31.

I walked into Jim Simmons’s office and sat down across his desk from him.

“Whatever you did,” he said, “you look pretty damned proud of yourself.”

“I think I’ve solved it, but I need verification.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Eli?”

“The missing money in the Palanto case,” I said.

“What missing money?” he shot back with a puzzled expression. “We’ve got four of the diamonds, and we’re tracing the other six.”

“Peanuts,” I said.

“I’ll say it again,” replied Simmons. “What are you talking about?”

“Val Sorrentino was here to make sure that Palanto was loyal to his former employers, that he wasn’t going to testify against them in their upcoming trial in Chicago.”

“I know.”

“He paid a visit to Palanto, and Palanto gave him the assurances he wanted.”

“What does this have to do with anything?”

“Palanto left Chicago with a clean sheet and the mob’s blessing. He made them rich and never stole a penny from them. He came here, changed his name, and lived like a retired millionaire. But he wasn’t retired. He did some work for the Bolivian cartel.”

“I know all this.”

“And he skimmed ten million from them. That’s what he told Sorrentino.”

“Eli, we’ve searched every account, every safe deposit box, every mutual fund, everything he had. There’s a million dollars in diamonds, but he bought them legitimately. There just isn’t any missing ten million.”

I grinned at him.

“What the hell do you think you know?”

“Velma knew he had ten million too,” I said. “She just didn’t know where it was.” I paused. “Neither did I.” I gave him another grin. “Until today.”

“I hope to hell you’re enjoying this,” he said irritably.

“I am,” I said.

“So where is it?”

“I’ve been sitting on it for three days.”

“I’m tired of asking,” said Simmons.

“Okay,” I said. “Mela gave me the cat’s collar, with all the diamonds missing. Nothing on it but the license. Velma gave me the cat. Damned near threw it at me. So I took it home until I could figure out what to do with it.”

“Okay, so you’ve got a cat.”

“This morning it tried to sneak out of the apartment, and my landlady suggested that I get a license for it in case it ever makes it past the front door. I already had a license on its collar, but I figured if someone found it they’d check the license and return it to Velma, who would probably cook it for supper. So I called the SPCA to find out where to get a new license for it.”

I paused and gave him one last grin.

“Okay,” said Simmons. “What’s the punch line?”

“Jim, Ohio doesn’t issue license tags for cats, just for dogs!”

He stared at me. “You’re sure about this?”

“I just got it from the SPCA, and then I double-checked with the animal shelter where I found the cat.” I pulled the collar out of my pocket and tossed it on his desk. “I don’t know what the hell the numbers on the plate mean, but I’ll bet you dollars to donuts they lead to ten million bucks!”

“Jesus!” he said, picking it up and staring at the tag.

“Mean anything to you?”

He read it aloud. “39ZK30126. Nope, makes no sense to me. But someone in the building will know.”

And an hour later, Deborah Oakes of the Bank Fraud Division did know.

“Very clever,” she said, when she invited us to her office. “The 39 identifies the account holder as an American, the ZK stands for Zürcher Kantonalbank, one of Switzerland’s largest banks, and the 30126 is his account number.”

“What has he got in the account?” I asked.

She turned to Simmons questioningly, and he nodded his approval.

“As of this morning,” she replied, “he has nine million, six hundred, and forty-three thousand, two hundred, and eleven dollars and nine cents. That’s based on today’s exchange rates, of course.”

“Son of a bitch!” I said. “I knew that had to be it!”

“Thank you, Deborah,” said Simmons. He took the collar and tag back from her, and then he and I returned to his office.

“The press is going to call you brilliant, Eli,” he said. “We won’t tell them it was dumb luck and a wandering cat.”

“Tell ’em anything you want,” I said. “I have to compute my finder’s fee.”

“For the diamonds?” he said, frowning. “I thought that was earmarked for Sorrentino’s daughters.”

“All right, my reward, then,” I said.

“For what?”

“For nine and a half million dollars,” I said.

“Eli,” he said seriously, “you’re not thinking this through.”

It was my turn to frown. “In what way?”

“It’s probably stolen money,” said Simmons. “But it wasn’t stolen from the United States. Also, for all we know, that particular part of Palanto’s fortune was totally legit. He’d made some very successful investments over the years, and he wasn’t a pauper when he moved here.”

“Come on, Jim,” I said. “We both know it’s the money he skimmed from the Bolivians.”

“From a Bolivian drug cartel,” he replied. “If anyone’s offering a reward for a return of the money, it’s them. But do you really want to deal with them after you got two of their hit men deported and a third killed?”

“I know that the US government gives a reward,” I insisted stubbornly.

He stared at me sadly. “First, you have to prove the money in question was stolen from the Bolivians and not legitimately earned through investments. Second, you have to prove that it wasn’t Velma’s money that he was keeping or investing for her. Third, by the time the government actually agrees, if they ever do, you’re going to be an old, old man.”

I was silent for a long minute. Finally I looked across the desk at him.

“The Bengals had better win,” I said, “and that had better be the best steak I’ve ever tasted.”