Chapter Thirty-four

Emil Dreyfuss Associates was located in a suite of offices just inside the main entrance of the Carlisle Building in the heart of the down town. The building was a modern monstrosity, built about ten years ago on the site of one of the grand old hotels that had once graced the city. Gone were the ornate stone work and gargoyles. They had been replaced with twenty stories of glass and steel.

Inside, the lobby was strangely impersonal. The vaulted atrium ceiling and cool green carpet along with the large fountain in the center of the room and the many varieties of ferns and potted tees should have inspired a feeling of calm reflection. But there was nothing here that invited the visitor to stop and enjoy the setting. A television set mounted to the wall in one corner was tuned to the financial channel. The latest stock quotes scrolled across the screen at a hectic pace while a reporter gestured wildly and spoke in a rushed and excited tone about the price of pork bellies on the Chicago market. If one was inclined to watch this, he would have to stand with his neck craned upward at a dizzying angle. There were no chairs or benches.

The reception area of Emil Dreyfuss Associates was a little better. There was a black leather couch facing the desk, and on the table in the corner, the latest issues of Architectural Digest and Home Plans were arranged in a neat fan.

Lucy, the aging receptionist, greeted me warmly and called Mr. Dreyfuss on the intercom. "He's just finishing with a client. It shouldn't be long if you would care to have a seat. You're the one who called about Mr. Lefler, aren't you?"

"Yes," I said.

"Such a shame, really. He had such a bright future ahead of him. But these things happen, I suppose."

I was about to ask her what things when a young couple came out of an office, followed by a tall, husky man, about sixty years old, with wavy charcoal gray hair. He thanked them for stopping by and ushered them out the door before turning to me.

"You must be Pagan Brock," he said, extending a hand which I shook. "Emil Dreyfuss." He led me to his office and indicated a chair, and I sat.

The office was large, with gold carpeting and royal blue drapes that hung to the floor behind the antique mahogany desk. The chairs were large, blue leather wing backs. The walls were covered in a rich gold and white textured wall paper. A print of Renoir's Blue Boy hung on one wall over the mahogany filing cabinet which was home to an antique gold-toned mantle clock.

Emil took his seat behind the desk. "You probably don't remember me, do you?"

"No," I admitted, "have we met?"

"I know your father. We did some business years ago. Last time I saw you, you were about six years old."

I still didn't remember him. "Of course," I said. "I thought your name was familiar."

"Lucy told me you wanted to know about Joe Lefler. Can I ask why?" He folded his hands over his stomach and leaned back in his chair.

"You've heard, I'm sure, that Crown Jewels was robbed and the guard killed?"

"Yes. Joe's wife works there, doesn't she?"

"She did until yesterday."

"Do you suspect that she and Joe were involved in the robbery?"

"It's possible."

"Well, it wouldn't surprise me."

"Why," I asked.

Emil stood up and turned to gaze out the window. "It started about two years ago. Joe's work started to go down hill. I considered him one of my top employees. Are you familiar with the new Cornell Club building?"

"Yes," I said. The Cornell Club was a private social club where everyone who was anyone felt they had to be seen at least once a week.

"He designed that building. It's an architectural masterpiece, if you ask me, and some say I'm the ultimate authority in this town. Not to blow my own horn, of course."

"Of course not," I said.

"After that, I was seriously considering making him a partner in this firm. He'd earned it. Then, something happened. At first, I thought he was just in a creative slump. It happens to all of us now and then, and coming off of a project like that, it was no big surprise. But he didn't come out of it."

"What happened?"

"He started missing deadlines. His work became sloppy. And then, about ten months ago, his behavior changed." Emil returned to his chair and shrugged. He seemed to think that was a sufficient explanation.

"In what way," I asked.

"It was very subtle at first. He would lose his temper now and then. He'd always been very calm before. Then one day, I walked into his office and he was tearing the place apart. He had emptied all of the drawers onto the floor, the chairs were overturned. It was really kind of frightening. I asked him what he was doing. He just sort of looked at me funny and said he was looking for something, then he shut the door in my face. I fired him a couple of days later."

"How did he take it?"

"Not well. He threatened me."

"Did he ever try to follow up on the threat?"

Emil sighed and started arranging the supplies on his desk. "I can't say for sure. Things have happened. I get calls at all hours of the night, and the caller hangs up as soon as I answer. A few times a car has gone by my house with the horn honking and the lights off in the middle of the night. There hasn't been a direct incident. Its more like harassment."

"Have you reported any of this."

"Of course, but, as I'm sure you know, nothing can be done until he actually tries something."

"And you're fairly certain that its him?"

"Yes."

"Have there been any incidents in the last week?"

Emil thought about it. "No. The last call was exactly a week ago."

"You don't by chance remember what time you got the call," I asked.

