Dirty Work sb-9

by Stuart Woods

“It looks like . . .” His phone rang again. “Bacchetti. . . . Yes, sir, I’ve just heard. I have men on their way. . . . Yes, sir, I understand how this looks. I’ll be there personally in ten minutes. . . . Yes, sir, I understand.” He hung up. “Come on,” he said to Stone, and they both ran for the door.

  They were in the rear seat of Dino’s car, headed downtown with the siren going before Dino spoke again. “Don’t let anybody slow you down,” he said to the driver, then he got out his cell phone again.

  “Wait a minute, Dino,” Stone said. “What’s going on?”

  “Looks like your client just popped Sir Edward Fieldstone in the men’s room at the Four Seasons.” Dino dialed a number. “This is Bacchetti. I want four homicide detectives, a crime-scene team, and twelve uniforms at the Four Seasons, on East Fifty-second Street, now. Close the block, don’t let anyone into the restaurant, but let the patrons out as they finish dinner. Screen off the men’s room, and don’t let anybody in there until I’m on the scene and say so. I arrive in six minutes.”

  “Oh, Jesus,” Stone said, sinking back into the seat.

  “So you had this all fixed, huh?” Dino said.

  “At the Four Seasons?” Stone moaned. “Holy shit.”

  “That about sums it up for me,” Dino said. “I just had the commissioner on the phone, and if he ever finds out that I was involved in that little business of yours in Bryant Park I’ll be walking a beat in the far reaches of the Bronx for the rest of my career.”

  “I don’t believe this,” Stone said. “It was all fixed—everything.”

  “I like your idea of all fixed,” Dino said. “Call your client.”

  “What?”

  “Call her. You’ve got her cell phone number.”

  “What am I supposed to say to her?”

  “Ask her what she’s going to do next.”

  “Why do you think she’ll tell me?”

  “Just ask her. Go ahead, call.” Dino handed Stone his cell phone.

  Stone dialed the number, which he now knew by heart, while Dino stuck his ear next to Stone’s.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “It’s Stone. What have you done?”

  “They didn’t send the money.”

  “Of course they sent it. I confirmed it. Didn’t you call the bank?”

  “Yes, but it wasn’t the bank. It was obviously one of Sir Edward’s people. They lied to me and to you, Stone. I had it confirmed twice that the money never arrived.”

  “You’ve got to stop this, Marie-Thérèse,” he said.

  “I’ve no intention of stopping,” she replied. “They broke their agreement, and now they’re fair game.” She hung up.

  Dino snatched his cell phone back and pressed redial long enough to get the number.

  “What are you doing?” Stone asked. “That was a conversation with a client.”

  “A client who has just announced her intention of committing a crime,” Dino replied. “Your obligation now is to report that to the police and render whatever assistance you can, which you have just done.” He called another number. “This is Lieutenant Dino Bacchetti at the Nineteenth Precinct,” he said. “I want a wall-to-wall surveillance on the following cell phone number.” He read out the number. “Nail it down in a hurry and call me back with a location. Highest priority. Do not—repeat—do not attempt to detain the holder of the cell phone.” He hung up. “I’m going to nail the bitch,” he said.

  “What else can I do to help?” Stone asked.

  “Think. Think of another way to get to her. Do you know where she’s sleeping?”

  “No.”

  “No idea at all? Hotel? Apartment? Safe house?”

  “I have no idea. The only thing I have is the cell phone number, and you have that now.”

  “I hope to God it’s enough,” Dino said. “Did I mention that at the time she shot Sir Edward, he and Carpenter were having dinner with the director of the FBI?”

  “Oh, shit.”

  “That’s right, pal.”

  The car was waved through a roadblock at Fifty-second and Park, then screeched to a halt in front of the Four Seasons. Stone and Dino got out of the car.

  “Stay with me,” Dino said, “and keep your mouth shut.”

  “What could I possibly say?” Stone replied.

