Looking blasé, even bored, Saroyan held the stone up to the light. At several angles. No more ennui, now, just the noncommittal blankness of expert appraisal, as he turned to the loupe and inspected the gem under several strengths of magnification.
Sharp-eyed and silent as the purple pear was transferred to the microscope.
Another full two minutes of minute nudges as he peered through the dual eyepieces.
When Saroyan finally looked up, it was his grandson he turned to. “Clifford, you have just experienced something extraordinary.”
“What?”
“This” — holding the stone at arm’s length — “is hundreds of thousands of dollars.”
“Whoa! No shit!”
“Your language,” said Harold Saroyan, “is not the best. But you are excused.” He favored us with a denture smile. “No shit, indeed.”
Milo allowed Saroyan to rewrap the diamond, then placed it back in the box.
Saroyan said, “I trust you have a safe, here.”
Milo said, “We can keep it secure but I want it back at the lab and logged at true value.” He texted Moe Reed, who arrived moments later and took the box.
“Retape it, it’s three hundred G’s,” said Milo. “And take Sean with you. Have him notify Noreen.”
Unfazed, Reed nodded and left with the box.
Harold Saroyan said, “That’s a tough-looking boy, makes a good impression. I sometimes use guys like that, mostly Israelis. Nevertheless I’m glad they’re packing heat.” To Clifford: “That’s the expression, no? From that videogame you play? Hot... something?”
The boy nodded dully.
Milo said, “I’ve got some questions for you, Mr. Saroyan, but no offense, Clifford doesn’t need to hear them. Can I offer him a tour of the station?”
“Sure — that’s good, no, Clifford?” said Saroyan. “You can ask all the questions, then tell your friends all the stories.”
While he spoke, Milo texted again. The door opened and a young, female uniform came in.
“Sir?”
“Officer Salazar, this is Clifford Avakian, a VIP guest. Could you please give him the grand tour while I talk to his grandfather.”
“The grand tour?”
“Not the one we give to bad kids in order to scare them. He’s an excellent citizen and has been extremely helpful.”
Clifford followed the exchange with jumpy eyes.
Officer J. Salazar smiled at him and said, “Let’s go, Mr. Avakian. Would you like something to drink, first?”
“Um, sure.”
“Coke okay?”
“Uh-huh.” Surreptitiously examining Salazar’s chest.
She pointed to the door, let Clifford open it, and followed him out.
Harold Saroyan said, “He really is a good boy. So what can I help you with?”
Milo and I pulled up chairs opposite him. “What I’m going to tell you is part of an ongoing investigation. I know you’ll be discreet.”
“I am Mr. Discreet, Lieutenant. In my business, indiscretion will finish you.”
“I can see that. Okay. The necklace was found at a murder scene, along with several other pieces of diamond jewelry owned by the female victim.”
“The female victim,” said Saroyan. “There was a male victim, too?”
“Yes, sir. Yesterday, the woman’s husband called and asked for return of all the jewelry. He specified the necklace. Said he’d paid a hundred thousand dollars for it.”
“How long ago?”
“Half a year.”
“Ridiculous,” said Saroyan. “Not that recently, for something of that quality.” He shook his head. “The color, the depth, the richness. It is on a par with that six-carat stone I sold to the famous person. Much smaller, of course, and value goes up exponentially with size. But still, no way he got it for less than two, two fifty.”
“Which leads me to my next point. When we assumed the stone was fake, we figured the woman had deceived her husband by having him pay a hundred thousand for what was really an amethyst and pocketing most of the money.”
Saroyan said, “An amethyst that size and color? Feh. I give it to you for free. No way anyone sold a diamond like that for a hundred, not going to happen...” His mouth screwed up tight. “Maybe if it was stolen goods. Something palmed off by a crook or a crooked pawnbroker.”
Milo said, “Making matters more interesting, today we heard from relatives of the male victim that a hundred thousand dollars had vanished from his account.”
“The lover,” said Saroyan. A smile spread slowly. “Ah, I see. She got them to split it. Okay, two hundred, a bargain but within possibility, that I can see.” He fingered the orange tie. “You think she did it to make them more likely to pay?”
“That’s what comes to mind.”
“Or,” I said, “to convince each of them they’d bought it for her. That way, she could wear it when she was with both of them.”
Milo and Saroyan stared at me.
Saroyan said, “You think in an interesting way, Alex. So we are talking a very crafty woman. But not crafty enough? The husband found out, decided to avenge himself? Then why leave the diamond at the scene?”
“The husband didn’t shoot her, sir. Sorry, I can’t say more.”
“Okay, a hit man,” said Saroyan. “But still, why leave it?”
I said, “If he knew he’d be getting it anyway, there’d be no reason to complicate matters.”
“Ah... intriguing. When you solve it, please let me know, Lieutenant, so I can have a new story.”
A fingertip tapped the smile. “But for now, discretion.”
Milo said, “Thank you, sir. So you find two hundred thousand a credible purchase price?”
“It would be a bargain price, Lieutenant, but not crazy, like one hundred,” said Saroyan. “And again, if there was a cloud over it — anything that put pressure on the deal — that could cheapen it. Or, I suppose, even if not, depending on the circumstance.”
“What circumstance would that be?”
“The right time, the right seller, the right buyer,” said Saroyan. “Like the planets moving together. Buyers sometimes talk big then they try to make complicated deals. Someone with ready cash could benefit. But only at two hundred, not one hundred.”
“Got it,” said Milo. “So if I wanted to purchase a rare purple diamond and get someone to play along with my hundred-thousand story, where would I go?”
“How broad of a geography do you want?”
“There’s no evidence this woman traveled recently so let’s start with locally.”
“Hmm,” said Saroyan. “Obviously, you couldn’t go to Tiffany or Graff or any of the big shots... okay two names of small shots come up in my head but I can’t promise. One, Melulian, has an office in La Jolla. He does very nice rubies and sapphires but last I heard he wasn’t well, heart attack. His sons have no interest in the business, one’s a doctor, the other’s a...” He waved a hand. “Forgive me, when I turned ninety I began to wander mentally... may I ask where this woman lived?”
“Bel Air.”
“Okay, that fits better with the other guy. He’s in Beverly Hills but not on Rodeo, off the main drag on the far west side of Little Santa Monica Boulevard. Bobby Kilic.”
He spelled it, looking up at the ceiling. “Turkish with an Irish mother. Looks like a surfer.”
“You’ve dealt with him.”
“Never,” said Saroyan. “You hear stories — just like this one. A lot of people don’t deal with him but rich people who don’t know better? Why not. And sometimes I hear he does get a great stone. Like a big fancy intense yellow, seven carats. From Africa, from what they tell me, but maybe he also went to Australia for a purple, I don’t know. Or Siberia.” New smile, wider. “In the winter.”
“Bobby Kilic.” Milo scrawled.
“Please do not quote me, Lieutenant. Armenians don’t do well with Turks.”