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.”

“That’s a good story,” acknowledged Perin.

“It’s the truth.”

“No, it’s not,” said Perin. “You rang the doorbell or knocked on the door, Pepperidge let you in, you went up to his bedroom and asked for a loan, he probably said not until you paid back the last one, he’d been checking the storm and the stars when you arrived, and he went out to take another look. And that’s when you shot him.”

“No!” shouted Delahunt. “I took the cat, yes—but I didn’t shoot anyone.”

“Yes, you did,” said Perin. “Three shots, right between the shoulder blades.”

“No!”

“Yes,” persisted Perin. “Three quick shots, and it was all over, and given the weather no one had any windows open, so no one could hear either shot.”

“That’s a lie!” yelled Delahunt as Grange tried to calm him down.

“Come on, Mr. Delahunt,” said Perin. “We’ve got all three bullets. Sooner or later we’re going to find your gun, and ballistics is going to match them to it.”

“But I only shot him twice!” cried Delahunt, then realized what he’d said and buried his face in his hands.

Simmons turned to where he knew I was watching and gave me a thumbs-up.

Twenty minutes later we were back in his office.

“I told you Wayne was our best,” said Simmons happily.

“Tyler Grange is going to say you tricked it out of him.”

“We did,” answered Simmons. “But it’s on record, and it’s the truth. Besides, you know our Tyler. Guilty doesn’t bother him, but broke and guilty does. I think he’ll find some reason to drop the case any hour now.” He smiled. “This will be one time I’ll be happy to treat you to dinner at the Precinct.”

“I’m glad we nailed him, and I’m glad it’s over,” I said. “I haven’t made a penny since Velma gave me that retainer to find the cat. It’s time I got back to being a detective.” I paused, then added: “Well, a paid one.”

“Whatever became of the damned cat?”

“Don’t ask,” I said.