Mysterical-E

He Said, She Says

The Mysterious Wondrous Box

By Richard Hart

From The Central City Star-Herald, May 23, 1949:

The body found in a drainage ditch in the 4000 block of South Wilmot Ave. Sunday morning has been identified as that of John “Jack” Garrison of Central City. Garrison, 46, was the owner of The Plaza Bar & Grill on West 4th Street and allegedly a lieutenant in the Royal criminal organization. Garrison was reported by police sources to have been badly beaten and had several large puncture wounds and burn marks on his head and torso. The exact cause of death is yet to be determined.

When asked about the apparent murder, reputed mob boss Simon Royal declined to comment.

One month later…

It was 11:00 A.M. and Lawrence Mallory had been balancing his checkbook since breakfast. It was a job he detested because, a. the damned think seldom if ever actually balanced, and b. he was reminded again of Kate’s extravagant spending habits, a sore point in an otherwise agreeable marriage. He was about to the point of chucking the whole thing and having his afternoon martini a bit early when the pocket door to his office slid open just enough for Kate to insert her auburn topped head.

“There’s a gentleman here,” she announced. “He doesn’t have an appointment, but I think you’ll want to see him.”

“I hope that means he’s loaded.” Mallory gestured with his pencil at the open checkbook on his desk. “You’re rapidly exhausting Uncle Waldo’s inheritance.”

“Oh, I think he’s pretty well off,” Kate said airily, “and it’s a good thing. I’m going to need a complete new fall wardrobe. I’ve absolutely nothing to wear.”

He put the pencil down. “Well, we can’t have you running around naked. Better get him in here.”

Kate smiled coyly and withdrew her head from her husband’s office—actually a converted downstairs bedroom in their North Side four square. She returned momentarily escorting a thickset salt and pepper haired man wearing a gray herringbone suit and matching silk tie. He had chilly blue eyes the nose of one who’d once done some boxing. His demeanor was that of a man who not only expected to get what he wanted, he got it or there’d be hell to pay. There was a reason for that. His name was Simon Royal.

Mallory rose to shake hands and tried not to look too shocked at seeing him.

“Will that be all?” Kate asked in a bit of a smart-alecky tone.

“Yes, my dear. You may go back to bankrupting me.” She crinkled her pug nose at him and pulled the door shut.

“Kate’s my wife as well as my secretary,” Mallory explained as he waived Royal to a brown leather chair in front of his desk. “I thought it would be cheaper that way, but I’m beginning to wonder.”

Royal smiled. “I remember her from Bradfield and Jones.”

“I took her with me when I left the firm. They were more upset about losing her than me.”

Royal popped a cigarette into his mouth and ignited it with a silver lighter. “That her kid on the porch swing? She looks like her.”

Mallory nodded. “She’s mine now too. I adopted her after Kate and I were married. Her father, Kate’s first husband, was killed in the war.”

“That’s rough. I talked to her a little before I came in. Nice kid.”

“Thanks, I like to think so. Would you like a brandy?”

Royal said that he would and Mallory stood up and went around to the card table behind his desk that served as a makeshift bar. Royal’s interest in Susanna made him uneasy. He could have just been making conversation, but Mallory couldn’t escape the feeling he was delivering a message, subtle as it was.

“Why’d you quit being a lawyer?” Royal asked in a puff of blue smoke. “You were good—had to be to get my brother off like you did.”

“Thanks again.” Mallory poured two brandies and replaced the top of the decanter. “The money was certainly good, but I was never all that fond of the work, and after the war I had no desire to go back to it. I had the proverbial rich uncle who conveniently dropped dead about then, so I was able to use his money to buy this house and set myself up as a private investigator.”

He handed one of the glasses to Royal and returned to his desk. “I assume you didn’t drop by just to check on my marital and career statuses.”

“Your right, I didn’t.” Royal sipped the brandy and gave it his approval with a nod. “I’m having some problems with my son. He stole from his mother.”

Mallory took long sip of brandy. The irony of Royal’s consternation over a son of his stealing wasn’t lost on him. “What did he take?”

“Her jewelry box. There wasn’t much in it. She keeps her good stuff in the safe. It’s more, you know, sentiment. The thing’s been in her family for years.”

Mallory’s eyebrows rose. “Why would he steal something like that?”

“I have no idea. Frankie’s a good kid. And smart. We sent him to one of the best prep schools in the east. I decided to get him away from here. I didn’t want him turning out like me.” He took a long drag on his cigarette. “Don’t get me wrong now, I make no apologies for who I am or what I do, but you always want better for your kid. You want the best for your daughter, right?”

“Of course.” Mallory said, swirling his brandy. “Go on.”

“He did real good out there. Graduated with honors and went on to the University of Pennsylvania. This next year’s his last. He’s majoring in chemical engineering and already’s got a job lined up with DuPont. I told him I could find him something good here in Central City, but he wouldn’t here of it.” Mallory could sense both pride and disappointment in Royal’s voice.

“Anyway, his mother wanted him to come home this summer. We don’t see much of him these days, and he’ll be living out east after college. At first he said no; he wanted to stay in Philly and take some summer classes. I finally talked him into coming back and taking his classes at Corrington. But he said he’d do it only if he could stay with a pal of his who’s renting a house over by the campus.”

“Why didn’t he want to stay with you?”

“We sometimes rub each other the wrong way. I thought it was just the age he’s at, but I found out he’s pretty pissed at us. Me in particular.”

Mallory took another sip of brandy. “What about?”

