The Ace of Spades - Dell Shannon (26 page)

"So it does. Where do you figure Skyros comes
in? And still all this doesn't say any one thing about Domokous."

"I don't know,"
said Mendoza. "It's easy to build up stories about it— as Mr.
Skyros would say, isn't it? I'm hoping Goldberg can add a few details
to pin down which of the stories might be the right one."

* * *

Lieutenant Saul Goldberg sneezed, groped blindly for
more Kleenex in his breast pocket, and said thickly through it, "Id's
the whiskey, I'b allergic to id."

"Then why drink it'?"

"What, turn down a free drink?" Goldberg,
his sinus passages temporarily clear, sat back in the booth and
sipped cautiously. "I'm allergic to so damn many things,"
he said gloomily, "that I've just given up doing anything about
it. Life's too short, and the allergy specialist too free with my
money. Everything in the house non-allergenic, yet— I'm surprised
they don't tell me to get rid of my wife and kids as well as feather
pillows and all the rugs. Have all the more money to hand them. And
I've still got the allergies, so I say the hell with it, I just buy
Kleenex. And besides the cat found her way home, and we hadn't the
heart to give her away again after that. You want a kitten, by the
way, Mendoza? She seems to've stopped somewhere on the way. Four cute
little gray and white fellows, one black."

"Coals to Newcastle, I think I'm going to have
some of my own .... So it doesn't show yet, very funny, now forget
your sinuses and tell me what you know about that job at Shanrahan
and MacReady's, where that collection of Greek coins was part of the
loot."

"Hey, you got something on that?" asked
Goldberg, looking interested.

"Maybe. You tell me what you know first ....
Damn it, Shanrahan mentioned it too, but how was I to know?"

"You're welcome to what I've got. Sometimes you
got to sit on these things awhile— that's what I'm doing now. That
was a damn funny job, in some ways— "

"Stop a minute. One little thing that struck me
funny: what was a collection of Greek coins doing in the safe of a
fashionable jeweler?" Goldberg grinned. "That's one of the
funny things. And ordinarily I've got no sympathy for pro burglars,
but you know, I did kind of feel for the guy who pulled the job— it
must've been quite a little shock, not to say disappointment, when he
found out what he'd got away with. I'll tell you how it happened.
This Greek, Lexourion, who owned the stuff— "

"Yes, I know about him."

"He'd just landed here. He'd never been here
before, it was on account of the possible deal with the County Museum
he came, but it like any of these hobbies— you know— there're
specialty magazines, clubs, societies, and so on— and he did know
somebody here: MacReady. MacReady is an amateur numismatist too. It
seems they'd been corresponding, all enthusiastic and friendly, for
some time, and so MacReady was all set to entertain the old boy when
he got here, and of course to see his famous collection. Well,
Lexourion got in by plane one afternoon, MacReady met him, and they
go straight up to MacReady's house and spend a couple of hours
looking at the collection. You know how these fanatic hobbyists are.
And after awhile, when they're thinking about going out for dinner,
all of a sudden Lexourion realizes it's too late to stash the stuff
away in a bank vault as he'd meant to do, pending his interview at
the County Museum. So MacReady, naturally, says there's no trouble
about that, they'll just put it it away safe in the store vault for
the night— good as a bank any time, burglar alarm and so on."

Mendoza sat back and laughed. "I see— I see.
How very embarrassed Mr. MacReady must have been."

