THE CAT’S PAW
A SHORT STORY BY RICHARD SWAIN
The detective considered 3 items to have greater importance, the partially completed manuscript, the pawn ticket, and the art gallery photo.
The missing persons report came in early Saturday morning. The landlady said her tenant across the hallway was missing and the apartment appeared ransacked. Luis Martin, the junior member of the 62nd Precinct missing persons team went to the address on 20th Street. As he pulled up to the five story walk-up, he noted the first floor iron grill and window open on the left side. Ringing the manager’s unit, a female voice answered, and the buzzer unlocked the front door.
She wore a blue terry cloth robe over a night gown, blue slippers, and a simple net covering her gray hair. Mrs. Harris was a widow in her seventies and had been the landlady for the past 20 years. She described the tenant across the hall as a single young woman who was a successful writer. She showed a magazine called “The Brooklyn Rail” and said Shelly had a story published. Luis noted the date was five years earlier. “Please tell me what you know,” he said.
Mrs. Harris led him back into the hallway and spoke. “I always go out to get my Daily News on the front stoop at 8:30 a.m. This morning I see Shelly’s door left open and this is not normal. I call out her name several times and there is no answer. I’m the landlady, so I figure I can go in. Turning on the light, oh what a mess, drawers pulled out and everything thrown on the floor, that’s when I run back to my apartment and call the police.”
Martin thanked the woman, asked for a spare key, any tenant information, and said he would check back with her before leaving. Putting on lightweight cotton gloves, he entered the apartment. Ransacked was the right term for the police report. Papers, books, and anything able to be tossed was tossed. Clearly someone was looking for something. Looking to the right he saw the open window he had observed from the street. Walking across the littered floor he noted a black paw print on the window sill. It had the appearance of a stamp imprint in black ink. This was the first of perhaps 100 pictures he took that morning. Luis saw the same paw stamp one more time before he left the place secured with yellow cordon tape. Once outside, he scrutinized the cement area under the opened window, and the last picture was a fresh scuff mark perhaps left from a person jumping from the opening.
NYPD 62nd Precinct is at the South end of Brooklyn on Bath Ave and across from Staten Island. Check out the internet and you can read “the nicest cops I ever dealt with.” With that kind of press, Luis was determined to get answers about the young writer named Shelly. The tenant index card only added the last name of Walker. The phone number listed was no longer active. A Google inquiry confirmed the published short story in the Rail, and listed a Shelly Walker as a graduate of the NYU Creative Writing Program. Both sources showed a picture that was clearly the same young woman. This was a start. He organized the pictures and often attached a post-it-note with comments. He would miss the soccer game tomorrow.
Sunday was a beautiful mid-October day, and Luis walked from the station to the apartment building. His wife Camila always encouraged him to exercise whenever possible, and here was an opportunity. He had a restless night of sleep as the pictures paraded through his semi-conscious thoughts. His family moved from Puerto Rico in the early nineties when he was ten years old, and he felt he was always trying to prove himself to others.
Again, the starting point was to wear gloves for protecting any possible evidence that could prove helpful to this case. Sitting at the desk, he first studied the picture in the broken glass frame. He dusted it for prints, but found nothing. Shelly was dressed to the nines and standing next to a young man wearing a tuxedo. Behind them was a painting that was somewhat familiar. He made a note to get an answer on this piece of art. What screamed out as unusual was her jewelry. Perhaps it was fake, but if real, the emeralds and diamonds were more for Elizabeth Taylor or the Queen of England. He took a close up picture.
The next item that had his attention was the handwritten manuscript on yellow ruled paper. There were perhaps forty pages and still in order. He found numerous fingerprints that he catalogued. On the first page was the title “The Cat’s Paw.” Next to the title was the same paw stamp that was on the window sill. He read the opening paragraph.
“The orange cat had stepped in the black ink pooled on the writer’s desk. One inked paw print was on the table top, two more prints were on the floor moving toward the window, and the final print was on the opened window sill. This was no ordinary cat, the collar she wore was a stunning thin bracelet of diamonds and emeralds.”
Luis quickly read several more pages, opened a plastic zipper case, and sealed the contents. Picking up the pawn ticket with tweezers, he placed it in a clear envelope, and studied the information. He was familiar with Gem Pawnbrokers on Flatbush Avenue. This was his day for exercise as Gem was walking distance and such places are open 24/7.
