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"Okay, so you'read the press story about the shipwreck discovery."
"Yes."
"And you think this girl disappeared with the San Marino?"
"I'm certain of it."
"Then your case is solved. The thief is dead and the money gone forever."
"Not that simple," said Casio, staring into his glass. "There's no doubt Arta Casilighio is dead, but the money is not gone forever.
Arta took freshly printed currency from the Federal Reserve Bank.
All serial numbers were recorded, so it was an easy matter to account for the missing bills." Casio paused to look over his glass into Pitts eyes. "Two years ago the missing money finally turned up."
Sudden interest flared in Pitts eyes. He sat down in a chair facing Casio. "All of it?" he asked cautiously.
Casio nodded. "it appeared in dribbles and spurts. Five thousand in Frankfurt, a thousand in Cairo, all in foreign banks. None came to light in the United States, except one hundred-dollar bill."
"Then Arta didn't die on the San Marino."
"She vanished with the ship all right. The FBI connected her to a stolen passport belonging to an Estelle Wallace. With that lead they were able to follow her as far as San Francisco. Then they lost her.
I kept digging and finally ran down a drifter who sometimes drove a cab when he needed booze money. He remembered hauling her to the boarding ramp of the San Marino."
"Can you trust the memory of a lush?"
Casio smiled confinently, "Arta gave him a crisp new hundred-dollar bill for the fare. He couldn't make change so she told him to keep it.
Believe me, it took little effort for him to recall the event."
"If stolen Federal Reserve currency is in FBI jurisdiction, where do you fit in the picture? Why the dogged pursuit of a criminal whose trail is ice cold?"
"Before I shortened my name for business reasons, it was Casilighio. Arta was my daughter."
There was an uncomfortable silence. From outside the windows overlooking the river came the rumble of a jetliner taking off. Pitt stood up and went into the kitchen, where he poured a cup of coffee from a cold pot and placed it in a microwave oven. "Care for another drink, Mr. Casio?"
Casio shook his head.
"So the bottom line is that you think there's something queer about your daughter's disappearance?"
"She and the ship never made port, but the money she stole turns up in a manner that suggests it's being laundered a little at a time.
Doesn't that suggest a queer circumstance to you, Mr. Pitt?"
"I can't deny you make a good case." The microwave beeped and Pitt retrieved a steaming cup. "But I'm not sure what you want from me."
"I have some questions."
Pitt sat down, his interest going beyond mere curiosity. "Don't expect detailed answers."
"I understand."
"Fire away."
"Where did you find the San Marino? I mean in what part of the Pacific Ocean?"
"Near the southern coast of Alaska," Pitt replied vaguely.
