Exact, Precise, & Incomplete

I awoke to a shrimp in the ashtray next to my bed. The head of the decapod buried in the discarded ash of yesterday’s American Spirit butts instead of submerged in bright red cocktail sauce. Its tail hanging familiarly out the rim, ready to be daintily grasped with two fingers. This was unusual—the American Spirits, that is. I am usually a Marlboro 27 kind of guy; but then again anyone who finds the brand of cigarette ash surrounding a solo shrimp in the ashtray next to their bed as the more peculiar part of that scene is unusual now, isn’t he?

I am also unusual in the way that I don’t trust facts. It gets stranger. I am also a detective.

I’ve never trusted facts because they are too unreliable. Facts are always changing, yet our belief in them never waivers. How can we blindly trust in something that is proven time and again to be false?

I know what you’re thinking: “facts are absolute; they are by definition true and can’t be changed, otherwise they’d be opinions.” Well, if that were the case, the world would still be flat, the sun would orbit the earth, and doctors would be prescribing cocaine to children. See my point? Facts are not absolute; they can become untrue once new information is introduced. Just because we believe it to be true, doesn’t make it a fact—it makes it a liability.

Facts are important in my line of work, necessary really. A detective’s skill is determining what is a known fact, and what is a perceived fact. Motivation normally falls in the latter category, but sometimes, even hard evidence like crime scene photos or trace analysis can become mercurial. Confused yet? So was I.

Now that we have determined that facts can be harmful, we can proceed together. For the record, I didn’t always hold this cynical opinion. No one is born this way. The job does that to us, we become more and more jaded every day—like a reverse stone tumbler until one morning we wake up still toasted from last night and a day-old crustacean where my lighter usually resides.

#

A detective’s first case is supposed to be simple. The LAPD usually ensures newbies get the fast, safe crimes: robbery, grand theft, that sort of thing. Mine was also supposed to be routine, a simple jewelry store heist. Some mom and pop shop in yet another gentrifying neighborhood where cheap pawn shops and convenience stores were being replaced by oak milk lounges and boutiques. Is it really gentrification until a Jamba Juice pushes out a laundromat?

To make things even easier for me, there were security cameras in the store, some traffic cameras outside, plus a few cameras on a nearby bank, all with footage of the night before. It happened on Saturday night. That night, fog crept over the city like a blanket, slowly smothering the inhabitants into a protective shell of isolation and tranquility. The fog reflected the street lights into an even yellow glow giving the impression there was a fire burning just out of sight.

This stillness was shattered by the shrill shrieks of the outdated security system from the jewelry store, inviting the neighborhood to witness the illegal activities occurring. It wasn’t an especially dark night, nor were there any unexpected conditions to indicate why the suspects chose it.

The alarm did its job. Although the neighborhood was evolving away from a suburbanite’s nightmare, populated with drug addicts and foreclosures, the local precinct’s response time was still effective. Cruisers arrived on the scene and once they secured the area, I received my own shrill alarm: my phone intruding on my sleep just as the burglars had on everyone else’s.

A quick shower, some coffee, and an ignored banana later, I was stepping out of my apartment and headed to my first case. LA is a great city to admire concrete through a windshield. As I was pulling up outside the store, the alarm was still blaring. The accumulation of squad cruisers was flashing their red and blue lights, illumining the fog and announcing that some lucky thief had won the lottery.

Once I parked I had quite a walk to the door of the jewelry store; being the last person on the scene creates poor parking options, especially on a street, nay alley, as small as this. I pulled up my collar on the walk and approached the yellow tape and shattered windows of the crime scene.

#

After flashing my badge close to a dozen times to confirm my place was beyond the yellow tape rather than with the half dozen reporters and bystanders, I ducked under the strip with all the confidence of a 1980s wrestler and proceeded to get the details of a case that I would always remember and also never be allowed to forget.

My first request was to view the footage from the cameras. They showed a white van pulling up, three masked men exiting, breaking in through the front window, looting through some display cases, and leaving in five minutes. One of the burglars’ actions was hidden by a support beam, but the other two proceeded to bust open the diamond display case and hand them to the third man behind the beam. They also made their way into the back of the store behind the counter. I was later told by a clerk this was where the uncut diamonds were kept. Seems they even took those. They were fast and organized. Each had a job and they appeared to have rehearsed these actions a few times.

Once they looted all the display cases below the counter housing the diamond engagement rings, earrings, and tennis bracelets, they began to make their escape. Two of them grabbed the duffle bag from the third man and went out the same shattered window to their van. The third surveyed the room one last time, walking over to several other displays and busting them open. His body blocked much of what he was doing, but when he left it did not appear as though he had taken any of the other jewelry or other assorted precious gems and stones.

Once they had all filed back into the van, some additional traffic cameras show the crew heading east before they were lost in a tunnel. I credit beginner’s luck when a call came over the radio stating the van and three suspects were apprehended a short distance from that tunnel by a traffic officer whose primary motivation was to address their reckless driving, not the stolen property they were transporting. Other than the cameras, no eyewitnesses or other footage of the robbery and getaway were present.

