something.”
“You found our murder weapon?”
“Maybe,” he replied, “could the damage you discovered on Elrod’s skull have been made by a fruitcake?”
“What?”
“You know one of those round, foot-wide, four-inch tall tins that are filled with the stuff nobody eats.”
“I hadn’t expected that,” Morelli answered, his voice indicating mild shock.
“There’s a fruitcake can in the basement,” Lane explained. “I saw it from a window. Now I haven’t gone down there and picked it up yet, but I’ve got a hunch somebody recently ditched it through an unlocked outside window. It’s not nearly as dusty as everything else that is stored down there. In fact, it shines like it just came off a store shelf.”
The line went silent for a few seconds before the ME came back on. “Yeah. When the cake is in the tins those things are pretty heavy and, if Elrod had passed out due to the drugs in his system and wasn’t offering any resistance, that container could be swung with a lot of force, too. Did the can you saw have green and red stripes on the side and a Christmas tree painted on the front?”
“Not sure about the tree,” Walker replied, “but I remember it had stripes like you described. Those were real obvious.”
“Then I believe I know that fruitcake,” Morelli offered. “If it’s the one I think it is, it’s part of a joke between Ethan Elrod and Ben Jacobs.”
“The federal judge?”
“Yep. They’ve been trading that old cake back and forth each Christmas for more than a dozen years. Everyone who knows them has seen that old can. I’ve seen it a half dozen times myself. And that sucker is made of really thick tin, so it could well have created the damage I observed.”
“So,” Lane chimed in, “murder by fruitcake.”
“And not just any fruitcake,” Morelli wryly noted, “but one that was first purchased by Ben Jacobs long before he was a federal judge. At least, I assumed he bought it. So we’re talking about an antique fruitcake.”
“I’ll get the cake tin,” Walker assured the examiner, “and when the boys get here to reexamine the scene, I’ll bring it to you to look over.”
“Thanks, I’ll be waiting. Good work, Lane.”
The investigator had all but forgotten he wasn’t alone until he placed the receiver back in the cradle.
“So, Lane,” Tiffany announced, “you’ve established two things.”
“What’s that?” he asked as their eyes met, and he was again forced to realize how intoxicatingly beautiful she really was.
“The first is, you’ve finally discovered a purpose for a fruitcake. The second is this was not a murder to cover a robbery because no one would steal a fruitcake. Now all you have to do is find the fruitcake that used the fruitcake to murder the crusading district attorney. That really makes this case nuts!”
Lane was contemplating a verbal comeback to her lame pun when the phone rang. Thus, as he was drawing blanks in trying to come up with a witty and biting reply, he was literally saved by the bell.
Chapter 4
4
Wednesday, December 18, 1946
10:58 p.m.
Grabbing the receiver on the second ring, Lane pulled it to his ear and barked, “Hello.”
“Okay, Elrod, this is the payoff. Have your representative bring the woman with the cash to 1014 Elmwood at 1:15 tonight. Don’t be a minute late or a second early. Come to the front door. I’ll have what you are looking for there. If you mess this up, then kiss your representative good-bye. Got that?”
The cop considered what he’d heard but didn’t answer. Looking to Tiffany, he shrugged.
“Did you get that?” the male voice on the line demanded for the second time.
“1014 Elmwood,” the cop assured him.
“And the time?”
“1:15.”
“You’re putting your life on the line, Elrod,” the man warned, “but I’m risking even more than you.”
“And you’ve got everything I need?” Lane demanded.
“Everything,” came the quick explanation, “Just make sure you’ve got the girl and the money. That blonde’s testimony could lock someone up for a long time.”
“About the blonde,” Lane replied.
“What’s wrong with your voice, you don’t sound like yourself.”
The cop took a deep breath and then in a desperate action, coughed several times. After clearing his throat, he got back on the line, “I picked up a cold. Just this time of the year coupled with my health issues.”
“Forgot about your weak heart,” the caller replied, “and on the woman, don’t mess me around. You found her. Even though I’ve never met her, what she tells me will give me what I need to make sure she’s the real deal. If she’s not, then I don’t care if you are the DA—I promise that you will be fish food by Christmas. You savvy?”
Lane looked over at Tiffany. She had clearly heard everything that had been said, so he was hardly surprised when the reporter mouthed, “I’m your blonde.”
“Okay,” the cop announced into the receiver, “I fully understand.”
“One more thing. I know the last guy you had working for you was injured in a wreck. I want to make sure this new man is someone we can work with. Can he be trusted not to rat my boss out to the cops?”
“Yeah,” Lane barked, “you can trust him. Just so you know, he’s handsome, has dark wavy hair, is well-built, and about six feet tall. He kind of looks like Robert Taylor . . . the movie star.”
“Good to know, but I hope tonight’s the only night I ever see him.” A second later, the line went dead.
“Well, Skipper,” Tiffany noted, “this sounds interesting.”
“Let’s not go back to using old nicknames,” he snapped, “especially one that brings back a lot of bad memories.”
“Whatever. By working together we might be able to save Elrod’s investigation after all.”
She was right. Because the news of the man’s death had not been released to the press and had therefore not hit the papers or radio broadcasts, the caller figured the DA was still alive. That was fortuitous. They might actually be able to pull this charade off and get a line on what the district attorney was investigating. But what were they walking into? And why would Elrod agree to leave the mystery woman with this man? That thought led to a series of troubling questions. Was he wrong about Elrod? Was this man that everyone put on a pedestal in
