I got a few hours in the chair behind my desk. Woke up with a stiff neck and Evelyn’s story still working on me.
Clark LeClaire. Dead two years. Back long enough to shoot a man, take his ring, and leave his wife to explain it.
She thought he’d saved her.
Maybe he had.
I washed my face, bought a coffee, and went to Mercer.
Heller’s was between a tailor and a shop selling ladies’ hats. There were watches in the window, a few necklaces, and a little card that said REPAIRS.
I tried the door.
Locked.
An old man behind the counter looked up. He pointed at the hours painted on the glass.
Nine o’clock.
I looked at my watch.
Eight-fifty-eight.
I held it up for him to see.
He went back to what he was doing.
I finished my coffee outside.
At nine, he opened the door.
“Good morning.”
“Is it?”
“What can I do for you?”
I followed him to the counter. The place was clean. Glass cases, polished wood. A clock on the wall that agreed with my watch now.
“Kirby sent me.”
“Something wrong with your watch?”
“No.”
“He usually sends people with broken watches.”
I took out the newspaper.
“I need you to look at a ring.”
He put on his glasses.
“The ring itself would be preferable.”
“So I’m told.”
I spread the paper on the counter and pointed to Musgrove’s hand.
“That one.”
Heller bent over the picture.
“Mr. Musgrove.”
“Yea.”
“I heard about him this morning.”
“Did you make it?”
He looked at me over his glasses.
“Who are you?”
“Geronimo Flint. Private investigator.”
“Working for the family?”
“No.”
He straightened up.
“I don’t discuss my customers’ purchases.”
“Even the dead ones?”
“Particularly with strangers.”
I looked down at the picture.
“Somebody took that ring off him last night. Left six others where they were. I’m trying to find out why.”
Heller straightened the newspaper so its edge lined up with the counter.
“If the police want to ask about it, they can come themselves.”
I folded the edge of the paper back where it was curling.
“A woman’s in trouble over this, Mr. Heller. What you tell me might help her.”
He studied me for a moment.
“What woman?”
“The one they think shot him.”
“Did she?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“But you’re not certain.”
“That’s why I’m asking questions.”
He took another look at the photograph.
“Wait here.”
He went through a curtain behind the counter. I heard a drawer open, then another.
I looked over the rings in the case. Engagement rings mostly. Little white cards with prices written on them.
Heller came back carrying a folder.
“I believe this is the one.”
He laid a drawing on the counter. A ring, shown from the front and side. The face was square, with Musgrove’s initials worked into it.
I checked it against the photograph.
“That looks right.”
“It should.”
He turned the drawing around.
There was another view underneath. The face of the ring was lifted away from the band. A small key sat beneath it.
I looked up.
“What’s that?”
“The reason he commissioned it.”
“A key?”
“Yes.”
I looked at the newspaper again.
“Musgrove wanted a key in his ring.”
“He brought me one. Asked whether I could make it something he could wear.”
“Why?”
“He said he kept losing things.”
“What did it open?”
“He didn’t tell me.”
“Did you ask?”
“It wasn’t necessary for the work.”
“Could it open a safe?”
“If that was what the key was for.”
I looked at him.
He looked back.
“Mr. Flint, I made the ring. I never saw the lock.”
“Alright.”
He took a slip of paper from the folder and checked it against the drawing.
“Same initials. Same design. This is his order.”
“How long ago?”
He showed me the date.
Before the photograph. Long enough for somebody who knew Musgrove to have seen him use it.
“Did you make another?”
“No.”
“Anybody ever come asking about it?”
“Not until you.”
“Can I take that drawing?”
“No.”
“A copy?”
He considered it.
“I can make you a sketch.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
He found a sheet of paper and a pencil. I watched him draw.
Clark had gone straight for one ring. Evelyn thought he was taking back something that belonged to him.
Maybe she was right about that much. But it wasn’t necessarily the ring he wanted.
Heller pushed the sketch across the counter.
“This shows how it opens. It won’t tell you anything about the lock.”
“Understood.”
I folded it carefully and put it in my coat.
“What do I owe you?”
“Find out who killed my customer.”
I looked at him for a moment.
“I’ll do what I can.”
* * *
There was a telephone in the drugstore on the corner.
I called the station and asked for Pembroke.
While I waited, I took out Heller’s sketch again.
A room searched from end to end. Drawers pulled out. A man who’d stopped long enough after a shooting to take a key.
Whatever he wanted, I wasn’t sure he had it yet.
“Pembroke.”
“Sarge. It’s Jerry.”
“What is it?”
“You still want me to come see you?”
“You ready to listen?”
“Depends. You find a safe in that apartment?”