"It was about midnight. Maybe twelve-fifteen."

"Any theory on why he changed so dramatically? Do you know if he was having problems at home?"

Emil shook his head. "Nothing that I know of. I wish I could be more help."

"You've been a great help, Emil." I took a business card from my pocket and handed it to him. "If you should think of anything else or hear from him, would you give me a call."

"Sure," Emil said, glancing at the card. "You're the manager of Crown Jewels?"

"I didn't mention that," I asked.

"No. I just assumed you were with the police." He shrugged. "Give your father my best. I hope he's feeling better."

Chapter Thirty-five

I pulled up in front of the big three story red brick house and sat. The rose bushes, all the same shade of pink, were planted evenly along the foundation. The branches of the weeping willow, with it's perfect circle of white rock around its base, drifted gracefully to the ground. There was a wide front porch that ran the length of the house, with thick Doric columns that supported a similar deck off the second floor.

It looked like an old Southern mansion. I could picture ladies in hoop skirts and gentlemen in waist coats and ties sipping lemonade in the hot summer sun, discussing how difficult it is to get good help since the damned Yankees interfered in their affairs.

The big gray Lincoln was parked in the driveway. Jonas was home. I wasn't entirely sure that I wanted to talk to him. But I decided that since I was here, I might as well get it over with.

I walked slowly, taking in the sweet scent of the roses and trying to put off the inevitable. It didn't work. Before long, I was standing at the front door. My only choices were to ring the bell or leave. So I rang the bell.

A minute or so later, the door opened.

"Oh, its you," Rebecca said. "Come in."

She stepped aside and I walked into the foyer. From here, a wide staircase led to the second floor. To the left was an old fashioned double parlor. That room belonged to Merry Silvers.

Everything in it, the carpet, curtains and upholstery, was the same shade of pink as the roses that peered through the window. A gilt-edged mirror hung over the pink stone fireplace. A painting of a vase of pink roses hung on the wall over the piano, which, fortunately, was not pink, but had its own vase of pink roses sitting on it. There was one splash of powder blue, in the form of a throw over the back of the pink sofa, to break the monotony. At the far end of the room was Jonas's only contribution to the decor, an oil painting of his father, Eligh.

Jonas had grown up in this house, and this room had always been his father's favorite. When Eligh died eight years ago, Jonas and Merry moved in. It had been Merry's job to do the redecorating. When he saw what she had done to the parlor, he was furious. For forty years, the room had remained unchanged, with it's heavy, gothic antique furniture and a grandfather clock in the corner. All of that was gone. Jonas had the portrait painted from an old photograph, and hung it here, much to Merry's dismay. She had, at first, ordered him to take it down. But he had persisted and, finally, prevailed, and the portrait remained, so that Eligh could forever watch over this room, changed though it was.

I sat down in one of the pink chairs. Rebecca watched me suspiciously, as though she were afraid I would try to steal one of the pink carnival glass dishes displayed on the mantle if she turned her back for even a second.

"Could you tell your father that I'm here," I asked politely.

Without moving, Rebecca yelled, "Dad, you've got company!" She sat down on the arm of the sofa. She twisted her frizzy brown hair into a knot at the nape of her neck, and tapped her foot impatiently.

"How's school going," I asked.

"I graduate at the end of the next semester," she replied coldly.

"Congratulations."

She shrugged.

I, the renowned expert at the art of small talk, couldn't think of a single thing to say to this girl. I finally asked her if she was enjoying her vacation.

"Its okay, " she said.

I considered asking her if she had a boyfriend, but given her feelings toward me and the fact that she had seen me with Schuyler at Harvey's funeral, I decided that such a question would be the equivalent of baiting a hook that I would later have to swallow. Just then, Jonas walked into the room and saved me from having to say anything at all.

"Pagan," he said. "What are you... Rebecca, could you leave us alone?"

Rebecca shrugged and wandered out of the room.

Jonas looked ten years older than he had the last time I had seen him. The lines in his face had deepened significantly, and the bags under his eyes had doubled in size. His hair was not combed and his clothing, a white tee shirt and gray slacks, was wrinkled.

"What are you doing here," he said in a harsh whisper.

"I've been asking myself that same question," I said, "and the only answer I can come up with is that we need to talk."

"Yes," he said "we do. And let me start I by telling you to keep your nose out of things that are none of your business."

"What are you talking about?"

"I think you know what I'm talking about. Can't you just leave well enough alone, kid?"

He was talking in riddles, but at least he was calling me kid. That meant he wasn't too mad.

"Under the circumstances," I said, "no."

He nodded sadly. He sat down on the pink sofa with the powder blue throw over the back, crossed his legs and started fingering the cuff of his pants nervously. "Tommy called me. Says you left Jack. That true?"

"Yes."