Showing his badge to the clerk behind the iron grill window, he requested information on ticket # GP75436. After a few minutes, the clerk came back with an older man who introduced himself as Mr. Rosen the owner. He spoke in a deferential manner to the policeman, but explained he could provide no information without a court order. Luis was also soft spoken and polite. He explained he could have a signed court order by Friday, but that a life might be at risk, and such a wait would be remembered if Gem had an urgent need in the future. He was led to a back room.
Mr. Rosen brought a small metal black tray to the table along with a worn book with numerous tabs. Luis noted the cover was titled “S to Z.” Opening the tray, the owner removed a velvet black bag and opened the pouch.
Luis often worked 60 hours a week, and at his junior level received two weeks of vacation a year. His annual salary was $45,000, and claiming overtime pay beyond the standard 40 hours a week was frowned upon if you were trying to move up the ladder. His first thought was that this gleaming thin diamond and emerald bracelet was probably worth two years of salary. His second thought was the opening paragraph of the manuscript he just read.
The owner described the diamond and emerald bracelet set in white gold as an exquisite Bvlgari worth approximately $100,000. Opening the book, he paged to “Walker” and spoke. “Michelle Walker, what else do you want to know?” “Give me some details on this transaction, and other information in your book. She is missing and foul play may be a factor,” the detective said.
Rosen described Ms. Walker as a valued customer due to the quality of her items pawned. She usually requested a loan well below the allowable amount available, and for that reason he offered a discounted interest charge plus the normal storage and ticket fee. She would bring in the bracelet, borrow $10,000, and eventually repay the loan, only to repeat the process several times a year. On two past occasions, rather than pawn the bracelet, she pawned a pair of emerald and diamond Bvlgari earrings valued at $85,000. Martin immediately thought of the picture in her apartment but said nothing further. He gave his card to the owner and requested a call if Ms. Walker made any contact.
As Luis started walking back to the Precinct, Rosen came out of the store and beckoned him to return. The owner realized he had failed to disclose something of possible importance to the detective. All high-end Bvlgari jewelry have a small engraved identification code etched on the underside, and all Ms. Walker’s pieces were marked MW49TX.
Back at his desk, the detective read a text his wife Camila had sent. She had a friend in the fine art world, and Luis had shown her a close-up of the painting behind Shelly and her escort. The text read “portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer by Gustav Klimt in 1907, and purchased by Ronald Lauder for $135 million. Often referred to as ‘the woman in gold,’ the painting hangs in the Neue Galerie at 1048 5th Avenue.”
Senior detectives had their own office, while Luis had a dark corner in a windowless part of the main precinct room. He had fashioned a large cork board behind his desk for casework, and accepted the friendly kidding for his elaborate layouts. Camila gave him different colors of yarn that would cross the board tying together patterns of evidence that could help build a case of discovery. He spent the remainder of the day creating the “Walker Case.” Monday would be a busy day in New York City with stops at NYU, Bvlgari, and the Neue Galerie.
The Lillian Vernon Creative Writers House in Greenwich Village serves as the home for NYU students with a writing major. As always, his badge opened the door to helpful information. Yes, she was a graduate, and they carried her name as both Shelly Walker and Michelle Walker. She was active in the alumni writers association and had attended an event within the last month. Luis had made a copy of the Neue Galerie picture, and was fortunate to have the receptionist recognize the man as familiar. He called himself Chester Parsons, and often attached himself to women writers in the program or alumni. She volunteered her opinion that he would often take advantage of others generosity, and he definitely was never a student. Before heading over to Fifth Avenue, Luis called the precinct and requested any information on this person of interest.
The detective felt a little chill behind the back of his neck as he viewed the portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer hanging as the prized painting in the Neue Galerie. To Martin’s thinking, both pictures of Adele and Shelly reflected elegant, poised, and confident women. Klimt’s friend and patron was in her new home, it was his responsibility to bring Shelly back to hers. The manager studied the picture of Walker and her escort and assumed it was taken at the premier opening in 2006, but did not recognize the couple.
