The Eighth Commandment by Lawrence Sanders Read Free Book Online Page A

up in their presence. Sometimes a confrontation of witnesses can help.”
    I considered that for a moment. “Grandby’s attorney told me to have absolutely no contact with Havistock, but that was when I was an employee. I’m on leave of absence now, without pay, and I want more than anything else to clear my name. All right, I’ll go along with you.”
    “Good,” he said. “I’m glad you feel that way.”
    “Listen,” I said, “apparently we’ll be seeing more of each other, so what do I call you? Detective Georgio. Mr. Georgio?”
    “Al will do fine,” he said. That smile again.
    “Al? For Albert?”
    He may have blushed. At least he looked up into the air over my head.
    “Alphonse,” he said in a low voice.
    I didn’t laugh. “People call me Dunk,” I told him.
    “Dunk? For basketball?”
    I nodded.
    “That’s cool,” he said. “I follow the Nets.” He stood up to leave. “Thanks for the coffee. I’ll give you a call when I set up a meet with Havistock and Vanwinkle. Okay?”
    “Fine,” I said. “I can make it anytime. I’ve got nothing else to do.”
    He moved to the door.
    “Al,” I called, and he turned back. “Have you got any idea at all how someone got the Demaretion out of that sealed display case within a taped box?”
    He grinned without mirth.
    “Dunk, my old man was with the Department all his life. Mostly on what they called the Bunko Squad in those days. Scams and cons and the Gypsy Handkerchief Drop, and a hundred other tricky swindles. He taught me a lot. Everyone wants to know how it’s possible to steal a coin from a sealed case within a taped container. It’s not possible. No one copped that coin by itself. The whole box was switched.”

6
    T HAT AFTERNOON, ABOUT TWO o’clock, I got a phone call that added another potato to the stew.
    A man’s voice: “Miss Mary Lou Bateson?”
    “Yes,” I said. “Who is this?”
    “My name is John Smack. I’m with Finkus, Holding, Incorporated. We’re the—”
    “I know who you are,” I interrupted. “You handle the insurance for Grandby and Sons. I spoke to a man from your company yesterday, Mr. Smack. I told him all I know about the theft of the Demaretion.”
    “Uh-huh,” he said. “That was Ed Morphy, the salesman who services Grandby’s account. I’m an investigator, and I’d like to ask you a few more questions, if I may. At your convenience, of course.”
    I sighed. No end to it. “I’m just as anxious to get this cleared up as you are,” I told him. “When and where do you want to meet?”
    “I’m calling from Grandby’s. I was hoping to catch you in your office, but I understand you’re on leave of absence.”
    “Not through choice,” I said, and he laughed.
    “Only temporary, I’m sure. Any chance of my coming up to your place right now? I have the address. I could be there in twenty minutes.”
    “All right,” I said, “come ahead. I hope you have some identification.”
    “A business card,” he said. “But if you have any doubts, please call Stanton Grandby or Felicia Dodat; they’ll vouch for me.”
    But instead, after we hung up, I phoned Hobart Juliana, having no great desire to chat with god or Madam Dodat. I asked Hobie to check and find out if John Smack really was an investigator for Finkus, Holding, Inc. Hobie called back in five minutes and said Smack was legitimate.
    “They call him Jack Smack,” he said. “How do you like that?”
    “Unreal,” I said.
    “I miss you already, Dunk,” Hobie said sorrowfully. “The place isn’t the same without you.”
    “And I miss you, too, dear,” I said. “Maybe if all these hotshot detectives get results, I’ll be back before you know it. I like that job, Hobie, and I want to keep it.”
    “I know.”
    “And besides, I need that paycheck—even with all the deductions.”
    “Listen, Dunk,” he said anxiously, “if you get the shorts, don’t be bashful about asking me for help. I have a few dekadrachms I can lend