by Stuart Woods
Stone was napping in a big wing chair in his library, a book in his lap, when the phone woke him. “Hello?”
“Is this Stone Barrington?” A man’s voice.
“Yes.”
“This is the desk sergeant at the Twenty-second Precinct in Central Park. There’s been a homicide in the park; I think you’d better get up here.”
“Who’s dead?”
“I don’t have that information. Just get up here, okay, Mr. Barrington?”
“I’m on my way. Will you get hold of Lieutenant Bacchetti at the one-nine and ask him to meet me there?”
“Okay.” The cop hung up.
Stone thought of waking Ham, but changed his mind. He ran outside and hailed a cab.
Stone walked into the precinct, and he was scared. He presented himself to the desk sergeant.
“Right,” the sergeant said. “See Detective Briscoe back there.” He nodded toward a door.
Stone walked into a small squad room and looked at the only detective there.
“Barrington?” the man asked.
“Yes. What’s happened?”
“You were a detective over at the Nineteenth, weren’t you?” the man asked.
“What the hell has happened?” Stone demanded.
“Are you acquainted with a cop from Florida named Holly Barker?”
“Yes, she’s staying at my house.”
“Come with me.” He got up and walked down a corridor with Stone at his heels. He opened the door to an interrogation room. “In here.”
Stone walked in and the door closed behind him. Holly was sitting at the table stroking Daisy, who was stretched out on the tabletop.
Holly looked up at him. “It’s okay,” she said. “She’s coming around.” She stroked Daisy’s head. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Just take your time. You’ll be all right in a minute.”
Stone sank into a chair and gave Daisy a pat. “I thought you were dead,” he said.
“No.”
“The desk sergeant who called me said there was a homicide.”
“There was a shooting—self-defense.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know; a guy. There were two of them. The second one ran when I shot the first one.”
“Why did you shoot him?”
“Because he was trying to kill me with a knife.”
“Where did all this happen? Start at the beginning.”
“Daisy and I were running, and she was shot with a dart, then somebody hit me upside the head, but not hard enough to put me out. I rolled over a couple of times and got hold of the gun Ham gave me. It was in my jacket pocket. The guy was walking toward me with the knife, as if he didn’t expect any opposition. I shot him.” She held up a corner of her jacket, where the bullet had gone through. “I didn’t have time to draw.”
Stone put a hand to her cheek. “You’re cold,” he said. “Are you feeling all right?”
“I am now,” she replied. “I had a case of the shakes for a while. A cop on horseback found me. I guess he heard the shot.”
“Can I leave you here for a couple of minutes?”
“Sure, we’re all right. Daisy’s going to have a hangover, but she’s not hurt.”
Stone got up, went back to the squad room, and found Briscoe. “She’s told me what happened. It was a good shooting.”
“Looks that way,” Briscoe said, “but I don’t have the final call on that.”
Stone noticed for the first time that Holly’s new Sig-Sauer was on Briscoe’s desk in an evidence bag, and her badge lay beside it. “She’s on duty,” he said. “She’s got a fugitive warrant.”
“I got that,” Briscoe replied. “That ought to cover it. We want to see the warrant, though.”
“It’s at my house. I’ll get it to you. Will you release her to me?”
“Oh, we’re not holding her. She can go. She can have her gun and badge back, too.” He handed them to Stone. “We took a sample round for the file.”
Dino burst into the room. “What happened?”
Stone told him.
“Are we all square here?” Dino asked Briscoe.
“Yes, Lieutenant. We need a phone number for her, and we want to see her fugitive warrant, but that’s it. It’s clearly self-defense.”
“You got an ID on the guy with the knife?”
“He had nothing on him but the knife, but we’ll run his prints.”
“What happened to the second guy?”
“He beat it out of there. The gunshot must have scared him off.”
“Thanks, Briscoe,” Dino said. He pulled Stone aside. “How’s Holly taking all this?”
“She’s okay, I think. She’s mostly worried about Daisy.”
“Where are they?”
“In an interrogation room back there. Are you in a car?”
“Yeah. Let’s get her back to your place, and I’ll pick up the fugitive warrant.” He gave Briscoe Stone’s number.
By the time they were back at the house, Daisy was walking, but slowly.
As they walked in the front door, Ham came down the stairs. He pointed at Holly’s jacket pocket. “Was the bullet going in or out?”
“Out,” Holly said.
Ham put an arm around her. “Let’s get you into bed.”
“Ham . . .”
” Tell me about it later.”
When Holly and Daisy were tucked in, Stone and Ham went down to the kitchen and had a beer.
“She can take care of herself,” Ham said.
“Apparently so.”
“What’s going on here, Stone?”
“My best guess? Trini doesn’t like being dogged, and he decided to do something about it. From what I’ve heard about him from Holly, he wasn’t there today, because Holly’s alive. I guess he put a couple of his pals on her.”
“So the two guys outside your house weren’t Feds?”
“Maybe, maybe not.” Stone had an idea. He picked up the phone and got the number for the New York State Police in Albany. He called, identified himself, and asked about the traffic stop on I-684 earlier that day. He was transferred to the relevant field office and, good luck, managed to get one of the traffic officers who had made the stop.
