"Well…" Parnell said, leaning over to snap open his attachd case,

"how do you want to do this? Want to read the stuff first or should I give you the gist of it?"

"Suppose you summarize first," Delaney said. "Then I'll ask questions if I've got any."

"Okay," Parnell said. "We'll start with Doctor Julius K. Samuelson. His net worth is about one mil, give or take.

Moneywise, he's a very cautious gentleman. CDS, Treasury nds d tax-free municipals. He owns his co-op apartment. checking account, but like I said financewise. No stocks, no tax shelters. He's made three irrevocable charitable trustsall to hospitals with major psychiatric research departments.

Nothing unusual. Nothing exciting. Any questions?"

"I guess not," Delaney said. "I don't suppose you got a look at his will?"

"No, I can't do that. I was lucky to learn about those charitable trusts. I really don't think there's anything in Samuelson for you, sir-lootwise. I mean, he's not rich-rich, but he's not hurting either."

"You're probably right," Delaney said, sighing. "What about the Ellerbees?"

"Ah," Charles Parnell said, "now it gets mildly interesting.

If you were thinking maybe the wife knocked off the husband for his assets, it just doesn't work. He was doing okay, but she's got megabucks of her own."

"No kidding?" Delaney said, surprised. "How did she do that?"

"Her father died, leaving a modest pile to her mother. Two years later, her mother died. She had some money of her own as well. Diane Ellerbee inherited the whole bundle. Then, a year after that, a spinster aunt conked, and Diane really hit the jackpot-almost three mil from the aunt alone."

"Diane was an only child?"

"She had a younger brother who got scragged in Vietnam.

He had no family of his own-no wife or kids, I mean-so she picked up all the marbles."

"How many marbles?" Delaney asked.

"Her husband's will hasn't been filed for probate yet, but even without her take from him, I estimate the lady tips the scales at close to five mil."

"Wow!" Delaney said. "Beautiful and rich."

"Yeah," Parnell said, "and she handles it all herself. No business manager or investment counselor for her. She's been doing great, too.

She's smart enough to diversify, so she's into everything: stocks, bonds, real estate, tax shelters, mutual funds, municipals, commercial paper-you name it."

Delaney shook his head in wonder. "Beautiful and rich and shrewd."

"You better believe it, And she's got nerve. Some of her investments are chancy stuff, but I've got to admit she's had more winners than losers."

"What about the victim?" Delaney asked. "How was he fixed?"

"Like Samuelson, he wasn't hurting. But nothing like his wife. I'd guess his estate at maybe a half-mil, after taxes.

Here's something interesting: She handled his investments for him."

"Really?" Delaney said thoughtfully. "Yes, that is interesting."

"Maybe he didn't have the time, or just had no great desire to pile it up buckwise. Anyway, she did as well for him as she did for herself.

They have no joint accounts. Everything is separate. They don't even file a joint return."

"What about his father?" Delaney asked. "Was he giving Simon anything?"

Daddy Warbucks smiled. "Henry Ellerbee, the great real estate tycoon?

That's a laugh. I had to do a money profile on the guy about six months ago.

He's a real cowboy. Got a million deals working and he hasn't got two nickels to rub together. He lost control of Ellerbee Towers and he's mortgaged to the hilt. If everyone calls in his paper at once, the only place he'll be sleeping will be in bankruptcy court. I'll bet you and I have more hard cash than he does. Help out Simon? No way! More likely he was leaning on his son. Well, that's about all I've got. Do you have any more questions?"

Delaney pondered a moment. "I don't think so. Not right now. If you'll leave me your typed reports, I'll go over them.

Then I may need your help on some details."

"Sure," Parnell said. "Anytime. When Simon Ellerbee's will is filed for probate, I'll be able to get the details for you."

"Good," Delaney said. "I'd appreciate that." He looked at the detective narrowly. "You like this kind of work?" he asked.

"Love it," the other man said immediately. "You know what I drag down per year. Snooping into other people's private money affairs is a kind of fantasy life for me. I'm fascinated by their wealth, and I imagine how I'd handle it-if I had it!"

"You working on anything interesting right now?"

"Oh, yeah," Daddy Warbucks said. "It's lovely-a computerized writing scam. This guy worked in the computer section of a big Manhattan bank. He knows banking and he knows computers -right? So he starts out writing checks, opening accounts at three or four New York City banks under phony names with fake ID he bought on the street. He started out small with a ten-G investment. Within six months, taking advantage of the float, he's shuffling deposits and transfers up to a quarter of a mil."

"Good God!" Delaney said. "I thought there were safeguards against that."

"It's the float!" Pamell cried. "That wonderful, marvelous, goddamned float! You can't safeguard against that. Anyway, like most check-writers, this guy couldn't stop. He could have cashed in, grabbed his profits, and taken off for Brazil. But the scam was working so well, he decided to go for broke. He starts opening accounts in New Jersey, Connecticut, and so forth. longer float, more profits. Then he realizes that if he had accounts in California, he'll have maybe a ten-day or two-week float. So, on his vacation, he flies out to the West Coast and opens a dozen accounts, using the same phony names as in New York and giving the New York banks as references! How do you like that?"

"As you said, it's lovely."

"The kicker is this," the detective said. "By this time the nut has got so many accounts and so many names, with checks flying all over the country, that he can't keep track of it all. So he writes his own program and fits it into one of the computers at the bank where he works. His personal program that can only be tapped by a code word, and he's the only one who knows that.

So now his bank's computer is running this guy's writing con. Can you believe that he had run his total up to more than two mil before the roof fell in?"

"How did they catch up with him?"

"It was an accident. Some smart lady in an Arizona bank was supposed to monitor heavy out-of-state deposits and transfers. She was out sick for a week, and when she got back to work, she found her desk piled high.

She began to wade through the stuff, dividing it up by account numbers.

She spotted all these deposits and transfers made by the same person, gradually increasing in size. She knew what that probably meant, and blew the whistle. It'll take at least a year to straighten out the mess.

Meanwhile the guy is languishing in durance vile because he can't make bail. And a few months ago he could have cashed in and skipped with two mil. I figure it wasn't just greed that kept him going. I think he was absolutely mesmerized by the game. He just wanted to see how far he could go."

"A fascinating case," Delaney agreed.

"Yeah, but right now it's a mess. I mean, every state where he operated wants a piece of this guy, plus the Feds, plus the banks, and God knows who else. The funniest thing is that nobody lost any money. In fact, practically everyone made money because they were putting his fake deposits to work until he transferred the funds. The only one who lost was the perp. And all he lost was his original ten grand. There's a moral there somewhere, but I don't know what it is."

Delaney offered Parnell a beer, but the detective reluctantly declined, saying he had to get down to Wall Street for lunch with two hotshot arbitragers.