by Stuart Woods
“Brian Goode.”
“All by himself, I expect.”
“I trust his judgment,” Dino said.
“But not mine.”
“I have more experience with yours.”
“So you trust the word of a boy wonder G-man, instead of your friend and partner of lo these many years.”
“Former partner.”
“I’m smarter now than I was then,” Stone said.
“I could buy that, if you weren’t sleeping with a contract killer.”
“That is an unsubstantiated characterization.”
“The Florida cops think she’s a contract killer, too.”
“So, we have to take the word of out-of-state cops to make good judgments?”
“Only when they’re right. Have they contacted her yet?”
“This morning.”
“What did she tell them?”
“Nothing they didn’t already know from her previous statement.”
“Did they read her her rights?”
“Not yet. I’ve told her that if they contact her again, she should say that she has nothing to add to her previous statement, and that she won’t address the issue again without the presence of her attorney.”
“Sounds like she’s talked to a lawyer.”
“I was conveniently located.”
“Stone, why, in the face of all the evidence, do you refuse to believe that she’s a hit person?”
“All what evidence?”
“Well . . .”
“Aha! There isn’t any, is there?”
“There’s no evidence to the contrary, either.”
“Wrong. She has three witnesses who saw her leave the house with Manny Fiore still alive inside.”
“And who would they be?”
“The two moving men who carted her stuff to storage, and the cabdriver who took her to the airport.”
“That’s their opinion?”
“It’s a fact, not an opinion. And who does your G-man and the Florida cops think set the house on fire after they left?”
“An arsonist.”
“Good guess!” Stone cried.
“A professional arsonist. One of those people Jimmy Breslin used to say earns their living by ‘building vacant lots.’ ”
“And when did this putative arsonist go to work?”
“He chose an appropriate moment.”
“Try telling that to a jury sometime. They’ll acquit before the coffee has dried on your upper lip.”
Dino licked his lips. “All right,” he said, “I’ll await further developments before I make up my mind on her guilt or innocence.”
Stone held up a cautionary finger. “I never said she was innocent.”
“She’s either guilty or innocent,” Dino said.
“Not necessarily. There’s an area in between.”
“What area?”
“Ah . . . knowing. That’s it, she’s knowing.”
“That must come in handy.”
“What else would you expect of a bright young woman?”
“Guilt or innocence?”
“Then once again, I choose innocence.”
“Okay, I’m outta here,” Dino said, then hung up.
* * *
—
Joan came in and placed an envelope on his desk. “I found this on your desk this morning,” she said. “It appears to have been there about ten days, unopened.”
Stone opened the envelope and found an invitation to dinner at the home of Jack and Hillary Coulter. For that evening.
“What? This is for tonight?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Joan said, being innocent of any contact with it.
Stone quickly dialed the number.
“The Coulter residence,” a butler intoned.
“This is Stone Barrington. May I speak with either one, please?”
“One moment, Mr. Barrington,” he said.
A moment later, Hillary came on the line. “Stone?”
“Yes, Hillary. My secretary has just handed me, unopened, your very kind invitation to dinner this evening.”
“Bad secretary,” Hillary replied, in the manner of speaking to a dog.
“I do apologize for her, and I’d be happy to come, if the invitation is still open. I perfectly understand if you’ve asked someone else.”
“Nonsense,” she said. “We’ll see you at seven for drinks. I suppose you have a date?”
“Yes, I do. Her name is Hilda Ross.”
“Noted. See you then.” She hung up.
Joan came back into the room. “I suppose you blamed me.”
“Of course, I did,” Stone replied, dialing Hilda’s number.
“Hallo, dahlink,” Hilda said, in a broad Hungarian accent.
“Good news,” Stone said. “We’ve had a great dinner invitation. Joan gave it to me ten minutes ago, unopened. It’s for tonight. I hope you’re up for it, because I’ve already accepted for both of us.”
“In that case, I accept, too. How are we dressing?”
“Black tie.”
“Then I’ll wear a work dress. They’re the nicest things I have with me.”
“I’m sure I’ll love it. All the gentlemen will, too, if not necessarily all the ladies.”
“I’m accustomed to that,” she said.
“We’re due at seven for drinks.”
“What? That only gives me eight hours to get ready!”
“You’ll manage.” Stone hung up. “You are forgiven,” he said to Joan.
26
They were on their way to the Coulters’ Fifth Avenue apartment for drinks and dinner.
“Who are the Coulters?” Hilda asked.
“Just a very nice Fifth Avenue couple who also live in Palm Beach and Northeast Harbor, Maine, depending on which way the wind blows.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s retired from being an investment adviser, I think,” Stone said. No point going into Jack’s early criminal life and prison term.
“And she?”
“Hillary? Her family company was recently sold.”
