"I looked in his closet. Closets tell you things, too. Terribly neat. The whole bottom was filled with puzzle boxes, and on the back of the door was one of those pocket things for shoes. He had at least a dozen. One pair of loafers looked as if it had never been worn. So I pulled a shoe out and a neat roll of one-hundred-dollar bills with a rubber band around it fell out."

Jane gasped. "Blackmail! Remember I mentioned that as possible motive for trying to kill a janitor?"

"I'd given it some thought as well," Mel admitted. "But I don't believe he had the courage to blackmail strangers. You have to be very brazen and talk scary. 'I'll come after your family if you don't come up with the money' and so forth. It's also dangerous being a blackmailer. You don't know when your victim will meet you with a mob of cops hidden behind cars and vans. From hearing what his boss and his sister said, he simply couldn't have faced any stranger and been forceful and tough."

"You're really convinced about this," Jane said. She wasn't questioning his judgment. She knew it was a result of his experience and skills.

"Yes. But, Jane, when I came back with a warrant to search legally, the total hidden in his room was more than a hundred thousand dollars."

Jane lost her grip on her salad fork, which flipped over and fell on the floor. A waiter instantly replaced it.

Jane, embarra.s.sed, thanked the waiter and, when he was gone, asked, "Did his sister know about the money?"

Mel nodded. "Apparently some, perhaps a lot, of the money is hers. While I was snooping before I got the warrant to search, she was chatting with Officer Jones, the cop who checks on her from time to time. She's considerably older than her brother and for a long time had a very well-paying job. When she had to leave because of the problems with her legs, she had a lot of pension money built up that's still being paid. She had also received disability payments from social security."

Jane put down her fork. "But even if that's true, I don't think that between her pension, social security, and whatever her brother makes as a janitor, they could save that much money. Could they? They must have had expenses like everyone else. Property tax, food, utilities like water, gas, and electricity. And old houses often need new gutters, roofs, and furnaces. Why are you grinning like that? Aren't I making sense?"

"Are you finished with your salads?" The waiter was back.

"I think we are," Mel said. Jane nodded.

Then she said, "I hate getting this story in installments. Talk faster before the steaks get here or save it for later."

"I can sum it up in one word. Gambling." "Gambling? Who?"

"Sven, of course. Every weekend."

"But you can't be solitary when you're in a casino. I've been in several and they were mobbed."

"Mobbed maybe. Especially on weekends, I'd imagine. But you don't have to talk to anyone if you don't want to."

The vigilant waiter saw the opportunity to bring their steaks and baked potatoes while Jane was sitting back considering this scenario.

They both applied themselves to the main course without talking much. Jane had ordered the largest filet mignon, done medium rare, and was planning to take home half of it to slice really thin and use on a sandwich the next day. Mel went through his entire T-bone. After the waiter had boxed up half of Jane's steak, Mel said, "Order yourself a dessert; I think I'll just have strong coffee. I want to finish this story and see what you think of it."

"I see already why you didn't explain what would happen to Sven's sister if he died," Jane said. "She'd own a house, inherit the whole amount of money, and be able to take a room or two, even her own wing, maybe, at a good nursing home."

When the waiter returned, Jane ordered a fudgy dark chocolate dessert, with coffee. She intended to take most of the dessert home as well. This restaurant wrapped up the leftovers in such pretty little boxes, tied up in ribbons, and she wanted to keep two of them.

While she nibbled at the dessert, Mel went on, "Sven liked to finish his cleaning jobs at the crack of dawn on Fridays so he could go to casinos in Iowa, St. Louis, or even Minneapolis. Then catch up with janitoring late on Sunday nights. A lot of driving time getting to and from the farthest ones. But apparently profitable enough."

"And you believe this?"

"We circulated his picture from his driver's license to several of the casinos, and it seems to be true. Several of the cashiers recognized him. The employees and those monitoring the tables and slot machines on hidden cameras are really vigilant."

"He's either very lucky or cheating, to acc.u.mulate that much money," Jane said.

"Some people are always lucky. And he might have been lucky for a great many years, Janey. He might have been doing this most of his adult life."

"Where is the money now?"

"I stood over three cops, acting as vigilant as the casino employees, counting it out in thousands. And then I had an armored truck take it to a safety-deposit box. My name and Hilda's are on the box. I left her a thousand dollars to get along on until, and if, her brother recovers.

"I wanted the whole neighborhood to know that the cash, which they didn't even know about, is gone," he went on. "And I have my men watching the house day and night, just in case somebody who was counting the bills told some friend about all that money over a boozy evening with his fellow officers. These were young cops counting the money. I hardly knew any of them very well. And I know the young ones sometimes can't resist gossiping with friends about interesting things they've done when they're sitting around in a bar."

Mel gave both the waiter and the maitre d' generous tips.