"Good. It's about time. Glad to see you with van Dorn the other day too. He's a good man, Pagan. And he's crazy about you. You two'll be great together."

"I know."

Jonas stood up, walked the length of the room, straightened the portrait of his father, and returned. He moved the vase on the piano a millimeter to the right, stood back and nodded. "I don't want to lose you," he said without turning to look at me. "You're the best damned manager Crown Jewels ever had. You know what they say. No one's irreplaceable. Well, they, whoever they are, are wrong."

"Then why did you do this, Jonas?"

He turned around and shook his head sadly. "You gotta understand, kid. I had no choice. I met with the board, and we voted on it."

"If there was a meeting of the board, I should have been there. Why wasn't I informed about it," I asked.

"Because we were discussing you. You know how corporate life is, kid."

"Secret meetings and stabbing friends in the back. Yeah, I know how it is."

Jonas returned to his seat on the sofa and looked away from me. That comment had hurt him more than he wanted me to see, and I was sorry for that, but it was nothing compared to what he had done.

"If it's any consolation, I stood up for you."

"It's not," I said. "I can understand that you had to do what you did. I don't have a problem with that. But you should have come to me. You should have told me face to face, not over the phone. That's what really hurt me, Jonas."

"I couldn't," he said. "If I'd had to look you in the eye, I couldn't have done it. You're a part of the family, kid. I just couldn't have done it."

A single tear rolled down his cheek. I couldn't watch him cry, so I closed my eyes and covered my face with my hands. When I looked up, I stared out the window.

"I'm sorry, too," I said. "Whatever I've done that upset you, I'm sorry."

"You really don't know," he said.

"No, I don't."

"Maybe its best that way," he said.

He walked me to my car, making small talk along the way. Merry was thinking of putting in some peony bushes, and maybe a trellis with a climbing rose on the side of the house next spring. Aaron had called from California. He was selling real estate in Bel Air.

He opened the car door for me and I got in. "It'll turn out okay," he said. Then he shut the door and headed back up the walk.

I drove away with an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach that I couldn't explain.

Chapter Thirty-six

Washington showed me to the room where the video tape was cued up and ready to go. The VCR was on pause, and the frozen frame on the screen showed the Crown Jewels sales floor with the door to the guard room in the background. The door was open just a crack, and a thin beam of light streamed from it into the dimly lit foreground.

It was a poor quality black and white tape that had been recorded over many times, leaving vague after images that gave the impression of movement, even in the pause mode. The picture was rough and grainy. A large bronze statue near the front door, which depicted a medieval knight in battle with a vicious looking dragon, in the tape more closely resembled some furry space creature with a single long antennae growing out the side of its head. The rectangular display cases looked soft and curved. In the upper left corner was a dark blob which I finally decided must be part of the central chandelier. In the lower right corner was the time index. The tape was frozen at three minutes after two in the morning, three minutes after Charlie Howard went off duty and Harvey Bannister came on.

Charlie had said, both to the police and to me on the day after the robbery, that he had seen nothing suspicious when he left Crown Jewels that night. No other car in the parking lot. No one lurking around outside.

Yet they must have been there, hiding some place nearby and waiting. Harvey should never have opened the door after Charlie left. Doing so would have been a serious violation of store policy. But Charlie was famous for forgetting things. He rarely left the store without leaving something behind, usually his car keys or his glasses, and if the knock on the door came just seconds after he left, as it must have, Harvey would probably have assumed that this was the case.

Washington checked the hallway for anyone who might have seen us enter the room, then shut and locked the door. He picked up the remote control, which was attached to the television set by a long chain and sat down on the edge of the table in the center of the room.

Its a sad statement about our society, I thought, when the police have to worry about the possible theft of a remote control from their own headquarters.

"I wanted to thank you again for doing this," I said. "I know Shapiro could cause a lot of problems for you."

"Yeah, well," Washington said, "Shapiro's been acting kind of weird on this one. Hell, its plain as day you didn't do it. There's no evidence, no motive." He shrugged and started the tape.

On the screen, two fuzzy figures came out of the guard room. One was tall and muscular, the other much shorter and very thin. As they crossed the sales floor, the taller one paused for a moment, and the shorter one stepped ahead of him.

"Pause the tape," I said.

Washington did as I asked. "You see something?"

"I've been going on the assumption that this one," I said indicating the shorter figure in the foreground, "is a woman."

"Looks that way to me."

I nodded. "I wish I could make out something of her face," I said. "Looks like she's about five-two to five-four."

"Hard to tell about height."

"I'm judging by the display cases," I said. "The one she's next to right here is about three and a half feet high."

"Mm hmm," Washington said, studying the image. "You're probably about right." He turned his gaze to me. "You're about five-ten, right?"

"Eleven," I said.