“Don’t you know any people who work for a living?”
“Well, let’s see: There’s you. Then there’s Dino. Then there’s just about everybody else I know. Do you think all my friends are shiftless?”
“How many will we be for dinner?”
“Could be eight, could be eighty. It’s a big apartment, and they like entertaining.”
They were deposited on the sidewalk, as the doorman held first the car door, then the building door open for them. In the elevator, Stone pressed the button marked ph. The car rose swiftly. The door opened into the apartment’s foyer, then they walked down a curving flight of stairs and into the living room, which contained nearer to eighty than eight guests.
“Good guess on the numbers,” Hilda said. “God, I’m glad I wore my good jewelry.”
They snagged glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, and Stone showed her the terrace. “If you’d been with me the last time I was here, you’d have wished you hadn’t worn your good jewelry.”
“Why?”
“Well, at about this point in the evening, I was standing out here, chatting with my date, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man dressed in black clothes and a black hood in the living room, and he was carrying a shotgun.”
“What was it, a costume party?”
“Not in the least. Turned out the man had three friends, each with his own black outfit and shotgun, and they went about the room relieving the guests of the burden of their jewelry.”
“What did you do?”
“Well, I told my date to remove all her jewelry and give it to me, and I put it in my coat pocket.”
&nbs
p; “Didn’t she think that odd?”
“I expect so, but I think there was enough urgency in my voice to make her think I was serious. Then I kissed her.”
“Why?”
“Well, first of all, she was very kissable. Second, I thought it would distract the robbers, when they got around to us.”
“Did it?”
“Only momentarily, then they asked for her jewelry. She smartly said, ‘I don’t wear jewelry,’ then I explained that I had only a wristwatch, and it had my name engraved on the back and possession of it might cost him a prison term, so he went away and left us alone on the terrace.”
“So her jewelry didn’t get stolen?”
“No, they never frisked me.”
“What happened after that?”
“Well, I gave her jewelry back, then the police were called, dinner was served, I think in that order. All of the jewelry was recovered when the police arrested one of the robbers the next day.”
They were interrupted by Jack Coulter, and Stone introduced them. Jack seemed to take a great interest in her, it seemed to Stone.
Later, when Hilda was visiting the powder room, Jack took Stone aside. “How long have you known Hilda?” he asked.
“Only a few days. Why do you ask?”
“I once knew her father very well.”
“Where and how?”
“At what was my upstate residence, at the time. Joe Rossetti, his name was, and we had adjoining suites. He had the better river view, though. I used to see Hilda, who was in her teens, when she came on visitors’ days, to see her father.”
“What was he in for?”
“Robbery. But Joe was known to be mobbed up, and he had a reputation for the high quality of his work.”
“As a robber?”
“As a hitman. He got out sooner than I did. Last I heard, he was retired, living in Florida somewhere.”
“When she comes back, don’t bring up her father,” Stone said. “I’ll tell you why some other time.”
“As you wish,” Jack said.
Hilda returned. “You two look as if you’ve been telling each other dirty jokes,” she said reprovingly.
“Not a bit of it,” Stone said. “You were a long time in the powder room.”
“On the way back I ran into somebody I knew, and we had a chat.”
“Who was that?” Jack asked.
“Forrest, your pianist. We’ve worked together a few times.”
“Hilda is a singer,” Stone said. “Fortunately, this is her night off.”
“Perhaps you’ll sing something for us after dinner,” Jack said.
“Of course. I’d be happy to.”
Jack excused himself.
“Does that happen a lot?” Stone asked.
She shrugged. “Now and then. I’m happy to oblige.”
They got another drink and sat on the terrace. “Where did you grow up?” he asked
“In Florida,” she replied.
“Where?”
“Always near a racetrack. My father was an inveterate player of the ponies. He did well at it, too; supported the family. There were times when it seemed he was getting a winner or two a week.”
“He must have been a hell of a handicapper,” Stone said, and let the subject drop. He knew next to nothing about horse racing.
* * *
—
After dinner, Jack introduced Hilda, and she sang two Cole Porter numbers for them, then sat down to much applause.
“Thank you,” Stone said. “It’s always nice to have a date who can earn her dinner. Hillary and Jack will always ask you back now.”
“What a good idea,” she said.
* * *
—
On the way home afterward, Stone nearly asked about her father, but stopped himself. Maybe she really did think he had earned his living as a handicapper.
27
Vinnie sat in his luxurious new trailer and watched his assistant, Maria, count the money. She could count a hundred grand in hundreds in a flash; her fingers flew, and Vinnie could never keep track, but she didn’t make mistakes. It took a couple of days before Vinnie caught on. The reason Manny had loved his job so much was that Maria did all the work, while he watched old movies on satellite TV and occasionally ambled down to the track and watched a few races run, just so he wouldn’t forget what a horse looked like.
