Benny grinned. "Ah! Struck a nerve."

"We're not talking about me. We're talking about you. If Cora Felton searched their house, what might she have found? That was important enough to turn over to the cops. We're talking something small enough for her to stick in her purse. That she'd have to sort out from her other junk."

"I have no idea."

"Neither do I." Dennis cocked his head at Benny. "Luckily, whatever it is can't send me to jail."

Chapter 23.

CHUCK DILLINGER'S OFFICE was small. It also faced the interior court instead of the street. What good was an office on Madison Avenue if your office wasn't on Madison Avenue? True, it was a Madison Avenue address, but it wasn't his address, it was the partnership of Hendricks and Sloane, and he wasn't Hendricks or Sloane, so he had a small office on the interior court.

Chuck Dillinger was a young associate, hoping to make partner. It wasn't cheap raising a family, especially in Connecticut. Not in a house as nice as his, on the good side of town. Without help, he couldn't make it. He'd have to move to upstate New York, or even New Jersey. Not the direction his life should be heading. Not the direction at all.

Chuck checked his appointment book. He had no client meetings today. Which left him with paperwork.

He hated paperwork. That was what his paralegal should be doing. Only Chuck didn't have a paralegal. He relied on the switchboard girl, who didn't type and didn't file. Which left him typing and filing.

The phone rang. It was, of course, the switchboard. Either that or his wife. Only she had his direct line. Chuck was surprised to hear a man's voice.

"Mr. Dillinger?"

"Yes."

"This is Officer Brogan, Bakerhaven PD."

"Oh?"

"I'm working on the break-in at your house."

"Oh." Chuck's pulse raced. "Caught the guy?" he asked casually.

" 'Fraid not. So little to go on. Just wanted to follow up. You said your study was broken into, is that correct?"

"I'm not sure it was broken into, since nothing was taken."

"No, but you said so. Isn't that right? Not that it was broken into, but the fact you reported it was?"

"I may have said something like that."

"Why would you have thought such a thing?"

Chuck's head was coming off. What the hell was this all about? "Officer, I don't even remember saying such a thing, but if I did, uh, there's nothing in the house worth stealing, so I would naturally think the study."

"There's things worth stealing in the study?"

"Well, my computer's there. And some expensive cigars."

"You thought someone broke in to steal your cigars?"

"No. Of course not. I have no idea why anyone might break in. I have nothing worth taking. Nothing was taken. I assume the thief broke in, looked around, was disappointed, and left."

"That sounds quite reasonable."

"Good. I hope that clears things up, Officer."

"Yeah, but that's not why I called."

"Oh?"

"There was something under the blotter of your desk. Which probably wouldn't mean anything. Except with your claim someone broke into the study..."

"You found something under the blotter of my desk? You didn't mention anything about that."

"Neither did you."

"What?"

"You didn't mention keeping anything under the blotter of your desk."

"I don't know what you're talking about. What did you find?"

"The torn corner of a hundred-dollar bill."

There was a silence on the phone. Sam Brogan continued, "Do you have any idea what that was doing there?"

After another brief silence, Chuck said, "Oh, is that all. You had me worried."

"You know what the bill was doing there?"

"Yes, of course."

"You wanna share that information?" Sam said dryly.

"I often keep a couple of hundreds under my blotter for emergencies. The corner must have torn off one of them."

"So these were your hundred-dollar bills?"

"That's right."

"And you think the burglar took them?"

"No, I don't."

"Why not?"

"Because I spent them."

"Oh?"

"I ran out of cash and spent the bills. The corner must have torn off when I pulled them out."

"Okay. So you're saying what we're dealing with is the corner of a genuine hundred-dollar bill, it's your hundred-dollar bill, and it wasn't stolen?"

"No. I'm sorry, Officer. If you're looking for leads, I'm afraid it's another dead end. But I certainly appreciate your taking the time and effort. Was there anything else?"

"No, that'll do."

Chuck hung up the phone. Son of a bitch! The cop would have to find a piece of a bill. He wondered if it was foolish to have claimed it was his, but what else could he do? His wife had bought the stage money explanation, but the cop was another story. Mimi would never check, but the cop might. When there wasn't any movie money, there'd be hell to pay. No way to lie his way out of that.

Of course, there'd be hell to pay if the cop checked with his wife. But that would be easier to explain. The bills were his personal secret stash. His wife didn't know about it. He couldn't admit it to her. No way.

Wait a minute! Mimi hadn't seen the corner of a hundred-dollar bill. She'd seen a whole stack of 'em. Five thousand dollars' worth. How could he reconcile that?

Chuck was sweating profusely, and his office had air-conditioning, one of the few perks of the job. Good lord, how would he handle that?

Chuck hyperventilated, trying to calm himself. It wasn't so bad. Why would the cop bother to check with his wife? There was no reason to, and- Icy terror gripped him.

What if he already had?

What if the cop knew Mimi's story, and was just baiting him? What if the cop was merely waiting to spring the trap?

The phone rang.

Chuck stared at it in horror. Oh, my God! That was the cop calling back. "I checked with your wife. Would you like to reconsider the story about the hundred-dollar bills?"

Good God! Maybe he should duck into the men's room, pretend he was out of his office. No, that would never do.

Chuck scooped up the phone. "Hello?"

"Mr. Dillinger?"

Chuck had never been so relieved to hear the receptionist's voice. "Yes?"

"Someone to see you. A Mr. Dennis Pride."

Chapter 24.

DENNIS PRIDE WAS grinning like he'd just won the lottery. A cocky, insolent grin. He glanced around the office as if making an unflattering value judgment.

Chuck wanted to wipe the smug smile off his face. But what if he was a new junior partner? Younger morons were being wooed away from more and more firms these days. There was no way to know them all. He didn't dare be overtly hostile.

The young man was wearing a suit and tie- granted, not the quality one would expect from a hotshot attorney; still, he could be someone's eccentric nephew. There was no reason not to tread cautiously.

Chuck extended his hand. "Mr. Pride, I'm Chuck Dillinger. Come in, sit down. What can I do for you?"

"I was hoping we could help each other out." Dennis shrugged. "Actually, I was hoping you could help me out. Anything that helps you would be entirely incidental."

"What are you talking about?"

"Benny Southstreet."

Chuck frowned. "Who?"

Dennis nodded approvingly. "That's good. Very good. You're either a terrific poker player or you've never heard of him."

"I've never heard of him. Who's Benny Southstreet?"

There was one comfortable client chair in the office. Dennis lolled back in it, crossed his legs. "I understand you had a break-in at your house."

"Are you a cop?"

"Good lord, what an idea. Wait'll the boys in the band hear that. I mean band as in rock group. This is my day job. I actually sing."

Chuck just gawked.

Dennis chuckled. "That's your cue to say, 'You sing a funny tune,' or something equally square and cliche."

"Damn it, what about the break-in?"

"Ah, the man lives. I understand you were pretty upset, considering nothing was taken."

"Well, nothing was."

"Then why were you so upset?"

"How'd you like someone to break into your house?"

"I haven't got a house. But I concede the point. Let's talk about something else."

"What?"

"Cora Felton."

Chuck's mouth fell open.

Dennis grinned. "That's a pretty good barometer. I think we could safely say you've heard of Cora Felton and you haven't heard of Benny Southstreet."