"Philip, would you at least think about the offer from Eastman?"
"Tell them I appreciate it, but I'm afraid the answer is no."
"If you change your mind, will you let me know?"
Philip nodded. "You'll be the first."
When Philip returned to the penthouse, Lara had gone to the office. He wandered around the apartment, restless. He thought about his conversation with Ellerbee. I would love to teach, Philip thought, but I can't ask Lara to move to Rochester, and I can't go there without her.
He heard the front door open. "Lara?"
It was Marian. "Oh, I'm sorry, Philip. I didn't know anyone was here. I came to return my key."
"I thought you'd be in San Francisco by now."
She looked at him, puzzled. "San Francisco? Why?"
"Isn't that where your new job is?"
"I have no new job."
"But Lara said..."
Marian suddenly understood. "I see. She didn't tell you why she fired me?"
"Fired you? She told me that you quit...that you had a better offer."
"That's not true."
Philip said slowly, "I think you'd better sit down."
They sat across from each other. "What's going on here?" Philip asked.
Marian took a deep breath. "I think your wife believes that I...that I had designs on you."
"What are you talking about?"
"She accused me of stealing the diamond bracelet you gave her, as an excuse to fire me. I'm sure she has it put away somewhere."
"I can't believe this," Philip protested. "Lara would never do anything like that."
"She would do anything to hold on to you."
He was studying her, bewildered. "I...I don't know what to say. Let me talk to Lara and..."
"No. Please don't. It might be better if you didn't let her know I was here." She rose.
"What are you going to do now?"
"Don't worry. I'll find another job."
"Marian, if there's anything I can do..."
"There is nothing."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure. Take care of yourself, Philip." And she was gone.
Philip watched her leave, disturbed. He couldn't believe that Lara could be guilty of such a deception, and he wondered why she hadn't told him about it. Perhaps, he thought, Marian did steal the bracelet, and Lara had not wanted to upset him. Marian was lying.
Chapter Thirty-two
The pawnshop was on South State Street in the heart of the Loop. When Jesse Shaw walked through the door, the old man behind the counter looked up.
"Good morning. Can I help you?"
Shaw laid a wristwatch on the counter. "How much will you give me for this?"
The pawnbroker picked up the watch and studied it. "A Piaget. Nice watch."
"Yeah. I hate like hell to part with it, but I've run into a little bad luck. You understand what I mean?"
The pawnbroker shrugged. "It's my business to understand. You wouldn't believe the hard-luck stories I hear."
"I'll redeem it in a few days. I'm starting a new job Monday. Meanwhile, I need to get as much cash as I can for it."
The pawnbroker was looking at the watch more closely. On the back of the case, some writing had been scratched off. He looked at the customer. "If you'll excuse me a minute, I'll take a look at the movement. Sometimes these watches are made in Bangkok, and they forget to put anything inside."
He took the watch into the back room. He put a loupe to his eye and studied the scratch marks. He could faintly make out the letters "T Phi p wi h L v fro L ra." The old man opened a drawer and took out a police flyer. It had a description of the watch and the engraving on the back, "To Philip with Love from Lara." He started to pick up the telephone when the customer yelled, "Hey, I'm in a hurry. Do you want the watch or don't you?"
"I'm coming," the pawnbroker said. He walked back into the next room. "I can loan you five hundred dollars on it."
"Five hundred? This watch is worth..."
"Take it or leave it."
"All right," Shaw said grudgingly. "I'll take it."
"You'll have to fill out this form," the pawnbroker said. "Sure." He wrote down John Jones, 21 Hunt Street. As far as he knew, there was no Hunt Street in Chicago, and he sure as hell was not John Jones. He pocketed the cash. "Much obliged. I'll be back in a few days for it."
"Right."
The pawnbroker picked up the telephone and made a call.
A detective arrived at the pawnshop twenty minutes later.
"Why didn't you call while he was here?" he demanded.
"I tried. He was in a hurry, and he was jumpy."
The detective studied the form the customer had filled out.
"That won't do you no good," the pawnbroker said. "It's probably a false name and address."
The detective grunted. "No kidding. Did he fill this out himself?"
"Yes."
"Then we'll nail him."
At police headquarters it took the computer less than three minutes to identify the thumbprint on the form. Jesse Shaw.
The butler came into the drawing room. "Excuse me, Mr. Adler, there's a gentleman on the telephone for you. A Lieutenant Mancini. Shall I...?"
"I'll take it." Philip picked up the telephone. "Hello?"
"Philip Adler?"
"Yes...?"
"This is Lieutenant Mancini. I came to see you in the hospital."
"I remember."
"I wanted to bring you up-to-date on what's happening. We had a bit of luck. I told you that our chief was going to send out flyers to pawnshops with a description of your watch?"