What’s more, Vinnie was making nearly three times what he had in his old job. On his third day on the job, he gave Maria a big raise and got her to promise not to retire while he was still alive.
Maria was a pretty, quite buxom woman who hadn’t gained a pound since she was sixteen. It didn’t take Vinnie long to discover that she had a keen interest in sex. Apparently, her husband had forgotten how, and after all, she was entitled to a sex life, wasn’t she? He took it upon himself to see that she got the attention she craved, and she craved him, too. If he had known about this, he would have knocked off Manny years before.
It was obvious to Vinnie that Manny had not taken retirement and run off to an island somewhere, and his suspicions were confirmed when Manny’s house burned down with him in it. The medical examiner had taken one look at his remains and diagnosed lead poisoning.
Those were the rules of the game, Vinnie figured: you pissed off somebody higher up the ladder than you, and you got your brains scrambled. Vinnie tried never to piss off anybody.
* * *
—
Stone and Hilda were having lunch at La Goulue, in the East Sixties.
“How long have you known Jack Coulter?” Hilda asked.
“I don’t know, a while. A client who was a friend of his recommended him to me.”
“He reminds me of somebody I once knew,” she said, “but I can’t place him. What do you do for Jack, exactly?”
“Jack is one of those clients who has the whole firm of Woodman & Weld at his disposal: He wants to buy a house somewhere, we find him a Realtor to write the offer and close the sale. He gets himself a new wife and wants his will rewritten, it’s done. He’s looking at an investment and wants the seller investigated, the man is gone over with a fine-tooth comb, and so is the deal. Why does Jack interest you?” He thought it better to encourage this than to appear to be withholding information.
“As I said, he looks familiar, something about the way he moves around, the broad shoulders. Not the face, though. Maybe somebody my father knew: Does he spend time in Florida?”
“I told you: Palm Beach. He and Hillary have a big apartment at the Breakers.”
“My father wouldn’t know anybody at the Breakers, unless he was collecting a debt for a bookie.”
“Your father did that sort of work?”
“He was a sort of Jack-of-all-trades, I guess you’d say. Somebody wanted something done, my dad saw to it.”
“Was he mobbed up?”
“He certainly knew people in that milieu,” she said, “but he wasn’t a member of anything.”
“A freelancer then.”
“Exactly.”
Stone took a deep breath. “Did he teach you things?”
“He taught me to play every card game available and showed me what a fast horse looks like. That was about it.”
Stone exhaled. He didn’t want to be seen shying away from her background, but he wanted to know about it anyway. He changed the subject. After all, she wasn’t going to tell him how her father had taught her to shoot people in the head, not just once, but twice.
* * *
—
After lunch, he turned Hilda loose in Bloomingdale’s with a credit card, then went home. Dino was waiting for him, and he almost never dropped by the house in the daytime. Something was up.
“Is it too early for Scotch?” he asked Dino.
“It’s five o’clock somewher
e,” Dino replied.
Stone handed him the drink.
“You’re not having something?”
“I had wine with lunch. I don’t want to sleep the afternoon away.” Dino wanted to tell him something; he could feel it.
“So, what’s new?” Stone asked, nudging him a little.
“Not much. Oh, I did hear something interesting, but it’s just a rumor. I can’t prove it.”
“Oh?”
“It’s about Hilda.”
Stone nodded. “Sure, it is.”
“Do you know what her father did for a living?”
“Funny, we just had a conversation about that over lunch. He handicapped horses and did odd jobs for the boys.”
“What sort of jobs?”
“Debt collection, that sort of thing. He wasn’t mobbed up, he was just a resource for them, near as I could tell.”
“A resource, huh.”
“Sort of like that, I think.”
“I heard something a little more definite,” Dino said.
“Well, you have big ears, Dino. Come on, spit it out.”
“I heard he was what you might call a ‘sought-after’ hitman.”
“Really?”
“You think Hilda knew about that?”
“You think she’d tell me if she did?”
“Maybe not.”
“It’s not the sort of things she’d tell the kids at school, is it?”
“I guess not.”
“Then why would she tell me? Would she think that would impress me?”
“I guess not.”
“I’m willing to believe that’s true, Dino. What I’m not willing to believe is that being a hired killer is the sort of thing a father passes down to his daughter.”
“How about if Dad got sick, or was just old and feeble and couldn’t earn anymore?”
“Is that what you heard?”
“It was intimated.”
“That would make it understandable,” Stone said. “But that doesn’t mean I want to hear it.”
“Wouldn’t you rather know the truth than not know?”
“No, Dino, I would not. And I’d appreciate it if you’d keep that in mind.”