CHAPTER 1

She was perfect—a tall, slim redhead with a mouth that looked likeLeonardo had found a way to improve the Mona Lisa. Green eyes,with maybe a far-off Latin hint, flawless skin. She looked abouttwenty-five or so and wore the casual but elegant tennis outfit that wasalmost a requirement for Roswell housewives. It had a classic new look onher. Diamonds circled her lovely neck. A very expensive emerald tennisbracelet was hard to miss too. All in all, a fine package. You could tellshe was used to being admired, but it didn't seem to affect her. I saw hergive me a quick appraisal and remain unimpressed. She was confident,not arrogant. She moved up to my desk and held out her hand.

"Mr. Novak? My name is Carol Chambers. I called earlier."

I stood and held her hand for as long as I could without seemingobvious. I failed.

"Yes. Please sit down."

She moved easily into a chair. "It was nice of you to see me. RoxanneRoden recommended you. Said you were a discreet detective and ..."She paused, smiling. "And wholesomely aggressive."

Roxanne had been a frequent sexual partner several years ago whenwe started seeing each other; she'd been in between husbands. I bailedher out of a blackmail jam, and she made it worth my while. In a lot ofways. We'd certainly been aggressive with each other; neither one ofus wanted anything wholesome. Whatever else this Chambers womanwas, her friendship with Roxanne meant she ran in rich-bitch circles.Roxie was a very clever woman who used men, drugs, and other women,sometimes simultaneously. I wondered what else she had told CarolChambers about me: that I was a man who shunned commitments likethe plague; an alcoholic; late thirties and looking older; obnoxious abouthis fondness for Bobby Darin? At least I was kind to cats.

"And how is the lovely Roxanne?" I said.

"She's still lovely. Remarried now."

"That's good to hear." I didn't care about her marriage, but it wasconversation. "And what can I do for you, Mrs. Chambers?"

She stared at me for a moment. "I thought my last name might—well,I suppose Chambers isn't all that unique." She took a deep breath. "Doyou recall the news story about my husband Don's death—murder-abouttwo years ago here in Roswell? The body was found on VintageRoad." It was obviously difficult for her to talk about.

I did remember it—very well. Anyone in our area of Atlanta wouldhave. It was a gruesome story and had a big play in the papers and ontelevision for almost six months. Donald Chambers's headless body hadbeen found in the woods off Vintage. He had been there about a week.His body was covered with at least a dozen deep knife wounds. Thefingerprints weren't too far gone for an ID. His wallet and a few hundredbucks were intact, so probably not a robbery. There was speculationabout a drug deal gone wrong, and the police hinted at some deviantsexual involvement that was never explained. He was a wealthy Deltapilot, well known. The whole thing was the talk of the Roswell tennisset for months. And the cops never found his head.

"Yes. I do remember. I'm sorry for your loss."

She nodded. "Thank you. I'm sure you can tell I'm not close to beingover it. It's hard to bring it all back." She was either a great actress orreally feeling it.

"I understand. I'm assuming the police have never found themurderer or we would have read about it."

"That's correct. There's hasn't been a word from them in almost twoyears. Frankly, I don't think they've ever really pursued the case." Herlovely mouth was grim as she touched her diamond necklace.

I wanted a cigarette but was into my third week after quitting coldturkey, and I ignored the craving for a while. I wanted a drink, too,but then again, I always wanted a drink. "I was a Roswell cop for twoyears. There are some good ones and others who are just putting in time,waiting to retire."

"Yes, I guess I had more of the latter."

"Mrs. Chambers, I don't know how I can help you after all thistime. The police may have been slow, but they have access to manymore avenues of research and investigation than I do. I'm sure they'vecovered every lead. How can I help?" I knew this was a cold, dead case,but it was worth watching her while she talked.

"There are things—things I never told the police. Things that mayhelp."

"And why didn't you tell the police?"

"Donald—Don—told me—that is, he asked me ..." She stopped andfolded her hands in her lap and looked up, trying hard to control herself."This is where the discreet part comes in, Mr. Novak."

"Please call me Jack."

Another deep breath. "I met Don about five years ago. He was flyingfor Delta. He was older—thirty years older than I was—divorced, agenuinely nice guy." She looked up, staring directly at me. "I hadn'tmet many men like Don in my life."

"Go on."

"The truth is, I was—I was working for an escort service in Houston.I made good money and really didn't care where my life was going.There were lots of men, drugs, and—other things. I was at a DeltaAirlines party and happened to meet Don." Tears shone in her eyes."The short story is—he changed my life."

"How so?"

She looked past my head, toward the ceiling. "Don accepted me asI was despite my ... background and previous lifestyle. He never askedme anything about myself, but I told him the whole story—everything.He never criticized or tried to change me. He and his son completelyaccepted me into their lives."