The Bvlgari store manager was quite helpful in interpreting the code MW49TX. The first two letters would identify the purchaser, 49 would be the year of purchase or 1949, and the last two letters would indicate a country or state of the buyer, and in this case he assumed Texas. The manager said a file would be stored under this code at the headquarters in Italy, and he would request the information by fax. He also clarified a question of curiosity as to the brand’s name. The Greek founding family name is Bulgari, but they use the classical Latin alphabet Bvlgari for the trademark. Luis felt safe in assuming MW was Michelle Walker. From information gathered at NYU, Shelly’s birthdate was in 1982. A buyer in 1949 was probably not her mother, but perhaps a grandmother? Back to the cork board, the manuscript, and the internet. A Google inquiry of “Michelle Walker” listed numerous possible individuals, and one in particular stood out to the detective. The name was linked to an article titled “Oil Heiress Declares Bankruptcy.” It was time to add a different color of yarn to the board.
Angus Walker emigrated from Scotland in the late eighteen hundreds, and bought a 35,000 acre cattle ranch near Midland Texas. This dry and barren land was good for dust and wind, but provided a hard scrabble life to those that tried to make a living. All this changed dramatically in the nineteen twenties when oil was discovered in what we now know as the Permian Basin of West Texas and New Mexico. Angus was soon a very wealthy man. At his death, his only child, Michelle Walker, became a very wealthy woman.
Those in the oil business always use the term feast or famine. In early 1982, oil was priced as high as $102 a barrel and by 1986 down to a low of $10. Too often an oil person will expand their operation by borrowing in the good times, and then risk going under during the down cycle. The article told the story of the famed Walker Ranch being sold at auction, and the heiress left with nothing but her red Cadillac convertible.
It was Tuesday morning and Luis was studying the manuscript. It was clear to the detective that this story held clues that needed uncovering. The setting was Rome in 1905. A beautiful young woman was the lover of a famed jeweler in the Italian house of Bvlgari. Each year he would give her a precious piece of jewelry as a token of his love. Her name was Electra, and her hair was the color of brilliant orange. In Greek, Electra means sparkling or fiery sun.
What held Martin’s attention were the annual gifts that started with a diamond and emerald bracelet, emerald earrings trimmed with diamonds in the second year, and a diamond and emerald necklace for the third. He suspected a finished story would include additional pieces. He marked his calendar for a visit to The Brooklyn Rail magazine office. He would show them the manuscript, reference her published article, and see what information they might offer. The precinct receptionist handed him a faxed picture just as his phone rang. Before answering, he recognized Chester Parsons standing at a familiar counter.
Mr. Rosen of Gem Pawnbrokers called, and said a young man came in with $12,000 in cash, described the bracelet in question, and tried to retrieve the item. He said the pawn ticket was lost, but his girlfriend gave him the payoff money and insisted that the owner would recognize him as being her friend. The owner said he did in fact recognize the man as coming in with Ms. Walker in past times. With no ticket he refused the man and said Ms. Walker would need to file a court request for proof of ownership. “Did you see the picture I just faxed, the man became quite belligerent ” said Rosen. Luis said yes, and thanked him for his ongoing help. “Under no circumstances do you give him the bracelet, and he could be armed” added the detective. The editor at The Brooklyn Rail was quick to recognize Shelly Walker as a contributor. They had published several of her short stories over the past seven years, and understood that she was attempting to write a full length novel. No, she had not been seen for several months, but the personal section in the online newsletter could be a way to reach out to her. As Luis was leaving, he was struck by a sign on the wall titled “A NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER.” It read, “From the Crooked Timber of Humanity, nothing ever comes out straight.” All the detective could do as he walked out of the building was nod his head in complete agreement.
Sitting in his car, he opened an email with an attachment. The NYPD database had a record of a Chester Parsons being an alias for Chester John Higgins, a petty criminal whose last known address was in Hoboken New Jersey. The mugshot confirmed his person of interest, and he replied requesting an APB.
Luis met with his boss to update him on the progress of his investigation. The senior detective held a special pride for this determined young man who one day might replace him. He felt Martin was resourceful, thorough in his analysis, and operated with the highest level of integrity. The $300 request for ad placement was immediately approved.
An online posting was placed in “The Brooklyn Rail” and in the daily forum of the NYU Writers Program. The posting read “Shelly Walker/MW49TX NYPD Luis Martin.” Social media also had positives for law enforcement as a way to make contact, so a similar posting was placed on Shelly’s Facebook page. Sitting at his desk, Luis picked up the broken glass frame to once again look at Shelly and the now identified Higgins. The glass started to shift and fall out of the frame. “Damn” he cursed, as a piece of glass cut into his thumb and the frame crashed to the office floor. Pulling over a wastebasket to clean-up his mess, he spotted a piece of paper behind the picture.
