by Stuart Woods
Sam did a convincing job of playing the corpse.
Stone was feeling Spain’s neck for a pulse when he heard the front door of the bar crash open, followed by the splintering of the rear outside door. A uniformed officer stepped through the rear door, followed by another through the door from the bar. Each held a pistol in front of him.
“Drop it!” both of them shouted in unison.
Stone set his .380 on the desk and stepped away from it, his hands up.
“What’s the matter with him?” one of the cops said to Stone, indicating Sam Spain.
“I hit him in the head with the cosh on the desk,” Stone replied. “He was about to shoot me with the .38 over there.” He pointed at the gun on the floor.
“Who are you?” the cop asked.
“Barrington.”
“You got some ID?”
Stone reached for his wallet.
“Careful,” the cop said; his gun was still pointed at Stone.
Stone held his jacket open. “The only weapon I have is on the desk.” Gingerly, he fished out his wallet and handed the man his driver’s license.
“It’s okay,” the cop said to his partner, and they put away their weapons. Sounds of others entering the bar drifted in.
Stone knelt by Sam Spain and held two fingers to the artery in his neck. “Weak and thready,” he said to the cop. “You’d better call an ambulance.”
“Who is he?”
“That’s Sam Spain,” the other cop said. “Do like the man says.”
Stone didn’t wait for him to move. He picked up the phone on the desk and dialed 911, then handed the cop the phone. The man called for an ambulance, then hung up.
“We’re supposed to tell you that the commissioner is on his way,” the cop said.
The ambulance pulled into the alley, and two EMTs took charge of Sam Spain. “What happened to him?” one of them asked nobody in particular.
“Blow to the head, left temple,” Stone said.
“Blow with what?”
The cop picked up the cosh and struck the desktop with it.
“Gotcha,” the EMT said. He slipped an oxygen mask onto Sam Spain, then stripped off his jacket, pushed up a sleeve, and started an IV.
“Is he going to make it?” Stone asked. He wanted Sam to make it because he wanted to know to whom the picture was being delivered, and because he didn’t want to answer a lot of questions if Sam died.
• • •
DINO CAME INTO THE OFFICE from the bar as Sam was being hauled out on a stretcher; he was followed closely by Art Masi.
“Jesus, Stone, what did you do to the guy?”
“I hit him with the same cosh the other guy hit me with,” Stone said. He picked up the ice bag from the floor and pressed it to his head.
“You want an ambulance?”
“No, but I want to be there when Sam Spain wakes up.”
“If he wakes up,” Dino said. “You want a lawyer?”
“I am a lawyer, Dino, remember?”
“Okay, consider that your rights have been read to you. Now, what the fuck happened?”
“I made Sam Spain an offer he couldn’t refuse, and he refused it. He wanted five million. I got Arthur Steele on the phone, and he declined, rather rudely, to pay it. Sam put the picture in a laundry bag and gave it to his guy and told him to deliver it. The guy left, and Sam reached for that .38 over there on the floor. I grabbed the cosh from the desk and hit him.”
“How hard?”
“As hard as I could—he had the .38 in his hand.”
“Okay,” Dino said, “I buy that. Get your money, and let’s go to the hospital.”
“Stone,” Art Masi said, “where is the picture being delivered?”
“I have no idea,” Stone replied, “and I don’t know who the guy delivering it is, either. We’ll have to ask Sam Spain, if he wakes up.”
37
STONE RODE WITH DINO, in silence; his head wasn’t too clear, and he couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Can you believe they took him all the way downtown to Bellevue?” Dino complained from the front seat.
Stone still said nothing.
“Are you all right back there?” Dino asked.
“Sure,” Stone muttered. Using the siren, they got downtown remarkably fast and pulled up at the ER entrance.
Stone got out of the backseat, leaned against a wall, and vomited, then he sagged to his knees.
Dino snagged a gurney from just inside the door and he and his driver got Stone aboard.
• • •
STONE STIRRED AND OPENED his eyes a little, then wider. The blinds in the room were drawn, and only thin rays of daylight penetrated. He quickly discovered that he was wearing an oxygen mask and a hospital gown, and an IV was plugged into his arm. He felt around for the buzzer and couldn’t find it; he tried to reach for the phone and failed, nearly falling out of bed, then he passed out again. The only sound he heard was a faint beeping, which seemed to be in rhythm with his heart.
• • •
THE NEXT TIME he stirred, a nurse was wiping his face with a damp cloth, and Dino was sitting in a chair in the corner.
“Is he alive?” Dino asked.
“More or less,” the nurse replied, “but I don’t think he’s enjoying it very much.”
Dino got up, walked to the bedside, and peered closely into Stone’s eyes.
“Kiss me, darling,” Stone managed to say.
The nurse broke up.
“In your dreams,” Dino said.
“Is Sam Spain talking?”
“He’s barely breathing, but he looks better than you.”
