“Thanks for the invitation,” he said.
The man smiled. “Don’t mention it. You like the brandy?”
“Very good.”
“My private stock. An excellent vintage.”
Steve’s head was beginning to clear enough to want to try to make some sense out of the situation. “You seem to know me,” he said, “but I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
“Ah, excuse me,” said the man. “I am Tony Zambelli.”
He said it in the manner of one making a pronouncement, and Steve knew he should be impressed, but actually he had never heard the name before. But he knew enough to know that if he were a real, practicing lawyer, he would know the name. He also knew that the name itself did not matter-he knew who Zambelli was.
“My pleasure,” he said.
Zambelli smiled. “My wife, Rita,” he said, indicating the girl.
Steve nodded. Rita looked bored.
“The boys I believe you know,” Zambelli said.
“We met. All right, what’s the pitch?”
Zambelli smiled. “I like a man who gets right to the point. All right, Mr. Winslow. It has come to my attention that you are investigating a blackmailer named Robert Greely. I thought perhaps I could be of help.”
“How thoughtful.”
“You apparently are under the impression that Greely was blackmailing Louie here.” Zambelli indicated the man standing at Steve’s left.
Steve gave him a look. Louie never blinked.
“That, however,” Zambelli went on, “is incorrect. Louie paid Greely the money, but he was merely the go-between. Greely was actually blackmailing me.”
Steve looked at Zambelli in surprise. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because under the circumstances I believe it will be to my advantage to make sure you have all the facts.”
“I’m listening.”
“Very well. Greely was a blackmailer. A few months ago he put the bite on me.”
“Over what?”
Again, Zambelli gestured to the girl. “Rita is my second wife. We were married last month.” He said it as if announcing he had purchased a stock.
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you. We are very happy. Now then, a few months ago I was in the process of divorcing my first wife. There was naturally the question of a property settlement.”
“I think I get the picture,” Winslow said.
“Exactly. Greely got hold of some information which would have been worth several hundred thousand dollars to my ex-wife if she had gotten her hands on it. He wanted ten thousand dollars to keep it quiet. I gave it to him.”
Steve smiled, taking the sting out of the words. “Come off it, Zambelli. That’s not your style. You’re not the type of guy to pay blackmail. You’d have rubbed him out first.”
Zambelli seemed quite unruffled by the suggestion. “Mr. Winslow,” he said. “I’m a businessman. It would have cost me more than ten thousand to have him killed. Therefore, I paid him off.”
Steve shook his head. “Yes, but you know perfectly well that a blackmailer never quits. Ten grand was just the first bite. What was to stop Greely from boosting the ante?”
“In the first place, I checked him out. He was a very clever blackmailer. You probably know that he’s never been arrested. That’s because he never tried to bleed his marks. He’d take one bite and quit.
“In the second place, as soon as my divorce was settled, he lost his leverage.”
For the first time, Zambelli’s face got hard. “And in the third place, he wouldn’t have dared. Now look, you and me, we’re sitting here, we’re talking blackmail. That’s because Greely was a blackmailer, and that’s how you got the story, so between you and me, that’s fine, what do I care? But let me tell you. This was not blackmail. You are right, I would not pay blackmail. It happens that Greely is a guy who in his profession hears things and finds out things. He got this information. He brought it to me, through Louie, and I was grateful to have it and to know where it came from, because then I could dry up the source. So I gave him the ten grand. It was a reward, a thank you, for bringing it to me and no one else. It was payment for a job well done.”
Zambelli waved his hand. “Now, that’s neither here nor there. We can call it blackmail. And the police would certainly call it blackmail. But if you have to know why I paid, then you are right. I would not pay blackmail. I would rub him out first. But this was not blackmail, and that is why I paid.”
Steve thought that over. “All right,” he said. “Suppose I buy all that? Why is it to your advantage to have me know all about this?”
Zambelli was once more the smiling host. “Because I have no wish to be dragged into court. You’re Sheila Benton’s lawyer. You’re perfectly capable of subpoenaing me and throwing me in the district attorney’s face as a possible suspect. Now, I had nothing to do with the murder. That doesn’t bother me. But I would find it particularly embarrassing to have the district attorney cross-examine me concerning my activities on the day in question.”
“I would hate to cause you embarrassment.”
“Then keep me out of it.”
“You still haven’t given me a reason why I should.”
Zambelli took a drink of brandy. “As it happens,” he said, “at the time of the murder I was engaged in a little game of cards.”
Steve looked at him skeptically. “At twelve-thirty in the afternoon?”
“The game actually began the night before. Two of the players were wealthy corporate executives. Being heavy losers, they were reluctant to quit. So they phoned in sick, and the game continued.”
“Did their luck improve?” Steve inquired with mock seriousness.
Zambelli matched his tone. “It did not.”
Zambelli reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He extended it to Rita, who took it to Winslow, then returned to her seat. She managed to give the impression of a dog doing a trick.
“Here’s a list of names,” Zambelli said, “of the people involved in the poker game. The first two names are friends of mine. You’ll find them most cooperative. The last two names are the corporate executives. They may be a trifle touchy.”
“Touchy corporate executives are my specialty,” Steve said. “But why should I do this for you? Even if this is true, you’d still make a dandy red herring.”
Zambelli shook his head. “You can’t gain anything by dragging me into court. All you’ll do is prove that Greely was a blackmailer. The police know he’s a blackmailer, but they can’t prove it. So it’s to your client’s advantage to keep me out of it.”
Steve thought that over. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll look into it. If this checks out, you’ve done me a favor.”
Zambelli smiled broadly. “Sure,” he said. “What are friends for?”
24
Maxwell Baxter paced his living room like a caged tiger. He still couldn’t quite accept it. His niece was in jail, and he was powerless to do anything about it. Him. A man of power. A man with connections. A man with influence. And he could do nothing.
He’d gone to jail to see her and she hadn’t told him a thing. Not a thing. Except to say that she had her own lawyer, and he could damn well pay him. Fat chance! That weirdo. That twerp.
And his own lawyers were powerless to help him. Marston, Marston, and Cramden had been besieging the D.A.’s office all day, but to no avail. She was arrested, it was an open-and-shut case, there was not the slightest possibility of bail. And that was that.
He could get no information, that was the infuriating thing. If the cops had an open-and-shut case, what was it? No one was talking. The lid had never been on so tight. Even a personal call to the commissioner had been fruitless. There simply was no information to be had.
Max shook his head. Jesus, what the hell were his attorneys doing? Or his detectives, for that matter? Should he call them again? How long had it been? He checked his watch. Ten minutes. Impossible. Only ten minutes?