Kennedy sighed. “It gets ‘curiouser and curiouser.’”
“Where is Harry Stanford’s body now?” Steve asked.
“They’re keeping him at the morgue for the present. I hope he doesn’t disappear again.”
“I do, too,” Steve said. “We’ll have Perry Winger run a DNA test on Julia.”
When Steve called Tyler to tell him that his father’s body had been found, Tyler was genuinely shocked.
“That’s terrible!” he said. “Who could have done a thing like that?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Steve told him.
Tyler was furious. That incompetent idiot, Baker! He’s going to pay for this. I have to get this settled before it gets out of hand. “Mr. Sloane, as you may be aware, I’ve been appointed chief judge of Cook County. I have a very heavy caseload, and they’re pressuring me to return. I can’t delay much longer. I’d appreciate it if you could do something to get the probate finished quickly.”
“I put in a call this morning,” Steve told him. “It should be closed within the next three days.”
“That will be fine. Keep me informed, please.”
“I’ll do that, Judge.”
Steve sat in his office reviewing the events of the past few weeks. He recalled the conversation he had had with Chief Inspector McPhearson.
“We found his body a little while ago. His fingers had been chopped off, and he had been shot several times.”
But wait, Steve thought. There’s something he didn’t tell me. He picked up the telephone and put in another call to Australia.
The voice on the other end of the telephone said, “This is Chief Inspector McPhearson.”
“Yes, Inspector. This is Steve Sloane. I forgot to ask you a question. When you found Dmitri Kaminsky’s body, were there any papers on him?…I see…that’s fine…Thank you very much.”
When Steve hung up the phone, his secretary’s voice came over the intercom. “Lieutenant Kennedy holding on line two.”
Steve punched the phone button.
“Lieutenant. Sorry to keep you waiting. I was on an overseas call.”
“The NYPD gave me some interesting information on Hoop Malkovich. He seems to be quite a slippery character.”
Steve picked up a pen. “Go ahead.”
“The police believe that the bakery he works for is a front for a drug ring.” The lieutenant paused, then continued. “Malkovich is probably a drug pusher. But he’s clever. They haven’t been able to nail him yet.”
“Anything else?” Steve asked.
“The police believe the operation is tied into the French mafia with a connection through Marseilles. If I learn anything else, I’ll call.”
“Thanks, Lieutenant. That’s very helpful.”
Steve put down the phone and headed out the office door.
When Steve arrived home, filled with anticipation, he called, “Julia?”
There was no answer.
He began to panic. “Julia!” She’s been kidnapped or killed, he thought, and he felt a sudden sense of alarm.
Julia appeared at the top of the stairs. “Steve?”
He took a deep breath. “I thought…” He was pale.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
She came down the stairs. “Did things go well in Chicago?”
He shook his head. “I’m afraid not.” He told her what had happened. “We’re going to have a reading of the will on Thursday, Julia. That’s only three days from now. Whoever is behind this has to get rid of you by then or his—or her—plan can’t work.”
She swallowed. “I see. Do you have any idea who it is?”
“As a matter of fact…” The telephone rang. “Excuse me.” Steve picked up the telephone. “Hello?”
“This is Dr. Tichner in Florida. Sorry I didn’t call earlier, but I’ve been away.”
“Dr. Tichner. Thank you for returning my call. Our firm represents the Stanford estate.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I’m calling about Woodrow Stanford. I believe he’s a patient of yours.”
“Yes.”
“Does he have a drug problem, Doctor?”
“Mr. Sloane, I’m not at liberty to discuss any of my patients.”
“I understand. I’m not asking this out of curiosity. It’s very important…”
“I’m afraid I can’t…”
“You did have him admitted to the Harbor Group Clinic in Jupiter, didn’t you?”
There was a long hesitation. “Yes. That’s a matter of record.”
“Thank you, Doctor. That’s all I needed to know.”