by Stuart Woods
Dino produced his cell phone. “I’ll get the precinct looking for him now.”
“No, don’t,” Carrie said, putting her hand over the cell phone. “I can’t have this in the papers.”
“Carrie,” Stone said, “if you know Max was the guy, then we have to get him off the street. He knows where you live.”
“Monday morning I start rehearsals, the biggest break of my life,” she said. “I’ve been all over the papers for two days; they would just love this.”
Stone looked at Dino and shook his head. “Do you have an alarm system in your apartment?” he asked Carrie.
“No.”
“Is there another entrance besides the front door?”
“Yes. There’s a rear door from the kitchen and stairs down to a garden.”
“Excuse me for a minute,” Stone said. He walked into the empty dining room next door and made a call to Bob Cantor, an ex-cop who did many jobs for him.
“Cantor.”
“Bob, it’s Stone.”
“Hey, Stone. What’s up?”
“I need a bodyguard for a woman first thing tomorrow morning at my house. Her name is Carrie Cox; she’s at Elaine’s with me. Are you free right now?”
“Yeah, but I’ll put somebody else on guard duty.”
“She needs a security system: double front door, kitchen door leading to a garden, the usual windows, front and rear.”
“You got a key?”
“You can pick it up here.”
“I’m on it.”
“Listen, on the bodyguard, not too much of a gorilla-she travels in polite circles-but somebody who can handle a man with a knife and deal with an angry ex-husband.”
“Gotcha. I’ll be there in half an hour.” Cantor hung up, and Stone returned to the table.
“What did you do?” she asked.
“Tomorrow morning there will be somebody with you, and they will be until it’s no longer necessary. Give me the key to your apartment.”
She took a small ring from her purse, took off one of two identical keys, and handed it to him. “What for?”
“My friend is going to install a security system; it’s probably going to take all night, because he does these things right, so you should come home with me tonight.”
“All right.”
Stone handed her a cocktail napkin and his pen. “Make a list of what you need from your apartment for the weekend; my friend will put it together and bring it to you.”
Carrie began writing and filled up one side of the napkin, then the other.
Bob Cantor walked into the restaurant and stood at the front, waiting. Stone waved him over and introduced him to Carrie.
“Hi, Bob,” she said. “Let me explain this list to you, where everything is in the apartment.” She took him through it, item by item, and told him where to find a suitcase.
“Got it,” Cantor said, pocketing the list. “Do you have a photograph of your ex-husband?”
“No, I threw all of them away.”
“What’s his name and address?”
“Max Long, Atlanta. I don’t know his street address.”
“Your protection is named Willie Leahy. He’ll be at your house with his brother Jimmy at nine tomorrow morning. You want them to rent a car? I think it’s best; you can be a target while trying to get a cab.”
“They can use my car,” Stone said.
“Good idea, with the armor and all.”
“You have an armored car?” Carrie asked.
“Lightly armored,” Stone said. “It came that way, and it’ll stop a bullet.”
“You,” Carrie said, putting her hand on his and squeezing, “are the second-best thing to happen to me in a long time.”
7
CARRIE SLEPT IN STONE’S ARMS for most of the night, and neither of them was much interested in sex. Stone took a handgun out of his safe and kept it in the bedside drawer.
Carrie didn’t wake up when he gently disengaged from her. He put on a robe, went down to the kitchen, and made them bacon and scrambled eggs, English muffins, coffee, and orange juice, then sent it upstairs in the dumbwaiter. He got the Times and went back upstairs to find Carrie sitting up in bed with a breakfast tray in her lap, bare-breasted, which was all right with him.
“Your dumbwaiter woke me,” she said. “A little bell went off.”
Stone took his own tray from the dumbwaiter and got in bed with it, adjusting the back with the remote control. “I’m glad you’re feeling better this morning,” he said. She was digging into the breakfast with enthusiasm.
“I am, and I’m starved,” she said.
Breakfast finished, he put their trays back into the dumbwaiter and sent it downstairs. He poured them both some more coffee and got back into bed. “I need to know a lot more about your ex-husband,” he said, “if I’m going to be able to help.”
“What do you want to know?” she asked, sipping her coffee.
“How long were you married?”
“Nine years.”
“What was the character of the marriage?”
“At first, okay, then increasingly distant, then finally violent.”
“You beat him up?”
She laughed. “I got in a couple of good licks,” she said, “but I got the worst of it. I moved in with a girlfriend and got a lawyer.”
“Tell me about the settlement.”
“He wouldn’t settle, so it was really an award by the judge. I got the house on Habersham, which I sold immediately, half his brokerage account, which I put into a municipal bond fund, and one million dollars in cash, most of which I invested conservatively.”
“Did the house have a mortgage?”
“No; times were good when he bought it. He paid a million two, and I sold it for four and a half million.”
“So, you’ve got several million dollars squirreled away.”
“Winter always comes,” she said.
“What is he so mad about?” Stone asked.
“The fact that I left him and the size of the award. It amounted to half of what he had.”
“He was surprised that you divorced him after he beat you up?”
