Cat on a Cold Tin Roof (25 page)

“Hi,” I said. “How are you today?”

“Fine,” he said. “It's really just a scratch.” Suddenly he smiled. “I hope it leaves a scar, though.”

“Oh?” I said. “Why?”

“I have an older brother who fought in Vietnam. He took a bullet in the leg, and for the next twenty years every time our family, which is quite large, had a reunion, every one of the kids nagged and nagged until he showed them his scar.” He paused. “I was 4-F.” He patted his arm gingerly. “Now I finally have a wound to show them.”

“If I'd known it meant that much to you, I'd have shot you myself,” I said, and he chuckled. “I suppose they confiscated the box?”

He nodded. “You told me they would.”

“Okay, we're a day late, but they still want to see you,” I said. “I'll drive us over.”

“Will this take very long?” he asked.

“They'll probably be done with you in an hour,” I said. “But of course it'll take them a few days to get the diamonds—after all, two guys were killed in Covington because of them. Still, the two departments work pretty well together, and since there's no one left alive to charge with murder and there's a murder case pending across the river, I think the diamonds should be in Cincinnati in, oh, maybe a week.”

“I can save you a return trip and have my wife pick me up,” he offered.

“The cops will take you back,” I said. “You're only there because they want to see you, and since you're coming willingly and saving them a ton of interstate paperwork, they'll be happy to do it.” I paused. “At least, they'll
look
happy.”

“The man who yelled at you to duck,” said Mela as we walked to the car. “Was he your partner?”

“In a way,” I said.

“How is he?”

“Dead.”

“I'm sorry.”

“So am I,” I said. “But if he hadn't been backing me up, you and I would be lying side by side in the morgue.”

He shook his head. “All because Abner stole some diamonds.”

“All because he stole some diamonds from a man he'd just killed,” I said.

He rubbed his face with his delicate hands. “It's all too much for me. Jewelers are conditioned to worry about robbery, not murder.”

We crossed the combined I-71/I-75 bridge to Ohio, and a couple of minutes later I parked at headquarters and escorted Mela into the building and up to Jim Simmons's office.

“Good morning, Eli,” said Simmons, getting to his feet and turning to Mela. “And you must be Mr. Mela. I hope you're okay?”

Mela nodded. “Just a scratch, thanks to Mr. Paxton and his partner.”

“Partner?” said Simmons curiously, looking at me.

“Friend,” I said.

“I was sorry to hear about him,” said Simmons.

“While I'm thinking of it,” I said, “when the diamonds are finally returned to Velma, I want the finder's fee to go to his family.”

Simmons smiled. “First we got to find them.”

“Orestes?” I said. “Tell the lieutenant what's in the custody of the Covington police.”

“Three diamonds worth perhaps a hundred thousand each, possibly a little less. I don't think any jeweler will argue with an estimate of eighty-five to ninety.”

“And these are the diamonds you were bringing to me yesterday when the shooting started?”

He nodded his head. “Yes.”

“Exactly how did you come by these diamonds, Mr. Mela?” asked Simmons.

“They were part of a group of ten that were brought to me last week by Abner Delahunt.”

“Where are the other seven?”

Mela shrugged. “I can only give you hearsay. I set one of them into a ring that I am told Mr. Delahunt gave to a lady friend, but I have no proof of that. And Mr. Delahunt took the other six back, and I have not seem him or them since then.”

“Okay,” said Simmons, “that jibes with what Eli told us. We've already confiscated the ring. Are you willing to identify it when we ask you to?”

“Certainly.”

“One last question: Are you willing to be deposed?”

“Deposed?” repeated Mela.

Simmons nodded. “You'll be escorted to another room, accompanied by two members of my staff, and they'll ask you to repeat your story in front of a recorder, a video camera, and a steno—and after a stenographer types it up you'll be asked to sign it. Do you have a problem with any facet of that?”

“No, sir, I do not,” said Mela.

“Good.” Simmons pressed a button on his desk, and a moment later a plainclothes cop opened the door. “Tom, will you and Barry please escort Mr. Mela down the hall and take his deposition?”

