Eighteen years ago there had been a daring robbery at Werthen's (Jeweler to the Stars.) Fifty million dollars worth of precious gems had been taken. They were gone. The jewels had totally disappeared. Even though the police were fortunate enough to have captured the culprit.
They had captured the burglar's face on a hidden video camera, and they even had his fingerprints on a banana peel near the safe, though not on the safe itself. The district attorney had built up an iron-clad case against Ethan Crosley, a career criminal, suspected in many other jewel heists. He had had an alibi, of course. He said he had spent the entire evening with his girlfriend, Mona Kensley at Dilly's, a local ice cream parlor, and that they had each had six chocolate Sundays. Later investigation, however, revealed that Dilly's had been closed that night when the refrigeration failed, and that Mona had spent the entire night at Candace Carney's. Candace owned the local whorehouse. She was a career madam. Candace herself testified that Mona had serviced forty-two men that night, one after the other, and not one of them had been Ethan Crosley. Both Mona, and Madam Candace had made quite a bundle for themselves. Candace was forced to reveal the names of the johns to the police, who were very decent about it, and did not tell their wives. Each of the men corroborated the story, and gave Mona excellent reviews in cocksucking, plus vaginal and anal intercourse.
The prosecution had won a conviction, and Ethan Crosley had been sentenced to twenty years in prison. International Re, the big insurance company, was in an awful position. They were on the hook for fifty million dollars. Unless.....Unless.....they could recover the jewels.
They tried everything they could. They tried to have Ethan tortured to reveal the location of the jewels. His lips were sealed. They promised to get him an immediate pardon, and set him at large again in the community, if only he would divulge the location of the jewels. His lips were sealed. Obviously his plan was to wait it out. To serve his twenty years, and then disappear. A fabulously wealthy jewel thief.
International Re had paid the claim thirteen years ago. But they wanted their money back. They were not about to give in so easily. They wanted to recover those jewels.
I had recently been hired by International Re as an investigator. The only talk around the office was 'Ethan Crosley' and the 'fifty million dollar stash of jewels.' Ethan's release date was only two years in the future now. Not much time to get him to reveal the information we needed. I was intrigued. I knew it would be quite a feather in my cap, if I could solve the case and recover the booty. This was a real career builder.
I began to be obsessed with those jewels. More than anyone else at International Re, I wanted to be the one responsible for recovering them. My name would be on page one of every newspaper in the country. 'Warren Westing, Master Detective, recovers stolen treasure.' I was Warren Westing, of course.
If only I could get close to Ethan Crosley. Be a friend to him. Be a Confidante. Yes. I needed to become a Confidante. A mad scheme started percolating in my brain. I made an appointment with Matt Rosenbee, the CEO of International Re.
At three o'clock the next afternoon, I approached Flossie's desk. Flossie was Matt Rosenbee's private secretary. Her desk stood right outside of his office door, which she guarded with the ferocity of a mother tiger.
"May I help you?" she asked me, without even looking up. I could have been the janitor for all she knew. No. I guess I couldn't have been the janitor. I was wearing a blue suit. I'm sure she saw my blue suit.
"I have an appointment with Mr. Rosenbee, Flossie," I said. She must have known that. She had made the appointment for me, when I called. She had conveyed my message to Matt Rosenbee that I had an idea about how to get the jewels back, and he had agreed to see me.
"Yes," she said. "You'll have to wait a few minutes. He's having his donut and coffee. Sit down." She gestured to the row of seats behind me. I sat. Donuts and coffee? I had this brilliant idea, and he was having donuts and coffee? I wondered what kind of donuts. Filled or glazed?
From the table beside me, I picked up this week's edition of the popular economics journal, 'Trickle Down.' I was reading about the latest merger in the Pharmaceuticals industry. Perkins Hodges was buying Lakeford Pills, with the object of eliminating Lakeford's cholestorol pill, Zapadril, which had been in competition with their own drug, Mucor. After eliminating Zapadril, they would be able to quintuple the price of Mucor. I was in the middle of the article, when Flossie called me.
"All right," she said. "You can go in now."
I replaced the magazine on the top of the pile on the table, and walked towards Rosenbee's door. I entered his office and shut the door behind me. He was wiping his lips with a paper napkin. A small leftover crescent of donut sat on the china plate, which he now pushed aside. The donut had been glazed. Maple.
He gestured to the armchair across the big desk from him.
"What can I do for you, Westin?" He asked me.
"I have an idea about the jewels," I said.
"Yes. Yes. That's what Flossie told me. Very interesting. Would you care to tell me about this idea of yours?"
"That's why I'm here, sir," I patiently explained.
"Well. Out with it, then. I'm all a-twitter."
Was he being sarcastic?
"Well. I was thinking. Maybe I could become Crosley's friend."
"Oh," he nodded. "It's that simple. You can become Crosley's friend. And he'll tell you where the jewels are?"
"That's sort of what I was thinking, sir."
"Are you crazy?" He started screaming at me.
"But if we became very good friends.....???" I was beginning to realize that my idea might sound ridiculous. Why would Crosley ever pick me as a friend? Why would he ever trust me? If he had never told anyone in eighteen years, whyever would he tell me? My coming here had been a mistake. I had deluded myself with dreams of glory. All those headlines in my mind, had convinced me that I was invincible. That I could do anything. That I could get the information. I was a fool. I tried to save my dignity as best I could. "I could be very friendly, sir. I could be very sympathetic. He's probably never had a caring sympathetic buddy. I could provide a shoulder for him to cry on. If he began to pour out his heart to me, if I could get him to bare his soul??? I don't know. Maybe you're right. Maybe I am crazy."
"Yesss," he said slowly. "It would probably never work. But still, maybe, maybe, maybe, it might be worth at least a try? I mean. We have nothing to lose, now, do we?"
"No, sir," I assured him.
"How would we do it?" he asked me. "How would you get to be his friend?"
"I would need your help, sir."
"What were you thinking of?"
"Well. I would need to get into that prison. Preferably into the same cell? I don't know if that would be possible."
"I don't know," he said.
"You would have to have a lot of records faked, showing that I was some kind of a criminal. But you would also have to get the real facts on file somewhere. Like. In case you got hit by a bus, I would be able to prove that I was an investigator, not a criminal, so that I wouldn't spend the rest of my life behind bars."
"That sounds reasonable," he agreed.
"Some big official's office would have to be in on it with us."
"I could make all the arrangements through The Federal Bureau of Reinsurance in Washington. That way everything is covered. Everything is professional. Everything is legal. There would be no danger for you."
I thought this over. It sounded like a good plan. "Okay," I decided.
"You're sure you want to go through with this?" He cocked his head.
