firmly, "John would never do that."
"Oh-ho," Trevalyan said, mashing out his cigar butt in an overflowing ashtray, "it's John, is it? Watch yourself, sister. This big-city slicker may be warm for your form, and is feeding you just enough inside poop to keep you coming back to him. And meanwhile he's working an angle you haven't even thought of."
"You're crazy!" she said angrily. "It's me that gave him the scoop on the missing knife and Callaway's record. I'm way ahead of him."
"Keep it that way," Trevalyan advised, lighting a fresh cigar. "If he's not playing you, like you claim, then you play him. Don't tell him everything; just enough to make him want to cooperate. What else are you planning when you get back to Sodom on the Hudson?"
"A couple of things," Dora said. "Mostly I want to dig deeper on how Father Callaway fits into the picture. Like where was he and what was he doing the morning Solomon Guthrie was stabbed to death."
"You think Callaway did it?"
"I'm not sure about Guthrie, but I think there's a good possibility he killed Lewis Starrett."
Trevalyan inspected the glowing end of his cigar. "What was his motive?"
"I haven't figured that out yet. I guess Starrett said some nasty things to him, but nothing dirty enough to trigger a murder."
Mike looked up at her and laughed. "Dora, you better read your own report again. Callaway's motive is in there."
"What?"
"You heard me. Your report includes a very logical reason why Callaway might have iced Lewis Starrett."
"Mike, what is it?"
He shook his head. "You find it; it's your case. And keep an eye on that New York cop. I still think he's trying to get in your drawers."
"Where the hell were you when God was handing out couth?" she said indignantly.
"Waiting for seconds in the cynics' line," he said. "Now let's go drink some lunch. Your treat."
He was exaggerating, of course; they actually had food for lunch: thick corned beef sandwiches with french fries and a schooner of beer each at an Irish bar near the Company's headquarters. And while they lunched, Mike told her what he had been able to pick up about Starrett Fine Jewelry, Inc.
Little was known because it was a privately held corporation, and public disclosure of its structuring and current financial condition was not required. But through rumors and hearsay, Trevalyan had learned that Olivia, Clayton, and Felicia each owned ten percent of the stock. Lewis had owned seventy percent which, presumably, would go to his widow.
"So as of now," Dora said, "Olivia really controls the whole shebang."
Mike nodded. "From what I hear, back in the 1950s and '60s, Starrett Fine Jewelry was a cash cow. That's when they opened all their branch stores. Then, beginning about ten years ago, their sales and profits went down, down, down. The problem was a-g-e. Their clientele was getting older, putting money in annuities and Treasury bonds instead of diamonds. And the baby-boomers were doing their jewelry shopping at trendier places. They thought Starrett was old-fashioned and stuffy. So about two years ago Lewis went into semiretirement and turned over the reins to Clayton.
"Well, Clayton's first year at the helm was a disaster. He brought in a bunch of kooky designers and started pushing a line of what was really horribly overpriced costume jewelry. Not only did it not attract the yuppies, but it turned off what few old customers were left. Starrett was drowning in red ink, and there was talk in the trade that they might end up in Chapter Eleven. Then, about a year ago, Clayton turned the whole thing around. He got rid of all the designers with ponytails and went back to Starrett's classic fine jewelry. He fired most of his branch managers and brought in young hotshots who knew something about modern merchandising. And he started trading bullion, buying gold overseas at a good price and selling it to small independent jewelers in this country at a nice markup. From what I heard, Starrett is back in the bucks
"Oh-ho," Trevalyan said, mashing out his cigar butt in an overflowing ashtray, "it's John, is it? Watch yourself, sister. This big-city slicker may be warm for your form, and is feeding you just enough inside poop to keep you coming back to him. And meanwhile he's working an angle you haven't even thought of."
"You're crazy!" she said angrily. "It's me that gave him the scoop on the missing knife and Callaway's record. I'm way ahead of him."
"Keep it that way," Trevalyan advised, lighting a fresh cigar. "If he's not playing you, like you claim, then you play him. Don't tell him everything; just enough to make him want to cooperate. What else are you planning when you get back to Sodom on the Hudson?"
"A couple of things," Dora said. "Mostly I want to dig deeper on how Father Callaway fits into the picture. Like where was he and what was he doing the morning Solomon Guthrie was stabbed to death."
"You think Callaway did it?"
"I'm not sure about Guthrie, but I think there's a good possibility he killed Lewis Starrett."
Trevalyan inspected the glowing end of his cigar. "What was his motive?"
"I haven't figured that out yet. I guess Starrett said some nasty things to him, but nothing dirty enough to trigger a murder."
Mike looked up at her and laughed. "Dora, you better read your own report again. Callaway's motive is in there."
"What?"
"You heard me. Your report includes a very logical reason why Callaway might have iced Lewis Starrett."
"Mike, what is it?"
He shook his head. "You find it; it's your case. And keep an eye on that New York cop. I still think he's trying to get in your drawers."
"Where the hell were you when God was handing out couth?" she said indignantly.
"Waiting for seconds in the cynics' line," he said. "Now let's go drink some lunch. Your treat."
He was exaggerating, of course; they actually had food for lunch: thick corned beef sandwiches with french fries and a schooner of beer each at an Irish bar near the Company's headquarters. And while they lunched, Mike told her what he had been able to pick up about Starrett Fine Jewelry, Inc.
Little was known because it was a privately held corporation, and public disclosure of its structuring and current financial condition was not required. But through rumors and hearsay, Trevalyan had learned that Olivia, Clayton, and Felicia each owned ten percent of the stock. Lewis had owned seventy percent which, presumably, would go to his widow.
"So as of now," Dora said, "Olivia really controls the whole shebang."
Mike nodded. "From what I hear, back in the 1950s and '60s, Starrett Fine Jewelry was a cash cow. That's when they opened all their branch stores. Then, beginning about ten years ago, their sales and profits went down, down, down. The problem was a-g-e. Their clientele was getting older, putting money in annuities and Treasury bonds instead of diamonds. And the baby-boomers were doing their jewelry shopping at trendier places. They thought Starrett was old-fashioned and stuffy. So about two years ago Lewis went into semiretirement and turned over the reins to Clayton.
"Well, Clayton's first year at the helm was a disaster. He brought in a bunch of kooky designers and started pushing a line of what was really horribly overpriced costume jewelry. Not only did it not attract the yuppies, but it turned off what few old customers were left. Starrett was drowning in red ink, and there was talk in the trade that they might end up in Chapter Eleven. Then, about a year ago, Clayton turned the whole thing around. He got rid of all the designers with ponytails and went back to Starrett's classic fine jewelry. He fired most of his branch managers and brought in young hotshots who knew something about modern merchandising. And he started trading bullion, buying gold overseas at a good price and selling it to small independent jewelers in this country at a nice markup. From what I heard, Starrett is back in the bucks
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