“Monarch Insurance,” Shayne replied.
“I see.” Walsh nodded. “Well, Shayne, the picture has changed a little.” He extracted a folded piece of paper from an inside pocket of his coat. “This is a federal search warrant, and I go with it. Diamonds, shipped out of the state in violation of the federal statue involving stolen goods in interstate commerce. Any diamonds which may turn up will be turned over to me as evidence which I shall turn over to the federal district attorney.”
“There is also the little matter of a capital offense, murder one, committed during the commission of a felony.”
“That’s our province,” Elfmont declared. “It takes precedence over the robbery, if some of the diamonds should turn up.”
“Lieutenant,” Walsh said, “I’m not going to argue with you over the fine points of the law as to precedence,” the Marshal replied. “However, if you don’t get in my way, I sure as hell won’t get in yours. That goes for you, too, Shayne.”
Shayne said, “We may run into trouble with the local police. They seem to be concerned about Colletti’s welfare.”
“I’ve already been briefed on that by these three officers, Shayne. I know all about it, and about that pig, Inspector Kreuger. As a matter of fact, the government has received many complaints about violations of civil rights and some police brutality. We’d like a crack at this guy, especially if we can prove corruption and a possible tie-in with Colletti. Okay, let’s go.”
The group arrived at Colletti’s mansion, drove into the grounds, found Allegretti’s car. Shayne went to it and immediately looked under the dashboard. His hand came in contact with hard steel. He yanked out a .22-caliber pistol that had been held in place by clips. He then reached under the dashboard again, and brought out another .22-caliber pistol. He handed the two guns to Elfmont.
“Could be, Tommy. The same type pistols that have been used in the killings across the country. Ballistics should tell us if one or both were used, maybe on Johnny Roselli.”
Elfmont put the guns in separate evidence bags and handed them to Sergeant Patterson.
Shayne got back into the car and continued his search under the dashboard. Cleverly, concealed behind the steering post was a chamois bag. Shayne brought it out, undid the strings and opened it wide. Inside were several packets. Shayne knew, without looking that each one held diamonds.
At that moment, two uniformed police officers approached them. The taller of the two said, “You guys were told to see and talk with Inspector Kreuger before you came out here. Okay, let’s go. The inspector isn’t going to like this.”
Marshal Walsh waved the federal warrant. “He said, I’m federal Marshal Walsh, and this is a federal warrant signed by a federal judge. You go back and tell Kreuger that if he so much as shakes a little finger to impede our investigation, I’ll have his big ass in a jail cell faster than he can move. And that goes the pair of you, too,” the Marshal told them.
The two cops glared at Walsh, then at the others, then walked away without a word.
Walsh grinned at the group. “By God!” he said. “Nobody monkeys with the federal government, and I am the federal government.”
“Let’s go over and talk to Mr. Colletti,” Shayne said. “I’m very anxious to tangle with him.”
“Okay,” said Marshall Walsh. “That’s your part of the show, so you move to the front. Is that okay with you, Lieutenant?”
“Perfectly,” Elfmont agreed. “We’ll be back-up. Let’s go. I want to meet this crumb myself. I’ve heard a lot about him.”
A tall, lean young man, sharply dressed, answered Shayne’s ring.
“We want to talk to Mr. Colletti,” Shayne said.
“Yeah,” the young man said, “so do a lot of other people. Write him a letter.”
Shayne said, “The large gentleman behind me is a federal marshal with a federal warrant in his hand. If you don’t get out of the way, let us in and tell Mr. Colletti we want to talk to him, the Marshal will charge you with resisting arrest and interfering with a police officer in the line of his duties. Now — move!”
At that moment, Dominick Colletti appeared directly behind the young man. Colletti was in his late fifties, tall distinguished in appearance, with graying temples, regular features, handsome.
His tone was brusque and authoritative. “What the hell is going on, Angelo?”
“Fuzz, Dad. One of them is a federal marshal with a warrant. They want to talk with you.”
“Let them in — in the library.” Colletti turned and walked away.
Angelo led them into the library, scowling every step of the way. The room looked like a motion picture set depicting the library of a man of great wealth and erudition. The shelves which spanned the entire length of the room from floor to ceiling were filled with tomes of every kind, most of them in rich morocco bindings. Colletti sat in a deep armchair. He glanced from one to the other until his eyes fell on Shayne.
“I recognize no one here but you,” he told the redhead. “And you only because I was given a definitive description by Inspector Kreuger. Now, what the hell is this all about?”
Marshal Walsh handed him the paper. “A federal warrant, Mr. Colletti. We want to search the premises.”
“You do? Well, I want to fly like a bird but God had other ideas. For what, may I ask, are you searching?”
“The warrant says diamonds stolen in a robbery in Miami Beach, Dominick,” Shayne cut in.
Colletti glared hard at Shayne. “Until I determine that you and I can talk on a first-name basis, Mr. Shayne, you address me as Mr. Colletti. The chances that we may ever arrive at that station are distinctly remote. You’re a private investigator, so as far as I am concerned you have no formal authority, no police standing. Consequently I consider you a very unpleasant intruder in my home. Are you the sonofabitch that shot and killed Pete Allegretti on my boat?”
“No, he isn’t,” Sergeant Patterson said. “I shot him. And I, Mister Colletti,” Patterson added, stressing the Mister, “am Detective Sergeant David Patterson of the Fort Lauderdale Police Department. If you refer to me as a sonofabitch, I’m very apt to forget myself and break your jaw.”
Colletti nodded. “Well, I see I’m heavily outweighed, so I’ll call my attorney. Even things up a little, gentlemen.”
“We’d like to go over the premises first,” Shayne said.
“Who’s in charge of this detail?” Colletti asked, his voice rising in deep anger.
“I am,” Tom Elfmont said.
“Okay. Then you tell me what you want, not that misfit.” He pointed a forefinger at Shayne.
VIII
“Dominick,” Mike Shayne said, “your big-shot front doesn’t reach me. A dozen years ago, I was with a team of Miami Beach cops who picked you up with about fifty slips, bets on horses, that you had collected from various doormen on the Beach. You were just a runner then.
“To me, you’re still a runner, a punk taking orders from the big boys. Now, if you don’t want to be taken back to Fort Lauderdale or the Beach, get off that phony high-horse and cooperate. For your information, I represent the Monarch Insurance Company.
“A salesman was robbed and killed, and a million dollars in cut and uncut stones taken from him. I know that Pete Allegretti was involved in the heist. Probably in the murder. If you have any of the stones in your possession, you, Mister Bigshot, are an accessory to murder. Do we understand each other?”
“Lieutenant” — Colletti addressed Elfmont — “I still wish to call my attorney, especially in the face of the accusations made by this redheaded shamus.” He made a guttural sound in his throat, and spat toward Shayne. “Shamus, you stink. It will take ten grand to fumigate this room after you leave.”