F. Scott Fitzgerald once wrote,
"The rich are different than you and me."
They sure are. They got more money.
But there wasn't enough money in the world
to save some of the members of Chicago's upper crust
from a fiendish force so dark, it can only be called diabolic.
Chicago's rich and superrich
are no different from the privileged few of New York's Sutton Place,
or the nouveau riche of Los Angeles.
They enjoy a highly protected environment.
November 12, 11:20 p.m.
Rhonda June Markay, real name Adele Sapperstein,
was coming home after an unusually successful day.
Miss Markay was chairman of the board of Maison de Markay, Incorporated,
manufacturers of the famous Rhonda June brassiere line,
a longtime bulwark of the garment industry, serving women from eight to 80.
She designed her first bra in '44 when she was an aircraft worker in Glendale.
Miss Markay had a well-known proclivity for fine gems,
and was reputed to have some of the biggest diamonds in Chicago.
November 13, 1:30 a.m.
Lucy LaPont Addison, the reigning queen of what was left of Chicago's old society,
was returning home after an opera opening.
She supplied the opera house.
Lucy Addison had accumulated fortunes like she accumulated husbands.
Friends referred to her as the "Steel Butterfly."
The sudden demise of these two powerful ladies
jolted Chicago's elite.
Both funerals were S.R.O.
In both cases,
the police department ruled death by suicide,
and I was calmly explaining to Vincenzo
that I thought they had drawn a rather hasty conclusion.
- Yes, but why? - Why?
Two deaths in two days. Two of Chicago's wealthiest women.
Coincidence. Purely coincidence.
Then tell me this... Why are the police being so tight-lipped about it, huh?
Kolchak, these women were very influential, very wealthy.
They left behind financial dynasties
which didn't want their good names dragged through the newspapers.
"Suicide" is a very ugly word.
Yeah, and so is "murder." Yeah, here. Look, look. Look here. See?
The Markay woman had just won a proxy suit to take over yet another corporation,
and, the, uh... yeah, right here.
The Addison woman had just added to her personal portfolio
as she was about to marry her latest husband.
I didn't know you were following the society columns.
Well, Carl has a point, you know, Mr. Vincenzo.
What point?
Neither of these women fit the suicide profile, according to the Swedish studies.
- Really? - They weren't chronically depressed.
They hadn't had a recent shock.
They weren't terminating any relationships.
As a matter of fact,
they both had immediate goals they were looking forward to.
Miss Emily.
- Thank you. - No.
- Well? - Funerals are so depressing.
I'll certainly be glad to get back to my other article.
Your high-rise article.
Did you know that there's a brand-new high-rise downtown,
and they've only been able to lease the first five floors?
I'm gonna call it "High-Rise Investments Take a Plunge."
Tony, you cannot believe that these women committed suicide.
Carl, let me tell you something.
Even if there was a story in this, I wouldn't assign you to cover it.
Why not?
Because you don't have any tact.
You don't have a rapport with society. Well, just look at yourself.
Even if I sent you there to interview them,
I'm sure they wouldn't even let you inside their door.
- Okay. - What's okay?
Okay.
If clothes make the reporter around here,
then Carl Kolchak can play that game too!
- Where are you going? - I'm taking the rest of the afternoon off.
I am going out and buy myself some new clothes, okay?
Finally!
Code 3, Code 3
in the vicinity of State and Fourth.
Proceed to 732 State Street.
Code 3.
November 16, 6:05 p.m.
Police from three divisions of Chicago's finest
responded to a 211 that had surrounded the city's most prestigious gem exchange.
Hold it. Hold back, hold back!
Okay, keep these civilians back. All the way back. All the way.
Couple of you guys around in back.
Kolchak, you get out of here. Caselli, open those doors.
The safe's been ripped open, and there's diamonds all over the floor, Captain.
You stay right there. You make sure nobody touches them.
What are you waiting for? Let him go.