“I don’t understand it. He was over to dinner Tuesday night, and out of nowhere he goes on this rant about how we’d let him down; how tough it had been on him having me for a father; that sending him away made him feel we didn’t love him; that I’d lied to him about some of the things I’ve done. He kept going on and on and wouldn’t listen to anything we’d try to say. His mother was in tears and I was ready to throw his Ivy League ass out of my house, but he left on his own before I could. Later that night my wife discovered the box was gone.”

“Any idea what brought this on?”

Royal shrugged uneasily and drank some brandy. “You got me there too. We’ve had our ups and downs with him, but never anything like that.”

Mallory made some note on a legal pad. “Where was the box?”

“Upstairs in the bedroom; on the dressing table.”

“Could anyone else have taken it?”

“No. Nobody else was there.”

“No servants?”

“We got a maid and a cook. The maid had the day off, and the cook left early. I saw her leave myself. She didn’t have the box with her.”

“How could Frankie have gotten it out without you noticing?”

“He had a jacket with him which he put on before he went upstairs. He must have had the box under it when he left. Like I said, things were pretty tense, and he stormed out without stopping to say anything. I should have noticed, but I didn’t.”

Mallory looked down at his pad and the nervous doodles he’d been making on it. He didn’t like having Simon Royal in his office, much less his home. The question was what would be the quickest way to be rid of him.

“Assuming I take your case,” he said. “What exactly do you want me to do?”

A small sneer curled Royal’s lips. He obviously didn’t like the “assuming” part. “I want my son and my wife’s jewel box back. And no cops. I’ll deal with Frankie myself.”

“If your boys couldn’t find him, what makes you think I can?”

“Like I said, you’re good. Besides, I like keeping business and family separate. Think I’d turn any of those goons loose on my own kid?”

“Who’s Frankie staying with?”

“Kirk Weisskopf. He’s a grad student at Corrington. They’ve been pals since they were little.”

“Is that Sheldon Weisskopf’s son?”

“His youngest son, to be exact,” Royal said stridently. “Isn’t it natural that a friend of mine’s kid and my kid would be friends, especially considering they’re about the same age?”

Mallory didn’t press the matter. Sheldon Weisskopf was Royal’s second in command and in charge of enforcement.

Royal finished his brandy and his face slowly morphed to its best choirboy look. “So how about it,” he said, “can you help me out here? There’s nothing shady going on, I promise. I’m just a father worried about his son. You should understand, having a kid of your own now.”

“I understand,” Mallory said. “It’s just that working for you could prove to be a liability in a number of ways.”

“Not working for me could also prove to be a liability in a number of ways.” Royal said it so nonchalantly that it almost didn’t sound like a threat. But he was a man who had the luxury of not having to sound threatening to be threatening.

Mallory drained the remaining brandy from his glass. The last thing he wanted or needed was a mob boss as a client. On the other hand, he knew Royal’s threats weren’t idle, and he couldn’t get his interest in Susanna out of his mind.

“You win,” he said finally, “but, I’ve got two conditions.”

“What are they?”

“First, you pay me my standard rate, no more, no less. No favors given and none returned.”

“And?”

“Let your boys know I’m working for you so if I run into any of them I won’t end up keeping some lonely catfish company.”

Royal nodded slightly and said: “Reasonable requests.” He took a last drag on his cigarette and stood up and extended his hand.

Mallory hesitated then shook it. As he did, he found himself thinking of Faust and wondering if he’d had similar trepidations about the deal he’d made.

Royal finished his brandy and crushed his smoke in the ashtray on Mallory’s desk. On his way out he tipped his hat to Susanna who was still on the porch swing then descended the porch steps and walked across the lawn to a waiting steel blue Cadillac. He climbed into the back seat. The bulky man behind the wheel eased the large car away from the curb, then executed a precise u-turn and drove off with little regard for the speed limit.

“He’s a nice guy for a gangster,” Susanna said, looking up from the book she’d been reading. She was, as Royal had alluded, a smaller, younger copy of her mother down to her reddish brown hair and pixyish grin. She wore a light blue summer dress and was barefoot with her sandals neatly parked beneath the swing.

“Gangsters are rarely nice guys, kiddo,” Mallory said. “Anyway, what makes you so sure that’s what he is?”

She set her book down. “He’s Simon Royal, for goodness sake. His picture’s in the paper all the time. They call him an ‘alleged’ (she made quote signs with her fingers) mob boss, but everyone knows there’s nothing alleged about it.”

She proceeded to rattle off a fairly complete resume of Royal’s illicit activities. Mallory was unsurprised at her thoroughness. The girl had a photographic memory, it seemed, and could absorb just about anything she saw or read, including many things that were better left unabsorbed by one of her years.

He sat down next to her and asked: “What did he say to you on his way in?”

“Not much. He said he liked my freckles, and I told him he could have them. I got more out of Leon.”

“Leon?”

“The chauffer.”

Mallory’s eyebrows rose. “What were you doing talking to him?”

“I went in to get a Coke. He looked hot so I brought him one too. We struck up a conversation.”

“Meaning you were snooping.”

She smiled. “What’s wrong with snooping? You do it for a living don’t you? And you were a spy in the war.”

“That’s different. Little girls shouldn’t be talking to strangers, particularly ones who drive cars for mob bosses.”

“I am not a little girl,” Susanna said indignantly. “I start high school in the fall.”

“That’s all the more reason you shouldn’t be talking to strangers. Understood?”

“Understood,” she replied with equal amounts of irritation and resignation.

