“Maybe it was a bad idea to start, but we’ve started, so finish. What did Harry say, sign or he’d turn your boyfriend in for murder?”
“And do you think I wouldn’t go too? We all know about wives and husbands and lovers. The wife and the lover do it together. Oh, Ricardo, it’s so awful.”
He shook his head. “Charley, I’m sorry to say you’ve been conned. You were already sure I did it, and Harry Zell worked on you for a few minutes and ripped off two and a half million bucks. I’d better know exactly what he told you, for my own protection.”
“He got what he wanted, my signature. He won’t do anything now.”
“But why should I trust Harry Zell? He’s as slippery as a trout, you can tell that by looking at him.”
He made a move to get up. She had begun to put on her bra. She dropped it and snatched up the pistol again.
After a moment he sat back and said, “Whatever he had, I see you believed him.”
“A deposition,” she said reluctantly. “A statement, in writing, signed and notarized. I’m not a child.”
“Who made it?”
“Dee Wynn.”
“Wynn!”
She finished fastening her bra and reached for her blouse. “I know. Invariably drunk at that time of night. An unreliable witness. But I believed it, Ricardo, and so would a jury, I think.”
“Tell me.”
“He fell asleep in Max’s car. He heard the seat-belt buzzer but he couldn’t wake up. Max kept groaning and mumbling that everybody was cheating him. He jerked getting started, and then he kept swinging in great out-of- control arcs. Dee was trying to sit up and tell him to call a taxi or let somebody else drive. Then he heard a car behind them, accelerating. He sat up finally as they went off the bank. And it was your car, Ricardo. Your license plate and your car.”
“Now if the bastard said I was driving-”
“You were driving,” she said. “He had a good glimpse through the side window. The Cuban, Ricardo Sanchez. He was thrown out when the car turned over. Nothing he could do about Max, the fire was too hot, and the next morning, to make sure he hadn’t imagined it, he checked your car. And there it was, a freshly banged fender. But he was scared of what you might do, so he didn’t say anything to anybody.”
“Scared, hell. He wanted to see what he could milk it for. Now is that all? Is there anything else you’re holding back?”
“Isn’t it enough?”
The answer to that was obvious. It was more than enough.
“Are you just going to sit there grinding your teeth?” she said after a moment. “Say something.”
Ricardo had to think. Needing help, he made himself a drink. Charlotte, too, picked up her dropped glass and used the bottle after he finished. A mixture of emotions-fear, anger, regret-had carried her this far, but now she was crying. It irritated him.
“He put his watch on the table and gave me five minutes. Darling, all I could think was that even this way, with this hanging over us, it’s better than before, when we didn’t know each other-”
“Is it?”
He bit off the words, rattled the ice cubes and drank, forcing himself to keep drinking until the glass was empty.
“God, I hate that stuff.”
He dressed quickly, went through her purse and took all the cash and the gun. Without saying anything more or looking at her again, he left the apartment.
Chapter 15
The night security man came to tell Shayne there was a phone call for him. It was already after three, and they had only planted one of the Nash cameras. Unless they could work more swiftly, they would have to settle for a less ambitious program.
“You can take it in the PR office.”
It was the Cuban detective, using Shayne’s own mobile phone.
“I haven’t figured out how to use this phone and chase at the same time,” the Cuban said. “I’ve got a tape you’re going to want to hear.”
“Where are you?”
“On the Beach, at Forty-third, a big oceanfront condo. Sanchez is inside, and he has a couple of friends with him. How do you want to do this?”
“I’ll be right over. If he leaves before I get there, stay on him.”
Shayne stopped at the kennel and told Dave, the closed-circuit technician from the Nash track, to do the VIP lounge installation next. Outside, the streets were deserted. Shayne ran the lights, and arrived less than five minutes after taking the Cuban’s call.
“I almost lost him, Mike. He was headed south, so I took a chance and cut over to the Eighth Street area. I was lucky-he passed me going the other way, two guys with him. About the same age, I’d say. They’ve been inside-oh, eight minutes. Tape’s ready to run if you want to hear it.”
“Yeah.”
Shayne put on the earphones. While he listened to the exchange between Ricardo and Mrs. Geary, he took a pint of cognac from the glove box, offered it to the Cuban and then drank himself.
“What the hell?” he said. “A deposition?”
He listened for another moment. Without waiting for the tape to conclude, he whipped off the earphones and checked his. 38.
“We’d both better go in.”
The Cuban pointed. Three figures came out of the condominium and walked, without hurrying, to a parked car.
“Don’t lose him,” Shayne said. “If he goes home, do some more listening.”
Ricardo’s car, an ancient sedan with a damaged front fender, moved off. Shayne slid out and crossed to the condominium.
Security was one of the main selling points in these hastily built, overpriced buildings, and Shayne found the night doorman in his office off the vestibule, his mouth, ankles and wrists taped.
Shayne ripped the tape off his mouth. The man gasped, “A stickup.”
“Three guys?” Shayne said. “I saw them leaving, I thought I’d check. Does Harry Zell live in this building?”
“In the penthouse. They took my house keys. Do you think that’s whose place-”
“Don’t report this until I find out. Harry’s got strange ideas. He may not want people to know he’s been robbed. If I need help I’ll call you.”
The doorman called after him. “Tell him I tried, but they climbed all over me.”
Shayne rode the elevator to the top. There was only one door, and it was closed and locked. Shayne worked on the lock until it opened for him.
The boys had left the lights on. Every bulb in the place was burning. This was Zell’s office as well as where he lived, and his house architect had been given an open budget and instructions to go for effect. The main room was circular, with a desk the size of a wading pool. The lights ran on overhead tracks. The telephone console was nearly as elaborate as the one on the Surfside control deck.
Harry Zell was tied to a high-backed leather chair, his mouth taped. He made small protesting noises as Shayne walked in, putting away his lock-picks. The developer had been working when the Sanchez group surprised him. Papers and a big ledger were spread out in front of him.
“You’re up late, Harry,” Shayne remarked. “While other people are sleeping or playing, you’re adding up figures. Do you ever ask yourself if it’s worth it?”