Caselli, let's go. Get out of here, Kolchak!
Upstairs.
Freeze!
A million-dollar sapphire stolen,
two guards dead,
and a man dressed like an Indian who dove off the roof into thin air.
I saw it, but I didn't believe it, and I was sure the police didn't either.
It is our conclusion then that the robber... or robbers...
Created considerable disturbance, stole the sapphire,
and in the ensuing confusion, the guards shot each other.
- Captain? - Yes, Mr. Kolchak?
Did I hear you say that those guards shot each other
precisely in the heart?
Yes, Mr. Kolchak. Regrettably, things like that do happen.
Things like that do happen. Yeah. In all that confusion?
You will all get the ballistic data as soon as we do.
Captain. Just how did this man actually escape?
We assume that the man we're looking for has experience as a high-wire aerialist,
trapeze artist or acrobat.
A trapeze artist eight feet tall?
And I suppose his dog belonged to a circus too, huh?
- Dog? What dog? - The dog that killed the police dog.
Kolchak, you disrupt this conference, and I'll have you physically ejected.
Hey, but, Captain. Captain. You haven't answered the question.
- How do you explain the dog? - Yeah, what about the dog?
That matter is under investigation, but there are a couple of possibilities.
One, that the dog may have escaped while we were chasing the man,
and perhaps there was no dog at all.
May I remind the esteemed Mr. Kolchak that no one actually saw the alleged dog.
What about the way this guy was dressed? He looked like an eight-foot Indian to me.
When you've been in detective work as long as I have,
you learn to expect every kind of kook and crazy imaginable, Mr. Kolchak.
Little shot, Kolchak.
- This conference is over. - Is that the ballistics report, Captain?
No further questions.
- Captain? - I'm sorry, boys. Not at this time.
Please. No more comments.
Ask the captain. Really, ask the captain.
He knows all about it, honey.
Ballistics, please.
- Who? Uh, Lieutenant Tackwood. - Who?
Tackwood. I just got a hold of the ballistics report
on those two dead guards on the gem exchange robbery.
Oh, yeah. I didn't think you guys would go for that.
Listen, we examined those slugs six times. There's no mistake.
- Are you sure? - Listen, Tackwood.
I'm telling you. Each guard was killed with a bullet from his own gun.
What?
Yes.
Hey, who is this?
- Kolchak, what are you doing in the squad room? - You're absolutely right.
- I couldn't agree with you more. - See he gets out of here now!
I've left!
I decided to look up Albert Delgado,
an old acquaintance and fairly reliable source for underworld gossip.
Delgado was a onetime cutter of stone and gems,
and, more recently, a graduate of the Joliet State College of Barbering,
where he had studied for seven years.
No, Carl. I don't do that kind of work anymore.
Ain't been near a diamond wheel in years.
I'm talking about that Markay woman's diamond pendant.
- You know? - Oh, the brassiere dame.
- Yeah. - Three hundred and 50 carats?
- Yeah, 350 carats. - Ain't seen nor heard of it.
That's terrific. What about the Addison woman's emerald bracelet worth about 250 G's?
Yeah, I read about that one. So?
- Sounds nice. - Sounds nice. And the sapphire on the gem exchange?
Mm-mmm. Nothing emerged.
- Nothing emerged. - No.
Ah! Albert.
I want to tell you and warn you, I only have one throat.
I don't nick people. You're just prejudiced because I'm an ex-con.
No, I'm prejudiced not because you're an ex-con, - Shh!
But because your hand is shaking.
Kolchak, I was a diamond cutter.
What does that tell you about the steadiness of these hands?
That's the point that I'm making, Albert.
- Kolchak, I think I got an angle for you. - Yeah?
- This jewel thief has classy taste, right? - Yes. Right, right.
All of those little pebbles that only cost a couple of thou, he passes them right by, right?
- Yeah. Right, right. - Meaning...
- Meaning what? - The guy is a collector.
He likes to have the stuff around. You know what I mean?