"Yet another flaw in Shapiro's logic, unless you had some sort of record breaking growth spurt in the last week."

"That would probably be his argument," I said. "Can you run the tape forward at a slower speed?"

"Sure," Washington said.

He started the tape again and the shorter figure moved in slow motion off the screen. Washington reversed the tape back to the beginning of the segment, and started it over, still in slow motion.

"You can catch it better at this speed," he said. "Watch the little sway in the short one's walk. Definitely a woman."

"She look like a blonde to you," I asked.

Washington shook his head. "Hard to say. The lighting stinks. All we got is shadows. Not too dark, though. The hair, I mean." He backed the taped up again and paused it just as they came out of the guard room. "There! That one gives us a better view."

The two robbers were about thirty yards from the camera, which was mounted in the opposite corner of the store. It was hard to see any details, but apparently Washington had spotted something.

"Uh, huh," I said.

"Look," Washington said. "Right here." He pointed to the woman. "They're in profile with the light from that room on them. Look at her hair. Its in a ponytail."

"How can you tell," I asked.

"I've seen a thousand of these tapes. This is one of the better ones, believe it or not. That's a ponytail."

Washington was more excited about this than I was. "So we have a robber with a ponytail," I said. "How does that help?"

"Its more of a description than we had when we started," he said.

I had to give him that one. "Try to get a good frame on the other one," I said.

Washington paused the tape at several different points, but no picture was better than any other. Finally, he paused on the frame in which the figure was closest to the camera.

"You're the expert," I said. "Can you get anything from that?"

"Dark hair. Maybe. Or a dark cap of some sort." Washington moved in close to the screen to study the image. "You said that case is three and a half feet? Then I'd say this guy is six feet, maybe a little over."

"That was my guess," I said.

Washington returned to his seat on the edge of the table and started the tape again. The two figure disappeared off the left side of the screen. We watched in silence for twelve minutes as nothing happened. Then the two figures returned, each of them carrying two large bags, and went into the guard room. A minute later, the screen went black and the VCR changed modes and began rewinding.

"One thing bothers me," Washington said. "Everything was planned so well. They knew all of the security measures and had a way to get around them. Yet they let themselves be taped."

"Easy enough to explain," I said. "They couldn't do anything about that except time it perfectly, which they did."

"Huh?"

"During business hours, we record the tapes and keep them for two weeks before we record over them. That way, if something turns up missing, we can go back over the tapes and see what we can find. At night, there's usually nothing to see, so the tape runs continuously, and when it comes to the end, it rewinds and starts over. The logic being that if and when an alarm goes off, someone will arrive to turn the tape off and save whatever was recorded."

"Uh huh," Washington said.

"In this case, no alarm went off and no one showed up to turn the tape off. If the robbery hadn't been discovered until someone, namely me, arrived at eight-thirty in the morning, all of this would have already been recorded over. But mail security looked in and saw the guard room door standing ajar, tried to get in touch with Harvey, and when they couldn't called the police."

"Why wouldn't they just stop the tape?"

"That would have set off a silent alarm."

"Okay. So they must have taken the guard to that other vault and killed him while the tape was rewinding, right? How long does that take?"

"It's around four minutes, I think."

"More than enough time."

We watched the tape once more. There was nothing on it we hadn't seen the first time. I thanked Washington again and promised that Shapiro would never know that he had helped me.

Chapter Thirty-seven

It was ten minutes to six when I left Police Headquarters. The fastest route home would take me within a few blocks of Crown Jewels, and if I hurried, I could get there before Schuyler left.

The traffic leaving the down town was still heavy, so I turned off of Calvary at Eighty-fifth, then paralleled the main street on Dewhurst until I reached 172nd Avenue, which wound through a residential area and came to a dead end in the back parking lot of the Calvary Mall.

Schuyler's Jeep was still in the parking lot outside Crown Jewels. I only had to wait a few minutes before he came out. He spotted my car immediately and came over.

He leaned in through my open window and greeted me with a kiss. "How's the investigation shaping up," he asked.

"It could be better," I said. "Right now, I could use your help."

We drove around to the side of the building and I explained my theory.

"It makes sense," Schuyler said. "This would be the only way in."

"And if they were hiding back here, it had to be in those bushes," I said, pointing to the overgrown yews planted several feet from the door on either side.

"The police already searched the area," Schuyler said. "What are we looking for?"

"Anything they might have missed."

We got out of the car. Schuyler headed for the bush to the left of the door, and I took the other one.

I wasn't dressed for climbing around in bushes. I was wearing a long, beige linen skirt and a white silk blouse. But after gingerly pushing branches back and peering in for a few minutes, I decided to hell with it and got down on my hands and knees and crawled in.

Someone had been hiding there. In the back of the bush, next to the wall, several branches had been removed and piled under the bush on the other side, making a person-sized clearing. The ends of the severed branches were perfectly smooth, as though they had been cut with a saw or clippers.

