“Oh, Mr. Carl, you have a message,” Ellie said as I passed by her desk. “Mr. Slocum called.”

I stopped quickly, put a hand on one of my bulging jacket pockets, turned my head, and searched behind me as if I had been caught at something. “Did he say what he wanted?”

“Only that he needed to talk to you right away.”

I thought about the FBI in the van outside the old woman’s house and the inevitable phone call once they found out who I was. “That didn’t take long,” I said.

“He emphasized the right away part, Mr. Carl.”

“Oh, I bet he did.”

When I reached my own office, I closed the door behind me, sat at my desk, and carefully pulled out the chains and the broaches, the heavy mass of jewelry, letting it all slip deliciously through my fingers into a small, rich pile upon my desk. In the bright light of the fluorescents, it all seemed a little less brilliant, tarnished, even. I supposed the old lady wasn’t into polishing her son’s ill-gotten gains. Just then I had no idea how much it all was worth, and I wasn’t intending to swiftly find out either. The last thing I needed to do was draw attention to the jewelry, being that my legal title to what was undoubtedly stolen property could only be considered dubious. No, I wasn’t going to let anyone, not anyone, know about what the old lady had given me.

There was a light tap on my door. I quickly shoveled the swag into a desk drawer, closed the drawer with a thwack.

“Come in,” I said.

It was my partner, Beth Derringer.

“What’s up?” she said.

“Nothing.”

She looked at me as if she could see right through my lie. She tilted her head. “Where were you this morning?”

“Doing a favor for my father.”

“A favor for your father? That’s a first.”

“It surprised me, too. An old lady wants me to negotiate a plea deal for her son.”