  50

  Dino and Stone walked into the downstairs lobby of the Four Seasons to find a phalanx of uniformed police officers standing in front of the men’s-room door. A man in a pin-striped suit was yelling at them. “You don’t understand! I’ve got to get into that men’s room right now!”

  Dino tapped the man on the shoulder, spinning him around. He flashed his badge. “Sir,” he said, “go upstairs and ask the headwaiter to direct you to the other men’s room.”

  “What other men’s room? There isn’t one.”

  “Believe me, he’ll find you one,” Dino said. He pointed at an officer. “You. Escort this gentleman upstairs.”

  The cop took the man’s elbow and steered him up the staircase.

  “Out of my way,” Dino said to the uniforms, who parted like the Red Sea. He pointed a thumb at Stone. “He’s with me.” Then he led the way into the men’s room. A team of EMTs were bent over two bodies, one of them in a dark suit.

  “Are they dead?” Dino asked.

  “Yep,” an EMT replied, “both of them.”

  “Then get the hell out of my crime scene.”

  The EMTs gathered their gear and left.

  Dino bent over Sir Edward. “One in the chest, one in the head. Very professional.” He looked at the men’s-room attendant. “Poor schmuck,” he said. “Wrong place at the wrong time.”

  A uniform stuck his head through the doorway. “Lieutenant, we got an FBI guy up at the bar. He’s the only witness.”

  “Let’s go,” Dino said to Stone. He marched up the stairs and to the bar, where an EMT was doing something to the back of a young man’s head. There was a glass of brown liquid before him, no ice. He took a big swig.

  Dino removed the glass from his hand and set it on the bar. “This is how the FBI recovers from a tap on the head?” he asked. “I’m Bacchetti, NYPD. What happened, and get it right the first time.”

  “I was sitting here, watching the people entering the hall to the dining room. My partner was in the dining room with the director, his deputy, and his guests.”

  “Who were . . . ?”

  “Deputy Director Robert Kinney, Sir Edward somebody or other, the dead man, and a woman who works—worked for him.”

  “Go on.”

  “Sir Edward came down the hall looking for the men’s room. I went with him, and then the woman—”

  “Wait a minute, what woman?”

  “There was a woman sitting next to me at the bar.”

  “She was sitting next to you, or you were sitting next to her?”

  “Well . . .”

  “I’m glad we got that cleared up.”

  “Anyway, I went down with Sir Edward and checked out the men’s room. There was nobody in there but the attendant. I was waiting outside the door for him to finish when the woman came downstairs.”

  “Describe her.”

  “White female, thirty to forty, five-six or -seven, a hundred and thirty pounds, long, dark hair, wearing a black cocktail dress and black gloves.” He looked longingly at the glass on the bar. “A real looker.”

  “Very good description,” Dino said. “At least you learned something at the academy. What happened next?”

  “She asked me if I was armed, and I showed her my gun. She pulled a black, small-caliber pistol with a silencer from her handbag, took my gun, and pushed me ahead of her into the vestibule inside the men’s-room door. She must have clocked me with either her weapon or mine. I passed out. When I came to, she hit me again. I only woke up five minutes ago, and I got on my radio.”

  “So where are all your people?”

  “On the way.”

  Dino looked at the back of the man’
s head. “Get him to a hospital,” he said to the EMT. “He’s going to need lots of stitches.”

  The EMT and his partner escorted the agent down the stairs; Dino and Stone followed. They had only just seen him into an ambulance when a procession of dark vans drove into the block, and men in body armor and helmets, carrying automatic weapons, began spilling out of them, “FBI” emblazoned on their backs.

  Dino stood in front of the door and held up his badge. “NYPD,” he said. “Who’s in command?”

  A man in a suit got out of the front seat of a van and walked over, flashing his ID. “I’m Jim Torrelli, agent-in-charge of the New York office of the FBI,” he said. “You’re in the way of my men.”

  “No, I’m not,” Dino replied. “They’re in the way of this city’s traffic. Please get them out of here.”

  “We have a crime scene to secure,” the man said.

  “It’s an NYPD crime scene, and it’s already secured,” Dino replied, not budging.

