FIFTY-NINE

Philip Arnold had a house on Palomino Lane, near Ranchero Drive. It had to be a house, an estate really, that he couldn’t afford, unless the whole Arnold family had more money than I knew about. And hadn’t mentioned it.

No, it seemed to me all the trouble was stemming from the fact that they needed money. All of them. On the other hand, it looked like Vince DeStefano had all the money he needed. But that was the problem with money. The more you had the more you wanted, the more you wanted the more you needed. I learned that from dealing with gamblers for so many years.

We stopped at the front gate.

‘He’s gonna hafta buzz us in,’ Jerry said. ‘Since he ran from us yesterday, I don’t think he’s gonna do that. Especially if he’s holed up here.’

‘Let’s park away from the gate and look for a way in.’

He backed the Caddy up. We parked under a tree a few hundred feet along the road. Then we got out and began to walk the wall, looking for a likely place to climb over.

‘Wait,’ Jerry said after we’d walked a while. ‘I can boost you up here, and then climb.’

‘How?’

‘The wall’s crumbling here,’ he said, pointing. ‘I can get a foothold.’

‘OK, let’s try it.’

He not only boosted me up, but when I put my foot in his cupped hands he almost tossed me over.

I laid flat on top of the wall and extended my hand.

‘I’ll pull you down,’ he said. ‘I got it, Mr G. Go ahead.’

The wall was seven or eight feet high, but by hanging from my hands first I only had to drop a foot or two. I waited and soon Jerry appeared at the top. When he lowered himself he only had to drop inches.

‘Any dogs?’ he asked.

‘I haven’t heard any.’

‘I hate dogs.’

‘How can you hate dogs?’

‘When you been chased and got by as many junkyard dogs as I have, it’s real easy.’

‘Well, like I said, I don’t hear any. Come on. Let’s get to the house.’

As we trotted to the house he asked, ‘Think you can get the truth out of him this time?’

‘No,’ I said, ‘I think you can.’

When we got to the house it was huge, lots of stucco and stone with many windows and stairways.

‘This guy’s got more money than we thought,’ Jerry said.

‘Or not as much as he wants people to think,’ I said. ‘Front door?’

‘No,’ Jerry said. ‘Something with lots of glass.’

‘French doors.’

‘I guess.’

‘This way.’

We went up one of the stone stairways, which led to a path. We followed that around until we found a large swimming pool. That’s where we found a pair of French doors.

‘There you go,’ I said. ‘You gonna pick the lock?’

‘Yeah,’ he said, and put his elbow through the glass. ‘There ya go.’

He reached in, unlocked the door and we walked in.

‘Arnold!’ I shouted. ‘Philip, it’s Eddie Gianelli.’ I looked at Jerry. ‘Find the front door and stay there so he can’t run out.’

‘OK.’ He took out his .45. ‘Here.’

‘No, you take it,’ I said. ‘I’ll be fine.’

‘Be careful.’

I nodded, and we split up.

When we had gotten to Philip’s office I had half expected to find him dead. Even I was getting paranoid about me and Jerry finding bodies together.

But this time I was expecting to find him worked over. I actually would have preferred that.

I checked several rooms before I found an office, and that’s where he was. He was seated behind a huge cherry wood desk. His head was cocked to one side and there was a blood trail from the left corner of his mouth. I checked for a pulse and didn’t find any. In fact, his skin felt cold. Jerry would know better than me, but I thought he’d been dead since yesterday. Maybe when he ran from us at his office he’d come straight back here and battened down the hatches.

Only not hard enough.