25.

I met Sorrentino for lunch at an O’Charley’s. We talked football and basketball all the way through the meal and started in on horse racing just as we were finishing our desserts.

“Not a bad meal,” he said, wiping his mouth off and crushing his napkin into a shapeless ball.

“You should try this place on the weekend,” I said. “That’s when they serve their prime rib.” I paused. “Except . . .”

“Except?”

“Except you may be on your way home before then.”

“I’m not throwing in the towel yet,” he said, taking a swallow of his beer.

“I know.”

Suddenly he leaned forward. “You found something out?”

I nodded.

“Okay, spill it!”

“You know the police headquarters building?” I said.

“Yeah.”

“Be there at two o’clock this afternoon. Ask for Jim Simmons’s office. I’ll meet you there.”

“What have you got?” he demanded.

“I’ll lay it all out for you there,” I said. “No sense doing it twice, once for you and once for Jim.”

“Why meet me?” he said. “Why don’t we just go together?”

“I have something I’ve got to do,” I said. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there, and hopefully I’ll have this all cleared up by then.” And you’re not going to stop me from giving the diamonds to Jim in his own office, no matter how much you’d like to keep them.

“All right,” he said at last. “If I have to wait an hour, I have to wait an hour.” He laid some cash on the bill and got to his feet. “Don’t be late.”

“I’ll be there,” I assured him.

He left. I made a quick pit stop in the men’s room, then went out to my car, started it up, promised it that it’d have that new transmission any day now, and headed south to the Clay Bailey Bridge. Seven minutes later I’d parked a few doors down from Mela’s, got out, and walked to the store.

It occurred to me that I hadn’t seen any assistants, I hadn’t checked his hours, and for all I knew he took a three-hour lunch, but there was a small, tasteful “Open” sign on the door, and I walked in.

“Mr. Paxton,” he said. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“Call me Eli,” I replied.

“All right, Eli,” he said. “And I am Orestes.”

“You want to close the shop, Orestes?” I suggested.

He nodded his agreement, walked over and locked the door, then took down the “Open” sign and replaced it with a “Closed” one.

“Come on to the back,” he said, heading to his office. I followed him, then sat on a chair while he opened his safe and pulled out the velvet box with the three diamonds. “I hope he’s not so broke that I can’t get my thirty thousand dollars back,” he remarked. “But even if he is, I’m almost glad to be rid of them. I’ve had a very uneasy feeling since I made the down payment that no good could possibly come of this.” Suddenly a frown—a very frightened frown—crossed his face. “I’m not criminally culpable, am I?”

“No,” I said. “He told you in good faith that he’d supply proof of ownership, you didn’t try to sell them, and you agreed to cooperate with the police the moment I approached you. I don’t think you’re in any legal danger at all. All the cops want is for you to tell them exactly what you told me yesterday and maybe repeat it in court if Delahunt is dumb enough to plead innocent.”

“Oh, I will,” he assured me. “My wife has been urging me to go to the police even before you showed up yesterday.” He paused. “I am an honest man, Mr. Paxton.”

“Eli,” I corrected him. “And I’m sure you’re an honest man. You’re just working in an industry that occasionally attracts dishonest men.”

“I’m sure you deal with them every day,” said Mela.

“I’m sure we all do,” I answered. “The trick is spotting them.”

“You know,” said Mela, “I’ve been selling the occasional piece to Mr. Delahunt for years. He always paid on the spot, he had a fine reputation, offices all over Cincinnati as well as the big one right across the street here, a lovely wife. What makes a man like that become a criminal?”

“A fine reputation is no substitute for a fine mind when the economy goes south,” I answered. “As for his lovely wife, if he drops dead tomorrow she’ll be the first to dance on his grave.”

He shook his head. “I don’t understand it. I’ve been married to my Teresa for thirty-one years, and in my eyes she grows more beautiful every day. Why do so many men my age turn their backs on their wives and have tawdry affairs with young women?”

“They get the women’s youth and beauty, at least temporarily,” I answered. “And one way or another the women get a piece of their fortune, usually permanently.”

“And what do the wives get?”

“A good lawyer, if they’re smart,” I said.

He sighed deeply. “I suppose so, though that’s a very cynical answer. But it’s not fair.”

“You think it’s not fair now, you should have seen it before there were community property laws and pre-nup contracts,” I said with a smile.

“Surely you don’t have one with your wife,” said Mela.

“I didn’t have one even when I was married,” I answered.

“You’re divorced?” he said. “I didn’t . . . I meant no insult.”

“Different situation,” I said. “She left before I had any money.” I felt a rueful smile cross my face. “Hell, I still don’t have any.”

“What will happen to Mr. Delahunt?” he asked suddenly.

I shrugged. “If he cops a plea and behaves himself in jail, I suppose he could be out in fifteen years or so, if he lives that long. If he fights it and it goes to trial and he’s found guilty, it’s up to the jury. A case like this, given that the victim had ties with organized crime, I would think the death penalty’s out of the question, but I could see him getting life, with or without parole if it’s first degree—and given the circumstances, it’s pretty hard to see the prosecution agreeing on second-degree or manslaughter.”

“You really think so?” he asked.

I nodded and patted the velvet box where it lay on the table. “This’ll do the trick. Before yesterday, we didn’t even have him on a catnapping charge.”

“It’s hard to believe that he actually had all these diamonds strapped around a cat’s neck.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I just wish he had nine more like it.”

“I beg your pardon?” he said.

“Private joke.”

“Well,” said Mela, “I suppose we should be going.”

I checked my watch. It was one-thirty.

“Yeah,” I said. “We’ll be about fifteen minutes early, but it beats the hell out of being late. He knows I’m bringing you and the diamonds in. If 2:05 rolls around and I’m not there, he’ll be sending out search parties.”

“So we have fifteen minutes?” he said.

“Right.”

“Then let me waste five of them,” he said, walking back to the safe and opening it. A few seconds later he pulled out a bottle and a couple of gorgeous crystal goblets.

“Napoleon brandy,” he said, filling the two goblets. “To celebrate the end of this incident.”

I picked up my goblet and sniffed the brandy. It smelled like any other brandy, but I’m no connoisseur. “To your very good health, Orestes,” I said, holding it up.

“And to yours, Eli,” he replied, and we clicked the goblets together and each took a swallow.

“Well?” he said, looking at me anxiously. “What do you think of it?”

“It went down smooth as silk,” I said. “I could make a habit of this stuff.”

“I save it for special occasions,” he said. “Knowing that I’m on the same side as the police qualifies as special, given some of the fears I’ve been living with for the past week.”

We drained the goblets, and I checked my watch again.

“Twenty to,” I said. “We’d better go.”

He nodded his agreement, put the goblets in a small sink, shut and locked the safe, and led the way to the front door.

As we walked out to the sidewalk, a shot rang out. Mela screamed, grabbed his shoulder, and slammed back into the door, sliding down to the ground.

“Hit the dirt, Eli!” yelled Sorrentino as half a dozen more shots whizzed by.