  “We have an injured FBI agent in there,” Torrelli said.

  “No, you don’t. He’s already on the way to a hospital. There are no other FBI personnel inside, just two murder victims, and murder, if I may remind you, is not a federal crime. Now, if you want to hang around and see what happens, you may do so at my invitation, but don’t get in my way, and get these storm troopers out of here, now.”

  Torrelli thought about it for a moment. “Everybody back in the vehicles,” he said. “Return to base and wait for my call.” The men got back in the vans and drove away. “Now, Detective . . .”

  “Lieutenant Bacchetti,” Dino said, “commander of the detective squad at the Nineteenth Precinct.”

  “Can you tell me what happened here?”

  “Yeah. The director of the FBI and his deputy took the head of British Intelligence and his colleague out to dinner, guarded by two FBI agents. The Brit went to the men’s room, and a young woman hit one of the agents over the head and shot the Brit and the men’s-room attendant. She left the premises. That’s all I’ve got, at the moment, but when we’re done here, there ought to be enough embarrassment for the FBI to last for years.”

  Torrelli’s jaw began to work, but he managed to get a few words out. “Has the young woman been apprehended?”

  “No, and I don’t expect she will be right away.”

  “Has she been identified?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who is she?”

  “I’m not at liberty to give you that information at the moment. Maybe later.”

  “Lieutenant, if I have to go to the commissioner or the mayor himself, I’m going to know everything there is to know about this case.”

  “I’ll send you a copy of my report,” Dino said. “Now why don’t you go up to the bar and have a drink. We don’t need you right now.”

  “Can I see the bodies?”

  “They’re dead. Two slugs in the Brit, one in the attendant. That’s all you need to know.”

  “I’d like to put the FBI crime lab at your disposal,” the agent said.

  “From what I’ve heard about the FBI lab, I think I’d rather handle it in-house,” Dino said.

  The man, who was much larger than Dino, looked as if he wanted to beat him into the ground. “I’ll be in my car,” he said, and returned to his van.

  Dino and Stone walked back into the restaurant.

  “You’re going to hear about that,” Stone said.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Dino got out his cell phone and pressed a speed-dial button. He held the phone to his ear. “Sir, it’s Bacchetti. This is where we stand.” He gave a concise report to the commissioner. “And the FBI is already trying to horn in on our scene. I’d appreciate your help in keeping them off my back, so I can get this thing cleared and make an arrest.” He listened for a moment. “Thank you, sir.” He hung up and turned toward Stone. “I don’t think we have to worry too much about the Feds.”

  “What next?” Stone asked.

  Dino’s phone went off. “Bacchetti.” His eyes widened. “Location?” He snapped the phone shut. “We’ve got a fix on her cell phone.”

  51

  Dino reached into the front seat and picked up a handheld radio. “Remind me what’s at Madison and Seventy-third,” he said to Stone.

  “A lot of very expensive shops,” Stone replied.

  “Listen up,” Dino said into the radio to the four detectives in the car behind him. “Get out at Sixty-fifth and Madison and work your way north, shop by shop. I’ll be working south from Seventy-sixth Street. We’re looking for a good-looking white woman, probably alone, thirty to forty, five-six or -seven, a hundred and thirty pounds, wearing a black cocktail dress and black gloves. She may be wearing a coat, too. It’s nearly ten, and nothing’s open this time of night, but we had her standing still at Seventy-third and Madison for a couple of minutes, so she may be window-shopping. Detain and identify anybody of that description, alone or accompanied. Until you do, try not to look like cops. Be careful, because she’s armed and very dangerous.” Dino released the talk button on the radio. “This isn’t going to work,” he said.

  “Why not?” Stone asked. “We may get lucky.”

  “I don’t get this lucky,” Dino said. “You get this lucky. Anyway, if we catch her, she’s going to kill at least one cop before somebody shoots her.”

  Stone didn’t comment on that.

  “Remind me,” Dino said. “How did I get mixed up in this?”

  “There was a murder on your beat,” Stone said.