Stone drew a deep breath and let it out. “There, is that better?”
“Only compared to how you were before you passed out.”
“Make this thing sit up,” Stone said, and the nurse came and put his finger on the button. “That feels better,” Stone said from a half-sitting position. “What happened?”
“You came within an ace of puking in my car,” Dino said, “in which case I would have shot you.”
Stone looked around the room; his was one of four beds, and one of the other three contained a lump. “Who’s that?”
“The presidential suite was unavailable, so you have to share.” Dino pointed. “That’s Sam Spain.”
“You both have the same concussion,” the nurse said, “and apparently, from the same weapon. You must have hit Mr. Spain pretty hard.”
“I did the best I could,” Stone replied. “I’m thirsty.”
“Water or orange juice?”
“Orange juice. I think my blood sugar is low.”
She put a glass straw in his mouth and he sucked up most of the juice. “Better,” he said.
“I’ve got to see some other patients,” the nurse said. “Don’t die on me.”
“I’ll try not to.”
Dino pulled his chair up to the bedside. “The guy who coshed you is Sol Fineman,” he said, “a well-seasoned gangster.”
“Where is he?”
“God only knows.”
“Where’s my briefcase?”
“In my car, I think.”
“There’s an eight-by-ten transparency of the picture in there. Scan it and circulate it in the art world as fast as you can. Let’s make it as hard as possible for him to move it.”
“Hang on,” Dino said. He went to the door and let Art Masi in.
“Circulate the transparency in my briefcase, Art.”
“That was done when the painting first disappeared.”
“Then do it again,” Dino said. “Memories fade. The transparency is in Stone’s briefcase in the backseat of my car. Don’t steal the money.”
“You got my money back?” Stone asked.
“
Thirty-five thousand of it. Sam hadn’t spent it all yet.”
“That’s all there was. Thanks.”
“I’ll have it brought up,” Dino said. “Well, I’ve got to get back to solving crimes.”
“One other thing,” Stone said.
“What?”
“Ask the nurse to restrain Sam Spain. I don’t want him coming to while I’m dozing.”
“I’ll get my guy to cuff him to the bed,” Dino said.
“That ought to do it.”
Dino left the room, and in a minute a uniform came in and anchored Spain to his bed.
Stone felt like a nap.
• • •
HE WOKE UP later to a shuffling, clanging noise. Across the room, Sam Spain was on his feet, dragging his bed around by his cuffed hand. Stone rang for the nurse, and she came in and looked at Spain in horror. “What the hell?”
“Don’t touch him,” Stone said. “Get two cops in here right away.”
A moment later two uniforms entered the room, got Spain back into bed, and cuffed his other hand to the frame.
“That ought to hold him,” Stone said. “Call the commissioner and tell him Sam Spain is conscious.” They left.
“So, Sam,” Stone said, “how are you feeling?”
“What did they do to me?” Sam asked weakly.
“They didn’t, I did. I hit you with Sol’s cosh while you were trying to shoot me.”
“Sol? What Sol? I don’t know any Sol.”
“Sol Fineman, your guy, the one who’s delivering the picture?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam said. “I feel like shit.”
“I’m so happy to hear that.”
“Shut up.”
“You know, I’ve always said that if people would just take my advice, their lives would be so much richer and fuller and happier. Look at you, for instance. If you had taken my advice, you’d be a million dollars richer and on a free ride out of the deep, deep trouble you’re in.”
“I told you to shut up.”
“And you wouldn’t have to be listening to me saying I told you so.”
“I’m not listening,” Sam said. “Shut up.”
“No, I’m not going to shut up, I’m having too much fun.”
“If you don’t shut up, I’m going to come over there and strangle you,” Sam said.
“Don’t forget to bring your bed,” Stone said.
38
WHEN STONE NEXT woke up it was dark outside, and Morgan Tillman was sitting next to his bed.
“There you are,” she said. “How are you feeling?”
“Surprisingly well,” Stone said, sitting his bed up a bit more. “In fact, I’m hungry.” He rang for the nurse.
“Ah,” she said, “you’re still alive.”
“I am,” Stone said, “and I’m hungry.”
“That’s good news. I’ll round you up something.” She left again.
“Who’s your roommate?” Morgan asked, nodding toward the lump across the room.
“That’s Sam Spain,” Stone said. “He’s here because I slugged him in the head, and I’m here because he slugged me in the head.”
“How’d you manage that?”
He explained it to her.
“And the picture is gone?”
“For the moment,” Stone said. “Dino is on it.”
“I called him when you didn’t call me, just as you asked me to.”
“It worked,” Stone replied. “Thank you.”
“When are you getting out of here?”
“I’m not sure. If I keep feeling this good, then soon.”
She placed a hand in his lap. “Exactly how well do you feel?”
“Not quite that well,” he replied. “Not yet, anyway. Try me tomorrow.”
The nurse returned with a hot dinner and set it on his tray table. He wolfed it down. “That was surprisingly good,” he said.
