The Legacy: A Kimberly & Sykes Mystery Novel (12 page)

Lauren’s asleep in the next bed did not help Sykes’ disposition. Sure, he had been around more than one naked woman since his wife died, with some of them he had even spent some time under the sheets, yet Lauren was different. It wasn’t so much because she is attractive, rather, it was because he was attracted to her. While he liked the women he had met in the last couple of years, he had no romantic feelings towards them, only an itch that needed to be scratched. Lauren was different. Something about her hit him right in his solar plexus the minute he had laid eyes on her. It unnerved him.

After his wife died, Sykes was a mess. The pain of her loss cut through him and he spent most of the first year in a fog. He hadn’t cried so much since he was a child and the depth of his grief shook him to his core.

Sykes hated when his friends told him he needed to ‘get out and meet people’, when they didn’t mean people, they meant women. He wanted to scream at the friends who told him ‘all it takes is time’. It isn’t about time, and it certainly isn’t about meeting women. Both time and women had come and gone and still he grieved the loss of his wife. The one thing Sykes had come to understand, was he would never get over the loss, he only hoped to find a way to live with it.

Then he saw Lauren Kimberly walk out of her apartment building and into the limousine. Without any conscious thought, something changed for him in that instant. He felt it. It was as though a switch had activated deep inside and his body started waking up at the cellular level.

Sykes was so unaccustomed to the feeling, he wondered if he was getting sick; could the fluttering he felt be nothing more than the beginnings of a viral infection, had he picked up a bug that was going to lay him low for several days?

It was only when he sat in Lauren’s bedroom, listening to her talk about her father, he realized that he was immensely attracted to her. What he had been feeling was nothing more than his physical response to the attraction. He felt guilty.

Sykes hadn’t made a mindful decision to not fall in love again; he simply had not thought it possible. Yet the more time he spent with Lauren, the more he felt drawn to her, and he recognized it for what it was, a deep caring. In the last two days he was having an internal argument about whether it was O.K. to fall in love again, or, if falling in love again was a betrayal to his wife. So far, neither side was winning.

Sykes was glad to see the dawn so he could get up, and out. He wrapped a towel around his waist under the covers and carried his clothes to the bathroom. Using the supplied disposable razor and small aerosol of shaving cream, he managed to get a decent shave and made a mental note to pick up toothbrushes, hairbrush, and other necessities for Lauren as soon as he was on the road.

Sykes wrote a quick note to say he would be back and asked Lauren to stay put. He placed it on the table and left at first light. ‘Hopefully, I will be back before she wakes up,’ he thought.

Heading for the highway, Sykes passed a twenty four hour drug store. Turning the car around, he parked in the deserted parking lot and walked inside. A few minutes later, he walked out carrying a large bag putting it in the trunk before resuming his journey.

He pulled out his cell phone, slipped it into the ‘hands free’ holder, and dialed. It went straight to voice mail. It was 7:00a.m. Maxwell Hart was the only business executive he had met who wasn’t an early riser. When Sykes first started working with him, Hart made it very clear that he wasn’t, and never had been, an early riser. Quite the contrary, he was a night owl and didn’t hit the sack until after 2:00a.m.

Sykes drove with care and pondered how to break the news of his suspicions to Hart. It wasn’t going to be easy.

Maxwell Hart didn’t live in a mansion though that didn’t mean he had less wealth than Smith. Far from it. Hart was the richest man of the lot. He had made his money in cosmetics. Makeup, skin products, and hair supplies for Black women was a huge industry and Hart entered the marketplace as a young graduate from an Ivy League college some forty years earlier. He started out small, selling his first products to his mother’s beauty clients. Hart soon moved from his mother’s home salon to a small warehouse. Within five years his mother had quit being a hairdresser and was helping him run the business.

These days Hart’s daughter ran the company, leaving him to explore the world of mining investments, something he became interested in after his son graduated as a geologist and went to work in the Brazilian mining industry. His investments in the company and his business acumen secured him a place on the executive team overseeing operations in Brazil where his son headed up the survey group.