The letter was yellowed with age, but quite legible to read, and was dated March 1, 2002. It read “Precious Granddaughter, as you move closer to your graduation, this is the only financial inheritance I have left to pass on. I know one day you will be a very successful writer, and these jewels can be worn, pawned, or sold as your needs dictate. Your mother, if she were living, would agree. She loved Texas soil, while you and I loved red Cadillacs and fancy parties. Love to you, Grandma Michelle.” Now Martin needed the file from the home office of Bvlgari.
Checking his email and phone messages early Wednesday morning, Luis was disappointed to have no news. He called the Bvlgari store and learned that the manager was out sick. Pressing further, the detective held his anger when told that the fax had arrived the previous afternoon. Five minutes later, he was reading the record. June 15, 1949, Dallas Texas, purchase of five pieces of matching jewelry, all emeralds and diamonds set in white gold. The items in order were, bracelet, earrings, necklace, brooch, and hat pin. All five pieces marked with the code MW49TX. It was the last entry that left a pit in his stomach. The brooch was recently sold back to the Boston store for $45,000. The seller was Chester Parsons. Luis paid $150 out of his own pocket to run the online personal for two more days.
The break came on Friday morning with a telephone call that was relayed from the NYPD headquarters. Martin took a deep breath when he heard the young woman introduce herself as Shelly Walker. “He will kill me for my jewelry” she said. Luis listened to the story of love, betrayal, theft, and now threats. He told her of his investigation and a possible plan. Shelly felt imprisoned in her circumstances, and agreed to the detective’s scheme.
At ten o’clock, Saturday morning, Shelly entered Gem Pawnbrokers. Ten minutes later as she left the building, she placed a black velvet bag in her purse and walked back to her apartment. The yellow tape had been removed from the front door, and the apartment was cleaned and orderly. She prepared a pot of tea and laid her manuscript on the writers desk. As treacherous as the last week had been, she had exciting ideas for the completion of her novel. Taking her talisman from the desk drawer, she imprinted the cat’s paw on the new page, and also stamped the back of her left hand.
The Sunday morning Daily News is always a highlight for Mrs. Harris. There are special sections on fashion and the arts that she will savor for the remainder of the week. Retrieving the paper from the stoop, she was surprised by a man who pushed his way into the hallway saying he was a friend of Shelly Walker. She objected to his entry and said the protocol was to ring from outside to be admitted. He ignored her complaint as he knocked loudly on the door and called out, “It’s Chester, please open.”
Shelly opened the door. She was dressed in a warm-up and wore running shoes. “Thank you Mrs. Harris, everything is fine” she said, and Chester entered the apartment. She walked over to the desk, sat down and looked up to the man. He apologized for scaring her and trashing the apartment. “I’m desperate,” he said. “Give me the bracelet and I will disappear from your life forever. It’s all I need to get my new start.” She replied, “How can I trust you, you stole my brooch and have threatened me physically.”
Chester pointed toward the front door and placed a finger over his lips to indicate quiet. He pulled a chair over by the desk, sat down, and quietly spoke. “I had you followed yesterday, and I know you picked up the bracelet. You keep the necklace and anything else your granny gave you, but I need the bracelet now.” Shelly opened a drawer in the desk and withdrew the black velvet pouch and handed it to the man. He opened the pouch, pulled out the cheap imitation jewelry and flung it against the wall shattering the glass pieces. “I will kill you” he threatened.
As Chester started to move closer, a voice came from the bedroom hallway, “Don’t move Higgins, you’re under arrest for theft, break-in, and threat of physical harm” said the detective. He held his badge up with one hand, and his service revolver in the other. He whistled loudly and the front door was quickly unlocked. Police backup entered the room, the man was handcuffed and led away. Shelly quietly wept as she hugged the
detective.
One year later, the first edition of “The Cat’s Paw” arrived at book stores amid glowing reviews. At her first book signing, Luis and Camila were first in line. Opening to the first page, she signed her name under the dedication, “To my friend Luis Martin.”
