The Diamond Caper Read Free Page B

mansion they had bought on Cap d’Antibes. A friend in Monaco had put them in touch with Coco, and they were here to see what she liked to call her new business presentation.
    Gregoire, a dark, precisely dressed young man with a rugby player’s physique and broken nose, opened the proceedings by removing his sunglasses to deliver a cautionary tale. It was an unfortunate fact of life these days, he said, that many architects, not content with their legitimate fees, expected to receive kickbacks from their suppliers. Carpenters, plumbers, stonemasons, electricians—it was the same for all of them: they had to pay up if they wanted to stay on the job. Consequently, their prices to the client went up to help cover the bribes. Gregoire shook his head sadly, and paused to let this shocking revelation sink in.
    Luckily, he said, chance had brought them to the Cabinet Dumas, an oasis of financial rectitude that was well known along the coast for never demanding any inducements from suppliers. In fact, Coco had gained a reputation for this, something that could be verified by asking any of her clients. The Osbornes nodded their approval, and Gregoire went on to explain the Dumas terms of business before handing over to Coco for the creative part of the presentation.
    She had on the table half a dozen leather-bound albums—one for each of the properties she had worked on over the past few years. Each album contained a “before and after” photographic record of the transformations she had achieved, from Marseille to Monaco, and it quickly became clear that the Osbornes liked what they saw. Susie was particularly vocal, finding things that were, in her words, fabulous or awesome on almost every page. They were also impressed to hear that Coco prided herself on taking care of every detail, no matter how tiny: positioning a bidet so that it had a sea view, installing eye-level dishwashing machines to do away with the need to crouch, using slip-proof marble for the shower floors—those small but important touches that are so often neglected. The compliments came in an enthusiastic torrent, Coco was the essence of charm, and Gregoire sent the three of them off to lunch confident that the Cabinet Dumas was about to add to its client list.
    —
    The British Airways flight from Jamaica’s Norman Manley Airport to Gatwick took off on the dot of 5:50 p.m. Once on board, Sam collapsed into his seat with the relieved sigh of a man who had survived a hectic week at the office. It could have been a difficult few days, but it was saved by the unexpected rapport that Sam had established with Clyde Braithwaite, who ran several of Kingston’s most efficient protection rackets. When he discovered that Sam lived in Hollywood’s Chateau Marmont (Sam neglected to tell him it was a hotel) he was impressed at having met one of L.A.’s most distinguished residents. The rum had flowed, generous helpings of jerk chicken had been consumed, and the two men had reached a mutually profitable understanding that was acceptable to both Braithwaite and Sam’s friend Nathan, the cigar smuggler. Sam’s reward was everlasting gratitude, a handsome check, and a regular supply of Bolívar Belicosos Finos, the ultimate Havana.
    It was off-season in Jamaica, and business class was pleasantly uncrowded. For Sam, long-distance flights had always provided a welcome chance to think, as he found it easy to resist the dubious allure of airline food and airline movies. He settled back and considered his most recent conversation with Elena. She had clearly been extremely frustrated by her meeting in Paris. Her French colleagues had done their homework, both with their client and with the police. But the thief had given them nothing to work with, and they were left with an empty safe, no clues, and no ingenious theories. It was a situation that piqued Sam’s curiosity, and he decided to put himself forward as Elena’s unofficial technical adviser. Helping out on the side