Kolchak. I'm gonna show you something
if your tip is generous and from the heart.
From the heart.
Uh-huh. Still keeping your fingers in, huh?
Not exactly.
Observe.
Glass. All I do now... Make duplicates for people.
Most of the real rocks are stashed away in a wall somewhere.
It takes a very dicey dame to wear real ice these days.
The insurance kills 'em.
Well, there's gonna be fewer and fewer of 'em from now on.
Kolchak, none of that stuff has hit the market.
Believe me, I know, because I have my ear to the door.
Frankly, the hot rock business is in a slump.
Well, thanks very much for the shave, Albert.
- Is that from the heart? - From the heart.
Come on, come on.
- Congratulations. You finally got one in focus. - Give me that.
Dead dog. That's pretty important, huh?
Yeah. Well, you can tell the difference between a dog and a cat.
That correspondence school is doing wonders for you. Couldn't you get it any bigger?
Not without losing quality.
Quality. I could have shot that better with a shoe box and a pinhole.
To think I stayed here all night to develop that.
Why don't you stay a little longer and develop a personality?
How long have I been warning you?
If you need a number from the phone book, don't tear out the page.
Take the time to copy it down.
- Well, what was it you're looking for? - I'm looking for kennels, dear.
- Guard dogs. - Guard dogs? For what possible reason?
Well, I'm working up an angle on that gem exchange robbery.
What angle? What angle?
Once upon a time, there were some jewels. Somebody robbed them.
Can't you just write that and send it in without going to a kennel?
This is not your usual run-of-the-mill caper, Tony.
This jewel thief, who dresses up like an Indian,
managed to kill two guards at the gem exchange yesterday, each with their own gun.
Police reports say they shot each other accidentally.
You've been reading too much fiction. That's one of your problems.
Well, somebody's cannibalized my book too.
Uh-huh!
I saw that Indian
go off the edge of a six-story building and disappear.
Now, the police say, of course, that he's an aerialist or some kind of a circus acrobat.
Some kind of smoke. But... Ha-ha! Look at that!
- Oh, a dead dog. - Mm-hmm.
Boy, that's Pulitzer material, Carl. Yes, sir.
Well, I happen to think
that it's highly unusual and probably very significant
that a jewel thief who dresses up like an Indian uses a killer dog.
Kolchak, I don't care if he's got a trained seal that plays "La Paloma" on the bicycle horn!
You just let the police worry about tracking down the leads... dogs or whatever.
Now, you just... You just write and report.
Now, you just wait here. I got an assignment for you.
I'm sorry, Tony. I can't. After lunch.
- Wait there, and we can have lunch together. - No, no. I can't do that.
- Why not? - Nope. I've, uh, had lunch with you already.
Well, I'll pay this time.
- Thanks, Ron. - What?
Reliance Guard Dog, Incorporated,
and George M. Schwartz, trainer of the three-time Midwestern guard dog champion,
Reliance's "Teutonic Knight."
Mr. Schwartz knew his dogs. He also had the caution that comes from a lifetime of paranoia.
I-I would like to find out what kind of dog made the tracks around the dead guard dog here.
What do you want to know that for?
Well, if I can find what kind of dog it is, Mr. Schwartz, then maybe I can find the trainer.
Just what have you got against dog trainers?
I can assure you, Mr. Schwartz, that I have the highest respect for dog trainers, sir.
Mm-hmm. Can't really tell what kind of tracks these are. You wait right here.
Yeah.
- What does that mean? - Well, it's German. They seem to like it better.
- Told him to keep you company. - Oh.
Nice... Nice doggy.
- Nice... - Who do you take me for?
- I beg your pardon? - These aren't the tracks of a dog.
- What do you mean? - They belong to a coyote.
Coyote?
If a man dresses up like an Indian to raid the gem exchange,
I say he's strange.
But if he also brings his coyote along, then I say he's an Indian.
