holding a leather attaché.
“Where’d you get that?”
“Now, Skipper,” she teased, “while your brain was locked up, mine was working. I made a quick tour of the area and found that this had been slid behind a curtain in Elrod’s living room.” She popped the latch and pulled it open. “How did your people miss it? I have a few guesses.” She chuckled, and then her eyes grew as large as saucers. “Wow, Skipper, this thing is filled with money. I mean lots and lots of money. Looks to be all twenties.” She reached into the bag and pulled out a handful of cash.
“That’s probably the payoff,” he announced.
“And I’m the blonde,” she again noted. “So we have everything we need for tonight. I sense we’re about to blow the mob wide open.”
“Or we’re going to get blown wide open ourselves.” He countered. After crossing the room and looking in the attaché, Walker reached out and gently took the woman’s chin, lifting her face until their eyes met. “This is not a game. We’re playing with fire here. If something goes wrong, Santa might have two less places to visit next week.”
“I know,” she assured him. “This is no walk in the park. Delono and his boys keep the funeral homes and flower shops in business. But I liked Elrod, and I don’t want to see his work die with him.”
“Neither do I,” Lane acknowledged, while not voicing his sudden doubts about the district attorney. Crossing the room, he picked up the phone and dialed the morgue.
“Morelli’s place, where a corpse shows no remorse.”
“Mitch, that’s horrible.”
“Humor of my trade,” the ME replied.
“Keep it in house,” Lane suggested. “Mitch, have you told anyone that Elrod was murdered?”
“No,” Morelli said. “I’ve been up to my ears in accident victims. I called the chief and commissioner, but they were out. No one from the media knows either. So just you so far.”
“What about the guys I asked you to send down here to rework the crime scene?”
“Oh, gosh,” the ME quickly explained, his tone reflecting his embarrassment, “I got to working on an autopsy and just forgot. I’ll do it now.”
“No,” the cop shot back, “don’t tell anyone what you know. I don’t want the word getting out that Elrod has been murdered. It has to be kept quiet until in the morning. Call Doc Miller and the boys that worked it with me and tell them to keep a lid on it, and I don’t want anyone coming over here.”
“Mind if I ask why?”
“You can ask,” Lane answered, “but I can’t tell you. I’ll come back to secure the scene here, including the fruitcake, but I have to do something else first.”
“Is it tied to the case?” Morelli asked.
“Yeah. And if I turn up missing,” the investigator paused, “look in the Bible on the desk in Elrod’s office. I’ll write a note detailing what I know there. You can find that information where the second chapter of Luke begins. Got it?”
“Sure. This time of the year that’s easy to remember, but I don’t like the way this sounds. Be careful, Lane! I don’t want to have to determine what killed you.”
“I’ll do my best to not give you that assignment,” he assured the ME as he hung up the phone.
After considering what he knew, he went over to the desk, opened the Bible, and spent a couple of minutes jotting down what he’d learned. Tossing the pen down and closing the Bible, he turned back to face Tiffany. Her normal smug expression had been replaced by a softer, more concerned look. Her change in disposition caused him to offer the woman an out. “You don’t have to do this.”
She shook her head, “And if you go there without a blonde then you won’t live to explain what this is all about. I’ve got to know what Elrod uncovered. If he was taking down organized crime and I can report on it, I have to be there. It’s my job.”
“So your concern is for the story and not me?” he asked.
She forced a smile, “Maybe it’s for both. I know you’re tired of Delono and his ilk running this town. So am I. I’m also tired of seeing kids hooked on dope and women working the street to support their habits. I’m tired of the murders and the dirty cops. But as much as I want to break the story about the big man being sent to the big house, I don’t want to see a dumb homicide detective go down in the process. You’ve caused me a lot of grief, you don’t know a thing about tact and manners, but . . .” She stopped, her blue eyes looking as if they were suddenly a bit moist.
“But what, Tiff?”
“But nothing,” she shot back, “I just don’t want to have to figure out a way to make you sound good in an obituary. I’ve never been any good at writing fiction.”
“Don’t worry,” he quipped, almost relieved she hadn’t gone soft on him, “I’ll outlive you just so I don’t have to deal with your libelous prose.”
“Still,” she chimed in, “there’s something about this mess that doesn’t pass the smell test.”
“What are you talking about?” he quickly asked.
Her eyes locked onto Lane’s. “Delono would have had Elrod wiped out the professional way. He’d have either used some kind of drug that made it appear the DA died of a heart attack—I mean everyone knows he had a weak ticker—or he’d have had a hired gun shoot him. Hit men don’t use fruitcakes as weapons and then come back a half an hour later and stab their victims.”
“So,” the cop asked, “what’s your theory?”
“I don’t have one,” she admitted, “the money still being here means that it was likely not a robbery either. I just don’t see this as being connected to Delono.”
“Tiffany, other than your fake Santas, who else had a motive?”
“Maybe,” she suggested, “our visit to the address on Elmwood will give us some insight into that.” She smiled, reached over, and patted the attaché, “You got a plan, Skipper?”
“Of course,” he growled, “and don’t call me Skipper!”
“Hey,” Tiff laughed, “if you think I’m ever going to forget what you did to us in that rowboat you’re sadly mistaken.”
Lane shook his head, grabbed his hat, and walked toward the door. It was not the time to relive a past adventure that ended badly; instead it was time to play Santa and deliver a gift he hoped didn’t explode in their faces.
Chapter 5
5
Wednesday, December 18, 1946
11:02 p.m.
It’s all set,” McCoy Rawlings announced as he placed the phone back into its cradle. While waiting for a response, the six-foot, three-inch ruggedly good-looking man walked over to an