Mallory glanced furtively at the door to the house then said: “So what did you find out?”

Happy to be out of trouble and in on some adult intrigue, her face brightened. “Leon said Royal wanted you to find his son who ran off after they had a fight. He also said that didn’t make sense because they fight all the time when Frankie’s home and Frankie usually stomps out but always comes back. He thought what Royal really wanted you to do is find the jewelry box Frankie stole. Royal was real upset about that. Leon figured there must have been something really valuable in it.”

That hardly jibed with Royal’s assertion that the box’s main value was sentiment. “Did he speculate as to what it might be?”

“No, I just figured it was diamonds or rubies or something.” She paused for dramatic effect and then said: “He also told me about Jack Garrison, you know the gangster they found dead last month. Now, this wasn’t in the papers, but before they killed him, they tied him up and…”

“Hold it.” Mallory raised his hand like a traffic cop. “Better cool the conversation. You’re mother’s coming.”

The girl nodded as Kate pushed the screen door open and stepped onto the porch. “What does Simon Royal want you to do for him now?” she asked, letting the door bang shut behind her.

“It seems his son ran off with his wife’s jewelry box, and he wants them both back,” Mallory said looking at her critically. “And just why didn’t you tell me it was Royal before you brought him into my office?”

The sly smile returned. “I was just about to when you made that crack about how I was exhausting Uncle Waldo’s inheritance. Then I decided to let you be surprised.”

“It was merely a statement of fact, my dear.”

Kate crinkled her nose at her husband again and then sat down on the swing.

“How do you guys know Royal so well?” Susanna asked

“We really don’t,” Kate said as she stroked her daughter’s hair. “But back when we were at Bradfield and Jones, and I was actually paid for being your father’s secretary, he defended Mr. Royal’s brother on a murder charge.”

“Did you get him off?” she asked Mallory.

His eyebrows rose. “You have to ask?”

“I know,” the girl moaned. “You were the Perry Mason of Central City. You’ve said it enough times.”

Mallory grinned. “Actually, that case didn’t require a Perry Mason. The brother had gotten into a fight outside the Shamrock Club, across the street from City Hall. When he knocked the guy down, he cracked his head on a street car track and died. The D.A. at the time was a young reformer named Metz who was determined to get rid of Royal and his mob, and he charged the brother with second degree murder. If he’d gone for manslaughter, he’d have probably gotten a conviction. Instead, the jury was out thirty minutes, and I had an acquittal.”

“And now your working for Royal again,” Kate said pointedly.

“Not for long, if I can help it. I want you to get a hold of Shawn McCreary. See if he can find out what’s cooking inside the Royal organization these days. And speaking of cooking, also have him talk to the Royals’ cook and maid. Maybe they know something about the problems with Frankie.”

McCreary was a retired policeman whom Mallory often employed as an operative. Kate stood up and saluted like a sergeant major. “Yes sir, chief. Anything else?”

“Yes, have him try to find out about this missing jewelry box. I have the distinct impression I didn’t get the whole story there.” He stood up. “Now get cracking. The sooner I can find this kid, the sooner we can tell Royal sayonara.” As she turned to go into the house, he gave her a firm pat on the backside.

“Is that my pay now?” she asked.

“That and a new fall wardrobe.”

“Thank you, darling,” she gushed. “I know Uncle Waldo would have wanted it that way.”

She went inside. Susanna said: “What are my orders, chief? I could use a new fall wardrobe too.”

“And no doubt you’ll find a way to get it. But for now, just keep your pretty little nose in that book and enjoy this nice summer day.”

“Okay,” she sighed. “Cindy and I are going swimming this afternoon anyway.”

“Just don’t yourselves get in too deep,” Mallory advised. “I’m certainly hoping I won’t.”

III

Mallory got his Nash Ambassador out of the garage and drove to the address that Royal had given him for Kirk Weisskopf. It was one of a row of small bungalows on West Harper Avenue just off the Corrington campus. The living room was a clutter of clothes, books and various wrappers strewn about the floor and on most of the furniture. Sitting erect in one of the uncluttered chairs, Kirk Weisskopf eyed his visitor carefully.

“I haven’t seen Frankie since Wednesday morning when he left for class,” he said. Weisskopf was a solemn looking young man, tall with a flat top haircut and cow-like brown eyes.

Mallory pushed aside a stack of books that were on the couch beside him. “Did he seem upset?”

“He didn’t say anything, but I imagine he was. He’d had it out with his father the night before, and I don’t think he slept very well.”

“Do you know what the difficulty with his father was?”

“Not exactly, but Frankie’s always had a problem with his father being…well, you know what he is. Frankie’s talked to me a lot about it this summer. I guess he figured I’d understand since I’m in the same boat. I tried to make the point that it really makes no difference what our fathers do. They’re who they are and we’re who we are and nothing’s going to change that. So we might as well accept it get on with our lives.”

“Very philosophical. It’s too bad Frankie didn’t share your outlook.”

Weisskopf shook his head. “I thought he was coming around until this happened.”

“What do you know about the jewelry box he took?”

“Nothing, really. I didn’t even know it existed until Mr. Royal came here yesterday looking for Frankie and it. He even asked if he could search the house.”

“Did you let him?”

He smiled thinly. “Of course. You don’t tell Simon Royal no.”

***

The phone was ringing when Mallory got back home. The house was empty. Kate was getting an early start on her fall wardrobe, and Susanna had left to go swimming.

“Is this Lawrence Mallory?” a tentative voice asked. Mallory affirmed that it was.