- Yes? May I help you? - Yeah, Dr. Temple?
- Yes. - Uh, my name is Carl Kolchak.
From the Independent News Service, see?
I'll get right to the point, if you promise not to laugh.
I'm looking for a man who's masquerading as an Indian and runs around with a coyote.
A boy and his dog. Oh, I love that kind of story.
Well, I wouldn't tell this story to my children at bedtime, if I were you.
The man that I'm seeking has killed four people over the past week.
Oh.
Well, don't you think that you'd be better off talking with a criminologist,
or a psychiatrist?
Dr. Temple, I seek information about Indians.
Now, I don't know the difference between a Chippewa and a Chippendale.
- Do you see anything here that looks familiar? - No. Nope.
Aha! Yeah. That one over there.
Yeah, yeah. I remember the snakeskin and the bone thing.
- How odd. - Wh-Why odd?
Well, how utterly odd that you should pick that one from all the others.
- Why? - This is the sorcery costume of the Diablero.
A strange figure that occurs and reoccurs throughout Southwestern Indian lore.
Uh... Dia... D-I-A-B-I...
- E-R-O-S. - Diableros.
Diableros, yes.
The Diableros were supposed to be the tribal sorcerers,
the men who had learned to step into another reality.
What?
If I didn't know differently, I'd say that you were describing a Diablero.
You see, the Diableros have the power to...
To... Oh. Oh, it's preposterous.
Uh, no, go on, go on, go on.
Well, of course, it's only legend, but the lore says that the Diableros
had to power to throw their victims into a trance,
and also, supposedly,
- they could transform themselves into animals... - What?
Hawks, crows, even coyotes.
But...
November 17, 3:00 p.m.
About the time I was leaving the museum,
a Mrs. Charlotte Elaine Van Piet
was returning home from an afternoon bridge game with the girls.
She had made two grand slams, and she was happy, which was good
because it was the last game she would ever play.
Kolchak, what are you doing here?
Uh, well, Captain,
when I hear on the police band radio that a man of your importance
is gonna be doing what you do so very well,
how can I possibly stay away?
- Neck's broken? - How did you know?
- A little birdie told me. - Don't make me laugh.
Uh, anything stolen?
A pearl necklace belonging to the woman's missing, we think.
Mason. Shut up. Kolchak, out.
Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Leaving. Leaving.
Hey. Get out of there.
Yeah. Sure.
Kolchak!
He's not here, huh?
I.N.S. Emily Cowles speaking.
Emily, dear. Now, don't say anything. Just listen.
Who is this?
It's Carl. Don't hang up on me.
Now, there's supposed to be a big gem auction
going on somewhere in downtown Chicago this evening.
- I don't know a thing about it. - I need to know where it is and what time.
And, as it's a financial transaction,
you know who might know very well.
- Why don't you ask him yourself? - He won't even give me the time of day.
You know that, Emily. Emily! Come on!
Ron.
Do you happen to know anything about a jewelry auction that's being held in town?
That's not general knowledge. Who wants to know?
- It's a lady editor... - Of Ladies' Wear Weekly.
She wants to cover it from the fashion angle, and she has to know where and when it is.
She might as well forget it. It's not open to the press. If it were, I'd cover it.
She has an entree...
But she lost the note giving her the time and the place,
and... she can't get hold of her contact on the inside until tonight.
No, no, no, no,
you're getting complicated. Keep it simple, Emily.
What?
- Now he's gonna want to know... - Who's her entree?
- Now he's gonna ask... - Could I come along? - I knew it.
- Let me speak to her. - Emily, I'm putting you on hold.
Well, she just put me on hold.
Well, I'll hold on.
Miss Emily, would you get that for me, please?
Sure.
I.N.S. Mr. Ron Updyke's desk.
Emily, thank heaven it's you. It's me. Tell him...
It's John Vickers from the Commodity Exchange, and he says it's very important.
Hello. Mr. Vickers?