Tom nodded. “And afterward?”

“He's free to go. In fact, find him a ride home. If one of our men isn't heading that way, get him a cab.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, leading Mela out of the office.

“Well,” said Simmons, leaning back in his chair, “you delivered him. And when you didn't show yesterday, before I got word about what had happened, I brought in the girl just to be on the safe side.”

“Mitzi Cramer?”

He nodded. “That's when we impounded the ring.” Suddenly he smiled. “What she's doing outside of
Playboy
or
Penthouse
I don't know.” The grin got bigger. “You wouldn't believe how many cops offered to take her home.”

I chuckled at that. “So what's next?”

“We bring Delahunt in, of course.”

“Today?”

“If he's home or at work, yes. If not, we issue a B.O.L.O. for him. I think we've got the goods on him. Maybe not for murder, but surely for stealing the diamonds.”

“I've never even seen the man,” I said. “You mind if I stick around?”

“No problem,” he said. “He'll be lawyered up, of course. And you can't sit in the interrogation room, but you can watch and listen through the one-way glass.”

“Sounds good,” I said. “I'm going to go out and grab a quick lunch. No way you bring him in before I get back.”

“Hell, it'll take a couple of hours. You know he's not talking to anyone until he's got his lawyer at his side.”

“That gives me time to head up to Rascal's,” I said.

“The deli?”

I nodded. “The best in town. Doesn't everyone want blintzes and chopped liver right before nailing a killer?”

“Some of us prefer lox and knishes,” he said.

“Hint taken,” I replied. “I'll bring some back for you.”

“You're a good man, Eli,” he said. “Even if I do have to buy the tickets for the Bengals game.”

“I hope it's that easy,” I said. “But let's get him to confess first.”

“Let's also keep it legal and un-include you from the ‘let's,'” he said. “Now go. I'm gonna be starved in two hours.”

I went.

29.

I hit some traffic coming back from Rascal's, and I got to headquarters about forty minutes later than I'd planned to. And on the way in I almost bumped into Tyler Grange, wearing one of his usual twelve-hundred-dollar suits and a pair of four-hundred-dollar shoes.

“Hello, Eli,” he said. “Long time no see.”

“Hi, Tyler,” I replied. “Here to defend the meek and disposed, as usual?”

He gave me a deprecating little chuckle. “Just here for a deposition.”

“Would I be dead wrong if I suggested that you're representing Abner Delahunt?” I asked.

He looked surprised. “You know Abner?”

“Never met him in my life,” I said truthfully.

“Well, I don't know how you come by your information,” he said, frowning, “but yes, I'm representing him.”

“Can I give you a little hint?”

“Sure,” he said with a phony smile. “Innocent or guilty?”

“That's up to a jury to decide,” I said. “If it gets that far.”

“That's why he's got
me
,” said Grange. “To make sure if it gets that far that he's innocent of whatever he's charged with.” He paused. “And your hint about this man you've never met?”

“Don't charge him more than minimum wage, Tyler.”

He frowned, “I beg your pardon?”

“He's dead broke.”

The frown increased. “What makes you think so?”

“Just a hunch,” I said.

“Well, you're wrong. The man has a dozen real estate offices.”

“Whatever you say,” I replied.
Besides, it'll do you good to do some pro bono work
.

“I have to go,” he said. “I have some business to transact.”

I shook his hand but didn't wish him luck. He went off toward the holding cells, which meant that Delahunt was already in custody, and I brought Simmons his lunch.

“Thanks,” he said.

“I ran into Tyler Grange down the hall,” I told him.

“Yeah, he's representing Delahunt,” answered Simmons. He frowned. “He's damned good. He could make this much more difficult.”

“You've got everything you need,” I said. “Mela, Mitzi, and the diamonds. Or you soon
will
have it, anyway.”

“Oh, we can prove he stole the diamonds. Proving that he murdered Palanto will be harder.”

“He's new to this,” I said. “You'll trip him up.”

“I hope so.”

“I wish I could sit in on it,” I said.

He shook his head. “You know you can't. Settle for watching and listening from the next room.”

“So who's going to be questioning him?”