I had forgotten a son was involved. "Is his son still—does he stilllive at home?"

"Yes. Hank—Henry—is twenty and in his second year at Georgianow. He still comes home on weekends."

With a stepmother who looked like this, I wondered why heever left for college. "Mrs. Chambers, I have to ask. Was there—isthere—anything ...?"

"You want to know if Hank and I ever had a relationship. Theanswer is no. The police pursued that avenue for several weeks, alongwith other accusations I resented." She sounded bitter.

"It's an obvious angle in a murder case like this, especially whenyour ages are so close."

"I would never have done anything like that to Don—even after hewas ... gone. Besides, Hank and I are just good friends."

I wondered just how good as I admired her body once again. "Mrs.Chambers, exactly what is it you'd be expecting me to do for you?"

"I want you to find my husband's murderer, or murderers. I don'tcare how long it takes." She paused and looked down at her foldedhands. "And there's something else."

I waited, still wanting a cigarette.

"My husband was a B-52 pilot in Vietnam. Flew over two hundredmissions, including the Hanoi bombings. He was very proud of hisservice."

"That's admirable, but I don't see how it—"

"Part of the time he was stationed at a small B-52 base in Thailand,on the Gulf."

"Yes, Utapao. I heard about it from some of the old timers when Iwas in the service."

"That's right. Toward the end of Vietnam, Don and his crew—theywere very close—came into possession of a large number of preciousstones." Again, she reached up to touch the diamonds at her throat."Rubies and sapphires from a remote mine somewhere on the Thaiborder, he said."

That did it. She had me. The way she looked was enough, but theprecious stones angle made her impossible to resist.

"What do you mean by `came into possession,' Mrs. Chambers?"

"Don was reluctant to explain. I guessed it wasn't exactly legal." Shepaused again. "He told me some people were killed."

"Any idea how much the stones are worth?"

She stared at me for a moment. "Don said several million."

I doubted that. "Uncut stones are hard to value. How did he comeup with that figure?"

"Don took them to a friend, an American appraiser retired inBangkok—someone he had flown with and trusted. He said he onlyshowed the man a few jewels, telling him he found them along theThai coast. Evidently the man was quite impressed and gave him anestimated value. He said they were of a very high quality. Don got amore recent appraisal from a reputable man in Hong Kong, who valuedthem even higher. I don't know how many stones actually exist, but Donled me to believe there were quite a few. He did the math and came upwith an approximate value."

"And who knows about all this?"

"His crew, of course, but four of them are dead now. A B-52 has sixcrew members. Me. And Hank."

"Anyone else?"

She sighed. "Right before Don was murdered, he told me some Asianmen had been following him. He was sure they were after the gems."This time she put her hands to her face. "I think they murdered Donfor the jewels. I never told any of this to the police."

It was my turn to take a deep breath. "And where are the gems?"

"I don't know. Don was the only one who knew. He said he hadhidden them somewhere in the area. He left some papers he said wereclues in our safe at home. I've looked at them, but they mean nothing tome. The notes appear to be written in some Asian language."

"Mrs. Chambers, there are a couple of things that don't make senseto me. First, it's been more than thirty years since the end of the VietnamWar. Why didn't your husband do something about the gems for all thattime?"

"He said he tried to sell them several times over the years but therewere complications. He and most of his crew were still in the air forcefor several years after Vietnam and wanted to stay until retirement. Andthere was a formal investigation—because of the deaths in Thailand.Don and his crew were never charged, but they were under suspicionfor some time."

"But surely the crew must have wanted some money out of thisbefore now?"

"As I said, four of them have passed away. A few were fairly welloff. Don was actually quite wealthy himself. He had inherited somesubstantial family money, plus his air force retirement and a good jobwith Delta. Part of the problem was the fear that doing something withthe gems might trigger the old investigation. As I said, some people hadbeen killed."

"And his crew was okay with this?"

"Yes. They agreed to let Don handle it when he thought the time wasright. If any of them needed money, they came to Don. He was alwaysvery generous. You have to understand that the crew was fiercely loyal;Don had been their commander. He kept them safe through many toughmissions. They were almost killed over Hanoi. But he was getting readyto do something with the gems when—"

"Is it possible the remaining crew members are involved in hisdeath?"

"I can't imagine that could be true. I've met them. Some of them havebeen to our home. I never sensed any problems or disagreements."

"You said that no one else knew about the gems, but you also saidthere had been an investigation—by the air force."

"Yes."

"So could anyone from the air force be involved in this—in hismurder—because of the gems?"

Her eyes widened slowly. "I never considered that. I suppose it'spossible."