“Not surprised, I think, just angry. It made the papers, and that made him look bad. He’s angry about the award, because he wouldn’t have given me a dime, unless he had been forced to. He’s mad, too, because he knows that he could have settled for less than the judge gave me. That really got him angry. That and the fact that, in the real estate crunch, he’s lost most of what he had left.”
“Does he have anything to gain by killing you? Insurance, maybe?”
“No.”
“So, it’s just irrational anger?”
“That’s what he’s good at.”
“You said you don’t know his address in Atlanta?”
“That’s right.”
The doorbell rang on his phone, and Stone pressed the speaker button. “Yes?”
“It’s Bob. I’ve got Carrie’s luggage, and the Leahys are here.”
“Take the Leahys to the kitchen. There’s coffee already made and Danish in the fridge. We’ll be down in a few minutes.” He pressed the button again and turned to Carrie. “We’d better get dressed; Bob is going to want to brief you about your security.”
THEY FOUND the three men sitting at the kitchen counter, drinking coffee and eating pastries.
“Morning, Carrie,” Cantor said. “This is Willie and Jimmy Leahy.”
The two husky men waved.
“Tell her what she needs to know,” Stone said, and they both sat down.
Bob handed Carrie his card. “Your security code is written on the back: 1357. I tried to make it easy. You’ve got a keypad in your living room, next to the front door, another in the kitchen, next to the back door, and another upstairs, next to your bed.” He handed her a bunch of keys. “I’ve changed the locks on your front and rear doors; the old ones were worthless. All the exterior windows are alarmed.”
“Got it,” she sai
d. “Can I change the code?”
He handed her an instruction book. “Easily. The instructions are in here.”
“Thank you, Bob. Send me your bill.”
“Will do. Now, let me explain Willie and Jimmy. One of them drives the car; one sits in the back with you. The car doors will be locked at all times. When you get somewhere, say to the theater, one opens the door for you. Don’t ever, ever open your own door. He comes inside with you and remains close, while the other deals with the car and then joins you inside or just sits in the car, depending on the circumstances.
“One of them stays in your apartment at night, near the stairs up to your bedroom. They’ll take turns. They’re both armed, and they’re very good at dealing with assaults without killing the perpetrator, but they may have to. You’ll have to leave that to their judgment.”
“I’m happy to do that,” Carrie said.
“If you go to someone’s home, say a dinner party, one will stay outside their door; there’ll be no intrusion into your privacy unless it’s necessary to protect you.”
“Thank you.”
“Carrie,” Stone said, “does your husband own a handgun?”
“Yes, at least a dozen. He collects them, along with knives.”
“He’s not going to get a handgun from Atlanta to New York on an airplane,” Bob said.
“Maybe not,” Stone admitted, “but if he’s a planner, he could send one to his hotel by an overnight shipper.”
“Right,” Bob said. “We’ll keep that in mind. Any questions, Carrie?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Stone spoke up. “Bob, we need to locate Max Long in Atlanta; Carrie doesn’t know his address. You know somebody down there?” Cantor had a network of ex-cops who handled this sort of thing.
“Sure thing. Last known address?”
Carrie gave him the Habersham address.
“I want to know if somebody in Atlanta can place him in New York last night, besides Carrie,” Stone said. “Could be important later.”
“What’s wrong with me?” Carrie asked. “I can place him here.”
“You said you didn’t see his face,” Stone replied. “It wouldn’t hold up in court. We need copies of a plane ticket or a hotel reservation or a credit card record. Somebody who drove him to the airport would help.”
“I’ll deal with it,” Cantor said. “What’s your schedule like today?” he asked Carrie.
“I’ve got an accompanist coming to my place at one o’clock,” Carrie said. “I have a score to learn.”
“Willie and Jimmy are ready when you are,” Cantor replied.
“Now is good,” she said.
Stone put his keys on the counter. “You know how to get into the garage, Bob.” He turned to Carrie. “There’s a house key there, too. Remember, you’re sleeping here tonight,” Stone said, “just in case he’s still in town.”
“Her suitcase is in the living room,” Cantor said, tossing the keys to Willie, “and so is a cardboard box she wants to send to her ex-husband.”
“Bob, you keep the box for when we find out his address,” Stone said. He turned to Carrie. “I think you’re in good shape now.”
“I feel very safe,” Carrie replied. She kissed Stone and followed Cantor and the Leahys to the garage.
8
STONE TOOK CARRIE’S SUITCASE upstairs and put her things in a closet and chest of drawers. As he was about to get into the shower, the phone rang. He noticed that the caller ID showed the call as being from area code 404: Atlanta. He grabbed a pen and wrote down the number, then he pressed a button on the phone to have the conversation recorded.
“Hello?”
“Is this Stone Barrington?” A male voice, deep, the accent southern, the words a little slurred.
“Hello, Max,” Stone said.
There was a moment’s silence. “So you know who I am?”
“I don’t know all that many people in Atlanta. Are you back home now?”
“Maybe.”
“I have some things to send you,” Stone said. “What’s your mailing address?”
