Lawrence Sanders - The seventh commandment

"Yeah, it would," she said, swinging her legs out of bed. "Is that why you called-just to wake me up?"

"Listen, you asked me to check on which managers got canned from which Starrett branch stores a year ago."

"You got it?"

"Nope, I struck out on that one. My contacts in the jewelry business were no help. I even had a researcher go through jewelry trade journals for the past few years, but she came up with zilch. Sometimes those magazines publish personnel changes in the business, but only when the company involved sends them press releases. I guess Starrett didn't want to publicize the firings."

"Thanks anyway, Mike. I appreciate your trying."

"How you coming on the Starrett claim?" he asked.

"Slowly," Dora said. "It gets curiouser and curiouser the deeper I dig. By the way, I found that statement in my report that gives a good motive for Father Brian Callaway killing Lewis Starrett."

Trevalyan laughed. "You should read your own reports more often. You think Callaway aka Sidney Loftus did the dirty deed?"

"I don't know," she said doubtfully. "He's got a perfect alibi for the Solomon Guthrie murder."

"Maybe the two killings aren't connected."

"Come on, Mike. The two victims were old friends and worked for the same company. There's got to be a connection."

"Then find it," her boss said. "Now go back to sleep."

"Fat chance," Dora said, but he had already hung up.

She sat on the edge of the bed yawning and knuckling her scalp. She reflected, not for the first time, that she really should do morning exercises. Maybe a few deep knee-bends, a few push-ups. The thought depressed her, and she went into the bathroom to take a hot shower.

She was standing in the kitchen, drinking her first decaf of the day and thinking of what Mike had said, when she realized where she might be able to get the information she wanted. She phoned Detective John Wenden and was surprised to find him at his desk.

"What are you doing at work so early?" she asked.

"I didn't get home last night," Wenden said. "We had a mini-riot down in the East Village, and all available troops were called in."

"What was the riot about?"

"About who can use a public park. How does that grab you? This city is nutsville-right? What's up, Red?"

"John, you told me the Department was going through employment records from Starrett Fine Jewelry to find someone who was fired and was sore enough to snuff Lewis Starrett and Solomon Guthrie."

"Yeah, we're working on it. Nothing so far."

"Well, about a year ago Starrett terminated a bunch of managers at their branch stores. Could you check the records and find out how many managers were canned and at which stores?"

"I could probably dig that out," he said slowly, "but why should I?"

"As a favor for me?" Dora said hopefully.

"Red, this isn't a one-way street, you know. It can't be caviar for you and beans for me. If you want that information, you better tell me what's percolating in that devious mind of yours."

She hesitated a moment. "All right," she said finally, "I can understand that. If you get me what I want, I'll tell you why I need it."

"You're all heart," Wenden said, sighing. "Okay, Red, I'll get the skinny for you. But only on condition that I deliver it in person. I want to see you again."

"And I want to see you."

"Just so you can pick my brain?"

She didn't answer.

"Well?" he said. "I'm waiting."

"No," Dora said faintly, "I just want to see you."

"That's a plus," he said. "A small plus. I'll let you know when I've got the info."

She hung up the phone, wondering why her hand was shaking. It wasn't much of a tremor, but it was there. To stop that nonsense, she immediately called Mario. There was no answer. He was probably at work, and he didn't like to be phoned there. So Dora had another cup of coffee and resolutely banished John Wenden from her thoughts. For at least five minutes.

She spent the day doing research at the public library on Fifth Avenue. She started with the basics: The atomic number of gold was 79, its symbol was Au, it melted at 1064°C and boiled at 2875°. It had been discovered in prehistoric times and used in jewelry and coinage almost as long.

She then started reading about the mining and smelting of gold, and its casting into ingots, bars, and sheets, including gold leaf so thin (four millionths of an inch) you could tear it with a sneeze.

She took a break at 12:30, packed up all her notes, and went out into a drizzly day to look for lunch. There was a vendor on 42nd Street selling croissant sandwiches from an umbrella stand, and Dora had one ham and one cheese, washed down with a can of Diet Dr Pepper. By the time she returned to the library, she figured she was two pounds heavier, but half of that was in her sodden parka.

In the afternoon she concentrated on jewelry: how it was designed and fabricated, the metals and alloys used. By four o'clock, eyes aching, her shoulder bag crammed with photocopies and notes, she left the library, slogged over to Madison Avenue, and bused uptown to the Bed-lington.

She peeled off her cold, wet clothes, took a hot shower, and popped a couple of aspirin, just in case. Then she made a pot of tea, put on her reading glasses, and settled down in her bathrobe to try to find some answers in her research. She found no answers, but she did find a new puzzle and was mulling over that when John Wenden called around 7:30.

"Miserable day and miserable night," he said. "You eat yet, Red?"

"No, not yet."

"Neither have I, but I wouldn't ask you to come out on a lousy night like this. You like Chinese food?"

"Right now I'd like anything edible."

"Suppose I stop by a take-out place and pick up some stuff. I'll get it to the hotel while it's still warm."

"Sounds good to me," Dora said. "I have a thing for shrimp in lobster sauce. Could you get some of that?"

"Sure, with wonton soup, fried rice, tea, and fortune cookies."

"You can skip the tea," she said. "I can provide that. But load up on the hot mustard."

"All right," he said. "See you in an hour."

She put all her research away in a closet and dressed hurriedly in a tweed skirt and black turtleneck pullover floppy enough to hide her thickening waist.

Monday starts the diet, kiddo, she told herself sternly. I really mean that.

She had a fresh pot of tea ready by the time John arrived. His coat and hat were pimpled with rain, and his ungloved hands were reddened and icy. Dora poured him a pony of brandy to chase the chill while she opened the Chinese food he had brought. All the cartons were arranged on the cocktail table in front of the couch, and Dora set out plates, cutlery, and mugs for their tea.

He hadn't forgotten the shrimp in lobster sauce, and there was also a big container of sweet and sour pork cooked with chunks of pineapple and green and red peppers. Also egg rolls, barbecued ribs, and ginger ice cream.

"A feast!" Dora exulted. "I'm going to stuff myself."

"Be my guest," Wenden said. "You're looking good, Red. Losing weight?"

Dora laughed. "You sweet liar," she said. "No, I haven't lost any weight, and I'm not about to if you keep feeding me like this. I'll be a real Fatty, Fatty, two-by-four."

"More of you to love," he said, and when she didn't reply, he busied himself with a barbecued rib.

"Let's talk business," Dora said, smearing an eggroll with hot mustard. "Were you able to get the information about which Starrett branch managers were fired a year ago?"

"Yeah, I got it. And you said you'd tell me why you want it."

"All right," she said. "Did you know that Starrett has been dealing in gold bullion for about a year now?"

"Sure, I knew that," Wenden said, filling his plate with fried rice and sweet and sour pork.