Now, tell him that she had to leave, but that he can come along,
but get the, uh, place and the time, and she'll meet him at the front entrance.
And then call me back at 555-8842.
Now, get the information and call me right back.
Ron, uh, she had to go,
but she told me it was all right for you to come.
And I'm to call her back and tell her the time and the place,
and she'll meet you at the front entrance.
Very good. 8:00. Waverly Building. Mr. Vickers, please.
Ronald Updyke calling.
Hi, we were cut off. Ron Updyke.
U-P-D-Y-K-E.
Uh... Of the I.N...
He hung up again.
- Kolchak isn't here yet? - No.
I want to see him as soon as he sets foot in that door.
Oh, dear.
Emily Cowles confessed to her crime,
and Mr. Updyke, unfortunately, was spared the embarrassment of showing up at the auction.
However, Emily did get the information to me first.
It was to be the largest gem transaction in Chicago history.
The auction itself was to be private,
but was preceded by a reception where the most exclusive guests
were allowed to view the objects of their desire.
Oh, 350,000 minimum.
I keep telling you that it is in the glove compartment of the Bentley, and the Bentley...
- What seems to be the problem? - Are you the auctioneer here, Mr...
- Beloit. - Beloit, yes.
Are you any relation to Roger Beloit of the Bar Harbor Beloits?
- No. - No, I didn't think you were.
Well, I appreciate security, Mr. Beloit, as much as the next person.
But I must say that, uh, simply because I don't have your invitation on my person,
I find it rather insulting to have your guards humiliate me.
- And your name is, sir? - Kol... worth.
Carl Kolworth.
Any relation to the Woolworths?
Distantly, yes. They dealt in wool, we dealt in coal.
I happen to be the personal secretary, uh, chauffeur,
majordomo, et cetera
of, uh, Adrianna Jennings.
Oh, yes, yes. Well, uh, is Mrs. Jennings coming?
Of course she's not coming. Certainly.
I assumed that a man in your position would be reading the society columns.
She's in the Orient, but she has authorized me to attend the auction and bid for her.
Yes, well, I'm sorry, but I don't recall sending an invitation to Mrs. Jennings.
Of course you don't recall. You never sent it.
She was terribly insulted by it.
As a matter of fact, when she spoke to Mrs. Ludlow, Mrs. Ludlow was absolutely shocked.
Mrs. Ludlow is one of our best customers.
I'd hate for her to be distressed.
Perfectly all right, Beloit. I have smoothed the ruffled feathers.
- Thank you, Mr. Kolworth. - Kolworth, yes. It's perfectly all right.
Well, uh... Oh, good evening, Mrs. Ludlow.
- Good evening. - Mr. Ludlow.
Oh, excuse me.
Mrs. Ludlow, do you know that man?
Why aren't you in Yucatan as you're supposed to be, according to the columns?
He's a reporter. Carl Kolchak. I.N.S.
Oh, yes, of the Hoboken Kolchaks.
- You're to leave here at once. - Now, just one moment.
You stand a very good chance of being robbed here tonight.
You do know about all the jewelry thefts that have been going on around town.
Mr. Baker of the Chicago Police has checked out our security procedures.
He feels our jewels are quite safe.
Yeah, well, then Baker must be a 24-carat chump
because if you do get hit, you'll be dealing with something that no security force can stop.
Will you please do us the kindness to leave here quietly?
Or I'll have you physically removed.
I will leave. I will leave by myself, if you don't mind.
I know when I'm not wanted.
Uh, ladies and gentlemen, we'd like to begin the auction at this time.
Those of you who intend to bid on the large precious stones,
please go with Mr. Beloit in the Georgian Room.
Those who wish to participate in the jade and pearl sale,
please follow me.
Okay. Lock her up.
Get me the case, please. Won't you sit down?
Well, now, shall we begin?
Mr. Beloit, my wife is very concerned about the man you talked to.
Are we in any danger?