After passing the security detail at the gate, Sykes drove slowly up the long driveway to the house. From the front, it didn’t look like much, but Sykes knew the security system alone was worth more than Smith’s mansion. The front of the house was very deceptive; it masked the main expanse - lower than street level - and opened up onto a 20-acre wonderland of gardens, grape vines, and orchards. Hart had his own wine label and supplied private buyers with some of the best vintages available.

As Sykes pulled up to the front door, Hart strolled down the steps dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a teal golf shirt. His dark blue loafers were soft leather, and his sockless feet were just visible beneath the hem of his jeans.

Shaking hands with Sykes, Hart got right down to business. “I got your message, you’re right of course; with some stones it’s hard to know if they are real diamonds or just cheap glass until you have looked at them through a loupe. Even then, it’s not easy. Assessing the quality of the diamond is a completely different ballgame. They have inclusions and blemishes, plus, the actual color is of significance. How many did you find at this house, you said only a few?”

Sykes reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a small cloth bag, and handed it to Hart.

“They were sitting in a webbed pouch on the device we found.”

Hart held the bag in the palm of his hand and poked the stones with a finger. “Humm, yup, definitely not the high-grade stones Daniels’ signed out. I called the lab and told them these are top priority. They will analyze them as soon as they get there. These guys will be able to tell faster than you and me what the quality is. Let’s go in while I make some calls.” Hart strode back into the house with Sykes close behind.

With Hart on the phone arranging the pickup and delivery to the lab technicians, Sykes called Lauren. There was no reply. He was relieved she had not answered and assumed she was angry with him for taking off without her. He would be angry too if the tables were reversed. After all, he did promise they would be at Wendy Barton’s for the search. However, in the midst of his overnight tossing and turning, he knew he had to see Hart first. Something was niggling at the back of his mind and Sykes didn’t like the implications of what was brewing.

With his calls finished, Hart sat down in a Sam Maloof style walnut rocker. His head resting on the chair back, he closed his eyes and gently rocked. Sykes knew he was deep in thought and let him think. After a few minutes, Hart, with his eyes still closed, asked Sykes to bring him up to speed on his investigation.

“I still have grave doubts that Kimberly committed suicide, he had too much going. Detective Harrigan will let me know when the toxicology reports are back; it won’t be too much longer. I won’t be surprised if there is something in his system.”

“But who would kill him? Why?”

“I don’t know, but I think Kimberly must have been suspicious of somebody or something; why else would he move out of the lab and set himself up where nobody could find him?” Sykes continued, pausing to scratch his chin. “He was very concerned someone would damage the analyzer. He said he was close to finishing, only a couple of tests left. Maybe he just felt safer having nobody know where he was working.”

Sykes leaned towards Hart with a smile on his face. “Have you got any coffee on the go? I had a late night and an early morning. A decent cup of coffee would hit the spot nicely.”

Hart roared with laughter. “I’m surprised you waited so long to ask. You should have said something when you arrived. Come on, let’s find you some breakfast and get some coffee in you.”

Sykes followed Hart down the long hallway into the kitchen. He never got used to the opulence of Hart’s kitchen. Designer kitchens didn’t come close to describing the layout. Hart and his friends took turns to host monthly dinner parties and his kitchen was made for catering large groups. It had two large farmhouse sinks, two European dishwashers - one specialized for china and crystal, and an array of copper pots and pans hanging from a suspended rack. Sykes knew many high-end appliances were hidden from sight behind the custom cabinet doors. Even the fridge was colossal, always loaded full of fresh food from Hart’s own gardens. Sykes didn’t hesitate to accept Hart’s offer of an omelette.

The two men talked small talk while Hart deftly moved from fridge to cutting board, chopping and beating, and finally, pouring the mixture into a copper frying pan. Sykes concentrated on gathering his thoughts as he had a lot of information to share and didn’t want to forget anything. He poured his second cup of black coffee just as Hart placed a huge omelette in front of him.

