Milo was waiting in the large interview room. Two blank whiteboards, no refreshments, the pair of long tables pushed together, a two-foot-square white cardboard box with the lab’s emblem on four sides resting in the center of the right-hand table.
Entering the station and riding up in the elevator had stunned Clifford into silence and he remained that way. Being introduced to Milo lowered his eyes again and parted his lips, as if air supply had dropped and he needed to mouth-breathe.
Saroyan said, “Shake hands with Lieutenant Sturgis, Clifford. If you behave he will not arrest you.”
No smile from the boy.
“I’m kidding, Clifford, we kid all the time, no?”
“Yes, Grandpa.”
“You and me, we’re the best kidders.” Gently elbowing the boy’s arm. “No?”
“Yes, Grandpa.”
Shrugging, Saroyan turned to Milo. “Okay, Lieutenant, let’s get to work.”
—
The jeweler sat directly behind the box, motioned for Clifford to settle to his right, then motioned for the black leather case. Unzipping it with slightly palsied hands he drew out a multi-lens loupe and a stereoscopic microscope.
At the same time, Milo reached into the box and drew out a thick wad of white wrapping paper. Once taped, now merely folded back into place. Unfolding, he lifted the necklace and handed it over to Harold Saroyan.
Looking blasé, even bored, Saroyan held the stone up to the light.At several angles. No more ennui, now, just the noncommittal blankness of expert appraisal, as he turned to the loupe and inspected the gem under several strengths of magnification.
Sharp-eyed and silent as the purple pear was transferred to the microscope.
Another full two minutes of minute nudges as he peered through the dual eyepieces.
When Saroyan finally looked up, it was his grandson he turned to. “Clifford, you have just experienced something extraordinary.”
“What?”
“This”—holding the stone at arm’s length—“is hundreds of thousands of dollars.”
“Whoa! No shit!”
“Your language,” said Harold Saroyan, “is not the best. But you are excused.” He favored us with a denture smile. “No shit, indeed.”
—
Milo allowed Saroyan to rewrap the diamond, then placed it back in the box.
Saroyan said, “I trust you have a safe, here.”
Milo said, “We can keep it secure but I want it back at the lab and logged at true value.” He texted Moe Reed, who arrived moments later and took the box.
“Retape it, it’s three hundred G’s,” said Milo. “And take Sean with you. Have him notify Noreen.”
Unfazed, Reed nodded and left with the box.
Harold Saroyan said, “That’s a tough-looking boy, makes a good impression. I sometimes use guys like that, mostly Israelis. Nevertheless I’m glad they’re packing heat.” To Clifford: “That’s the expression, no? From that videogame you play? Hot…something?”
The boy nodded dully.
Milo said, “I’ve got some questions for you, Mr. Saroyan, but no offense, Clifford doesn’t need to hear them. Can I offer him a tour of the station?”
“Sure—that’s good, no, Clifford?” said Saroyan. “You can ask all the questions, then tell your friends all the stories.”