“I’m Frankie Royal. I understand you’re looking for me.”

Mallory felt his grip on the receiver tighten. The Royals were certainly full of surprises today. “That’s right. Who told you?”

“I have a few friends among my father’s employees. They’re pretty good about keeping me informed. They’re also seldom wrong.”

“They’re not wrong this time,” Mallory assured him, “and I hope your about to make my job a whole lot easier.”

“I don’t know about that, but I’m ready to go home and make things right with my parents. There’s just one problem: I don’t have the jewelry box, and I can’t go back without it.”

“Why not?”

There was a long pause. “I just can’t, that’s all.”

“I see.” Mallory said. “Do you know where it is?”

“I’m reasonably sure Sheldon Weisskopf has it. I’d been living with his son Kirk while I was going to summer school. He’s the one who asked me to steal it.”

“Why did he say he wanted it?”

“He said he needed money and knew somebody who’d buy the jewelry. He told me he’d split the profits with me. I told him no, but after the big blow up Tuesday night—I’m sure my Dad told you about that—I was so mad, I took the box when I left and gave it to Kirk. After I lay awake all night thinking about it, I told Kirk I’d changed my mind and wanted it back. He gave me the jewelry, but said he’d thrown the box away.”

“How do you know he didn’t?”

“Because it was the box he really wanted.”

“And you know why, but you won’t tell me.”

Mallory took his silence as a yes. “That box sure must be important to your father,” he said in an off-handed manner, hoping to elicit some sort of response.

Again silence.

“Okay, so what makes you think Kirk’s father has it?”

“I didn’t get up until almost ten the next morning. Kirk’s older brother, Sheldon Junior, was just leaving. Kirk’s stayed out of the rackets, at least until now, but Junior works for his father.”

“How did Kirk know about the jewel box in the first place?” Mallory asked.

“He’s seen it lots of times. I’ve known Kirk all my life. When we were kids, we’d play like we were burglars and pretend to steal it.”

Unfortunately, the pretending was over.

***

Frankie left Mallory with a phone number at which he could be reached and Sheldon Weisskopf’s address. It was in Morrisville, a small but growing suburb about ten miles from Central City’s eastern city limit. Weisskopf lived in an older section made up mainly of ostentatious Victorian houses that had been built early in the century by retired farmers.

Mallory found the right street and began cruising it slowly, scanning for the right number. He was within a block of his destination when a loud deep roar a thousand angry lions couldn’t hope to duplicate ripped through the quiet neighborhood. The resultant shockwave battered his car, and war bred instincts told him to dive under the dash for cover. Fighting to keep a grip on himself and the wheel, he slammed on the breaks. As the car skidded to a halt, he found himself looking at a pillar of black smoke billowing rapidly skyward. Beneath it, a house was being devoured by flames. Most of its roof rested on that of the house next door and debris that wasn’t still raining down covered the street and the adjacent real estate.

Mallory took a deep breath and eased the Nash back into gear. He crept forward as approaching sirens wailed and astonished neighbors rushed out onto their manicured lawns. One of them, a spritely moving older gentleman, was approaching the street. Mallory pulled over and asked him what had happened.

“The place just blew,” he said breathlessly. “I’d say it was a gas leak, but considering who lived there, you can’t be sure.”

“It wouldn’t be Sheldon Weisskopf would it?”

“It would. Friend of yours?”

Fire trucks screeched to a halt in front of them. Firemen began jumping off and lugging hoses to hydrants. “No, but I was on my way to see him.”

“You’re a little late.” The old man pointed a boney finger at an oak tree across the street from the blown up house. A body dangled from an outstretched limb.

Mallory stayed around, helping out where he could then searching the debris field on the off chance some remnants of the jewelry box might be in it. By the time he got home, Susanna had returned from swimming and was back on the porch swing. She was now sharing with Shawn McCreary, a slim gray haired man with the face of an over the hill leprechaun. And not unexpectedly, she was laughing at something he was saying.

“What happened to you?” she gasped when she saw Mallory’s smudged face and disheveled clothes.

He sat down on the swing and told them. When he finished, they had a barrage of questions, the most significant of which was asked by McCreary: “You don’t think your friend Simon Royal had anything to do with it, do you?”

“It’s possible. This wouldn’t be the first house he had blown up.”

“You mean Metz?”

Mallory nodded.

“Wasn’t he the D.A. you were talking about?” Susanna asked.

“That’s him. His house exploded just two weeks after Royal’s brother’s murder trial. He had a wife and three kids.”

Susanna’s eyes widened. “Were they killed?”

“No, luckily they were all out for the evening. The authorities blamed the explosion on a gas leak, but Metz got the message. He never went after anyone in Royal’s organization again, and he didn’t run for reelection.”

“I guess you were right about Royal not being a nice guy.” She gave Mallory a narrow look. “Why would you want to defend his brother?”

Mallory felt a twinge. “Everybody’s entitled to a defense,” he said automatically. “But for what it’s worth, that was the last case I handled before I went into the service. While I was away I realized I had better things to do with my life than defend hoods like Royal’s brother. I decided if I got back in one piece, I was going to find a new line of work.”

Susanna nodded solemnly. “I’m glad that you did.”

“So am I, kiddo.” He put an arm around her shoulders for a quick hug. “I need to talk to Mac now. Why don’t you go see if you can help your mother?”

“She’s not home yet, but I can take a hint,” she stood up. “Anyway, I’m expecting a call. I gave my number to a boy I met today at the swimming pool.”

Mallory gave her the fatherly look he’d been perfecting since the adoption became final.

