor, looked up in protest. “What did you expect me to think? You were drunk and you had obviously been drugged. You were filthy and disoriented. You weren't yourself! In that state, you could have done anything, and your gun was at the scene, recently fired. What did you expect me to think?”

“I think you ought to get the fuck out of my life,” Gil said, stepping into his apartment and slamming the door.