RICHARD SWAIN
A SHORT STORY BY RICHARD SWAIN
The detective considered 3 items to have greater importance, the partially completed manuscript, the pawn ticket, and the art gallery photo.
The missing persons report came in early Saturday morning. The landlady said her tenant across the hallway was missing and the apartment appeared ransacked. Luis Martin, the junior member of the 62nd Precinct missing persons team went to the address on 20th Street. As he pulled up to the five story walk-up, he noted the first floor iron grill and window open on the left side. Ringing the manager’s unit, a female voice answered, and the buzzer unlocked the front door.
She wore a blue terry cloth robe over a night gown, blue slippers, and a simple net covering her gray hair. Mrs. Harris was a widow in her seventies and had been the landlady for the past 20 years. She described the tenant across the hall as a single young woman who was a successful writer. She showed a magazine called “The Brooklyn Rail” and said Shelly had a story published. Luis noted the date was five years earlier. “Please tell me what you know,” he said.
Mrs. Harris led him back into the hallway and spoke. “I always go out to get my Daily News on the front stoop at 8:30 a.m. This morning I see Shelly’s door left open and this is not normal. I call out her name several times and there is no answer. I’m the landlady, so I figure I can go in. Turning on the light, oh what a mess, drawers pulled out and everything thrown on the floor, that’s when I run back to my apartment and call the police.”
Martin thanked the woman, asked for a spare key, any tenant information, and said he would check back with her before leaving. Putting on lightweight cotton gloves, he entered the apartment. Ransacked was the right term for the police report. Papers, books, and anything able to be tossed was tossed. Clearly someone was looking for something. Looking to the right he saw the open window he had observed from the street. Walking across the littered floor he noted a black paw print on the window sill. It had the appearance of a stamp imprint in black ink. This was the first of perhaps 100 pictures he took that morning. Luis saw the same paw stamp one more time before he left the place secured with yellow cordon tape. Once outside, he scrutinized the cement area under the opened window, and the last picture was a fresh scuff mark perhaps left from a person jumping from the opening.
NYPD 62nd Precinct is at the South end of Brooklyn on Bath Ave and across from Staten Island. Check out the internet and you can read “the nicest cops I ever dealt with.” With that kind of press, Luis was determined to get answers about the young writer named Shelly. The tenant index card only added the last name of Walker. The phone number listed was no longer active. A Google inquiry confirmed the published short story in the Rail, and listed a Shelly Walker as a graduate of the NYU Creative Writing Program. Both sources showed a picture that was clearly the same young woman. This was a start. He organized the pictures and often attached a post-it-note with comments. He would miss the soccer game tomorrow.
Sunday was a beautiful mid-October day, and Luis walked from the station to the apartment building. His wife Camila always encouraged him to exercise whenever possible, and here was an opportunity. He had a restless night of sleep as the pictures paraded through his semi-conscious thoughts. His family moved from Puerto Rico in the early nineties when he was ten years old, and he felt he was always trying to prove himself to others.
Again, the starting point was to wear gloves for protecting any possible evidence that could prove helpful to this case. Sitting at the desk, he first studied the picture in the broken glass frame. He dusted it for prints, but found nothing. Shelly was dressed to the nines and standing next to a young man wearing a tuxedo. Behind them was a painting that was somewhat familiar. He made a note to get an answer on this piece of art. What screamed out as unusual was her jewelry. Perhaps it was fake, but if real, the emeralds and diamonds were more for Elizabeth Taylor or the Queen of England. He took a close up picture.
The next item that had his attention was the handwritten manuscript on yellow ruled paper. There were perhaps forty pages and still in order. He found numerous fingerprints that he catalogued. On the first page was the title “The Cat’s Paw.” Next to the title was the same paw stamp that was on the window sill. He read the opening paragraph.
“The orange cat had stepped in the black ink pooled on the writer’s desk. One inked paw print was on the table top, two more prints were on the floor moving toward the window, and the final print was on the opened window sill. This was no ordinary cat, the collar she wore was a stunning thin bracelet of diamonds and emeralds.”
Luis quickly read several more pages, opened a plastic zipper case, and sealed the contents. Picking up the pawn ticket with tweezers, he placed it in a clear envelope, and studied the information. He was familiar with Gem Pawnbrokers on Flatbush Avenue. This was his day for exercise as Gem was walking distance and such places are open 24/7.