Stone identified himself. “You stopped a black SUV on 684 this morning?”
“Yes, we did.”
“I was the guy out front in the black Mercedes.”
“How fast were you going?”
“I’ll take the fifth on that, but I was transporting an officer on duty. Did you get an ID on the guys in the SUV?”
“Yeah. They were FBI, and they wouldn’t tell us what they were doing. I wrote ’em a ticket for grossly excessive speed.”
“Good for you. Thanks, that’s all I needed to know.” Stone hung up and turned to Ham. “Well, it looks like absolutely everybody is following us.”
“What’s your take on what happened in the park?” Ham asked.
“I think they wanted it to look like a mugging, and they didn’t want to attract anybody with the noise of a gunshot. They used a dart on Daisy, then tried to knife Holly. They would have knifed Daisy, too, once she was out. So somebody would have stumbled on a jogger and her dog, both dead.”
“Why not use a silencer on both?” Ham asked.
“Because it would then look like a professional hit. The dart thing is funny, though. It’s not the sort of thing mob guys would normally think of using.”
“This Trini guy is not a normal mob hood,” Ham said. “He’s a lot smarter and a lot worse. He would think of the dart.”
“Maybe so.”
“Good thing I came up here,” Ham said. “While I’m in New York, she doesn’t leave this house without me watching her back.”
“Sounds good to me,” Stone said.
“Oh, and you may as well move her back into your room,” Ham said. “I get the idea that’s where she wants to be.”
Stone gulped. “Up to her.”
29
HOLLY AND DAIS
Y slept straight through until the following morning. When they came down for breakfast Stone was scrambling eggs, and Ham was having coffee.
“Daisy looks like she had a few too many beers last night,” Ham said, rubbing her flanks.
“She’s fine, just a little groggy,” Holly replied.
Stone set three plates of eggs on the table and they all dug in.
“This is good, Stone,” Ham said. “What’s in it?”
“Smoked salmon and a little cream.”
“You’re going to make some girl a wonderful wife one of these days,” Ham said.
Holly spoke up. “I guess that means Ham approves of you, Stone. Otherwise he wouldn’t be trying to marry me off to you.”
“I never said—” Ham began.
“Oh, shut up, Ham. You’re transparent.” She turned to Stone. “Ham has suddenly decided it’s time I got married. I think he wants grandchildren.”
“Now, I—”
“Well, not much chance of that, Ham.”
“I can live without grandchildren,” Ham said. “You do what you want. That’ll make me happy.”
“I want Trini Rodriguez, and I don’t want to wait another couple of days for the FBI to spirit him out of town. You know they’re not going to hand him to me, don’t you, Stone?”
“I wouldn’t think so,” Stone replied. “You got any ideas?”
“Well, I can canvas Little Italy for him again.”
“I may have a better idea,” Stone said.
It had been quite some time since Stone had visited the old man in the outer reaches of Brooklyn, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He finally decided that what had made him reluctant was not the father, but the daughter who was locked in an upstairs room of his house.
He parked his car and was met at the front door by Pete, the short, thick former hoodlum who served as Eduardo Bianchi’s butler and bodyguard.
“Long time,” Pete said.
“Yeah,” Stone said, and followed the man through the house and out into the back garden, where Eduardo sat at a wrought-iron table, wearing a dark suit, as was his custom. He rose to meet Stone, and it took him a little longer than on Stone’s last visit. “How are you, Stone?” Eduardo asked.
“I’m fine, Eduardo. Are you well?”
“I’m better than a person of my years can reasonably expect to be. Please sit down. Lunch will be here soon.”
“You look wonderful.” Stone paused. “And how is Dolce?” Dolce was Eduardo’s youngest daughter, to whom Stone had once been married for a few minutes before she had degenerated into a murderous psychotic.
“I wish I could tell you she was well,” Eduardo replied, “but she’s not. Her condition has worsened to the point where she has tried to kill everyone who has anything to do with her, including me. She has a degenerative brain disease, something like Alzheimer’s, that has caused all her behavior. Now she doesn’t even recognize her family. I’ve had to have her removed to a facility where she can be made comfortable and where she can be secured from harming herself or others.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that,” Stone said. “She was a beautiful and intelligent girl.”
“My mother died the same way,” Eduardo said, “and an aunt of hers, as well. Of course, they didn’t understand the reason in those days. It seems to be passed down to one daughter in each generation, so Anna Maria will be all right.” Anna Maria, who was married to Dino, preferred to be called Mary Ann.
“It’s a tragic situation.”
“Yes, and thankfully, rare. Anna Maria has told me that she plans to have no more children, for fear of having a daughter, so the disease will die out with Dolce.”
“I didn’t know about this.”
“Neither does Dino,” Eduardo said. “I would be grateful if you would not tell him. I don’t want him to be worried.”
“As you wish.”
Lunch arrived, and Stone labored through three courses of old-fashioned Italian cooking, doing the best he could.