“Just kidding.” The girl giggled and ducked into the house.

Mallory shook his head. “Okay Mac, what did you find out?”

McCreary picked up the bottle of beer Susanna had dutifully offered him and took a sip. “First, I have a question,” he said in a slight brogue that had somehow survived over half a century in urban mid-America. “Did the Department get tired of paying my pension and hire you to get me knocked off, or is there some other reason I’m nosing around in Simon Royal’s business?”

Mallory laughed. Mac was blessed with a nonstop sense of humor as well as the gift of gab. It was those attributes, along with the knack of being able to pry the most intimate details out of people and leaving them not realizing they’d been pried that made him such a valuable operative. Mallory had seen him sit down with total strangers and know their complete life stories in fifteen minutes—ten if the subject was female and enough Irish whiskey was involved.

“All right, down to business.” Mac set down the beer, took out his notebook, and put on his glasses. “I started at the Plaza down on 4th Street, Jack Garrison’s place.” He grinned. “Be advised, my bar bill will be on my expense account.”

Mallory’s eyebrows rose. “I hope I got my money’s worth.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but it is interesting. According to the regulars, all Jack’s friends, it was Weisskopf who had him killed. Weisskopf apparently was planning to bump Royal and take over and he wanted Garrison to back his play. Jack refused, and that was a problem because he was the organization’s treasurer and Weisskopf needed to know all his little secrets if he was going to be able to run things. His boys worked Jack over pretty good, even hung him on a meat hook down at the old Colliard Packing House and burned him with cigarettes trying to get him to talk.”

“Did he?”

“Wouldn’t you?” Mac gulped some beer. “Also, there’s a rumor about that the Treasury Department is after Royal’s income tax records, trying to get him like they got Capone. This was supposedly why Weisskopf picked this time to make his move, what with Royal being distracted by the T-men.”

Mallory let the information digest. It certainly explained why Royal might be motivated to blow up Weiskopf’s house. “Who else did you talk to?”

“I managed to see the Royal’s cook—comely lass, even if she could stand to lose a few pounds. She didn’t know the exact source of the troubles between Royal and his son, but apparently Frankie’s pretty thin skinned, and it doesn’t take much to get him worked up especially where the old man is concerned.”

“So I gather. Did she know anything about the jewel box Frankie took?”

“She knew it’d been nicked, but nothing else other than it held the Missus’ everyday jewelry.”

“What about the maid?”

Mac put away his notebook. “She wouldn’t give me the time of day. Scared to, probably, not that I blame her.” He took another long pull on his beer. It made Mallory thirst for his overdue afternoon martini.

“Did anyone else you talked to know anything about the jewelry box?”

“Nothing I could get out of anybody. I’d say either it’s not important enough for anyone to know or care about, or it’s so important that if anyone does know something, their scared to say.”

Mallory nodded in agreement, primarily with the second option. “Didn’t Weisskopf have some sort of business downtown?” he asked.

“That he did—an insurance agency in the First National Bank Building. It’s fairly legit, but Royal uses it to launder money.”

“Let’s pay ’em a visit.” Mallory stood up. “Maybe they’ve got a policy that’ll cover those bar bills of yours.”
***

At thirty stories and topped by an art deco crown, the First National Bank Building had long been the centerpiece of Central City’s skyline. Weisskopf’s business was on the 12th floor in the middle of a long marble corridor. It had two doors. The first had “Mid-State Insurance” stenciled on its pebbled glass window. Light illuminated the glass and the staccato sound of a typewriter came over the open transom. The other door, labeled “Private Entrance”, was locked and its window dark.

“Okay,” Mallory said. “Mac, you go sweet-talk whoever is doing that typing. Keep her occupied and see if you can find out anything.”

He looked at Susanna who was clutching an empty shopping bag, a remnant of one of Kate’s shopping sorties that Mallory had made her bring. She was there because she’d insisted and because Mallory wasn’t keen on leaving her home alone with all that had been going on. “You keep watch. Let me know if someone’s coming.”

The two went to their assigned tasks. Mallory dug a charge card out of his wallet and used it to force open the “Private Entrance” door.

“Isn’t that breaking and entering?” Susanna asked in an earnest whisper.

“Of course not. I didn’t break anything. It’s just entering.”

The office was illuminated by what light filtered in through the door and a small window behind the desk. Mallory couldn’t risk turning on the lights, so that would have to do. He methodically went through everything working as quickly as possible. He could hear McCreary’s voice from the outer office interrupted by occasional female laughter. Then there was another voice from the corridor. This one was masculine and somewhat familiar. It asked Susanna what she was doing there.

“I’m waiting for my father,” was her reply. “He’s in the rest room. He’s taking me shopping.”

Mallory froze. Then he heard Susanna rap on the door.

“There’s two men,” she gasped. “They just went in where Mac is.”

“Okay, good job. Keep watching. I need another minute.”

He went to the door separating the offices. The voice, sounding even more familiar, was politely telling McCreary to leave because, “I have private business here.” Mallory carefully turned the handle to lock the door and returned to work. The only place he hadn’t looked was an old wooden filing cabinet in the far corner. It was locked, but it didn’t take much jimmying to get the drawers to open. Meanwhile, he heard the rattle of a door knob unsuccessfully being tried followed by a concerned woman’s voice: “I was sure I left it unlocked. I’ll have to get my key.”

He returned his attention to the old filing cabinet. The top two drawers were empty save for some yellowed papers. But when he opened the bottom drawer he found himself looking at the source of all the excitement—a wooden oriental jewelry box. It was blue in color. Royal blue.