Danger? Well, hardly. It was only a street reporter.
Probably had too much to drink.
Now, first, the latest offering from Van Hern in Johannesburg.
Must have been a bird. They hit this building all the time.
Freeze!
All right, Carl. Let's try it from the top.
How do you want it this time? In italics or in press book Roman with expletives deleted?
Don't get smart with me.
You've got a lot of questions to answer about what went on at that auction,
like number one... What were you doing there?
Why won't you believe me when I tell you I was there to get a story on the Diablero?
Diablero. Now, what is that? Some kind of Italian racing car?
Before any European ever set foot on this continent, he was already a legend here.
- A legend? - Yeah, that's right. A legend.
Yeah, he was an Indian sorcerer
who had the power to transmute himself into different animal forms.
- Transmute, huh? - That's right.
He had the power to change himself from a human being, a man,
into a coyote, into a crow,
- into a man, into a coyote. - Oh, brother!
Look, I saw him change from a man into a crow!
Are you trying to tell me a crow killed those people? Their necks were broken.
By the Diablero. Listen, I found a black crow feather next to the hand of that dead chauffeur.
Joe, we did find some black feathers in that Markay woman's apartment.
- Uh-huh! Uh-huh! - Don't "uh-huh" me, Kolchak!
I got a question for you.
What does an Indian sorcerer need with expensive jewels?
- Well, I haven't quite figured that out yet. - Uh-huh!
Maybe a little bird will give you the answer.
Or maybe this, uh, crow man is selling the jewels for cash
because he's tired of flying south for the winter, and he wants to take a cruise ship.
Well, I don't hear anything coming from you. Uh-huh.
They held me another three hours,
but they knew they didn't have anything,
so they finally let me go.
Thanks a lot, Kemp.
Here's a message for you from a Miss Cowles.
Thanks for nothing.
Dr. Agnes Temple had called.
She wanted me to meet her at the museum.
I was late, but Agnes Temple and her friends had waited.
Mr. Kolchak, this is Charles Rolling Thunder.
- How do you do? - How do you do? How do you do?
Charles lives with his family here in Chicago,
and I told him how you were talking about the Diablero,
and... well, now, mind you, I don't believe any of this...
But Charles insisted that I get in touch with you.
Yes, it is important, Mr. Kolchak, that we talk.
You have been saying some very, very serious things.
Now, if you are telling the truth,
you should be armed.
Mr. Kolchak says he has seen a Diablero.
Yeah. Right. Here.
This is a picture of the dog that was killed by the, uh... possibly by the coyote.
Uh, there were two guards who were killed in the same place.
And here's this, uh, feather that I picked up at a spot where two people were murdered.
Last night, he almost tried to kill me.
Hmm. I must ask you, Mr. Kolchak,
how did you escape the Diablero's spell?
Well, I wish I knew. I don't know. I, uh...
- Well, I took a picture. - Did you use a flash?
- Oh, yeah, sure. - Oh, the burst of light.
Oh, listen, a flash can smart, but it's not gonna harm that gargantuan that I saw.
To the Diablero, the eyes are everything.
Uh, through his sorcery, through his eyes,
he can "stop the world," as he calls it.
He changes reality, making his enemies helpless.
But that light from the flash blinded him, made his eyes useless.
- Changes reality. - Mmm.
Well, the, uh... The bird that I saw
was a big, black bird right there.
I mean, it was a bird! Now, is it a bird, or is it a man?
Well, uh, it is both a-and neither.
He uses the magic of both,
and only for evil.
- Evil is all he really is. - Oh, yeah.
Yeah, yeah. Yeah, that I'll agree with.
Tell me, h-how would |I...
- How do you kill a Diablero? - Yeah. Yeah. That's what I mean.
Well, since earliest times, it was said
a Diablero cannot live with the sight of his own gaze, hmm?
- Nothing more, nothing less will kill it. - Oh, that's terrific. That's...
That's a big help.