In the clearing, there was nothing to indicate who had been hiding there. I suppose that I had hoped the thief had dropped his wallet and not thought in the week since the robbery to come back for it. Or maybe he would have brazenly written his name on the wall. Instead, I found a cricket and a lot of dead pine needles.

"Pagan," Schuyler called. "I think I found something."

I crawled out of the bush and stood up. Schuyler was laying on his stomach with only his feet sticking out of the bush. I stifled a laugh at the sight and went around to the other side.

It was in the same condition as the other, with a clearing just large enough for a person to hide in and a pile of branches hidden in the middle. I pushed my way underneath until I came face to face with Schuyler in the clearing.

"What?"

"Do you know how long I've waited to get you alone in a bush," he asked, grinning.

"I don't think there's room in here for what you had in mind," I said.

He looked around. "You may be right." He pointed to a spot on the wall. "There's hair caught on the brick," he said. He wiggled forward a little until he could reach it. "You didn't by chance bring a plastic bag with you, did you?"

"No," I said. "Hold on a minute." I backed out of the bush as gracefully as I could and stood up. "Pass it up to me."

I pushed aside some branches and found his hand gripping several strands of hair between his thumb and forefinger. I took hold of it in the same manner and pulled it through his fingers.

Gripping the hair securely in the center, I found first one end, then the other. It was about twelve inches long and had come out from the root.

Schuyler stood and brushed the dead pine needles and grass off of his suit. "Can you tell anything from that?"

"She has long hair," I said. I held the hair against my white blouse. "Light reddish brown, but a few hairs can't tell you much about color. Nothing else in there?"

"Sorry."

"At least we know that this is where they were hiding. I don't know what good it does, but you never know," I said.

In the car, I found an old plastic bag from a drug store and tucked the hair inside. I put the whole thing in the glove compartment.

"I was going to offer to buy you dinner," Schuyler said, picking a leaf out of my hair, "but I don't think any respectable place would let us in now."

We decided to pick something up on the way home and have dinner in bed.

Chapter Thirty-eight

"You got a package," Schuyler said as he came in from getting the mail.

"Here," I asked.

He handed me a large manila envelope. It had my name and Schuyler's address on it in large, shaky block letters and an Arizona postmark. I tore it open.

Inside was a thick file folder with a typed cover letter paper clipped to it. I sat down at the table to read it.

My dearest Pagan,

This afternoon, I spoke with our mutual friend, Tommy Silvers. He told me that he will be representing you in divorce proceedings against Jack. I strive to stay out of your personal affairs, as I know this is what you want. But, if you will permit me just one statement, it will be this. Its about time. He was no good for you.

About this fellow you're seeing. Tom seems to like him, and that's good enough for me. Your mother, on the other hand, is standing behind me just now. She wants me to tell you that if you don't call with details soon, she will be forced to fly back east to meet him. As you know, she will not fly alone, which means I would have to accompany her. Seeing as my doctor has recommended that I not travel, this would be difficult. My health is in your hands.

Tom also mentioned the problems you are having with Lt. Shapiro, whom we affectionately refer to as Corky. I don't want you to think that I am meddling in your business. Of course, that's exactly what I intend to do.

I'm afraid that, in this situation, you are fighting my battle. I could not live with myself, or your mother, if I sat back and did nothing about it.

I know that you disagree with many of the things that I have done in my life. I can't blame you for that. am not proud of the things I have done, and if it were me suffering for these things, I would say that it is well deserved. But you should not have to pay the price for my sins.

I met Corky Shapiro many years ago, when he was a rookie cop who thought the badge and gun gave him unlimited power and invincibility.

Someone had approached me asking for a particular favor, the nature of which is not important to the story. Another acquaintance of mine suggested a young cop named Shapiro for the job, and gave me certain information that would be useful in convincing him to cooperate.

As it turned out, the information I had been given was not quite accurate, although I later learned of some other interesting facts that you will find in the file.

Fortunately, I had not said anything incriminating up to that point, so I cut my losses, told Shapiro that I was sorry for the misunderstanding, and got out.

It was enough, however, to cast suspicion on me, and Shapiro made it his life's work to catch me at something. While he never succeeded at being anything more than a minor annoyance, some of his tactics, as you well know at this point, were over the line.

Over the years, I have kept track of him and documented his activities. This is the information I have enclosed. In the file are signed statements from reputable sources and an array of evidence that should be more than sufficient to solve your problems. Use it as you wish without any concern as to how it will effect me. There is nothing in the file that could cause me any problems.

If there is anything else you need, give me a call.