I shook my head. "Mrs. Chambers, I'm sorry, but this is a lot biggersituation than I usually handle. I do divorces and blackmails andpolitical crap. Murders and Asians and gemstones are more than a littleout of my league. My advice is to go to the police and tell them whatyou've told me."

She frowned. "What good would that do? They accomplishednothing the first time. And I don't want the publicity starting upagain. Please. Please at least try. I know how difficult this is, and I'mnot expecting miracles. Those gems are mine now and I want them,dammit. You don't know—it's been so hard with Don gone. I get thesefeelings ..." Suddenly she stopped and smiled strangely at me; shecrossed her legs slowly. "In addition to your usual fees, we can come tosome agreement about the gems, if you find them. Call it a commission.Perhaps twenty percent of their value?" She leaned slightly toward me."And call me Carol."

As if millions of dollars in gems weren't enough, she definitelyknew how to motivate men. Especially men like me. Our mutual friendRoxanne must have tipped her off. Roxie got high on whatever the drugof the month was. I got high on women. And Jameson. And I hadn'tgotten high in quite a while. I kept staring at her mouth. And her legs.It was easy to make up my mind. Besides, I had nothing else going on.

"Let's do this, Mrs. Cham—Carol. I'll give it two weeks. My feeis $250 a day plus expenses. At the end of that time, we can assesswhere we are and whether or not it makes sense to keep going. If we docontinue and I locate the gems, we can discuss a further commission.Is that satisfactory?"

She smiled as if she knew she had me. She was right.

"That's fine. Thank you."

"In the meantime, please make me a list of people who were closefriends of your husband's, both here in Roswell and others from theservice that you may know about. I'll need addresses and phone numbersif you have them. I'm especially interested in his former crew members,of course."

"I'll have the list tonight. If you'll stop by the house, you can pickit up, along with a check. Say about eight?"

She reached out for my hand, and this time she let me hold it aslong as I wanted.

CHAPTER 2

Roswell police headquarters were only a couple of miles from myoffice. With the traffic the way it was—always bad—I could havewalked there faster than I drove it. The building hadn't changeda bit. Square, gray, three stories, flag at the entrance. The architecturehad no imagination at all. Neither did most of the cops. For a while ithad been home. And there were still a few good friends.

Sgt. Homer Kenney, with the inevitable nickname of "Homes," wasin his office, a pile of papers centered before him and a large cup ofcoffee beside the pile. Homes had been my training officer during myninety-day rookie break-in period, and we hit it off. Turned out we hada lot in common. He liked the ladies, the Braves, and beer. We kept thefriendship going after I left and had shared some tough times together.Homes was the only cop in Roswell who had been shot three timesin the line of duty. He claimed one of them was because of a jealoushusband, but we all knew better. I would trust him with anything. Nowhe handled some cold cases but was still active on the street. He wasalso one of the most respected officers on the force and knew everyonein town. I knocked on the open door. "Hey, Homes."

"Jack, my favorite alcoholic. How's the private peeper business?Have a seat." He looked grayer and heavier. Must be fifty now.

"Fair, Homes. Just fair. I need a favor."

He smiled and tilted his chair back. "I ought to get a ten-percent cutof your business, but I'd take a ten-percent cut of your women."

I laughed. "You'd come out on the short end either way. But I dohave kind of a woman problem."

"Your only problem is listening to that goddamned Bobby Darin allthe time. It's poisoned your mind. Probably why you drink so damnedmuch." He gave me that straight-on, no-shit look he had. "And how'sthat going, by the way—the drinking?"

I grinned at him. "Not a drop in nineteen months and seven days."

"Sounds like you might have it licked, buddy."

"No way, Homes. I can feel it every day. Every hour."

He straightened his chair and took a sip of coffee. "Well, how aboutsome coffee? Want a cup?"

"No thanks. You're probably still reheating the stuff you made twoyears ago. Homes, you got anything I can see on the Chambers murderfrom a few years back?"

His eyes widened a little. "You mean the headless guy we found outin the woods? The one with the hooker wife?"

"Yeah, that's the one. Why do you call her a hooker?"

He sighed and smiled. "Jesus, Jack, don't tell me you're dating theChambers broad. Aren't you ever attracted to any normal women?There's that Darin influence again. Christ, listen to some Sinatra, forGod's sake."

"Yeah, like Sinatra was attracted to normal women. Carol Chamberslooks pretty normal to me, Homes. Super-normal. Perfect, maybe." Iwinked back at him.

"Well, I'll give you that. She's a babe, for sure." He got up from hisdesk and walked to a series of file cabinets along the wall. He openedone, flipped through some tabs, and finally pulled one out.

"It goes without saying that I'm not supposed to do this, right?" Hehanded me the file.

"Right. I'll just sit here and look through it; maybe make some notes.Unless I'm keeping you from something?"