"That's an understatement," said Goldberg.
"Especially when the poor old fellow dropped dead, hearing about
it. Because of course that was the very night somebody picked to
knock over Shanrahan and MacReady. It was a pro job, kind of routine.
I wouldn't say it was a really slick job, but it was pro all right.
And I'm pretty sure just one man. He came in through the skylight in
the back room, and of course he had to be damn quick. These burglar
alarm systems," and Goldberg looked rueful, "they're just
dandy if you've got old-fashioned cops walking a beat, and in a place
where the precinct station isn't ten miles away. He had about
ten-twelve minutes after he tripped the alarm, and that he knew, and
he used it. He set a charge of Dinah on the safe door and blew her,
and he scooped up what was on top, probably all he could carry, and
got clean away before the patrol car got there. Didn't leave any
prints, of course. It was a neat enough little job. And when I think
how he must have felt, when he got home with the loot and looked it
over— " Goldberg laughed. "That's the reason I say one
man; what was gone would just about make a one-man load, say in a
ditty bag or something like that. This collection was on top of
everything else in the safe, naturally, and I guess it must have
looked impressive to him, way it was described to me. It was in an
even dozen big square leather— covered boxes, each one about the
size of a desk tray only thicker, because there are three tiers in
each one, trays, you know. The trays are covered with velvet and have
indented beds for each coin. And there was a manila folder in the lid
of the top box with a complete list and description of every coin in
the collection. You know, I'd love to've seen his face when he opened
that first box and saw a lot of dirty old foreign coins instead of a
handful of sparklers."

"Crime doesn't pay," agreed Mendoza
amusedly. "Did he get much else?"

"About ten grand worth of the real stuff, but he
wouldn't get much for it, you know. Matter of fact I think I know
what he did get for it, a little over thirty-five hundred bucks."

Goldberg finished his drink and got out a cigarette.

"Ah, now we get to it. You had a line on him?"

"I didn't," said Goldberg, "until I
got hold of an excuse to search old Benny Hess's place. You might
think we could've stopped worrying about Benny— he was over eighty
and all crippled up with arthritis, and he had a nice little estate
built up from the proceeds of a misspent life— a lot of it cannily
transferred into his daughter's name, too— but they don't change,
do they? I— oh, hell," and he began to sneeze again, groped
for the Kleenex. "Damn cigarettes. Doctor says I shouldn't smoke
at all. The hell with him. Benny was a fence, and a big one. He got
inside for it just once— he was a pretty smart boy. Kept a junk
secondhand store out on Pico Boulevard. Well, about ten days, two
weeks ago, Benny's number came up and they hauled him off to the
General, and seeing as he wasn't coming back to complain about the
officious cops persecuting an innocent citizen who'd paid his debt to
society, I got a warrant and went through his place but very
thorough. There were a couple of other little things we were looking
for at the time, of course. And we found Benny had a very pretty
setup, just like in the stories, you know: dugout room under his
living quarters, with a safe in it yet, and being a businesslike old
guy, he'd kept records too— there was a ledger. Very abbreviated
entries, but I could read between the lines— some of 'em. In the
safe was about half the Shanrahan and MacReady stuff— the real
stuff— he hadn't got rid of yet. And in the ledger, among other
things, I came across this entry of thirty-five hundred and some-odd
bucks, listed under Donovan, and that added up awful easy in my
mind."

"Donovan," said Mendoza fondly. "
¡Venga
más!
— the thing is clear—
y
mas vale tarde que nunca
, better late than
never! Oh, very pretty. You knew the name?"

"Sure I knew the name," said Goldberg,
catching the waiter's eye and beckoning. "I owe you a drink—
I'll be sorry for this, those damn sinuses, but what the hell— same
again. Sure I did. And it kind of made a little sense too, because
the Donovans always stuck pretty close together— — "

"More than one?"

"Three. One down, two to go. There was— "

"Francis Joseph," said Mendoza, smiling at
his new drink. "Poor fellow, executed without benefit of a
trial, just because a high school kid paid attention to a lecture for
once."

Goldberg looked at him. "And what's Homicide's
interest now? You've gone into the Donovans?"

"He just showed on the edge of something. About
the others I don't know. Tell me— tell me all,
amigo
."

"Well— the Donovans," said Goldberg.
"Pros from a pro family. The dad was a stick-up specialist. Died
in San Quentin doing his third stretch, when the boys were in their
teens, I'd guess— before my time. There's Jackie, and Denny, and
Frank. All of 'em did time in reformatory for hopping cars, petty
theft, and so on. Typical record sheets."

"I've seen Frank's."

