Murder on the Rocks. Talmage Powell

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СКАЧАТЬ Father—everyone—trusted him completely. He’s been a courier for years. Father shared the combination with him as a matter of convenience. Planes don’t always arrive during office hours and it was much easier that Silvio could simply come to the Embassy at night, open the safe, leave the pouch, and come back in the morning.”

      “Sara?”

      She shook her head. “Why do you ask?”

      “Children have stolen from parents before. Do you know anyone not belonging to the Embassy who goes there a lot? To visit your father, for instance?”

      She considered for a moment, and then she said, “There’s my father’s brother—Uncle Oscar. He’s in business here in Washington, but he couldn’t get into father’s safe even if he wanted to.” Her eyes seemed to cloud. “Am I under suspicion, too?”

      I shrugged. “The story you’ve told me points to an obvious conclusion—Silvio was the thief. It’s so obvious I thought I’d examine other possibilities—if you don’t object.”

      “Sorry.”

      “What does Silvio look like?”

      She looked up at the ceiling, then down again. “He’s about two inches shorter than you, with cropped dark hair and a small mustache. How much do you weigh?”

      “One eighty-four.”

      “Then he’s twenty pounds lighter.”

      “Any moles or scars on his face? Got all his fingers?”

      “Well, there’s a small scar under his left eye, but it’s a very old one and you’d have to be quite close to notice it.” She lifted the cognac glass. “The suitcase he usually carried was tan leather, scuffed at the corners, with an accordion pocket on one side for shirts. Oh, and he had a blue canvas overnight bag. The kind the airlines insist on giving you. And he’s twenty-six.”

      “You’ll do,” I said, admiringly. “I could have traveled a lot farther and learned less. Does Sara know about this?”

      She shook her head, then her eyes lighted. “If you think it’s a good idea, I’ll ask her if she’s seen Silvio.”

      “Would she be likely to?”

      “No—but until she married Wayne she lived at the Embassy with Father, so she and Silvio knew each other and Silvio fell in love with her, even wanted her to marry him. It was all rather silly and impossible.”

      “Presumptious,” I said. “But even an alley cat can stare at a queen.”

      She resented it with her eyes. Finally she said, “Perhaps Sara has his picture somewhere. If that might help.”

      “It might—or your old locket photo of him would do just as well.”

      Her lips drew together tightly. “Meaning what?”

      “Pull back the claws. The outrage act doesn’t even rate a yawn these days. Meaning that if our Latin Lover was close enough to Sara to play house with her—or get large ideas about it—he was probably close enough to Big Sister to play for real. It could read like this,” I went on. “You know as much about the Madagascar Green as the government caretaker, and enough details about Silvio to be his doctor. If Silvio happened to be nuts about you—which isn’t unbelievable—he might have been amenable to slipping out the emerald at your suggestion. And it isn’t just fiction that associates stolen gems with beautiful women.”

      “What a swine you can be.”

      I bowed a little stiffly. “So something goes wrong and Silvio doesn’t get in touch with you. Because you’re involved you don’t want the cops digging deep—at least until you’re satisfied you have no hope of recovering the emerald. So you circulate among your friends for a confidential investigator, pick up my name, and sic me after Silvio, not knowing what’s happened to him, but suspecting he might have skipped with the swag.” I paused. “It makes a nice little story, Iris. Like it?”

      “I despise it.”

      “The cops might like it,” I mused. “I’ve known some who would gobble it like pecan pralines. What would make them like it even more would be the knowledge of your estrangement from your husband.”

      Her lips formed an uncertain smile. “And how wrong they’d be.”

      “I wish I knew,” I said. “So far I’ve only got my little toe wet but the water looks awfully deep—and dark. Maybe you knew Silvio no better than you said, then again maybe not. He’s not around to say, and your testimony can’t be accepted as entirely disinterested. See what I mean?”

      “I see a rather vile estimate of my character.”

      “Who says you have any at all?”

      I got up, walked over to the telephone stand and looked up a number, and began dialing. From the sofa, she said, “Are you going to take the case?”

      “I’ve still got your money.”

      “Who are you going to call?”

      “A friend,” I said. “One who doesn’t chase foxes or keep a pack of beagles or even hang out in Georgetown. So in your book he’s probably small potatoes—a little man. But he’s smart and reliable and resourceful and he earns his pay. Got many friends like that?”

      She got up from the sofa and ground out her cigarette. “I have a splitting headache. So if you’ll allow me, I’ll retire. If you learn anything or if you require more money, I suppose you’ll let me know.”

      “That’s the usual arrangement.”

      Her velvet slippers moved soundlessly across the thick carpeting. The brocade slacks rustled expensively and the bedroom door closed.

      At the other end of the wire the phone was ringing. After a while a voice answered. “Artie,” I said, “are you sober enough to do an hour’s work?”

      “If money’s involved.”

      I gave him Silvio’s description, including everything Iris had told me. It seemed like a lot to go on. I said so and Artie agreed with me. He would check hotels, motels, and rooming houses. National Airport, Union Station, bus terminals, and U-Drive-Its. For twenty-five dollars it seemed like very little work. Artie disagreed with me. On principal. When he had anything to report he would call my apartment.

      I replaced the phone, glanced at Ava drowsing on her matching hassock, and began walking toward the front door.

      Just then the hi-fi next door began blasting like a calliope. Tracy Farnham up to his little pranks. Maybe he was signaling to his playmate, the lady Iris.

      As I closed the door behind me I heard Iris hammering on the wall. Lovely. A lovely relationship indeed. Waiting on the curb for a taxi, I thought about Silvio Contreras and the missing emerald: A million dollars was a lot of coin to be kicking around town in such a small package, and a thousand dollars didn’t seem like much to pay for getting it back where it belonged. Slave labor.

      It looked like Silvio, all right. Open and shut. As definite as Magnetic North. СКАЧАТЬ