Max Long gave him a post office box number.
“No. I’m sending the package FedEx; I need the street address and phone number.”
“What are you sending?”
“Some things that Carrie thought you might like to have. She found them when she unpacked.”
“What things?”
“I don’t know; I haven’t opened the package.”
“I’m not giving you my address,” Long said.
“Whatever. I don’t really care whether you get this stuff. I’ll put it out with the garbage. Why did you want to speak to me?”
“I want to speak to Carrie.”
“She isn’t here, and she doesn’t want to talk to you. After the encounter last night, she wants nothing further to do with you.”
“So you’re the new boyfriend, then?”
“I’m her attorney.”
“Why does she need an attorney?”
“I’m also a retired police detective with excellent contacts in law enforcement.”
“So you’re going to protect her?”
“You can count on it, and let me give you some free advice: The New York Police Department takes a very dim view of a person carrying any sort of weapon on the streets of the city, gun or knife. Anyone caught with a weapon can count on jail time, and you wouldn’t enjoy our penal system.”
“So you’re threatening me?”
“Certainly not. I’m just giving you good advice. Here’s another good piece: Stay away from Carrie. She’s taking out a protection order, barring you from coming within a city block of her. Violate that, and you’ll do jail time. You see, there’ll be lots of opportunities for you to go to jail.”
“Tell her to give me back my money, and I’ll leave her alone,” Long said.
“Ah, now, that’s extortion. Did I mention that I’m recording this conversation?”
“You can’t do that.”
“It’s already done,” Stone said. “Now tell me if you want this package, because I’m tired of talking to you.”
“Go fuck yourself,” Long said.
“I’ll take that as a ‘no,’ ” Stone said. “Tell me, are you always drunk at this hour of the day?”
Long hung up. Stone called Bob Cantor.
“Hello?”
“I’ve just had a phone call from Max Long. Here’s the number.” Stone recited it. “He wouldn’t give up his address, but if it’s his home number you can trace it back. It may be a cell phone, in which case he could still be in the city, and he’s drunk.”
“That prefix is a cell phone,” Cantor said. “If it’s not a throw-away I can get an address for it.”
“He gave me a P.O. box number,” Stone said, giving it to him.
“That’s harder, because it’s federal, but one of my Atlanta contacts might be able to do something.”
“I’ll get Dino to trace the location of the cell phone,” Stone said.
“Anything else?” Cantor asked.
“Not at the moment.” Stone hung up and called Dino.
“Lieutenant Bacchetti.”
“I just got a call from Carrie’s husband, from a cell phone. He may still be in town; will you run the number for a location?” Stone gave him the number.
“I’ll get back to you,” Dino said, then hung up.
Stone shaved, showered, and dressed, then he took the Times down to his study with a second cup of coffee. He had finished reading the paper and was on the crossword when the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“It’s Dino. Your guy was calling from LaGuardia, at a gate that a Delta flight is scheduled to depart from in five minutes. He may have already been on the plane.”
“Thanks, Dino.”
“Dinner?”
“Sure. See you then.” Stone hung up and called Bob Cantor.
“Cantor.”
“Bob, Max Long called from LaGua
rdia, and he’s apparently on a Delta flight to Atlanta, leaving now.”
“I’ll have somebody pick up on him there and follow him home. You want my guy to say anything to him?”
“You might have him give Long the impression that he’s under constant police surveillance, without using those words.”
“Give me a description.”
“Get that from Carrie,” Stone said. “I’ve never seen the man. I just know that he’s tall and slim.”
“Will do,” Cantor said. He hung up.
Stone went back to the crossword. It was a bitch, as it often was on Saturdays. He was still working on it nearly three hours later when Cantor called back.
“Hello?”
“It’s Cantor. My guy met your guy and imparted your suggestion to him. He’s tailing him now. I ran his license plate, but it’s still registered to the Habersham Road address; he didn’t bother to change it after moving. I’ll call you back when I get an address.”
“Good going,” Stone said. He went to the kitchen, made a ham and mozzarella sandwich on whole grain, toasted it, and brought it back to the study with a Diet Coke. He finished it and was down to the last couple of impossible words on the crossword when Cantor called again.
“Got a pencil?”
“In my hand.”
“Max Long drove to an apartment complex in northeast Atlanta called Cross Creek. Nice place, with a golf course. My guy couldn’t follow him past the guard at the gate, but fifty got him the address: 1010 Cantey Place. His phone is unlisted, but I’ll have it for you later. You want my guy to surveil?”
“For a couple of days.”
“I can put a watch for his name on the Delta reservations computer,” Cantor said.
“Great idea. That’ll give us some notice if he decides to come back, and we can have him met at LaGuardia.”
“Consider it done,” Cantor said. “By the way, Max Long is six-three, two hundred pounds, longish dark hair going gray, broken nose. I’ll do a search for a photo; shouldn’t be hard to come up with one.”
“Sounds like we’ve got the guy just about boxed,” Stone said.
“We’re getting there.”
“Talk to you later.” Stone hung up and attacked the last two words on the crossword. They took another half hour.