Since I have yet to convince you that facts are bogus, I’ll give the rest of them to you and see how well you do with what is known to be true. First, the jewelry store sells mostly high-end diamonds, but some other rotating gems and stones such as emeralds and onyx. Second, the store is located on a corner downtown and has never been robbed. The location isn’t prone to crime, yet does have some high-end car thefts and occasional muggings in the alleys. There are two banks on that block; a bakery and an Apple store next door as well. The bakery had scaffolding in front of it and appeared to be in the middle of being painted. Three, the jewelry store’s owner is named Dale Kim, he has owned the store for twelve years.

I interviewed him and he walked me through how he closes up shop every night. It was all very routine, and safe, plus his demonstration matched up with the scene of the crime upon my arrival, with deadbolts, metal cases, and all the cameras recording. All in all, the place was locked up tight; the alarm was even armed. Only brute force and heavy tools could get the job done, and that is exactly what was used by the intruders.

Three employees work at the store who I also interviewed. All the employees had an alibi so it was not an inside job, nor did any employees know the specific security code of the day that Kim locked up. Another sign that this wasn’t an inside job was that a hidden safe is in the store, but it was left untouched saving the store its most precious items. For those reasons, I never considered any of them a prime suspect.

The getaway car was a van with no plates, tinted windows, and left a tire skid outside of the store. No vans were reported stolen recently, nor were any bought within the surrounding area within the last two months. No fingerprints were discovered in or around the jewelry store, and there were not any other clues besides a torn piece of cotton from one of the burglar’s clothes, perhaps their sleeve had been ripped by a piece of broken glass from the display case they smashed. Other than that, the crime scene was void of any other material evidence. I checked a nearby dumpster in the alley near where the van was parked, just on a hunch. However, only some trash was in there including old clothes, a stained black tarp, some food leftovers, boxes of packing peanuts, and a broken umbrella.

I found out from the store’s owner that over two-hundred thousand dollars in diamonds were taken from the displays. The owner told me he liked to sell a wide array of precious, semi-precious, and just plain ordinary products because you never knew what material would strike the customer. It appeared the burglars focused on diamonds because the remaining jewels and gems were left mostly untouched: the rubies, sapphires, quartz, pearls, and assorted stones like geodes and obsidian were all more or less ignored. All the remaining stones were only worth a fourth of the diamonds that were taken. Mr. Kim guessed the criminals knew what diamonds were the valuable cuts and what was not based on the ones taken and those that remained.

This intrigued me; I got to thinking that perhaps a criminal with a history in gems or possible previous employment at a jewelry store could be behind it. The owner informed me no employees had quit or been fired in the past year, nor were any disgruntled. I thanked him for his time. Since the sun had now officially risen, I was in the mood for a bagel and coffee on my way back to the precinct to review my notes and watch some more tapes.

#

It was Sunday so the precinct was unusually quiet. Many of the surrounding shops and stores were also closed, leaving me with few options for breakfast, but after a while, I got my food and returned to my office. I started by reviewing the tapes, trying to trace the steps of the van before and after the crime to find out where it came from and where it went. I knew the suspects were still getting booked downstairs so might as well pore over their route before I go interview them.

After several minutes of pausing the tape and switching to alternate cameras, I kept losing their track. I did, however, see a puddle of oil in front of the bakery near the jewelry store. I called downstairs and was told I would be able to talk to the suspects in an hour or two when their lawyers arrived. I decided to return to the crime scene and see if I could follow the oil drops and tire marks myself rather than digitally.

When I returned to the crime scene, the mood was much different. A few cruisers remained and the yellow tape was still surrounding the storefront, but life beyond that corner and more or less returned to normal. People were walking about and cars using the street, merely glancing over at the jewelry store as they passed.

I found the puddle of black goo, which had dried by now. Since the street was now crowded with cars, I would have to zip out frogger style to study the liquid, before being forced back to the sidewalk by some loud car horns and words of encouragement from our appreciative LA residents. I didn’t blame them, I was dressed in plain clothes and doing the number one cardinal sin: screwing up their morning commute (weekend or not).

I couldn’t find a trail and quickly gave up on the endeavor. I was also put in a bad mood because when I examined the oil, it stained my hands and shoes something awful. I tried to wash it off but it dried very quickly so I just gave up and returned to the office in an even worse mood. 

Once back at the precinct I walked down to the basement to see the three suspects. Down there, only buzzing fluorescent light fills the corridors. I flashed my badge a couple more dozen times and found my way to the assigned interrogation room. The driver was already inside with the court-appointed defense attorney.

I took a breath and walked in, trying my best to appear experienced beyond my hours. The driver was short, shorter than he appeared on the camera. The lawyer was short too, but I didn’t study him that much. I proceeded to converse with the driver of the van. Even though we both spoke English the lawyer acted as an interpreter between us, relaying my questions to his client, getting an answer back, and interchanging it to me.

Finally, we got to a point where the lawyer informed me his client should only be charged with breaking and entering, and perhaps trespassing. Not theft. Then the bombshell hit: no stolen property was found in their possession when arrested. I was gob-smacked. Did the burglars stash the diamonds before being arrested? In the tunnel maybe?

