Color of Blood(15)

Judy could not tell whether the American was bored or disapproved of her questioning. She felt insecure and a little frustrated and began to dwell again on how she hated this assignment.

Shingley explained that Jansen had simply walked into the small shop about a year ago and perused his watches. The young American asked many questions about the origins of the watches in the case and seemed, to Shingley, to be judging the quality and authenticity of the selection.

Shingley related that after about a half hour of back and forth, Jansen asked to see one watch from the case.

“It was quite telling, actually,” Shingley said. “He chose to look at one of the most valuable watches in the store. It was a fine piece, a vintage men’s Rolex from the 1930s: a relatively rare watch that only collectors would appreciate. He was quite keen to look at it.”

“What was so rare about it?” Dennis spoke for the first time.

“It had a square case of rose gold and a leather strap: very popular style during the ’30s and ’40s.”

“How much was the watch?” Dennis asked.

“Twenty-five hundred dollars.”

“Did he buy it?” Dennis said.

“Oh, good heavens, no. Not then. No self-respecting collector would spend that much money on a piece without investigating it.”

“Investigating? What kind of investigating?”

“Well, after you certify that it’s authentic, you’d normally go onto the Internet and do a price check: see what it sells for, that kind of thing. He came back twice more and finally purchased it.”

“He spent twenty-five hundred on a watch? An old watch. Did he pay cash?”

“No, he used a credit card. And I must say, sir, that you do not understand the business of watch collecting. It is a serious and discriminating endeavor. We’re talking about exquisitely built mechanical timepieces. The young man was quite adept at picking value. In fact, he was enthralled by the entire industry and sometimes discussed new models from the European manufacturers, but he said he couldn’t afford those new watches.”

Dennis continued to look at the watches in the case, and Judy took his inaction as a signal for her to continue. She prodded Shingley for precise dates when the American had visited the store, but he was fuzzy on that. She asked him to show her the receipts of Jansen’s purchases, and the shopkeeper had already photocopied them in preparation for the visit and presented them to her in a vanilla-colored envelope.

After nearly forty-five minutes, Dennis said, “So what do you think happened to Jansen? Do you think someone might have wanted his watches?”

“I very much doubt that, sir,” Shingley said. “Collectors are not like that. I haven’t the faintest idea what happened to the young man. To be honest, I was hoping he was going to buy another watch from me.”

“Which one?” Judy said.

“This one,” Shingley said, leaning over the top of the case and pointing downward with his stubby right forefinger.

“Can we see it?” she asked.

He reached behind the case, slid open the door from behind and gently retrieved a wristwatch, its tag following behind like a miniature seagull circling the beach. Before placing it on the glass case, Shingley put down a deep-purple velvet pad.

Dennis and Judy stooped over the case and looked at the watch. To Dennis it looked like a million other wristwatches: a round gold-colored case and a black, simple leather wristband. He could not see the price, so he turned over the tag.

“Thirty-two hundred dollars?”

While Judy was certainly no watch collector and did not understand paying that kind of money for old watches, she nevertheless appreciated that some people might find interest and pleasure in collecting them. She was not sure Dennis felt the same.

“Dear sir,” Shingley said slowly and with pronounced umbrage, “this is a highly valued IWC Schaffhausen. It is eighteen-carat rose gold with a seventeen-jewel movement. It’s original with no new parts. It was made in the early 1960s, and your young American was quite taken by it, as are several other collectors.”

Judy noticed that Dennis glanced at her quickly, as if they were co-conspirators.

“Look, here’s my Seiko,” Dennis said, holding up his wrist. “Looks about the same to me. Cost about one-tenth the price of this thing. Probably keeps better time.”

God, why does he insist on doing that? Judy thought. Her face felt warm with embarrassment, and she was desperate to end the interchange.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Shingley,” she said, grabbing the digital recorder. “If we have any further questions, we will get back to you.”

Shingley glared at Dennis, his chin raised slightly in a posture of defiance. “Good day,” he said sharply.

The tinkle of the bell signaled their departure.

They walked in silence for a block until Dennis smelled the rich aroma of coffee.

“Hey,” he said, stopping, “can we get a cup of coffee? I could use a cup.”

Judy looked at her watch and didn’t speak, hoping he’d take the hint, but he walked into the small coffee shop and she followed.

The complexity of ordering coffee quickly overwhelmed Dennis as the woman behind the counter tried to explain his choices.

“What’s a flat white?” he asked.

“It’s like a cappuccino, sort of,” she said.