How do I find, uh, it?
No one knows that, but we have heard in our lore of the Diablero that you describe.
He lived for years under a curse, roaming near and far.
- What kind of a curse? - A curse to acquire a treasure.
- Uh-huh. - You see, this Diablero
was an ancient sorcerer among the cliff dwellers.
- The cliff dwellers, the Yakis... - Yoshone.
Yoshone! Yoshone! They lived in holes in the wall, in pueblos!
Yes, yes. And he dared to steal the ritual treasure,
which belongs to the gods alone.
And for his greed, he was put under a curse...
A curse to build an eternal treasure
before he could cross the River of the Seven Winds.
Thank you. Thank you very much, Mr. Rolling Thunder.
Thank you, thank you, Dr. Temple.
You have no idea how much you've helped me. Thank you! Thank you very much!
- Carl, what are you doing? That's Ron's desk. - Hi, Tony.
- Those are Ron's private papers. - Yeah, yeah. I'm looking for something.
Carl, you know how particular Ron is about people disturbing his things.
In his ear.
- What, are you... You staying here tonight? - Yes, I'm staying here.
- You, uh, nursing a story? - No, I'm not nursing a story.
I'm camping here because I thought that sometime during a 24-hour period,
like a moth returns to the flame, you would return to this office,
and the waiting was worth it for what I'm gonna tell you.
Well, tell me this... What's the name of that building?
What building?
That deserted tower story that Ron was working on.
You know, "High-Rise Investments Take a Nosedive"?
Tony. Tony, listen, there is an empty high-rise somewhere here in Chicago
that is being used as a rest place by an eight-foot creature
who has killed at least 10 people in Chicago and who knows how many elsewhere?
- Carl, are you insane? - Yeah, he's called a Diablero.
"Dia" what?
Yeah, he's a... a member of a tribe of cliff dwellers.
Carl, what are you babbling about? What's Ron got to do with a tribe?
If you were a cliff dweller,
where else in downtown Chicago would you be except in that building?
If I were a cliff dweller, I wouldn't be downtown Chicago.
I'd be dwelling in my cliff in an adobe hut two stories high,
which is not exactly the Hancock Tower!
Tony, have you ever seen a pueblo, huh?
They're built in the side of a cliff hundreds of feet high. Where is that story?
- Don't you ever read the paper? - No.
Ron's feature went out over the wire this morning.
What?
Right here.
Champion Towers! That's it!
Tony, call the police and tell them... tell them the Champion Towers right away.
Thank you very much, Tony. You've been a great help.
Carl!
Carl, come back here! Carl, this...
Cliff dwellers.
The owners went broke,
and the whole project went into receivership.
Only the first five floors had been furnished and leased.
Uh... It's after hours, sir. You can't go up.
Oh, no, no. Wait a minute now.
See, uh, I.LN.S. Intercity Neon Service.
- We don't have a neon sign. - Well, that's your problem.
Your manager ordered a neon sign for the top of the building. You could use some advertising.
What are you doing coming at night?
When do you expect me to make my estimates? High noon?
- What floor do you want? - The roof.
- Elevator will only go to the fifth floor. - I'll walk.
Forty floors?
- How many? - Forty.
I'm used to it.
I didn't bother to look on the lower floors.
Something told me that if the Diablero was here at all, it would seek the heights.
Nothing was found on that floor, not even ashes.
Baker and the police have ruled the case closed,
all in the public interest, of course.
But there is the matter of those stolen gems.
Those prized stones worth millions, billions...
Over 300 years of treasure claimed by the Diablero...
The crown jewels of Queen Elizabeth, the Star Sapphire of Nicholas the First,
the Firestone Diamond of Bonaparte and Josephine, to name but a few.
None of them have ever turned up in any market
in this world.
Only one thing remains.
The detectives won't admit it, of course, but somewhere, locked deep in the evidence files
of the Chicago Police Department
Is a handful of black feathers.