“I’m glad.” She got up and kissed him on the forehead. “I should go and let you get some rest.”
“How’s Margaretta doing?”
“Not well. I spent the day with her and got some food into the house. I made funeral arrangements for Manolo, too. He was such a sweet boy a couple of years ago.”
“That was good of you.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow. If they set you free, I’ll drive you home.”
“Thank you.”
The nurse came back and took his tray.
“Do you know where my cell phone is?” he asked.
“Where was it?”
“I’m not sure.”
She went to a closet and came back with the phone. “In your jacket pocket.”
“Thanks.” He switched on the phone. “I don’t suppose you have an iPhone charger?”
“I’ll see what I can do.” She came back with one in a couple of minutes.
“I don’t hear my heart beeping anymore,” Stone said.
“You complained about it, so I disconnected you. Your roommate was complaining, too.”
“When am I getting out of here?”
“The doctor will visit you shortly.”
As if on cue, an impossibly young physician walked into the room. He did a cursory examination of Stone and said, “One more night, for insurance. You’ll be discharged in the morning if you don’t die overnight.”
“That’s encouraging,” Stone said, and the young man walked over to Sam Spain and put a stethoscope to his chest.
Stone plugged in his cell phone and checked his messages; nothing that couldn’t wait.
“Did you know your roommate?” the doctor asked.
“Vaguely,” Stone said. “Why was your question in the past tense?”
“Because Mr. Spain is dead, probably has been for an hour or so.”
“Shit,” Stone said.
“My condolences,” the doctor said, drawing a sheet over Sam Spain’s head.
Shortly, a policeman came into the room with two orderlies and uncuffed the Spain corpse, then the orderlies transferred the body to a gurney and wheeled it out.
“Shit,” Stone said again. Now how were they going to figure out whom Sol Fineman was delivering to? Then he had a thought. He got out of bed, went to the closet, and found Sam’s clothes and searched them. His iPhone was in a jacket pocket. Stone got back in bed and switched it on. “Oh, God,” he said.
He rang for the nurse again. “You know the corpse that just departed?”
“Yes, I’m afraid I missed that.”
“Where is it?”
“In our morgue,” she replied, “waiting for the autopsy.”
“Listen, there’s something I need from the corpse.”
“I don’t think it has anything left to give.”
“Yes, it does. I need its right thumb.”
“What?”
“In fact, maybe it should be a whole hand.”
“I’m sorry, we don’t hand out body parts here.”
“I understand. How about if you wheel it back up here so I can use its thumb to get into Sam’s iPhone?”
“We operate procedurally around here,” she said. “We don’t have a procedure for taking a corpse out of the morgue and putting it back in a room. It works the other way around.”
“Okay, okay. Tell you what, don’t let them take it to the city morgue until I’ve had a chance to get the police back here. They’ll figure it out.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” she said, then left.
Stone called Dino.
“You’re still alive?”
“I’m much better, thank you. Sam Spain died a little while ago.”
“Well, shit, I wanted to question him again about the destination of the picture.”
“Yeah, I know, but I�
��ve got Sam’s iPhone. If we can get into it, we can see a list of who he called recently.”
“That’s good news.”
“Not yet it isn’t.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We’re going to need a fingerprint to unlock the phone.”
Dino thought about that for a minute. “Was Sam right-handed or left-handed?”
“He tried to shoot me with his right hand.”
“So we’ll need what, his right thumb?”
“Maybe the index finger, too. The body’s in the morgue, awaiting autopsy.”
“Do we know who the pathologist is?”
“Whoever’s on duty, I guess. I asked the nurse to see that the corpse isn’t taken to the city morgue.”
“I’ll be right over,” Dino said.
39
THE FOLLOWING MORNING Stone was sitting up in bed, waiting for the doctor to come and discharge him. Dino got there first.
“I’ve been down in the morgue, arguing with the pathologist who’s about to do the autopsy on Sam,” Dino said, sinking into a chair.
“Arguing?”
“He is unwilling to separate any fingers from the corpse.”
Stone picked up Sam’s iPhone, which had been charging next to his bed, and handed it to Dino. “Then take this down to the morgue and find a finger that works without amputating it. You know how it works—you’ve got one of these, too.”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Dino asked, shoving the phone into his pocket. “I’ll be back soon.” He stalked out of the room and down the hallway.
The young doctor walked in. “How are you feeling?” he asked Stone.
“Just great!”
“Let me do a little checkup. He began to listen to Stone’s heart and poking and prodding. “Our radiologist has pronounced your brain undamaged. You were just shaken up by the blow to the head.”
“May I get out of here?” Stone asked.
The doctor picked up his chart from the foot of the bed and began writing on it, then he signed it and returned it to its hook. “You are officially discharged,” he said. “You can get dressed while I get a wheelchair for you.”
“I don’t need a wheelchair,” Stone said.