Mr. S. stopped playing and looked at Cassandro. Then he pointed with the bow at the telephone.
Cassandro picked it up. "Yeah?" he said, listened a moment, then spoke to Mr. S.: "It's the lawyer."
"Mr. Giacomo?" Cassandro nodded. "Tell him I will be with him directly."
Mr. Savarese walked to the reel-to-reel tape recorder and turned it off, and then to a Steinway grand piano on which he had placed the Strenelli violin's case, carefully placed the violin, and the bow, in the case, and then closed it. He then pulled a crisp white handkerchief from his shirt collar and laid that upon the violin case.
Then he walked to Cassandro and took the telephone from him.
"Thank you for returning my call, Mr. Giacomo," Savarese said.
"I'm sorry it took me so long," Armando Giacomo said. "I was in court."
"So your secretary said."
"How may I be of service?"
"I thought you might be interested in hearing that I have had a report from my daughter about my granddaughter. "
"Yes, I would."
"Dr. Payne has seen her three times so far," Savarese said. "Late last night. The first thing this morning, and at lunch. My granddaughter is apparently very taken with her."
"I'm glad to hear that."
"I am grateful to you, Mr. Giacomo, for arranging for me to meet with Mr. Payne."
"I was happy to have been of service."
"And, of course, I am very grateful to Mr. Payne for speaking to his daughter on behalf of Cynthia. That is one of the reasons I asked you to call."
"Brewster Payne was sympathetic to your problem. He is a very nice man."
"What I wanted to do was ask your advice about making some small gesture of my appreciation to Mr. Payne," Savarese said.
"I don't think that's necessary, Mr. Savarese."
"I have several bottles of some really fine cognac I thought would be appropriate."
"May I speak freely, Mr. Savarese?"
"Of course."
"You went to Mr. Payne as a father and grandfather asking help from another father. He understood your problem and did what he could to help, one father helping another, so to speak. Under those circumstances, I don't really think that a gift is in order."
Savarese didn't reply for a long moment.
"You think it would be inappropriate? Is that what you're saying?"
"Yes, both unnecessary and inappropriate."
"You're suggesting he would be offended?"
"Let me put it this way, Mr. Savarese," Giacomo said. "If I had gone to Brewster Payne as you did, and he had responded as he did, I would not send him a gift. I would think that in his mind he had done only what a decent human should have done, and therefore, no attempt to repay-"
"I take your meaning, Mr. Giacomo," Savarese interrupted him. "And I respect your wisdom and trust your judgment in matters of this nature."
"Thank you," Giacomo said.
He hoped that his relief at being able to talk Savarese out of sending Brewster Payne a couple-he said "several bottles," so maybe six, maybe a dozen-$500 bottles of French booze was not evident in his voice. There would be no telling how Payne would react. Payne regarded Vincenzo Savarese-loving grandfather or not-as a murdering gangster, and he didn't want-worse, almost certainly would not accept-a present from him. Payne was entirely capable of sending the booze back, which would insult Savarese, and there's no telling what trouble that would cause.
"I would be grateful, Mr. Giacomo, if Mr. Payne could somehow be made aware that I consider myself deeply in his debt."
"I don't think that's necessary, Mr. Savarese. As I said before, Mr. Payne believes, in his mind, that he only did what a decent man was obligated to do."
"When the opportunity presents itself, Mr. Giacomo, as I'm sure it soon will, I would consider it a personal favor for you to tell Mr. Payne that I consider myself deeply in his debt. Would you do that for me, Mr. Giacomo?"
"Of course."
You need anybody shot, Brewster? Somebody stiffing you on a fee, needs to have his legs broken? Just say the word. Vincenzo Savarese told me to tell you he owes you a big one.
"Thank you. And there is one other thing about which I would be grateful for your advice, Mr. Giacomo."
"I'm at your service."
"Could you recommend a good, and by good I mean both highly competent and very discreet, private investigator? "
A private investigator? Now what?
"I don't think I quite understand," Giacomo said.
"I need someone to make some discreet inquiries for me."
"Well, there's a lot of people in that business, Mr. Savarese. I use half a dozen different ones myself. Good people. It depends, of course, on the nature of the information you want."
There was a perceptible pause, long enough for Armando C. Giacomo to decide Savarese was carefully deciding how much, if anything, he was going to tell him.
"What I had in mind, Mr. Giacomo, was to look around my granddaughter's environment, so to speak, and see if I couldn't come up with some hint about what has so greatly disturbed her."
"I don't think I would do anything like that until I'd spoken with Dr. Payne," Giacomo said quickly.
"All this information would be for Dr. Payne, of course."
Unless it turns out that the girl was raped or something-which might damned well be the case-in which case the cops would have an unlawful death by castration to deal with.
"I just don't see where any of the people who work for me would be any good at that sort of investigation. I could ask-"
"That won't be necessary, thank you just the same, Mr. Giacomo. And thank you for returning my call. I'm grateful to you."
"I'm glad things seem to be working out for your granddaughter," Giacomo said.
"Thank you. I very much appreciate your interest," Vincenzo Savarese said, and hung up.
He looked at Pietro Cassandro.
"Mr. Giacomo does not seem to feel that any of the investigators with whom he has experience would be useful, " he said.
Cassandro did not know how to interpret the remark. He responded as he usually did in similar circumstances. He held up both hands, palms upward, and shrugged.
When Vincenzo Savarese's daughter had told him how kind Dr. Payne was, even calling to tell her to bring Cynthia 's makeup and decent nightclothes to her in the hospital, she also said that Cynthia had told her that Dr. Payne had told her she was not to tell her mother, or her father, for that matter, anything that made her uncomfortable to relate.
Savarese hadn't said anything to his daughter, but he'd thought that while that might be-and probably was-good medical practice, it also suggested that there was something that Cynthia would be uncomfortable telling her mother about. He was naturally curious about what that might be.
There was something else Savarese thought odd. The young man Cynthia had been seeing a lot of-his name was Ronald Ketcham, and all Savarese knew about him was that he was neither Italian nor Catholic, and Cynthia's mother hoped their relationship wasn't getting too serious-had not been around since Cynthia had started having her emotional trouble.
"Tell Paulo to put the retired cop to work," Mr. Savarese ordered.
Paulo Cassandro, Pietro's older and even larger brother, was president of Classic Livery, Inc., in which Mr. Savarese had the controlling-if off the books-interest.
"Right, Mr. S.," Pietro Cassandro said. "What do you want me to do with the cognac?"
"Send it back to the restaurant," Mr. Savarese said, making reference to Ristorante Alfredo, one of Philadelphia 's most elegant establishments, and in which he also had the controlling-if off the books-interest.
"Right, Mr. S. I'll do that on my way home."
Mr. Savarese changed his mind.
"Keep out two bottles," he said. "No. Three bottles. Drop them off at Giacomo's office."