I chinned myself up into the black hole, memorized the approximate location of each bag, then-being unable to hand them down to myself dropped them to the floor be low one by one. The sound of the falling bags was lost, I hoped, among the noise of a rapidly gathering crowd outside and the approaching police and fire sirens.
The bags were maroon with black bands around them, the ones I'd seen in Joan Lenihan's dining room. I dashed down the stairs with two of them, flung them into 2-A, Toot's room, then ran up and brought two more, then finally the fifth and last. When I came down the stairs the third time, the door to 2-B was wide open and a man stood staring at me.
The man was somewhere between thirty and seventy, potbellied, and wore a flannel bathrobe over his pajamas. His slippers had bunny faces on the toes. In flattened tones but with great fervor, he said to me, "I am Dover Clover. I know Dover Clover. I know all eternity in hell. Satan is a fool, but I know fate gave me power over parable. I am Doctor Who."
I said, "The back porch fell down. It will be repaired. The appropriate behavior is, please go back in your room."
The man turned away instantly and shut the door in my face. Inside Toot's room, with the door shut and bolted, I used my lobster pick on the lock of the first of the five suitcases. I lifted the lid and gazed down. No newspapers this time, or dirty socks, just US currency. The old bills-twenties, fifties, hundreds-were stacked but not bound. I stuffed a bundle of fifties into my coat pocket, then opened the other four bags. Toot had left Timmy's five canvas bags open on the bed, as instructed, and I dumped the cash into them and zipped them shut. Kyle had also left a bundle of old
Times Unions on the floor nearby. These I placed in the maroon bags, shut and locked them, and carried them in three swift trips up to the attic. I placed the bags where I had found them and closed the hatch.
From down below came the sound of raised voices and other signs of frantic coming and going. I went back to Toot's room, shut the door, and waited inside. Out on Third Avenue a crowd had gathered, as well as a fire engine, red lights turning and flashing and radios barking, and a Troy PD patrol car.
Footsteps thudded up the stairs, and my heart played an interesting short piece by Poulenc. Two sharp raps on the door. "It's me."
I let him in. Toot had on jeans and Timmy's old Georgetown sweatshirt and was dripping like Lear on the moors. I said, "Nice performance. Would you autograph my program?" and held out a stack of fifties.
"You gotta get out of here now! The building inspector's on his way and they'll be coming up here."
"Where are they?"
"Mack and Flo are both out back with two policemen and some firemen.
You gotta move now."
I followed him quickly down the stairs and out the front door. We walked casually past the fire engine and cop car on the corner. "Did you tell her you were moving out?"
"Yeah, I said I was afraid the whole place was unsafe, and she said oh, no, honey, why don't you wait for the building inspector, but I was shaking like crazy-from the cold, mostly-and she thinks I'm really scared. Of course, I am that, too."
"Do they know how it happened?"
"Snow on the roof, they think."
"Good. They might figure out otherwise in daylight, but that's okay. I'll send Mrs. Trenky four or five grand for a new porch if her insurance doesn't cover the damage. See you in a little while."
"I hope so."
Timmy and the T-bird were long gone, so I stood inside the convenience store drinking coffee and chatting with the clerk about the neighborhood excitement for twenty minutes until I saw Toot load the Ford with Timmy's gray bags. He asked the firemen to move their pumper six feet so that he could get his car out, and after some jawing and milling about, they did. Toot pulled onto the avenue, cruised over to the convenience store, then moved over to the passenger seat. I climbed'in and drove directly to the Green Island bridge, then south to Albany, where we rendezvoused in Room 1407 at the Hilton just after one.
"First thing in the morning," Timmy said, "I am going to confession for the first time in eighteen years. And then I am going to work. Right now I am going to sleep. If I scream in the night, rush me over to the Albany Med burn unit."
Toot said, "I'm taking a hot bath before I do anything. I think I've got gangrene of the prostate."
"Timmy will sleep, but you can't," I told him. "I'm driving you to JFK, where you'll get on the first flight for LA. Fay is going to draw some conclusions very fast, and if you hang around here you might be recognized. The cops won't be a problem-I don't think Fay will report his loss to the authorities-but it's better if you are three thousand miles away when Fay puts one and one and a half together and comes up with Jim O'Connor the Third, the fan-belt salesman."
Timmy said, "Fay's not dumb. Won't he also realize that you're somehow involved? Hell, we're never going to be able to go home."
"I've been thinking about that too. I also have been starting to miss evenings by the picture of the fire. I think I know how I can work it all out.
There are just a couple of things I have to check on tomorrow."
"It's practically tomorrow already. Kyle, good night and good luck. And, Donald, congratulations on your civic-minded grand larceny. You're Legs Diamond with a heart of gold."
"Thank you," I said, and gazed at the five suitcases full of money. It occurred to me that I could probably spend the two and a half million on the purchase of a small island in the Bahamas. St.
Don's. I reluctantly shoved that thought aside, although suddenly it became brilliantly clear to me that now, finally, I did have real choices to make.
At the airport I asked Toot, "What will you tell people who ask where you disappeared to for thirty-six hours?"
He grinned. "I'll say I was in Troy, New York, helping a private eye and his boyfriend demolish Carole Lombard's back porch in order to steal two and a half million dollars."
"That's a wonderful story. Nobody will believe it."
"That's right."
"You learn fast." I tried to stuff a roll of fifties in Toot's pocket, but he wouldn't have it. "You're a business expense," I said. "Jack Lenihan wrote that I should take what I needed for my expenses. It's legitimate, believe me."
He looked a little hurt. "I'll take twenty for cab fare back to West Hollywood, but otherwise forget it. I'm not supposed to take non-union acting jobs anyway. Not that I could ever include this one on my resume. This performance was for Al Piatek-and for the memory of Al and Jack Lenihan back in the Piateks' attic. Who knows, maybe they're together now."
"It would be nice to believe that."
Having gone without sleep for nearly forty-eight hours, I drove directly to the airport Sheraton, bought a room with six twenties, lay down, and conked out. I wanted to be wide awake and in full possession of my faculties when I got back to Albany, because the tricky part was coming next: disbursing the two and a half million, handing Jack Lenihan's murderer to Ned Bowman, and staying alive while I was at it.
SIXTEEN
I phoned Sim Kempelman from a thruway rest stop and met him at six Monday evening at Queequeg's. He ordered the scampi and a glass of white wine, and I had two bowls of cream of broccoli soup, two spinach salads and a Beck's.
I said, "I've got it."
"Oh, my."
"Two and a half million."
He whistled, impressed.
"It's all in US currency, in a safe place. The cash's arrival was delayed for a variety of reasons, but before he died, Jack prepared to send it to me and now I've got it."