Figure it Out For Yourself

'He found that. He also found three oilskin wrappers, a hundred thousand grand in used twenty-dollar bills and a fishing-rod which was probably used to take the money off the shed roof.'

I whistled softly.

'Where did he find them?'

'The money was in a suitcase in a cupboard. The oilskin wrappers were at the back of a drawer and the rod was under the bed.'

'As if anyone in their right minds would keep evidence as hot as that in their apartment. Can't he see it's a plant?'

'Look, Brandon wants the Feds out of the city pronto. Perelli's got a police record. This is a gift to him. If he stares at it all day and all night, it wouldn't be a plant to him.'

'Has Perelli an alibi for the kidnapping?'

'One full of holes. He says he was playing cards with Betillo in a private room in Delmonico's Bar. We've talked to Joe. He says Perelli played cards with him until nine-thirty. Joe remembers the time because Perelli was winning and sud- denly said he had a date. Joe was sore because he wanted to get back some of his losses. Perelli swears he played on until ten thirty. The kidnapping, if you remember, took place at ten past ten.'

'Anyone see Perelli leave?'

Mifflin shook his head.

'He went out the back way.'

'Well, who'd believe a rat like Betillo, anyway?'

'Brandon does. He'd believe anyone as long as he gets the Feds out of town. The money worries me, Vic. Everything looks like a plant until you come to the money. A hundred grand is an awful lot of money to throw away to frame a man. A couple of grand would have been enough.'

'That's just the reason why it was planted. The kidnappers have still four hundred grand to keep him warm. Leaving an amount that big in Perelli's place would make people think just what you're thinking.'

'It's throwing money away. I can't see anyone doing it.'

'That's because you're badly paid. A lot of people in this city wouldn't think anything of passing up a hundred grand.'

'Juries are badly paid too. They wouldn't believe it.'

I flicked my cigarette out of the window and shrugged. He was right, of course.

'How is he, Tim?'

'Perelli? Not so bad, considering. They didn't shake his story, and they certainly tried. I think he'd have croaked if Francon hadn't breezed in. Those two punks, MacGraw and Hartsell, get under my skin. They like nothing better than to be turned loose on a guy in handcuffs.'

'Yeah. They tried to bash me once. Any chance of my seeing him?'

'Not a hope. He's Brandon's special prisoner. Even the Fed had to get tough before he'd let them look at him.'

I lit another cigarette and passed him the pack.

'I don't think he did it, Tim.'

'Well, you'll be about the only one by the time they get him before a jury. Wait 'til you see the morning newspapers. As far as they're concerned, he's been tried and found guilty already. The only way to get him off is to produce the real kidnapper.'

'I've got to do something for him. What'll Brandon do now?'

'Nothing. As far as he's concerned, the case is closed. He's got Perelli, and he's got all the evidence he needs. It's in the bag.'

I opened the car door and slid out.

'Well, at least it gives me a clear field. I'm going to start in and dig.'

I wish you luck,' Mifflin said. 'But you've got a sweet job on your hands. Where will you dig? What have you got to work on?'

'Not much. I'm going after Mary Jerome. I have a feeling she knows more about this than you think.'

'Maybe, but I doubt it. If she had anything to do with the kidnapping, she wouldn't have come back like that.'

'She may have left something in the room and had to come back. She wasn't to know I'd be there. The chances are she doesn't know anything, but I'm going to find her and make sure.'

'Okay, anything I can do, let me know. I think Perelli's been framed myself, but that's strictly off the record.'

'Thanks, Tim. I'll probably have something for you. So long for now.'

I climbed into the Buick, waved my hand to him and drove fast to Centre Avenue. Half-way down the broad thoroughfare I spotted a call-box and swung to the kerb. I dialled Justin Francon's number.

He answered the telephone himself.

'What do you make of him, Justin?'

'I don't think he did it,' Francon said briskly. 'But that doesn't mean I can get him off. I'll try, but it looks pretty hopeless. The frame's too good. Whoever planted the evidence knew his business. The money is damning. Shall we get together tomorrow morning at my office? We'll have a look at it from every angle and see what we can do. Make it ten. All right?'

'I'll be there,' I said.

'Don't expect too much, Vic. I don't like to say it, but I think he's a dead duck.' 'He isn't dead yet,' I said shortly and hung up.

III

Justin Francon sat in his desk chair with his legs hanging over one of the arms, his thumbs hooked into the armholes of his vest, a dead cigar jutting out of his face.