With love as always,
Daddy

I opened the file and started sorting through the pages. The documents were in chronological order, and most of them were so old as to be harmless. About halfway through, I came to a page dated 1986. It was the deathbed statement from a well known judge that Shapiro had planted evidence in a much publicized murder case. The charges against the defendant, who was a friend of my father's, had been dropped. At the time, this made no sense, since there was an abundance of evidence against the man. Now, I understood.

The next document was transcript of a telephone conversation between Shapiro and another officer. In it, Shapiro detailed how he had gone about arresting a man that he suspected was a drug dealer. He had stolen drugs from the evidence room and approached the man, posing as a new supplier. It was a clear case of entrapment.

After that, there were several newspaper clippings stapled to a variety of statements and photocopies of police reports charging Shapiro with police brutality. In all of these cases, the charges had either been dropped before anything came of it, or Shapiro had been cleared of any wrong doing through an internal investigation.

After counting seven such reports, I decided that Shapiro had either a tremendous amount of luck, or some a connection to someone in power.

And when I turned the page, I found out what that connection was.

Chapter Thirty-nine

We had left Schuyler's Jeep in the parking lot at Crown Jewels, so I drove him to work in the morning. I had something to do at the mall anyway, and was kicking myself for not thinking of it sooner.

I dropped Schuyler off at the entrance to Crown Jewels. Already, some of the replacement merchandise was coming in, and everyone was working overtime to get ready for the reopening. He told me that it might be as soon as another week.

It was good news, but it made me a little bit sad to think that I would have nothing to do with it. Of course, there was the hope that I would be back in time for the opening, but I didn't want to be too optimistic.

I parked the car near the mall's main entrance and went in. The mall security office was at the other end of the mall, through the doors marked "Employees Only," which was a meaningless sign since the restrooms were also in the corridor beyond the doors.

I knocked on the door of the security office and heard someone call, "Come in."

The office was actually a lounge with a desk and filing cabinet in addition to the sofa and pop machine. The guard on duty was a young kid of about eighteen with a pock marked complexion and thick glasses. He was sitting on the sofa, drinking a Pepsi and reading an issue of the Marvelous X-Men comic, which he promptly hid under the cushion when I walked in.

"What can I do for you, Ma'am," he asked, getting to his feet.

The name Bradford was imprinted on the pin on his shirt. I thought about asking if that was his first or last name, but it really didn't matter.

"Pagan Brock," I said, "from Crown Jewels. I'm hoping you can help me."

"Do what I can," he said.

"Can you tell me who was on duty last Monday night. That would be the night Crown Jewels was robbed."

"Oh, I know," he said. "Most excitement we've had around here since I came to work." He went to the desk and started flipping through a notebook. "It's usually Frank and Shirley on week nights, but Shirley started her vacation the Friday before. Yesterday was her first day back. She took her kids to Wyoming, to see Yellowstone. I've never been there, but she said it was real nice. Don't know about the car trip with three kids, though. I got younger brothers and sisters, and ten minutes in the car with them is too much if you ask me, not to mention two days. Here it is."

I had almost forgotten what I had asked him.

"Al Cutter filled in for her that night," he said. "He's the one reported the robbery."

"Is he on duty right now?"

"No, but he should be in in about ten minutes if you want to wait."

I was sure it would mean hearing more details about Shirley's trip to Yellowstone, but I said yes anyway and took a seat on the sofa.

"How long have you worked here," I asked.

"Two months," he said, "since graduation. My father got me the job. He runs the Little King's in the food court. Thought it would be a good idea if I got some real world experience before I start college next month. And don't ask what I'm going to major in. He wants me to go into hotel-restaurant management. Follow in his footsteps and all that. But I don't know. That doesn't sound very exciting, does it?"

"Not if it isn't what you want to do," I said.

"That's just it. I don't know what I want to do. Or maybe it's that I want to do too many things. Guess I'll have to decide eventually, but I got time."

I was watching the clock on the wall and hoping that Al Cutter would come in early. "How about liberal arts," I said.

"Huh?"

"Major in liberal arts, get a feel for several different areas, and you can specialize later."

Bradford thought about that for a full ten seconds. I was counting. "Not a bad idea," he said thoughtfully. "Bet I could even get Dad to go for it."

The door opened and a short, paunchy man in his fifties walked in with a Styrofoam cup in one hand and a jelly donut in the other. The name tag of his uniform said Cutter. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Hey, Al," Bradford said, "this lady wants to talk to you."

"Pagan Brock," I said.

"You're the manager of Crown Jewels, right?"

"Yes."

He put the donut down on the desk, wiped his hand on his pants leg and held it out. "Good to meet you," he said.

I shook his hand cautiously.

"We talked on the phone the other night. After the robbery," he said.

"Oh," I said. "I was asleep when the phone rang. I really didn't remember who I'd talked to."

