The Castro Diamonds, part 4

(...continued from The Castro Diamonds, part 3: Brown Paper Box)

Later that night, Will sat at the small fold-down table in his trailer and stared at the aged pocket watch in front of him. He had discovered it in an old cardboard box wrapped in brown paper amongst his deceased mother’s few belongings that had been unceremoniously stored in the attic of the hangar barn he used for his crop-dusting business. Photocopies of five newspaper articles and three letters rested beside it. The originals had been found in the box as well, but Will had somewhat begrudgingly been compelled to hand them over to the FBI because they had references to an ongoing case they were building on. It was an unsolved case from the 1960’s holding his father and grandfather responsible for a diamond theft that had consequences of "national interest." After a whole lot of legal mumbo-jumbo extolled over the course of three hours in a cramped interview room at their Monterey field office, and knowing he had copies, his lawyer Stella advised him to capitulate, but it was clear she liked the idea less than he did. So, in exchange for a receipt and assurances of return, he handed over the sparse contents of the box. Except for the watch.

He had kept the watch a secret from the FBI and from his best friends Davis and Stella, mainly because he hadn't wanted to risk never seeing it again. It was his family heirloom, such as it was, even though he never had much of a family. They were all deceased now, and he never really knew his father or grandfather. But after returning from Monterey that afternoon, Will had chanced opening the back of the watch to see if he could get the inner mechanisms to work again. And that's when he found it.

A beautifully cut diamond. Maybe a carat, he guessed? It fell right out onto the table when he opened the back of the watch casing. Will must have been staring dumbfounded at the thing for the better part of an hour as his mind raced to catch up with a theory that he had been trying to formulate. When he looked up, his trailer was getting darker as the sun receded and the day gave way to evening.

He stood up from the table, eyes open but not seeing. As if trying to physically connect the dots of information he was processing, he traced invisible lines in the air in front of him. Coming to himself a bit, he looked around at the inside of his dark trailer and switched on an overhead light. Remembering a junk drawer near the small counter and sink that served as his kitchen, he pulled it open and took out some scissors, tape, a pad of yellow sticky notes, a black marker and a small roll of twine. Will was going to attempt to map out his emerging grasp with a physical “map.” Now for a blank wall to use as a canvas. There! Across from the bathroom/closet. He took down a framed poster of fighter-pilot Snoopy pulling some serious G’s in his bullet-ridden, doghouse-shaped Sopwith Camel and placed it carefully aside. Now for the arts and crafts.

For a good portion of the night, Will scribbled on and posted the note square papers on the blank wall. Time and again he would tear them back off, repost them or discard them altogether. He had the eight photocopies taped in a rough circle, each surrounded by a bevy of yellow note squares made black with Will’s barely legible scrawling. Several lines of twine taped between the note masses recreated the invisible air drawings Will had conducted earlier. Well past midnight, he stood back and looked at his creation.

“Oh boy,” he said out loud but to himself. Will scratched his head and glanced at the table, where the diamond was nestled safely on top of a mostly clean dish rag. “I need Stella and Davis,” he mumbled.

The next morning, Will stood in front of the Reedy house, staring silently at the blooming marigold flowers that lined the front walk. They were a lovely bloom with colors of gold, orange, and red blending in a ball of flowering fire that grew well in the Salinas Valley. His mind was doing the same thing. Mental gymnastics. But his body was doing its best impression of a storefront mannequin. That’s how Davis found him at seven-thirty a.m.

“Will?” he called from the front door after sighting him from the window. Davis was slightly surprised by the stoic presence of his best friend on his front walk so early in the morning. What is it, Man?”

Will looked up at his friend, still deep in thought. “I think we need to go back to see the FBI again,” he said.

To Be Continued...