Page 112 of Precise Justice

“I want you to see if you can track down any of the items on the list. Where you got them and who they came from.”

“That’s a needle in a haystack, but I know the haystack to start looking,” Carvelli said.

“I know you’re busy, babe, but if you can find time to help him…thanks, Ryan,” Marc said when Ryan came back.

“Door open?” Ryan asked.

“Closed, please,” Marc said.

“After the jolt I got from Paxton, Ryan’s starting to look good,” Carvelli said of the good looking, young gay man.

Maddy patted Carvelli on the shoulder and said “You’ll survive. We’ve all been there.”

“Look at what I ended up with,” Marc said speaking of Maddy.

“That was sweet,” Maddy said. “I think.”

Carvelli coughed while saying “Lucky tonight.”

“Could be,” Maddy replied.

“Back to business, for you my love, I’m going to need a couple of subpoenas served.”

The most easily fenced objects on the list of items stolen from Priscilla were five pieces of jewelry. Blake had listed the stolen items, total retail value of thirty-thousand dollars; earrings that went for forty-two hundred; a diamond tennis bracelet valued at thirty-three hundred; an eight-thousand dollar Ladies’ Rolex and her wedding rings. The rings, engagement and wedding band, had set Blake back forty-five hundred, twenty-one years ago.

There was one other item: a sterling silver set of flatware for eight. The original cost was nine-thousand-four hundred dollars. Every item, except for the rings were paid for by Priscilla. The assorted miscellaneous items would push the retail value easily to thirty grand.

Fortunately, Priscilla had sent photos of the jewelry along with sales receipts to the insurance company. Amazingly, Blake had received a full value check less than two weeks after making the claim.

Carvelli had worked burglary for many years as a detective with the MPD. Of course he had been out of it for a long time. A quick call to a detective he knew brought him up to date on where to look. Most of them were people and places Carvelli knew well.

He had been to two pawn shops in Minneapolis that were operating on the edge of legitimacy. Both were being operated by the same shady guys who had been there for over thirty years.

Even though Carvelli was retired, he still knew how to put fear in their hearts. Marc, along with the list, had provided him with the jewelry photos. Both pawn shop owners convinced him they had not seen any of the pieces and MPD cops had already been around with the same photos.

Carvelli made his third stop later that same evening. Conveniently there was a parking spot in front of the place. Located in Northeast Minneapolis on Central Avenue, two miles from downtown, he stopped.

Arties Café was both a bar for reprobates of lesser scumbag notoriety such as gamblers, small-time crooks and people with information and a family restaurant. Carvelli was a regular.

“Well, look what the wind blew in,” a bit of a heavy-set, bottle-blonde hostess at the front door said when Carvelli strolled in.

“Be still my beating heart,” Carvelli replied.

“Aww! How sweet. Isn’t that Shakespeare?” the woman asked.

“Ah, not sure. I think I saw it on the wall of a men’s room somewhere,” Carvelli answered.

“Always the romantic,” she said. “Give us a hug, you big galoot.”

Carvelli hugged the woman and kissed her cheek while saying, “Hello, Jean, my darling, how’s Floyd?”

“He’s fine. I’m still waiting for the heart attack,” Jean said of her ex-cop husband. “I just make sure to keep the life insurance payment made.”

“Now, who’s the romantic? Who’s in the bar?”

“Who you looking for?” Jean asked.

“Marty Collins. Have you…”

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