Crime of Their Life Read Free

42nd Street, so we make a meet on 14th Street?” He tasted the drink, approved. “Not that I’m complaining. But why?”
    “I didn’t want anyone around the Diamond Exchange to see you with me,” Michaels told him. His face was heavy, serious. In the ten years Johnny Liddell had known the man, he had changed very little. The jowls were a little heavier, the network of lines under the eyes had become more intricate, the hair had receded farther on the pate of his head. But Connie Michaels’s jaw was still strong, his eyes direct and commanding. “How would you like to take a Caribbean cruise, Johnny? At our expense?”
    “Sounds interesting,” Liddell conceded. “What’s the gimmick?”
    The heavy-set man across the table picked up his glass, stared down into the amber liquor. “We’ve got some man-sized troubles, and we think the answer to them could be found on this cruise.” He looked up, frowned at Liddell. “It won’t be just a junket. We had a man on the ship I want you to take—”
    “Had?”
    The big man bobbed his head glumly. “We just got word that our man cannot be found aboard and must be presumed to have been lost at sea.”
    Liddell considered it soberly. “Couldn’t have been an accident?”
    “You know Harry Landers?”
    “Landers was your man?”
    Michaels nodded.
    “It was no accident,” Liddell grunted. He took a swallow from his glass, set it back on the table. “Okay, so let’s talk about these problems of yours.”
    “Diamonds,” the heavy-set man told him. “Somebody’s been smuggling diamonds in, dumping them and kicking hell out of prices.”
    “I thought you boys controlled the output. Where are they getting them to smuggle?”
    Michaels drained his glass, set it down. He managed to look unhappy. “We do control practically the whole world output. Every place except South America. And that’s where the damn things are coming from.”
    “South America?”
    “Brazil.”
    Liddell looked puzzled. “I thought South American diamonds were industrial diamonds.”
    “A lot of it is industrial stuff. They call it carbonado. But a lot of valuable gem diamonds show up down there, too. Half their output is gem quality. The Star of the South they found down there weighed 261 carats and the President Vargas was even bigger. Weighed over 725 carats.” He caught the eye of the waiter, signaled for two refills. “But those big babies we’re not worried about. We’re worried about the two-, three-, four- and five-carat stones that have been flooding the market. They’re murdering us.”
    “That serious, huh?”
    Michaels reached into his pocket for a balled handkerchief, swabbed his face and jowls. “Serious enough that if we don’t find a way to put the cork in the bottle there could be a complete price collapse.”
    The waiter was at the table, removed two empty glasses, replaced them with fresh drinks. Liddell waited until he was again out of earshot.
    “And you think they’re being brought in on this cruise ship?”
    “Harry Landers did. He’s been working on the case for over a year. Three weeks ago he showed up at the Exchange all excited. He had finally gotten a break through some of the lines he had out. He was confident that by the time the Queen Alexandra returned home, he’d have the whole thing wrapped up.”
    Liddell considered it, nodded. “He give you any idea of what the break was or how he was handling it?”
    “You said you knew Landers? Then you know how he worked.”
    “So we start from scratch.”
    The big man reached out for his drink, swirled the liquor around the side of the glass. “Not entirely from scratch. We know he must have been onto something and that something was on the boat. She’s due to arrive in Barbados on Sunday. I’ve made arrangements for you to pick her up there and finish out the cruise. Maybe with luck you’ll latch onto what Landers was working on.”
    “That gives me how many days?”
    Michaels drew an envelope