“Wow!” was all he could say. Breathing in the aroma, he took his knife and fork and held his hands poised, ready to dig in.

“It’s sacrilegious to eat this. It looks amazing. Thank you.”

Hart laughed and slapped Sykes on the back. “It’s just eggs, a few scallions, peppers, sliced prosciutto, sun dried tomatoes, a dash of orange juice, a pinch of fresh ground nutmeg, dash of cinnamon…and voila! I do have to say though, other than the prosciutto which I have flown in from France, everything else is from the garden and the chicken coop. We have my wife to thank for that. She grows, I cook.”

Hart’s smile stretched across his face. He was clearly happy to have Sykes enjoy his cooking as much as he was proud to show off the spoils from his garden.

“Oops, almost forgot the bread. Here you are.” Hart placed a basket of fresh Portuguese style rolls and unsalted butter beside Sykes’ plate.

Sykes reverently cut into the omelette and relished his first bite. His lips stretched into a wide smile. As Sykes ate, Hart gathered the cooking dishes and utensils and placed them in an orderly pile at the side of the sink. He washed the copper frying pan in hot soapy water and dried it with a linen tea towel before hanging it back on the rack above his head. Using a damp cloth, he wiped the cook top and buffed it with a soft dry cotton towel. Final cleanup would be left for the housekeeper.

Sykes was enjoying his last fork of omelette when the security staff buzzed. The lab people had arrived for the package. Sykes added his dishes to the pile, taking care to maintain the orderliness, while Hart dealt with the handoff.

With all that done, they moved to the small seating area in the kitchen. Hart made a fresh pot of coffee, placing it in Sykes’ reach after he topped up his own cup.

“Let’s say the machine you found last night is the analyzer we have been looking for. No word yet from the team searching the house, so, let’s also assume that the diamonds are not there. The few you gave me this morning might be worth about twenty thousand dollars – if they are quality stones. Where the heck are the rest?”

“What if Mike Kimberly never had the diamonds?”

Hart spluttered, his coffee staining his golf shirt and slacks. He jumped up, and he reached for a kitchen towel, and dabbed at his clothes. “Bloody hell Sykes! Where the heck do you get that idea from?”

“Sorry,” Sykes said smiling at Hart’s antics. “We’re working on the assumption that Daniels actually gave Kimberly the diamonds, but, why wouldn’t they be with the analyzer? Lauren remains convinced that Kimberly wouldn’t steal anything. So, where could they be? We only have Daniels’ word that he gave them to Kimberly. We need to consider that Daniels might still have them.”

“Shit! This is getting more and more of a nightmare every day. How far have you come with Smith and Daniels? You said Bertold and St. John were clean, what about the other two?”

****

A few weeks earlier, Hart had called Sykes to his house for a confidential meeting. Sykes had expected the senior executive to be present and was surprised to find he was the only invitee. Hart told Sykes the company was going to undergo some drastic changes once the analyzer was in operation. He explained that the financial savings would be enormous, enough so that the major investors, including the executive, would personally benefit by several million dollars each - on an annual basis. Hart was concerned about potential sabotage and wanted to know if the project was safe. Schematics for the analyzer would fetch a hefty price. Sykes was tasked with making sure there were no potential threats, including bribery.

“Smith is broke. But I don’t think he is involved in anything sketchy.”

“How the hell can Adam Smith be broke? He must be third or fourth generation old money.”

“And that’s exactly why,” countered Sykes. “The old money was mostly invested. Smith lived off the earnings. By the time the economy tanked in 08, he had lost over seventy five percent of his investments. Smith isn’t poor by most people’s standards; nevertheless, he certainly can’t live the same lifestyle he used to, or anything like it. He and his wife have curtailed all of their extravagances and sold off most of their art collection to stay afloat. This project is the only thing that will turn the tables back in his favor. He would be the last person to sabotage it.”

Hart frowned. “Well, that’s bad news for him and his family. No wonder he has been stressed. Now it makes sense. What about Daniels?”