Showing his badge to the clerk behind the iron grill window, he requested information on ticket # GP75436. After a few minutes, the clerk came back with an older man who introduced himself as Mr. Rosen the owner. He spoke in a deferential manner to the policeman, but explained he could provide no information without a court order. Luis was also soft spoken and polite. He explained he could have a signed court order by Friday, but that a life might be at risk, and such a wait would be remembered if Gem had an urgent need in the future. He was led to a back room.
Mr. Rosen brought a small metal black tray to the table along with a worn book with numerous tabs. Luis noted the cover was titled “S to Z.” Opening the tray, the owner removed a velvet black bag and opened the pouch.
Luis often worked 60 hours a week, and at his junior level received two weeks of vacation a year. His annual salary was $45,000, and claiming overtime pay beyond the standard 40 hours a week was frowned upon if you were trying to move up the ladder. His first thought was that this gleaming thin diamond and emerald bracelet was probably worth two years of salary. His second thought was the opening paragraph of the manuscript he just read.
The owner described the diamond and emerald bracelet set in white gold as an exquisite Bvlgari worth approximately $100,000. Opening the book, he paged to “Walker” and spoke. “Michelle Walker, what else do you want to know?” “Give me some details on this transaction, and other information in your book. She is missing and foul play may be a factor,” the detective said.
Rosen described Ms. Walker as a valued customer due to the quality of her items pawned. She usually requested a loan well below the allowable amount available, and for that reason he offered a discounted interest charge plus the normal storage and ticket fee. She would bring in the bracelet, borrow $10,000, and eventually repay the loan, only to repeat the process several times a year. On two past occasions, rather than pawn the bracelet, she pawned a pair of emerald and diamond Bvlgari earrings valued at $85,000. Martin immediately thought of the picture in her apartment but said nothing further. He gave his card to the owner and requested a call if Ms. Walker made any contact.
As Luis started walking back to the Precinct, Rosen came out of the store and beckoned him to return. The owner realized he had failed to disclose something of possible importance to the detective. All high-end Bvlgari jewelry have a small engraved identification code etched on the underside, and all Ms. Walker’s pieces were marked MW49TX.
Back at his desk, the detective read a text his wife Camila had sent. She had a friend in the fine art world, and Luis had shown her a close-up of the painting behind Shelly and her escort. The text read “portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer by Gustav Klimt in 1907, and purchased by Ronald Lauder for $135 million. Often referred to as ‘the woman in gold,’ the painting hangs in the Neue Galerie at 1048 5th Avenue.”
Senior detectives had their own office, while Luis had a dark corner in a windowless part of the main precinct room. He had fashioned a large cork board behind his desk for casework, and accepted the friendly kidding for his elaborate layouts. Camila gave him different colors of yarn that would cross the board tying together patterns of evidence that could help build a case of discovery. He spent the remainder of the day creating the “Walker Case.” Monday would be a busy day in New York City with stops at NYU, Bvlgari, and the Neue Galerie.
The Lillian Vernon Creative Writers House in Greenwich Village serves as the home for NYU students with a writing major. As always, his badge opened the door to helpful information. Yes, she was a graduate, and they carried her name as both Shelly Walker and Michelle Walker. She was active in the alumni writers association and had attended an event within the last month. Luis had made a copy of the Neue Galerie picture, and was fortunate to have the receptionist recognize the man as familiar. He called himself Chester Parsons, and often attached himself to women writers in the program or alumni. She volunteered her opinion that he would often take advantage of others generosity, and he definitely was never a student. Before heading over to Fifth Avenue, Luis called the precinct and requested any information on this person of interest.
The detective felt a little chill behind the back of his neck as he viewed the portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer hanging as the prized painting in the Neue Galerie. To Martin’s thinking, both pictures of Adele and Shelly reflected elegant, poised, and confident women. Klimt’s friend and patron was in her new home, it was his responsibility to bring Shelly back to hers. The manager studied the picture of Walker and her escort and assumed it was taken at the premier opening in 2006, but did not recognize the couple.
