You've probably heard of the Shortridge cops' case. It was a huge scandal - and I was involved.
The Marshes Criminal Department hired me as their mole to infiltrate the Arnavut drug ring and gather evidence of the Shortridge police having dealings with it. I recorded the head of the Shortridge police receiving money from the mob - effectively signing my own death warrant. To escape their pursuit, I punched a random officer in the face and let him arrest me. He brought me to a small-town police station, and that's where I met Alex.
I don't think I would have made it without her. She, however, very nearly died trying to help me.
Alex risking her life for me wasn't worth it. I knew that perfectly well, and the guilt ate me up. I decided to disappear from her life, judging that I had already caused her enough trouble.
I tried to distract myself from the guilt and the longing to see her again. That distraction came in the form of a new job. A client from Tolosa placed a special order: the purchase of the Emerald Princess.
The Emerald Princess was a 1950s gold necklace set with twenty emerald teardrop stones. Each side of the main chain featured five emeralds, separated by four pendants also carrying green gems. At the centre hung two larger emeralds, each framed in spiky medallions and clasped to one another. The chain, pendants, fasteners, and medallions were all inlaid with small diamonds.
A famous jewellery designer had created the piece for a celebrated Almain actress in the 1950s. After her death, her children sold it to a businessman from Ellas. For decades, its whereabouts were unknown, until it recently resurfaced in a jewellery shop in Anuères.
The necklace was estimated to be worth roughly hundred thousand euros, of which the client would pay me thirty percent.
It was currently in the possession of a jeweller living in a closed Judean community. People of other faiths and outsiders had no access to the district. Even Gauls were barred from entering. Occasionally non-residents could gain entry for business purposes, but only after making prior arrangements by phone with the right people.
I made a deal with a driver who supplied the district's shops with food each week. I told him I was in love with a Judean woman and wanted to meet her secretly because her parents disapproved. The guy was Judean himself, disliked many of his community's draconian rules and agreed to smuggle me in.
I altered my appearance in case the police investigation ever traced back to the supplier. I also packed a black fedora and frock coat in my backpack alongside my burglary gear.
Everything went smoothly on the day. I hid in the trailer behind pallets of bottled water. The driver gave me a signal when the coast was clear.
I changed clothes behind a rubbish container and set off to find the jewellery shop. I knew its name and address, but the district had many jewellers and my phone's satnav didn't recognise the street names. Asking for directions would immediately mark me as an outsider.
After wandering the grey, cheerless streets for nearly an hour, I finally found the shop.
It was lunchtime. The owner stepped out, locked the door, and walked away.
As soon as the man was out of sight, I slipped down the small alley beside the shop, hoping to find a rear access. Instead, I was met with a tall brick wall. My disappointment faded when I noticed the neighbouring house was under construction – the workers were on lunch and the site was unsupervised.
The backdoor was conveniently hidden behind building materials. I squeezed through the narrow gap between the door and the stacked wooden panels. Inside, the window blinds were down, but thin strips of daylight came through the cracks – enough to see by. The stairwell to the second floor has been demolished; in its place stood an old, rickety ladder.
On the second floor, the daylight poured in through the open frames where windows would eventually go. I leaned out of one and saw that the jeweller's building had a balcony at the same level. The gap wasn't huge, but there was nothing to hold onto for a safe crossing. Fortunately, I had climbing gear. I secured a rope to the balcony's balustrade, jumped, grabbed the railing, and pulled myself up.
The balcony door was unlocked, so I slipped inside without forcing anything.
I reasoned that the owner wouldn't keep the safe containing the Emerald Princess in a bedroom. The house was small, but he would have an office for important documents and valuable pieces. I descended the stairs cautiously in case anyone was still inside.
Downstairs I found two locked doors - one in the hall, one in the shop - both leading to the same private space. I suspected the necklace was there.
The hall door had a coded padlock. The shop door had a simple key lock, which I opened with a skeleton key.
Inside, I immediately spotted a large black steel safe with a dial combination. According to the business card on the desk showing opening hours, I had about forty minutes before the Judean returned – more than enough time.
It took me roughly twenty-five minutes, using a stethoscope and patience, to feel the mechanism drop into place. My heart sank when I opened the door and found a smaller safe sitting on the shelf inside. I pulled the handle – and to my relief it opened smoothly, revealing the Emerald Princess.
I wrapped the necklace in a velvet cloth, placed it in my backpack, and left the office, carefully locking both doors behind me so the owner wouldn't immediately realise anything was wrong.
I was back on the balcony just as the jeweller returned. Luckily, the construction workers were still on break, allowing me to leave unnoticed.
My accomplice had finished unloading and was waiting. I jumped into the back of the trailer and we drove away.