“Wayne Perin's our best at it,” he answered. “I've filled him in on all the details, and he's spoken to Mela and Mitzi. And I'll probably sit in on it too.”

“I hope you nail the bastard,” I said. “Originally all I wanted was to find the diamonds, but they're worth nothing to me now, and a man died saving my life.”

“Delahunt didn't kill him,” noted Simmons.

“If Delahunt didn't kill Palanto and steal the diamonds, then Sorrentino would have gone back to Chicago.”

“I've said it before, Eli. You've got interesting friends.”

He unwrapped his lunch and started to eat it. He'd just finished it off when Wayne Perin knocked on the door, stuck his head in, and said, “Ready, Jim?”

Simmons nodded. “I'm on my way.”

He got up, walked to the door, gestured for me to accompany him, and walked to the nearest interrogation room.

“In there,” he said, pointing to the next door. I walked over to it and entered, and found an empty chair next to a video and sound technician, a stenographer, and a couple of detectives I'd seen that first night at Palanto's house.

“Before we begin,” said Tyler Grange, who was sitting next to a balding, very nervous little man who fit Delahunt's description, “my client freely admits that he took Malcolm Pepperidge's cat and removed ten diamonds from its collar, diamonds to which he had no legal claim.”

“Yes, we know,” said Perin. “We have depositions on record from Orestes Mela, the jeweler who removed the diamonds from the cat's collar, set one in a ring that he gave to a Miss Mitzi Cramer that is now in our possession, and bought three of them, which he has since turned over. The other six were returned to Mr. Delahunt, who is doubtless anxious to tell us where they are.”

“I don't know,” said Delahunt.

Perin smiled. “You
lost
six valuable diamonds in a week's time?”

Delahunt shook his head. “No, I didn't
lose
them. I
sold
them.”

“My client will be happy to provide you with the details,” added Grange.

“And the bills of sale?” asked Simmons.

Delahunt whispered into Grange's ear.

“These were
informal
transactions,” said Grange.

“So the buyer knew they were hot,” said Perin.

“Yes, we would so characterize them,” replied Grange.

“But of course, formal or informal, selling stolen merchandise is a felony,” continued Perin. “Now let's talk about Mr. Palanto . . . excuse me, Mr. Pepperidge.”

“What would you like to know?” asked Grange smoothly.

“Personally, I'd like to know why Mr. Delahunt killed him.”

“I didn't!” yelled Delahunt.

“Come on, Mr. Delahunt,” said Perin. “The cat was there when the servants left for the night. The cat and Mr. Pepperidge were both alive and well, and both in the house, when Mrs. Pepperidge went off to play bridge. And Mr. Pepperidge was dead and the cat was missing when Mrs. Pepperidge returned home. You entered the house, with or without Pepperidge's knowledge, while she was gone, killed him, and absconded with the cat. What other possible explanation can there be?”

“That's not what happened!” yelled Delahunt.

“Of course it is,” said Perin.

“Look, I've already admitted I stole the diamonds!” said Delahunt, sweat starting to appear on his forehead. “Malcolm Pepperidge was a friend. We golfed together. We had the occasional meal together. Hell, he loaned me money a few months ago when my business took a turn for the worse.” He pulled out a handkerchief. “In fact, that's why I went to his house that night—to arrange another loan. But when I got there the front door was unlocked. I went up to his study, but he wasn't there. I felt an odd breeze coming from his bedroom, so I walked over there and saw him lying dead on that balcony. There was no question that he was dead. He'd once told me that he'd had some valuable diamonds put on the cat's collar as a gift to his wife. I needed money, and I lost my head and picked up the cat, and then I got the hell out of there.”

“Why was the cat found twenty miles away the next day?” asked Simmons.

“There was so much snow,” said Delahunt. “I thought if I let it out of my house, it wouldn't go anywhere, and I couldn't have it found there. And I heard the police sirens—I was just three houses away—so I knew I couldn't take the cat back to the Pepperidge house, not with a dead body lying there on the balcony. So I waited until the major streets were plowed the next morning, drove it out to the city limits, and turned it loose.”