The Bvlgari store manager was quite helpful in interpreting the code MW49TX. The first two letters would identify the purchaser, 49 would be the year of purchase or 1949, and the last two letters would indicate a country or state of the buyer, and in this case he assumed Texas. The manager said a file would be stored under this code at the headquarters in Italy, and he would request the information by fax. He also clarified a question of curiosity as to the brand’s name. The Greek founding family name is Bulgari, but they use the classical Latin alphabet Bvlgari for the trademark. Luis felt safe in assuming MW was Michelle Walker. From information gathered at NYU, Shelly’s birthdate was in 1982. A buyer in 1949 was probably not her mother, but perhaps a grandmother? Back to the cork board, the manuscript, and the internet. A Google inquiry of “Michelle Walker” listed numerous possible individuals, and one in particular stood out to the detective. The name was linked to an article titled “Oil Heiress Declares Bankruptcy.” It was time to add a different color of yarn to the board.
Angus Walker emigrated from Scotland in the late eighteen hundreds, and bought a 35,000 acre cattle ranch near Midland Texas. This dry and barren land was good for dust and wind, but provided a hard scrabble life to those that tried to make a living. All this changed dramatically in the nineteen twenties when oil was discovered in what we now know as the Permian Basin of West Texas and New Mexico. Angus was soon a very wealthy man. At his death, his only child, Michelle Walker, became a very wealthy woman.
Those in the oil business always use the term feast or famine. In early 1982, oil was priced as high as $102 a barrel and by 1986 down to a low of $10. Too often an oil person will expand their operation by borrowing in the good times, and then risk going under during the down cycle. The article told the story of the famed Walker Ranch being sold at auction, and the heiress left with nothing but her red Cadillac convertible.
It was Tuesday morning and Luis was studying the manuscript. It was clear to the detective that this story held clues that needed uncovering. The setting was Rome in 1905. A beautiful young woman was the lover of a famed jeweler in the Italian house of Bvlgari. Each year he would give her a precious piece of jewelry as a token of his love. Her name was Electra, and her hair was the color of brilliant orange. In Greek, Electra means sparkling or fiery sun.
What held Martin’s attention were the annual gifts that started with a diamond and emerald bracelet, emerald earrings trimmed with diamonds in the second year, and a diamond and emerald necklace for the third. He suspected a finished story would include additional pieces. He marked his calendar for a visit to The Brooklyn Rail magazine office. He would show them the manuscript, reference her published article, and see what information they might offer. The precinct receptionist handed him a faxed picture just as his phone rang. Before answering, he recognized Chester Parsons standing at a familiar counter.
Mr. Rosen of Gem Pawnbrokers called, and said a young man came in with $12,000 in cash, described the bracelet in question, and tried to retrieve the item. He said the pawn ticket was lost, but his girlfriend gave him the payoff money and insisted that the owner would recognize him as being her friend. The owner said he did in fact recognize the man as coming in with Ms. Walker in past times. With no ticket he refused the man and said Ms. Walker would need to file a court request for proof of ownership. “Did you see the picture I just faxed, the man became quite belligerent ” said Rosen. Luis said yes, and thanked him for his ongoing help. “Under no circumstances do you give him the bracelet, and he could be armed” added the detective. The editor at The Brooklyn Rail was quick to recognize Shelly Walker as a contributor. They had published several of her short stories over the past seven years, and understood that she was attempting to write a full length novel. No, she had not been seen for several months, but the personal section in the online newsletter could be a way to reach out to her. As Luis was leaving, he was struck by a sign on the wall titled “A NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER.” It read, “From the Crooked Timber of Humanity, nothing ever comes out straight.” All the detective could do as he walked out of the building was nod his head in complete agreement.
Sitting in his car, he opened an email with an attachment. The NYPD database had a record of a Chester Parsons being an alias for Chester John Higgins, a petty criminal whose last known address was in Hoboken New Jersey. The mugshot confirmed his person of interest, and he replied requesting an APB.
Luis met with his boss to update him on the progress of his investigation. The senior detective held a special pride for this determined young man who one day might replace him. He felt Martin was resourceful, thorough in his analysis, and operated with the highest level of integrity. The $300 request for ad placement was immediately approved.
An online posting was placed in “The Brooklyn Rail” and in the daily forum of the NYU Writers Program. The posting read “Shelly Walker/MW49TX NYPD Luis Martin.” Social media also had positives for law enforcement as a way to make contact, so a similar posting was placed on Shelly’s Facebook page. Sitting at his desk, Luis picked up the broken glass frame to once again look at Shelly and the now identified Higgins. The glass started to shift and fall out of the frame. “Damn” he cursed, as a piece of glass cut into his thumb and the frame crashed to the office floor. Pulling over a wastebasket to clean-up his mess, he spotted a piece of paper behind the picture.
