Chapter Eight
The door opened upon a brightly lit floor. As he realized he was
on the wrong floor and turned to regain the elevator, the door to apartment 700
opened. The laugher of happy children met his ears. A woman was singing a song
that sounded to Levene like “…child of God”. With a deep sigh he realized he
was on what he called “the Mormon floor”. Two years previous a large family
took occupancy there. They were the Andersons, originally from somewhere in
Utah or Arizona. The husband worked at a local engineering firm while his wife
and mother tended their three children.
A few months later, some of their cousins moved into an adjoining
apartment. They also had children. Everyone seemed very happy whenever he met
them coming and going. This was a constant source of wonder to him, but he
realized they were Gentiles and didn’t know the worldwide plight of the Jews
nor their inherited burden as representatives of God’s Chosen people. He and
the Anderson father and mother had exchanged greetings from time to time during
the years. It was Levene’s impression that they were very kind people, but he
had no real interest in Gentiles unless they somehow became his clients.
As Levene passed the door to #700 he saw two young men in suits
wearing their telltale badges that quietly announced the name of their church,
talking with Mrs. Anderson. They all waved to him as he waited for the
elevator. Suddenly he thought of racing to the stairway, but he was at the
wrong end of the hallway.
“Hello, how are you today?” one of the missionaries called out.
“Fine, just fine. Wrong floor. Need 9.” Levene put his head down,
planning on barreling through.
“Oh, well since you are already on 7, do you have a moment?” the
other missionary said. They looked very young, very well fed and spiffy clean.
Levene thought they had a gleam about them as they stood in the light of the
doorway. Even their teeth were shiny. Why were they smiling at him?
Levene felt uncomfortable. His stomach burped. He needed his
afternoon cup of coffee and to nap for awhile before tackling the problem of
figuring out how to redeem Koltovski’s brooch. But these young men were smiling
expectantly. He sensed they were only being friendly. The elevator seemed to
take forever to reach the seventh floor.
“What do you want?” he asked them.
“Just a chat. Mrs. Anderson tells us you are a detective. That’s
fantastic. May we ask your name?”
“Detective Chai Levene at your service, but it’s not such a
wonderful thing when I can’t find who I’m looking for.”
“So you look for fugitives from justice?”
“Sometimes. I do not deal in murders. I find information about
those already deceased.”
“Oh,” the young men said in unison, “you are a genealogist, then!
We do lots of that.” They positively beamed with joy at the news.
The elevator finally opened and Levene stepped gingerly on, not
wanting to be impolite.
“Nice to have met you, Mr. Levene. Have a wonderful day.” They
seemed happy just to be alive and talking with him. Something in Levene wanted
to stay and speak with them, but his fear of dealing with anyone who bore a
badge with the name “Jesus Christ“ on it won out.
“Shalom Aleichem, I am sure,” Levene called back before he
realized the boys didn’t know what he had said. He shrugged it off and prepared
himself to battle the banana plant.
“Levene, my favorite Shamus! Yom tov!” said the voice on the other end of the phone. Heavy with a mix
between a New York and a Sephardic Ladino accent, Chai’s longtime friend,
Morris Schwartz greeted him with the news of the day in the diamond business.
They kibitzed for awhile. “All going well, my friend. We are blessed with
business from both sides of the world. Where is your area of concern
today?"
Levene told Morris about the Elizabeth of Russia Imperial emerald
brooch flanked by its cotillion of diamonds. Morris was silent for a full
minute.
“You want to know who handled it and where it is? You ask more
than I can tell you about that piece, it is almost mythical. One hundred
thirty-six carats? Worth a half-billion in today’s market, if it’s in
flawless condition. Jewelers around the world would compete just to hold and
examine it. I can guarantee you it does exist."
“Anything you can tell me, Moishe. My client is desperate to know
of its whereabouts, at the very least.”
“You don’t say? As I recall now, certain of the Romanovs were also
looking for this piece for awhile, Levene. We could not locate it then.
You ask a weighty question. We might look for it in the country that produced
it. In America, it is very unlikely a stone like that can remain a secret. Let
me inquire. Maybe some Russian peasant has it hidden in his wheat”, he teased.