"Understandable," he said. He picked up the donut, took a bite, and continued talking while he was chewing. "Someone calls me while I'm sleeping, they're lucky if I stay awake long enough to say hello. What can I do for you?"

"Do you remember what time it was when you discovered that the robbery had taken place?"

"Sure, no problem. Bradford, you got my log book?"

"Right here, Al." Bradford dug in one of the file drawers and came out with a small leather-bound notebook, which he handed to Cutter.

"Lessee," he mumbled as he flipped through the pages, holding the donut in his mouth as he did so. "'At 'us what? Monday night?"

"Uh huh," I said.

"... Ight 'ere." He took the donut out of his mouth. "It was five-fifteen on Tuesday morning."

"Did you notice anything suspicious prior to that?"

"Okay," he said. This time, he put the donut on the desk as he looked through the book. "Nope."

"Well," I said, trying not to appear too anxious to get out of there, "thank you for your help."

"No problem," Cutter said. "Anytime."

I headed for the door.

"Hey, Ma'am," Bradford said.

I turned around. "Yes."

Bradford was digging in the filing cabinet again. "You wanted to know about anything suspicious, right?"

"Yes."

He brought out another leather-bound notebook. "This here's Shirley's log book," he said looking through it. "I'm sure she mentioned something about a car that had been hanging around in the parking lot after hours." He turned a few more pages. "Yep, here it is. This would have been the Thursday before the robbery. A black Chevy Corsica, spotted about one in the morning. Drove off before she could question the occupants."

Could it be that simple, I wondered.

"Did she get the license number?"

"Of course." He picked up a pen and wrote the number down on a notepad. "Here." He gave me the paper.

"Was this reported to the police," I asked.

He glanced at the book, "Sure was. That's policy, you know. Report any unusual occurrences to the police immediately. That's what it says in our handbook."

"Thank you, Bradford. You've been a tremendous help. And good luck talking to your father."

"I'll need it," he called as I walked out the door.

Chapter Forty

The thought kept running through my mind that it couldn't be this easy. The black Corsica probably had a good reason for being in the parking lot that Thursday night. It was probably a couple of teenagers in their parents car who had been looking for a place to park.

And if, no when, I corrected myself, it turned out that way, I wouldn't be disappointed.

I put in a call to Police Headquarters as soon as I got back to the car. The phone was answered on the third ring by an inefficient sounding desk sergeant named Osbourne. I asked to speak to Chad Washington.

"I think he's around here somewhere," Osbourne said. "It could take a while to find him."

"I'll wait," I said.

"Probably be better if you leave your name and number. I'll have him call you."

"You don't understand," I said. "This is urgent. I need to talk to him now."

"Urgent, huh? Well, I guess I could have someone take a look around." The line went silent as he put me on hold.

I was expecting a long wait, but in a couple minutes, Washington came on the line and identified himself.

"I wanted to thank you again for helping me out yesterday. And, I have another favor I need to ask of you," I said humbly.

"You got a lead," he asked.

"Could be. I don't want to get my hopes up," I said.

"That's good," Washington said, then he hesitated. "Look, Frank, I'd love to help you but..."

"Shapiro just walked in, huh?"

"You got it. So, drinks after work sound good?"

"I can't wait that long," I said.

"You just name the place."

We settled on McCarrin Park, which was located in the center of the down town, a few blocks from Police Headquarters.

Washington was waiting when I got there, leaning against the side of his cruiser. I pulled in next to him and he got into my car.

"So what have you got," he asked.

"The license number of a car that was seen hanging around Crown Jewels." I took the scrap of paper from its secure hiding place inside the vanity mirror and gave it to him. "It's a black Chevy Corsica."

"No problem." He got out of the car and reached into his cruiser for his radio. In a minute, he was back.

"It's registered to Common Cents Auto Rental down near the airport. Need the exact address?"

"No," I said. "I can find it. Shapiro's giving you a hard time, isn't he?"

Washington stared out the window for a minute, then nodded. "Damn it," he said. "I know he's my superior officer, and I shouldn't be questioning his orders, but he's acting crazy."

"He's always been that way, Chad. Some people you just have to shrug off and go on with your own life. Couldn't you ask for a transfer to another division?"

"I tried. It was turned down."

"I think I can help you," I said. I got a file folder from the back seat and gave it to him. "For you, in payment for your help. It was given to me to do with as I please, so I'm giving it to you. The only string attached is that you don't ask me where I got it."

Washington looked through the file. "Shit! How'd he get away with all this?"

"You remember Manny Scarpelli," I said.

"The police chief? Died of cancer last year? Of course I remember him."

"He and Shapiro were involved."

Washington shook his head. He didn't get it.

"They were lovers," I said. "Manny looked out for him, kept the heat off. And everyone knows the Scarpellis can do that sort of thing."

Washington thought about it. "Can you prove that, if it comes down to it?"