  “Oh, yeah. Next, you’re going to remind me that I had her in custody and let her go.”

  “I wasn’t going to, but, of course, that’s true.”

  “I’m going to be lucky to get out of this with my badge.”

  “Dino, all you have to do is blame it on the Brits and the FBI.”

  Dino brightened. “Yeah, you’re right.” He tapped his driver on the shoulder. “Right here.”

  Dino and Stone got out of the car. “You take the east side of the street, I’ll take the west,” he said to Stone. “Are you carrying?”

  “No.”

  Dino handed him a .32 automatic. “Take my backup.”

  “Thanks,” Stone replied.

  The two men began walking south on Madison. It was well after dark, but there were still a lot of people on the street.

  Stone looked carefully at every woman he saw, looking for something familiar. She may have already changed clothes, he thought, but he might be able to recognize her. Then, half a block away from him, walking slowly uptown, he saw her. She wasn’t wearing gloves, but her dress was black, and her hair shoulder-length and dark. The face? He couldn’t tell; each time he had seen her she had looked so different. His hand closed over the gun in his pocket. She stopped and looked into a shop window for a moment.

  Stone looked across the street at Dino and nodded toward the woman. Dino began making his way across Madison Avenue, through heavy traffic, not waiting for the light.

  Stone walked up to her. “Excuse me, haven’t we met?” he asked.

  She turned and looked at him. “No,” she said with a little smile. “But I certainly have no objection.”

  Dino stood directly behind her. “Miss,” he said, “I’m a police officer. Please stand perfectly still.”

  She looked over her shoulder. “What is this, a gang bang?”

  “Let me see some ID,” Dino said.

  Stone grabbed the bag before she could reach into it, then handed it to Dino, still looking into her eyes.

  She looked back, with interest. “So, this is how the NYPD amuses itself in the evenings?”

  “When the weather’s nice,” Stone said.

  “What’s your name?” Dino asked, looking at the driver’s license in his hand.

  “Donna Howe Baldwin,” she said.

  “Social Security number?”

  She recited it. “But you won’t find it on my license. They don’t do it that way in Florida.”

 
“Why do you carry a Florida driver’s license?” Dino asked.

  “Because I live in Miami. My address is on the license.”

  “Why are you in New York?”

  “Because I heard what a lot of fun the police are here.”

  Stone looked at Dino and shook his head. “It’s not Marie-Thérèse.”

  “I could be, if you wanted me to,” the woman said. “Are we done here?”

  “Yes,” Dino said, handing back her handbag. “I’m sorry to have detained you. We’re usually nicer to out-of-town visitors.”

  “You still could be,” the woman said. “I’ve no objection to two dates. Who’s buying the drinks?”

  “Perhaps another time,” Stone said.

  She handed him a card. “I’m at the Plaza for two more days. Anytime at all.” She looked at Dino. “And be sure to bring your friend.” She continued walking uptown.

  “Well,” Dino remarked, “I said you would be the one to get lucky.”

  “Looks like we both did,” Stone said.

  Dino went back across the street, and they continued their walk downtown, inspecting every woman they encountered. Once, Dino showed his badge and asked a woman for ID, then she continued uptown, apparently livid.

  At Seventy-second Street, they met the four detectives coming the other way, and Dino’s car caught up with them.

  “Why do I think she was going uptown?” Dino asked.

  “Because she was walking away from the Four Seasons,” Stone replied.

  “What’s uptown from Seventy-third?” Dino asked.

  “A couple of hotels: the Westbury and the Carlyle.”

  “It’s worth a try,” Dino said. “You four guys take the Westbury. Get the manager to give you a list of every single woman staying in the hotel and question every one of them who even remotely matches the description. Stone, you and I will take the Carlyle.” They got into Dino’s car and started uptown.

  “This isn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had,” Stone said. “She’s got to be sleeping somewhere, and the Carlyle is about the last place you’d look.”

  “The worst idea I ever had was showing up with you in Bryant Park yesterday,” Dino said.

  The car stopped, and they got out.