"Then you've seen Denny's, except for the last
line. Jackie— this is some fancy deduction of my own, he was one of
my first arrests when I was a tender young rookie— Jackie was
always the boss. Jackie was the one with a little more on the ball,
as much as that kind of pro ever has. There was a time Jackie Donovan
was on the F.B.I. list of Most Wanted. Back there about twenty years,
eighteen years ago, there was a little gang— reading between the
lines, and by what a couple of desk men in Records and my own office
tell me, men who were around then and remember. The three Donovan
brothers, and a little Italian fellow named Angelo Forti. Stick-ups,
a few, but mostly burglary. After they all got through being minors
and getting slapped on the wrist for being naughty boys, we got
Jackie twice— a one-to-three and a three-to-five— both times for
burglary. Denny, a one-to-three— same first count as Jackie. On
that one, the little Italian was the driver, and he was only just
past eighteen and he said he didn't know what they were up to, didn't
know nothing about nothing, and the judge listened to him and put him
on probation. He's never done any time at all— I don't know where
he is or what he is doing now. And— "

"Angelo," said Mendoza. "Angie? Oh,
yes— very nice. Maybe I can give you a hint. Yes, go on."

"The third time Jackie was picked up, he was
either alone or the others got clean away. Pay your money and take
your choice. I made that pinch, my first job after I ranked sergeant
it was. Damn, the time goes .... Third count for him, they gave him
the book and he got a taxi, fifteen years. He did the whole stretch
too, because the parole chief we've got in now is a tough one, which
is all to the good and more power to him .... Reason I saw a little
kind of logic in it, and hooked up the Shanrahan— MacReady job with
that Donovan entry in Benny's ledger, it's because Jackie Donovan was
just due to come out. About
three weeks back,
from that fifteen-year stretch."

"Oh, this I like to hear," purred Mendoza.
"But not soon enough to have done that job?"

"Uh-uh. I figure that was Denny. The way I say,
these Donovans always stuck pretty close. Family feeling, you know?
When I saw that entry in Benny's ledger, under the date which'd have
been just about the time whoever did the Shanrahan— MacReady job
was disposing of the loot, I had a kind of sentimental little vision,
you know. Here's Jackie Donovan coming out after fifteen long years
inside— and maybe his loving brother Denny figured on making a
little celebration. I don't know what Denny's been doing since— God
knows we get enough casual stick-ups and break-ins we never can get
anybody for, it could be he's managed to support himself that way,
just smart enough to take nothing but cash, you know. Anyway, I
wondered. I've had a little bet with myself that the proceeds wrung
out of Benny Hess went to arrange a celebration party for Jackie
Donovan. And I might add," said Goldberg, "that I did a
little private cussing that I didn't know about it until after Jackie
was out, or I could've put a leash on him to lead me to Denny. If you
see what I mean."

"As it is, you don't know where either of them
is?"

"I wish to God I did. That entry is enough to
let me haul Denny in for questioning, at least. But ninety percent of
this is all in my mind— just like the head-doctors say— and,"
added Goldberg bitterly, "some of the allergy specialists .... I
haven't got anything to take to the D.A. And now I've bared my heart
to you, what's your interest and have you got anything more useful to
hand me?"

"Maybe you'd better have another drink,"
said Mendoza. "I'm going to tell you something that'll raise
your blood pressure." He told Goldberg about Driscoll and the
mysterious visitor to the County Museum, and Goldberg invoked the
Almighty, burst into a paroxysm of sneezing, called down curses on
all stupid civilians, and emerged from fresh Kleenex to tinish his
second drink.

"Damn specialists. Tell me to avoid nervous
tension. All in your emotions. What the hell do they expect, that
I'll give up all my seniority and go and grow roses somewhere quiet?
I will be damned. My God, these private eyes . . . I'll tell you,
Mendoza, I can't say at that that it comes as a big surprise. Donovan
I couldn't lay my hands on, but I'd have taken a little bet there was
some negotiation going on about that collection. We're reasonably
smart these days, you know, and I can add one and one as easy as the
next man. It was obvious no fence'd take on that kind of thing, and
so I thought about it— along the lines of that one about the lost
horse and the idiot boy— and— do you know that Lexourion's
daughter is here?"