There was the sound of a key turning a lock, then the squeak of an opening door. Just ahead of it, Mallory snatched the box and ducked out into the corridor.

Susanna and McCreary were waiting for him. He stuffed the box into Susanna’s shopping bag as the window of the door he’d just come out of lit up. He heard the voice again: “Somebody’s been in here.”

The third time was a charm. Mallory realized who the voice’s owner was. “Let’s get out of here,” he blurted.

They raced down the corridor to the alcove where the elevator was. Mallory punched the down button. When he looked around, Susanna had taken the box out of the bag and was examining the inside.

“Put that away!” he snapped.

“There’s a bunch of numbers in here under the felt lining. Letters too.”

She held the box so her father and McCreary could see. Neatly carved in the bottom of the box were four rows of from four to ten numbers, each preceded by two letters. Something was familiar about them, Mallory was thinking when suddenly there was the sound of approaching running feet.

Susanna closed the box and returned it to the shopping bag as two men rounded the corner into the alcove.

“That’s him!” Kirk Weisskopf yelled, pointing an accusatory finger. “That’s the private dick who was at my house.”

“Hello, Kirk,” Mallory said cordially. “Please accept my condolences on your father’s demise.” He looked at his companion, a tall thin man wearing a loose fitting brown suit and wide brimmed hat. “Aren’t you going to introduce your brother?”

Sheldon Junior was a little older than Kirk and his additional years had matured and hardened his face. Otherwise, the resemblance between the brothers in both look and voice was striking.

“Never mind,” Junior snapped. “Just hand over the box, and maybe I’ll forget you broke into my father’s office and stole it.”

Neither man displayed a gun, but Junior’s right hand was in the pocket of his sports coat either holding one or doing a good imitation.

“Ah, yes, the box,” Mallory intoned, “the mysterious wondrous box. I assume you’re planning to use whatever voodoo it possesses to help bring down Royal. Possibly even take his place.”

“Something like that.”

“That was your father’s plan, wasn’t it? But aren’t you a little young and inexperienced to be running an organization like Royal’s?”

“Al Capone wasn’t much older when he was on top,” Junior retorted in a way that made Mallory think this wasn’t the first time he’d considered the idea. “Neither was Alexander the Great, for that matter.”

“And as I recall, both of them came to unpleasant ends. Maybe you’ll beat the odds.”

The pocketed hand made an impatient gesture. “Just give me the box.”

“Mind if they go first?” Mallory asked, nodding at his companions.

“As soon as I see what’s in the little girl’s bag.”

“I’m getting sick and tired of being called a little girl,” Susanna blurted. “And I already told you, I’ve been shopping.” She held up the bag and pointed to the front. “See! It says Schofield’s Department Store. They sell stuff there, you know, and then they give you shopping bags to put it in.”

She didn’t get many chances to be insolent to adults and was obviously enjoying the moment. Junior was less impressed.

“So let’s see what you bought.”

“Well,” she said, extending the word, “now that would be a little embarrassing. You see, what I bought were…uh…what you’d call unmentionables.”

Mallory smiled, admiring his daughter’s efforts but realizing they were futile and not worth the risk. He was about to tell her to give Junior the box when there was a loud ding followed by the rumble of an opening elevator door.

V

The man who stepped out of the elevator was large with a beach ball midsection, a balding dome, and a look of surprise on an otherwise genial face. He paused to take a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and wipe the sweat from his brow. As he did, the surprised look morphed to a Cheshire grin.

Mallory returned it. “Hello, Higgy, nice to see you.”

“Always good to see you Lawrence. And how are you, Susanna? Mac, it’s been a while.” He nodded to the three in succession and then looked at the Weisskopfs. “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure. I’m Lieutenant Bernie Higgins, Central City Police.” He flashed his badge. “I was just coming to see you about your father. Morrisville P.D.’s asked us to help with their investigation.”

“We’re happy to cooperate,” Junior said. “We want the killer brought to justice.”

“Who said anything about a killer? It’s being called an accident.”

“It was no accident,” Kirk said angrily. “We all know that Simon Royal had it done.”

“He may have a point,” Mallory said. “After all, Royal’s known for that sort of thing.”

Higgins shook his head. “If you’re talking about Metz, there’s no proof Royal had anything to do with it, as you should know.” He looked at Mallory. “What I should know is what you’re doing here.”

“I can tell you why he’s here,” Junior said. “He’s working for Royal, and he stole something from Dad’s office. It’s in the girl’s shopping bag.”

Higgins’ expression became more severe.

“It pains me to tell you he’s correct,” Mallory said. “I did take something from Sheldon Weisskopf’s office, and these two shady characters here were my accomplices. Kiddo, give the nice lieutenant the incriminating evidence. And don’t worry; I’m still the Perry Mason of Central City. I’ll get us all off with suspended sentences.”

Susanna nodded and took the jewelry box out of the bag. As she handed it to Higgins, Junior stared at it like a starving hound sizing up a rack of lamb.

“That’s mine,” he said evenly. “I don’t want to press charges. I just want it back.”

“It’s not yours,” Mallory corrected him. “And it never was.”

Higgins examined the box, inside and out. “So what’s the big deal here?”

“All I’m sure of,” Mallory said, “is that it is a big deal. Two men have died because of that box, and Junior here looks like he’s ready to up the carnage. I’ll tell you what I know, but do you mind if Mac takes Susanna home first?”