As they were walking back to the car, Mel feeling really silly carrying two little packages tied up with pink ribbons, Jane asked, "Do either Sven or Hilda have children to pa.s.s this money to when they're both gone?"

"Neither ever married. At least Hilda Turner says so. It would be easy to check, and I think she's smart enough to know that and not lieabout it," Mel said, opening the pa.s.senger door of his red MG and handing the cutesy boxes of leftovers to Jane.

"Then who gets all that money when both of them are gone?"

"I'm wondering about that, too. I'm a.s.suming that Sven wanted to acc.u.mulate lots of money for his sister's care if her health deteriorated to the point that he couldn't keep her at home. It's just a theory, though."

"It's a nice theory," she said, leaning over to give him a kiss on the cheek. "You have to be a cynic to do your job so well. But you can't hide your kindly personality from me."

Mel was glad it was dark in the car. He was desperately afraid he might-heaven forfend-be blushing.

"It's just one theory, Jane," he said somewhat gruffly. "They might have earmarked this money for some charity. Or set up some kind of trust to help indigent jigsaw puzzle fanatics."

Mel put the car in gear and turned on the headlights. "Your place or mine?"

"I'd love to go to yours, but it's nearly eleven. I want to be sure the kids are all home. And I have to be up early to feed them before Mike goes to work and Katie goes to summer school."

"They can't do toast and eggs?"

"They could, but they won't and will be starva ing by ten and blame me. Besides, I have to get ready to hit the grocery store and put things away before the needlepoint cla.s.s."

"You're still enjoying that? Why haven't you shown me your project?"

"I will when it's done."

Mel walked to her front door and gave her one of those kisses that turned Jane into jelly.

Eighteen.

Mel was in his office early Tuesday morning, going through the rest of the paperwork regarding the death of Denny Roth and other files on the attack on Sven Turner. It always astonished and dismayed him in cases like this how much paperwork crimes generated, as well as how slowly some of the data he'd asked for finally trickled in.

There was a new report on his desk that was interesting but not very enlightening. Sven's doctor had called in while he was having dinner with Jane, and left a message that while Sven was still only semiconscious, he was occasionally moving around, apparently trying to run from something. He was also mumbling something. Opinions on what he was trying to say varied. Something like "rabbit" or "ratchet." Or maybe "catch it." This might or might not mean he'd ever get better.

His sister, Hilda, was also eager to visit him, which the doctor approved of, if the police would allow it, and if she could find someone to bring her to the hospital. Perhaps Detective VanDyne could prevail on social services to arrange it if he approved her visiting.

Mel immediately called back. Naturally, the doctor wasn't available. Mel left a message that he had received the physician's message and agreed that it would be a good idea if Mr. Turner's sister visited and that he'd arrange for it. There was a chance, however remote, that she might understand what her brother was trying to say.

Social services would want a lot of paperwork filled out before they could get her to the hospital. And they'd have to arrange for a van with a lift for her wheelchair. Mel told the man he spoke to that he'd authorize Officer Jones, who knew her best, to come and get the forms to Sven's sister and return them.

That would generate at least fifteen or twenty more pieces of paperwork in triplicate for everyone to file.

But Officer Jones said, "I could borrow my aunt's van. Her late husband was in a wheelchair and it's equipped with a mechanical ramp. She never even drives it anymore. She's got herself a little Honda."

"Officer Jones, have you any idea how much time, trouble, and paperwork this has saved? Are you sure you want to do this?"

"n.o.body uses the van anymore. I like OldLady Turner, and will be glad to fetch her and bring her home."

"You're a good man. Thank you. And I wonder if-I shouldn't even ask this, but I will. If there's any way you can find out what they intend to do with all that money, I'd like to know."

"I'll do my best to think of a way to bring it up," he said. "She likes talking to me. Is it important?"

"Frankly, no," Mel admitted. "It's sheer curiosity. Don't bother if you don't feel comfortable about this."

"I'm curious, too."

Mel said, "I'll call the hospital back and tell them you're bringing her to visit her brother. Be sure to go in with her and see if you can decipher what Sven is trying to say."

"He's talking?"

"Not exactly. He's about half conscious and trying to say something. n.o.body can tell what it is. Maybe his sister will understand him better than strangers."

Mel decided he should also be there at the meeting of brother and sister. But only in the background. He was casually loitering in the hall outside Sven's room when Officer Jones wheeled Miss Turner out of the elevator. She greeted Mel politely. "Thank you, Detective VanDyne, for making this possible."

He smiled and nodded and followed them into the room.

"Wheel me as close as you can," she said to Officer Jones.

When she was close enough, she put her hand on her brother's forearm and said, "Sven, I'm here. Hilda is here. And I'm going to see to it that you don't lollygag around in this bed for much longer. Sven, open your eyes and look at me."

He turned his head toward her, his eyes opening slightly, a bit cross-eyed.