When the dishes had been cleared away, and Pete had brought them small glasses of Strega, Eduardo turned to Stone. “Now, why have you come to see me? I believe you must need my help.”
“Yes, I do,” Stone said, “for a friend. I want to locate someone who is hiding in the . . . Italian community in New York.”
“For what purpose?”
“So that he can be tried and imprisoned.”
Eduardo shrugged. “I appreciate your candor, but that is not the sort of reason that would engender cooperation in the community.”
“I know that, but you must understand that this man is a multiple murderer, who kills without thought or feeling, and who does not limit his killing to reasons of business. He once put a bomb in a coffin and exploded it during a funeral.”
“That is an outrage,” Eduardo said.
“Do you know a man named Ed Shine?”
Eduardo permitted himself a small smile. “I’ve known him since the day he got off the boat from Italy. He was a valuable man to friends of mine. Of course, he is in prison now. Ed could not remain retired. He could have lived out his life in peace, but he got greedy.”
“Yes. The man my friend wants to find is Shine’s out-of-wedlock son with a Cuban woman in south Florida. He goes by the name of Trini Rodriguez.”
Eduardo nodded. “I’ve heard of him, and I haven’t liked what I’ve heard, but he was under Ed’s protection.”
Suddenly, Stone had a thought. He might end this whole business by simply imparting a small piece of information to Eduardo. “Have you ever wondered who else’s protection he might be under?”
Eduardo looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“Hasn’t it occurred to the people who are helping him that he would not be a free man without the protection of. . . well, those who would, normally, put him away?”
“And that would be the federal men, would it?”
Stone shrugged. “He would be far too important a fugitive to be allowed to roam New York City without the protection of someone.”
“You have a point,” Eduardo said. “It makes you wonder.”
“I wonder, too.”
“Perhaps it is because he has convinced them that, while he may be protected by these federal people, he is not truly working for them.”
“Perhaps. It’s my understanding that he is helping them root out a Middle Eastern terrorist organization that wants to use his friends to help them launder large amounts of money.”
“Certainly, no one I know would knowingly help such an organization,” Eduardo said smoothly.
“I didn’t think so.”
“Perhaps this is complicated,” Eduardo said.
“I’ve no doubt of that.”
“I do very little business these days, but I will ask a few questions and see what this man means to the people who are helping him.”
“I’m sure the answers would be interesting,” Stone said. “I think there is one thing of which you may be sure: that Trini Rodriguez is acting in his own interests, and not those of either the federal people or those who are helping him.”
Eduardo stood up. “Thank you for coming to see me, Stone. Perhaps you will come again soon, now that Dolce is not in the house. I know her presence made you uncomfortable.”
“I hope you will forgive me that, Eduardo. I would like very much to come again soon.”
“Someone will call you to arrange a meeting, when I have something to tell you,” Eduardo said. “It should not be long.”
The two men shook hands, and Stone followed Pete back through the house to the car.
30
STONE LEFT THE Bianchi house and drove back toward Manhattan, thinking about his conversation with Eduardo. The old man had seemed genuinely concerned about the situation with Trini Rodriguez, but that didn’t mean he was going to help. Over the years he had distanced himself from his past criminal associations, concentrating on the work of his foundation and his membership on the boards of the museum
, the opera, and others of the city’s cultural institutions, and he seemed reluctant to revisit old acquaintances.
Dolce had helped him in these endeavors until she had begun to behave erratically, then violently. Eduardo was a lonely man now, Stone reflected, and he really should make an effort to see him at a time when he didn’t want something from the old man.
Stone had made his way across Brooklyn in fairly light traffic, making good time. He paid little attention to other cars along the route, but now a motorcycle cop caught his eye in his rearview mirror. Instinctively, he slowed down, and as he did the bike drew alongside him.
Stone was reaching for his badge when an alarm bell went off in his mind. There were two men on the motorcycle, and cops didn’t ride tandem. They were no more than three feet from his window. They wore black leather and white helmets with goggles, and one of them had something in his hand.
Simultaneously, there was a loud noise, and two splatters appeared in the window’s glass. Stone braked sharply, and the motorcycle shot past him, then slowed, as the man on the passenger seat twisted around for another shot. Two more splatters appeared, this time in the windshield, but the bullets did not penetrate the armored glass.
Stone, unarmed, fought back with the only weapon he had at his disposal: his car. He slammed the accelerator to the floor, and the tachometer needle shot up as he aimed at the rear of the motorcycle. The driver hadn’t been expecting that, and he failed to react quickly enough. Stone’s car struck the motorcycle hard, propelling the bike across the central divider of the bridge, directly into the path of an oncoming cement truck. The cycle and its two riders ricocheted off the grille of the truck, and Stone lost sight of them. Behind him he could hear the screech of brakes and the blowing of horns.
He braked to a halt and got out of the car, looking back. The driver of the car behind him had done the same thing, and traffic had come to a halt on the Brooklyn Bridge.
Stone watched the detective as he laboriously wrote the last of his notes. He had been in the police station for more than four hours.
“Anything else you can remember?” the man asked.