Higgins nodded. Susanna started to protest, but was quickly hustled into a conveniently arriving elevator. As soon as its door shut, Higgins shot Mallory a hard look. “Okay, what the hell is going on here? You’re working for a mob boss. You break into a private office and take this…whatever it is. We’re friends, Lawrence, but you’re piling up a lot of reasons for me to run you in.”

Mallory smiled. “Higgy, did I ever tell you you’re beautiful when you’re angry?”

The remark made Higgins angrier though decidedly not more beautiful. “You were going to tell me what you know,” he growled in his best no nonsense police voice.

“Of course,” Mallory wisely said. “According to Mac, the word on the street is that Sheldon Weisskopf wanted to get rid of Royal and take over. He tried to get Jack Garrison to go along, but he refused. Garrison was Royal’s money man, so Weisskopf needed to learn his operation if he was going to be able to run things. He had Garrison tortured before he killed him.”

“That’s a damned lie!” Junior almost screamed.

“Shut up,” Higgins barked. “Go on.”

“One of the things he got out of Garrison was the secret of that box. You’ll find some numbers and letters carved into the bottom. It could be some sort of code.”

Higgins cursorily glanced into the box as Mallory continued: “Meanwhile, Royal’s son, Frankie, had been living with Kirk while they were going to summer school at Corrington. The Senior Sheldon would have known the volatile history between Frankie and his father so he had Kirk ask Frankie to steal the box, knowing that when the next blow up with Papa came he’d probably be sufficiently provoked to do it. Once the box was stolen, Royal realized where it was going and did two things: he hired me to get it back for him— most likely because he wasn’t sure of whom he could trust inside his organization—and he eliminated Sheldon Senior before he could do the same to him.”

“The part about Royal killing my father is right, but the rest’s bullshit!” Junior said hotly. “There’s absolutely no proof of any of it.”

“You’re correct, of course,” Mallory said. “But there’s also no proof the box is yours. I suggest the Lieutenant hold it as evidence until things can be sorted out.”

Junior took his right hand out of his pocket. With it came the .38 automatic he’d been holding all along. “I don’t think so. Kirk, get it from him.”

Kirk gave his brother a scared look. “Kirk!” Junior reiterated, “Get the box.” The words were sharp and emphatic.

“So much for your father being who he is and you being who you are,” Mallory said. Kirk remained motionless as if reconsidering what he was getting himself into.

“Why involve the kid?” Higgins said. “Come get it yourself.”

Junior shot his brother an angry glance and started towards Higgins, keeping his .38 carefully pointed at the Lieutenant’s chest. When he was about three feet away, Higgins flipped the box at his face. As Junior raised his hands to grab it, Higgins stepped forward with unexpected speed and buried his right fist deep in Junior’s belly. Junior doubled over clutching his gut. His gun and the box went skidding loudly across the hard tile floor. Mallory retrieved them as Junior, gasping and moaning, sank to his knees.

“Looks like you took off the training wheels a bit too soon,” Higgins said as he snapped on the handcuffs.

Junior spat out several obscenities. He and his brother were marched back to their father’s office where Higgins used the phone to call police headquarters.

“All right,” he said to Junior as he hung up, “what’s so damned important about this box that you’d pull a gun on a police officer to get it?”

“I’m not saying anything until I talk to my lawyer,” Junior, still in obvious discomfort, grunted. “And I’m charging you with police brutality.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” Higgins said. “And the first thing you can tell your lawyer is you're under arrest for assaulting a police officer with a deadly weapon.” He looked at Kirk. “What’s your part in all this?”

“Nothing,” he babbled. “They just asked me to get Frankie to steal the box and…”

“Shut up! Don’t tell them anything.”

Both Weisskopfs became silent and seemed resolved to stay that way. Higgins turned his attention to Mallory. “I’ll be tied up the rest of the day with the paper work for these birds, but if you’re not in my office at nine on the dot tomorrow morning, by god, you’ll be in a cell at 9:30. That’s nine on the dot! Got it?”

Mallory allowed that he indeed had it and was allowed to leave as soon as reinforcements arrived. Outside the building, his Nash was waiting for him as he thought it might be.

“Did you remember them all?” he asked Susanna as he climbed into the back seat.

“You have to ask?” She grinned and handed him a torn off piece of the shopping bag. On it she’d written all the numbers and letters from the jewelry box.

Mac drove them home where Mallory had a phone call waiting for him. It was his client.

VI

At 8:30 the next morning, Mallory gulped the last of his coffee, all the breakfast he had time for.

“It’s no wonder you overslept,” Kate said. “What were you doing in your office until all hours?”

“I heard you on the phone at one in the morning,” Susanna added. “And don’t say I was snooping. I woke up and was hungry so I came downstairs to get some ice cream.”

“You’ll have all the answers when I get back, which depending on Lt. Higgins’ disposition will either be a couple of hours or ninety days.” He set down his cup and started for the side door.

“If Higgy doesn’t arrest you, invite him to dinner tonight,” Kate said. “He hasn’t been over in ages and I’m making his favorite: chicken cordon bleu with strawberry short cake for desert.”

“I’ll do that.” Mallory opened the door.

“Invite him even if he does arrest you,” Kate said after him. “We’ll just set one less place.”

He halted. “Call me a poor sport, but if I’m dining on jail food, Higgy’s not having chicken cordon bleu in my house, fixed by my wife, and paid for with my Uncle Waldo’s money.”

He stepped out and shut the door. Higgins was behind his desk, glowering like a judge ready to hand down serious time when Mallory finally slinked into his office.