The letter was yellowed with age, but quite legible to read, and was dated March 1, 2002. It read “Precious Granddaughter, as you move closer to your graduation, this is the only financial inheritance I have left to pass on. I know one day you will be a very successful writer, and these jewels can be worn, pawned, or sold as your needs dictate. Your mother, if she were living, would agree. She loved Texas soil, while you and I loved red Cadillacs and fancy parties. Love to you, Grandma Michelle.” Now Martin needed the file from the home office of Bvlgari.
Checking his email and phone messages early Wednesday morning, Luis was disappointed to have no news. He called the Bvlgari store and learned that the manager was out sick. Pressing further, the detective held his anger when told that the fax had arrived the previous afternoon. Five minutes later, he was reading the record. June 15, 1949, Dallas Texas, purchase of five pieces of matching jewelry, all emeralds and diamonds set in white gold. The items in order were, bracelet, earrings, necklace, brooch, and hat pin. All five pieces marked with the code MW49TX. It was the last entry that left a pit in his stomach. The brooch was recently sold back to the Boston store for $45,000. The seller was Chester Parsons. Luis paid $150 out of his own pocket to run the online personal for two more days.
The break came on Friday morning with a telephone call that was relayed from the NYPD headquarters. Martin took a deep breath when he heard the young woman introduce herself as Shelly Walker. “He will kill me for my jewelry” she said. Luis listened to the story of love, betrayal, theft, and now threats. He told her of his investigation and a possible plan. Shelly felt imprisoned in her circumstances, and agreed to the detective’s scheme.
At ten o’clock, Saturday morning, Shelly entered Gem Pawnbrokers. Ten minutes later as she left the building, she placed a black velvet bag in her purse and walked back to her apartment. The yellow tape had been removed from the front door, and the apartment was cleaned and orderly. She prepared a pot of tea and laid her manuscript on the writers desk. As treacherous as the last week had been, she had exciting ideas for the completion of her novel. Taking her talisman from the desk drawer, she imprinted the cat’s paw on the new page, and also stamped the back of her left hand.
The Sunday morning Daily News is always a highlight for Mrs. Harris. There are special sections on fashion and the arts that she will savor for the remainder of the week. Retrieving the paper from the stoop, she was surprised by a man who pushed his way into the hallway saying he was a friend of Shelly Walker. She objected to his entry and said the protocol was to ring from outside to be admitted. He ignored her complaint as he knocked loudly on the door and called out, “It’s Chester, please open.”
Shelly opened the door. She was dressed in a warm-up and wore running shoes. “Thank you Mrs. Harris, everything is fine” she said, and Chester entered the apartment. She walked over to the desk, sat down and looked up to the man. He apologized for scaring her and trashing the apartment. “I’m desperate,” he said. “Give me the bracelet and I will disappear from your life forever. It’s all I need to get my new start.” She replied, “How can I trust you, you stole my brooch and have threatened me physically.”
Chester pointed toward the front door and placed a finger over his lips to indicate quiet. He pulled a chair over by the desk, sat down, and quietly spoke. “I had you followed yesterday, and I know you picked up the bracelet. You keep the necklace and anything else your granny gave you, but I need the bracelet now.” Shelly opened a drawer in the desk and withdrew the black velvet pouch and handed it to the man. He opened the pouch, pulled out the cheap imitation jewelry and flung it against the wall shattering the glass pieces. “I will kill you” he threatened.
As Chester started to move closer, a voice came from the bedroom hallway, “Don’t move Higgins, you’re under arrest for theft, break-in, and threat of physical harm” said the detective. He held his badge up with one hand, and his service revolver in the other. He whistled loudly and the front door was quickly unlocked. Police backup entered the room, the man was handcuffed and led away. Shelly quietly wept as she hugged the
detective.
One year later, the first edition of “The Cat’s Paw” arrived at book stores amid glowing reviews. At her first book signing, Luis and Camila were first in line. Opening to the first page, she signed her name under the dedication, “To my friend Luis Martin.”
RICHARD SWAIN