#

Once I learned this, I made up an excuse to leave the room, I didn’t want to look like a rookie who was late to the party. I found the arresting officer and he confirmed the lawyer’s story, even said they combed the tunnel and surrounding block but no luck finding any missing diamonds.

The driver was no help and with no evidence, his lawyer was advising him to keep quiet for now. The other two were much of the same. Somehow those three had left the store with hundreds of thousands of dollars of diamonds but a few minutes later, nothing. My first case officially stopped being routine.

Sunday passed and on to Monday; I returned to the jewelry store to see if there was anything I could have missed. I was nervous about this case because it was my first one, and I was nowhere near a neat explanation. The only facts I had were the time of the crime and that it involved three masked men but the prized stones were nowhere to be found.

I walked back into the store, which looked almost back to normal: all the glass cleaned up, the display cases replaced and no stains on the floor. I saw the owner, Mr. Kim, and asked him how he was doing. He said fine, he cleaned the store yesterday since it was Sunday and he was going to be closed anyway. I asked how he was going to be financially with the loss. He told me he may survive, but things didn’t look good. He did find a silver lining though, saying that today he already had a sale: a young gentleman came in today to buy all the obsidian and onyx from him as part of a new display for a traveling exhibit for school children. I said that the sale couldn’t have been much. He agreed but said he had more of those stones than he remembered so it was more money than he was anticipating. He said it was lucky none of the burglars took any of that because he would have missed the opportunity to sell nearly four hundred dollars worth of the stone. I envy his optimism.

When I left, I smiled, trying to maintain a positive attitude with him, but felt ashamed for not being able to help any further. I said goodbye, and while shaking his hand, I noticed some black smudges on it as I let go. It reminded me of the oil that stained my hands and shoes yesterday. I asked him about it and he seemed surprised, having not noticed it. This could mean two things: either there was some spilled oil in the store that we just missed and he came into contact with when cleaning, or he was part of the robbery himself, perhaps using it as insurance fraud. I said goodbye again and returned to the station, wondering if this was just a classic inside job.

Back at my desk, I contacted the insurance company of the jewelry store and found no policy covering theft, nor any money that would reimburse the owner for his loss. That was disheartening, but the oil was the only clue I had. I decided to take my black shoes over to the trace department and have them possibly identify the brand of oil, or any detail that could help me in any way. It was also an attempt to stall for time while I figured out what to do next. 

Remember when I said I hate facts? This is why, when you believe something is a fact, you ignore any other possibility because you assume it is untrue. As in, I assumed the black liquid was car oil leaking from under the axles, so I didn’t consider it to be anything else. I therefore was shocked to learn the black stains on my shoes were from a quick-drying, heavy acrylic paint, not car oil. This threw me for a tailspin. Why was paint leaking from the van, and on the store owner’s hands?

I returned to the jewelry store to confront Mr. Kim with the paint and see if I could bait him into confessing. As I pulled up I noticed the Bakery scaffolding was being taken down, and then saw a new sign, with fresh black paint on the word Bakery. I felt foolish; the paint was from the construction, not a sign of the owner’s guilt. I felt disheartened and was returning to my car when I remembered the day. It was Monday; the painters would not have been there on Sunday, so why was there still wet paint? I went into the jewelry store and asked to view the owner’s hands. The paint marks were like dots all over his hand. I then remembered that I initially thought the paint was oil because I saw it leak out of the van. Therefore the burglars brought the paint, not the painters next door. Then it hit me.

I asked about the gentleman that had recently purchased the obsidian from the jeweler. He said the man paid in cash and didn’t give a name or anything. When asked about my sudden curiosity about this man, I informed the owner that that man had been one of the burglars who broke on Saturday night. I then explained that no diamonds were taken from the store, that it was almost as if a robbery didn’t happen. The crime was just staged, to make it look as if a major heist was pulled.

This is what happened: the burglars broke in, painted all of the diamonds black to make them look like common stones such as obsidian. A fourth suspect did not accompany their heist but knew the others had left them in the store among the real obsidian pieces, so they would be mistaken as cheap stones and not diamonds. That also explains the black tarp found in the dumpster. The real diamonds being not easily seen would be assumed stolen by the burglars. Then one of the robbers came in Monday to buy what Kim thought was obsidian for cheap, when in fact he just sold two hundred thousand dollars worth of painted diamonds to him for a little over four hundred dollars.

See now how facts are bad? Up until the end, it was a fact that the diamonds were taken; it was never even considered they were left in the store, hidden in plain sight. The paint got onto Kim’s hands when he handled the diamonds when he sold them back to the burglar. So facts are misleading, they are not to be trusted, and they are not to be relied on. I never did find those three who broke in, they disappeared along with their payday. I did check the painters next door, but none of them could have been the culprits for various reasons, like gender and alibis. However, they still helped me to learn this lesson and for that, I wouldn’t change the outcome. From then on, I referred to the case as just, “The Obsidian Puzzle.”