“You’re one minute late. I said nine on the dot.”

“And good morning to you.” Mallory removed his hat and pulled up an institutionally hard wooden chair. “I had an interesting phone conversation with Simon Royal last night.”

“Always good to keep in close touch with important clients,” Higgins said sardonically.

“I can happily report he’s no longer my client. I gave him the phone number his son said he could be reached at and told him you had his jewelry box. That took care of everything I was hired to do. Kate’s sending out his bill today.” Mallory adjusted his chair to a less uncomfortable position. “He didn’t seem too upset about the box, by the way. Probably because he knows he’ll get it back, having as he does a sizeable number of the Central City police officials residing in his hip pocket. I hope it’s still in the evidence locker.”

“As far as I know it is. Why?”

“Trust me, we need it. I may have stumbled on a way to put Royal out of business.”

Higgins, looking skeptical, picked up the phone and ordered the box brought to his office. “All right, it’s on the way. Now start explaining.”

“First, are the rumors about the Treasury Department looking into Royal’s tax records true?”

“They are, and without knowing what you’ve got on the brain, I’d think that right there might put him out of business.”

“Only if he’s convicted, and we both know that’s not a sure thing—not with his money and influence.”

The box arrived and Mallory opened it. “After I ‘liberated’ this box from Weisskopf’s office, Susanna found the numbers I told you about and with that memory of hers, she was able to write them down for me later. They looked like something I’d seen before, but my memory’s not like hers, and I was up half the night trying to figure out what they were.

“Once it dawned on me, I got Charlie Conrad, an old buddy from my OSS days, out of bed at an ungodly hour. Charlie’s still with the OSS, although now it’s something called the Central Intelligence Agency, and I hoped he could confirm what I was thinking. An hour later, he called back and told me I was right: the numbers were for Swiss bank accounts—Simon Royal’s Swiss bank accounts to be exact.”

He tilted the box to show the numbers to a doubting Higgins. “The last thing I did with the OSS was help look for money the Nazis had deposited in Swiss banks. I saw a lot of account numbers. They generally ranged from four to ten digits, just like the ones in here.”

“What about the letters?”

“That threw me. Finally, I realized they were abbreviations for the banks the account numbers were from. Look here.” He used a pencil to point. “UB is the United Bank of Switzerland. NB is the National Bank of Switzerland, and so on. It’s not unusual for people in Royal’s profession to use Swiss banks to launder money, and according to Charlie, he’s put quite a lot into his accounts lately. He’s probably hiding it from the Treasury boys.”

Higgins peered into the box then looked back at Mallory. “Why the hell would Royal carve his Swiss bank account numbers into the bottom of a jewelry box?”

“Most likely for convenience. I’m sure he also has them in a safe somewhere, but if he needed to do some business from home, he’d have the numbers handy—hidden in plain sight, so to speak.”

Mallory patted the box. “The reason the Weisskopfs wanted this so badly is because with Swiss numbered accounts, all you need are the number codes to make withdrawals or deposits. Withdrawals, of course, were what they had in mind, but I think they had a reason aside from the obvious for wanting to make them. If they could have deprived Royal of the money he’d need for lawyers and or bribes to fight the tax evasion charges, the odds he’d be taking a long vacation would greatly increase. Then all the Weisskopfs would have had to do was march in with a big brass band and take over.”

He closed the box. “Not a bad idea, actually, and I think we can still use it to our advantage.”

“You mean you want to empty Royal’s accounts?”

“Not me directly; I have no interest in his ill gotten gains. Charlie said that if I gave him the word he could make the money disappear. He didn’t say where it would go, and I didn’t ask.”

“You’re right it’s not a bad idea,” Higgins said. “Except that as soon as Royal finds his money’s gone he’s not going to be too pleased. And since you’ve been in possession of the box, he just might get the idea you had something to do with it.”

“Don’t think I haven’t thought of that. I’ve seen what happens to people he’s not too pleased with. There’s also Kate and Susanna to consider.”

“So what are you planning on doing?”

“I don’t know yet. I thought we might discuss it tonight over after dinner drinks. A couple of topflight crime fighters like us should be able to come up with something. Or at least get completely snockered in the process.”

Higgins’ gave Mallory a dubious look.

“I guess I didn’t mention you’re invited to dinner, contingent of course on your not arresting me. Kate’s making chicken cordon bleu,”

“So now I can add attempted bribery to the list of charges?”

“Go ahead. It makes about as much sense as the others. If we go to trial, I’ll defend myself and have an acquittal before lunch, to which, I might add, you won’t be invited.”

“Hmm.” Higgins leaned back in his chair. “You said chicken cordon bleu?”

“With strawberry short cake for desert.”

“Strawberry short cake...” He leaned forward again and smiled. “Okay, I’m not cheap, but I can be bought. Besides, you’re right. I don’t have much of a case.”

“Good.” Mallory stood up. “We’ll look forward to seeing you tonight.”

“Sure. What time should I be there?”

“Six o’clock.” He put on his hat. “On the dot.”

***

From the Central City Star-Herald, September 12th, 1949:

In his first court appearance since being indicted on Federal income tax evasion charges, Simon Royal pleaded not guilt, and then in a surprising turn of events, stated he could not afford an attorney and wanted the court to appoint one for him. Specifically, he asked for Lawrence Mallory, a former Central City defense attorney and current private investigator who successfully defended Royal’s brother on murder charges in 1942.

When asked about the possibility of serving as Royal’s attorney, Mallory declined to comment.