"I could, if it's absolutely necessary. I left that information out of the file. There's enough there as it is, and I don't think that a person's sexual orientation should matter in this type of thing. Besides, the two of them were together for a long time, and the loss was hard on Shapiro. Whatever he's done, I don't believe in pouring salt on a wound."

"You're more forgiving than I would be. You want me to leave your name out Of this?"

I shook my head. "Doesn't matter. Shapiro's really not dangerous anymore. He knows that he doesn't have anyone to bail him out. If he did, I'd be in the county jail right now."

Chapter Forty-one

Common Cents Auto Rental was a small local operation. The office was in one of those silver bubble shaped mobile homes that had seen better days. It was rusting at the seams and was patched in spots with electrical tape.

Their fleet consisted of about fifteen cars, in widely varied condition, which were kept inside a tall fence with a padlocked gate. The car nearest the gate was the black Chevy Corsica.

The sign on the office door said "Come In" in cheery red letters. Once inside, I realized that the sign was the only cheerful thing about the place. Everything was medium brown, which was probably meant to make the office look homey. In reality, it looked as dead as the plant hanging from the ceiling behind the desk.

The woman sitting at the desk didn't look much better. She was a sickly thin old woman with sunken eyes and cheekbones to match. Her hair, obviously dyed, was the color of honey and cut very short. The name plate on her desk said Hazel Schultz.

"Can I help you," she asked in a raspy voice.

"I need some information," I said. "One of your cars may have been involved in a crime."

I had planned to continue, but she interrupted. "Are you with the police," she asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

"No," I said.

"Then I don't have time for your questions." She turned her chair and started shuffling some papers.

"I can see that, Hazel, what with all these customers to wait on. But maybe you could spare five minutes of your valuable time."

"Nope."

I sat down in a worn out chair in the comer. "I'll wait until you're free," I said.

"Then you'll be trespassing, and I'll have to call the police."

I smiled as warmly as I could manage. "Ask for Chad Washington," I said. "He knows I'm here."

She looked at me questioningly for several seconds before she decided that I might be telling the truth. "Then, you're working with the police?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes," I said.

She thought for a moment, biting her lower lip and frowning as she did so. "I suppose," she groaned, "that I could spare just a couple of minutes. But no more than that!"

I stood up, introduced myself property, and explained what I needed.

"I'm afraid I cant help you. I'm not supposed to give out information on clients."

"Who's the owner of this dump," I asked.

She glared at me with a look of determination on her wrinkled face.

"You can either tell me, or I find out for myself and tell him what a rude old bitch he's got working for him. Up to you."

"I suppose I could be convinced to give you the information you want," she said, melodramatically thoughtful.

"Fine," I said.

I took my wallet out of my purse and dropped a twenty dollar bill on the desk. She looked at it scornfully, then up at me.

"I don't have time for this," I said, reaching for the bill.

She beat me to it and tucked ft in her pocket. "Tell me what you need," she said flatly.

I told her which car I was referring to, and the approximate dates. She opened a thin ledger book and peered at it.

"It was rented by Mr. Richard James from Elgin, Illinois. He paid in cash, in advance." Hazel Schultz slammed the book shut.

"Did he give you an address?"

"Not in the book."

"Driver's license?"

"Must have. Its against the law to rent to someone without one."

"But you have no record of it?"

"No."

"Were you on duty when he rented the car?"

"Probably. I usually am."

"Do you remember what he looked like?"

"Might."

I sighed. "Either you do, or you don't. Which is it," I asked.

She shrugged. "Maybe I do, maybe I don't. Memory's not so good anymore."

"Maybe it will improve when I get your boss down here," I said. I made a move toward the phone.

"Well," she said, moving the phone out of reach, "now that I think about it, you know, I think I do remember him. Tall fellow, dark hair. There was a young girl with him, brownish red hair. Not too tall."

"Anything else," I asked.

The old woman shook her head. For the first time, her lack of knowledge seemed genuine, and, perhaps, mixed with a little fear. The threat of calling her boss had struck a nerve.

"Do you think you would recognize either of them if you saw them again?"

"I might... Yeah, I probably would."

"One more thing," I said. "Has anyone else had the car since they brought it back?"

"No. Been sitting back there for a week or so."

"Could I take a look at it?"

She screwed her face up in a gesture of thought. "Guess it wouldn't do no harm."

She found the keys in a drawer and led me out the back door of the trailer into the parking area. She unlocked the car, opened the trunk and stepped back.

Careful not to leave any fingerp6nts, I went through the car slowly, looking for anything and finding nothing. I shut the doors and went around to the trunk.

I didn't see anything there either, until I reached up to close it. Something shiny was wedged halfway under the mat. I pulled it back and brought out a simple gold ring with a small diamond chip in the center.

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