“I did not mention Chicago.”

He finished his glass. Quickly. Then he lurched forward, clutching the empty vessel like a grenade he was ready to throw. “Those FBI pricks don’t care where that money went! They’re just looking to frame somebody. They want a fall guy!”

Suddenly it was 1941 and I was in The Maltese Falcon.

“Joe, settle down…”

“You think I want anything to do with that kind of money? Me, a father who loves his son! I built a model train set for him, goes from room to room. I bought him a little replica Model T to ride outside around in. The thought of what happened to that Greenlease child makes me want to…” He swallowed, his eyes shining wet. “I’m a father, for Christ sake!”

“I know, Joe. I just want to know what you know—for example…did your friend Buster Wortman get that money?”

He looked hurt. “I don’t know. Why does everybody think I know something?”

I kept it matter of fact. “Because you and Lou Shoulders go way back. You introduced me to him five years ago at Ace, remember? He was a bent cop, and you have what might be called underworld connections.”

Now he was pouting. “I’m an honest businessman.”

“You run a fleet of pimps on wheels, Joe. You’ve done hard time, you plan heists, then middleman swag to fences, especially jewels, except maybe those you cherry-pick, like that big-ass diamond ring on your finger. Don’t shit a shitter.”

He didn’t look at me. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

“Then tell me this, at least. Let’s say for the sake of argument, Shoulders brought you the money because you could get it washed in Chicago through Buster Wortman, the Outfit’s man in this part of the world.”

“Nothing I can tell you.”

“Then why is it you think Chicago sent me? If they did the laundering, why would they think there’s something being held back from them?”

He still wasn’t meeting my eyes. “This is all pointless speculation. Jack Carr out at the Coral Court coulda snatched it before Shoulders even got there! As far as anybody knows, that worm Carl Hall buried it. I got it on good authority he had mud on a pair of his trousers!”

I’d seen that mud myself, of course.

“So go get yourself a shovel, Heller,” he went on, pouring himself another glass of Scotch. “And start digging.” His upper lip curled. “Knock yourself out!”

This was going nowhere. Maybe later I could shove my nine mil in his yap, for the good old-fashioned Chicago lie detector test. But for now I’d take my leave.

When I was at the door, he said, “Hey, Heller!”

I glanced back. He was holding up his left hand with the diamond on it. “This baby is six carats, and it’s not boosted. It was a gift. You know who from?”

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the picture of Leo Brothers.