by Stuart Woods
The front door opened and a man walked in: not too tall, Mediterranean-looking.
Dino walked toward table number four, where Sidney Zion, a journalist and writer, was sitting. “Hey, Sid,” Dino said, pumping his hand. “Mind if I join you?”
“Sit down, Dino,” Zion replied.
Dino took a seat with a good view of a woman at the bar he thought was probably Marie-Thérèse.
The man was a cop, she could feel it. “Where’s the ladies’ room?” she asked the bartender.
“Back that way, take a right, second door on the left.”
Marie-Thérèse left her coat on the bar stool, picked up her bag, and began walking toward the rear of the restaurant. Straight ahead, all the way to the back, was a door, but two large men were sitting at a table squarely in front of it. She turned right, toward the ladies’ room, first looking into the kitchen: no visible way out. She went into the ladies’ room; no one there. She tried the window. It was small, but she could fit through it. She got it open, but it was covered with burglar bars.
She opened her handbag and began removing things. She took the top off the toilet tank, wiped the CIA pistol and the ice pick with a towel, dropped them into the tank, and replaced the cover. She ripped up her false passport, dropped it into the toilet, and flushed. Then she got out her cell phone and started dialing.
Dino’s cell phone vibrated. “Bacchetti.”
“Lieutenant, everybody’s in place.”
“Tell them to sit tight. We’re going to wait until she’s ready to leave. I’ll follow her out the front door, then everybody converge.”
“Got it.”
Dino put the cell phone away and looked around. Still in the ladies’ room.
“Hello?”
“Ali?”
“Yes. Is this my appointment from this afternoon?”
“Yes. I think I’m about to be arrested, and I’m going to need a lawyer.”
“Where are you?”
“At a restaurant called Elaine’s, on Second Avenue, between Eighty-eighth and Eighty-ninth streets.”
“You’re quite near the Nineteenth Precinct. They’ll take you there, unless they’re federal.”
“My guess is local police.”
“Your lawyer’s name is Sol Kaminsky. I’ll call him, and he’ll be there in half an hour. Say nothing to the police.”
“I’m going to talk to them, play it innocent,” she said.
“That’s your judgment to make. Are you dirty?”
“I’ve just cleaned up. I have a good passport.”
“Good. I’ll tell Kaminsky. Call his number from the police station and leave a message on his answering machine. Memorize the number.” He recited it to her.
“You’re sending me a Jewish lawyer?”
“We retain him. He’s good. What will your name be?”
“Marie-Thérèse du Bois.”
“Your real name?”
“Trust me.”
“What will you give for an address?”
“I don’t know.”
“We keep room one-oh-oh-three at the Hotel Kirwan, on Park Avenue South at Thirty-seventh Street. Use that address. I’ll get some women’s clothes and a suitcase over there, too.”
“Thank you.” She closed the phone, returned it to her handbag, checked her makeup, and left the ladies’ room. Maybe she was just paranoid. She hoped so. She returned to her bar stool. “Can I have the check, please?” she asked the bartender.
He brought her the check. “What’s your name, and how can I get in touch?” he asked. She took a pen and a small pad from her purse and wrote down her name and cell phone number. “Call me tomorrow,” she said. She put some cash on the bar, including a big tip, got into her coat, and started for the door. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the cop get up from his table and reach for his coat.
She walked outside and stood at the curb, her hand held up for a taxi. Then he was behind her.
“Freeze, police!” Dino said, his weapon stretched out before him. He kept a good six feet between them.
Marie-Thérèse looked over her shoulder, feigning surprise. “What?” she said.
Then they were all over her, cuffing her wrists, going through her handbag. “No weapons,” a detective said.
“Search the ladies’ room,” Dino replied, as they hustled her into a squad car.
31
Stone snapped out of a deep sleep. The phone was ringing. He was momentarily disoriented, looking around the dark bedroom, trying to figure out where he was.
“Are you going to answer that?” Carpenter asked.
Stone fumbled for the phone. “Hello?”
“Gee, I hope I didn’t interrupt any screwing,” Dino said.
“Dino, what’s going on? What time is it?”
“Not all that late. Let me speak to Carpenter.”
“She’s asleep.”
“No, I’m not,” Carpenter said, snatching the phone from Stone. “Hello, Dino?”
“Sorry to wake you up, but I thought you’d want to be brought up to date on developments.”
“What’s happened?”
“I arrested a young woman—early thirties, medium height, medium build—at Elaine’s tonight.”
“You mean you’ve got her?”
“Looks that way.”
“How did you identify her?”
“She’s carrying a Swiss passport in the name of Marie-Thérèse du Bois, and she matches the picture.”
“I’m on my way,” Carpenter said. “Don’t you dare let her get away.”
“She’s locked in an interrogation room. She’s not going anywhere.”
“I’ll be there in an hour and a half. You can use the time to good effect by photographing her repeatedly and fingerprinting her. Get DNA samples, too.”
“She’s called a lawyer, but I don’t know how that’s going to help her. I’ve got the deputy DA on the way, too. Hurry up!” He hung up.
“Dino’s got La Biche?” Stone asked incredulously.
Carpenter was already digging clothes out of her bag. “Yes, and she’s admitted who she is. I’m having trouble believing this myself! Get dressed, for Christ’s sake!”
Stone started grabbing at clothes.
Dino walked down the hall to Interrogation One and checked out the woman through the one-way mirror. She was sitting, looking worried and baffled. “Yeah, sugar,” Dino said aloud. “I’d be worried, too, because I’ve got your ass!”
His boss, Captain Grady, walked in. “Okay, so who is this woman?”
“Her name is Marie-Thérèse du Bois. She’s the suspect in the diplomatic killing on Park Avenue.”
“Is that all you know about her?”
“According to our friends across the sea in British intelligence, she’s a big-time assassin who’s murdered people all over Europe. By the way, she’s killed at least three other people since she arrived in New York.” He handed Grady her passport.
Grady flipped through it and stopped. “This says she arrived in the U.S. from Canada yesterday,” he said, pointing at a stamp.
Dino looked at it. “Gotta be a fake,” he said.
“Run it past the Feds.”
“Not yet, Cap. I don’t want them in on this. I’ve got a lady from British intelligence on the way here now.”
“When’s she coming?”
“She’s driving down from Connecticut with a friend of mine; maybe an hour.”
“Is this friend of yours Barrington?”
“Ah, yeah, Cap. Why do you ask?”
“Because you don’t have any other friends. What’s he got to do with this?”
“Well, he and the Brit lady are sort of an item. We both met her in London last year.”
“Have you talked to your suspect yet?”
“I was just about to when you got here. I was waiting for the deputy DA to get here, too.”
“You got him out of bed?” Grady asked, chortling. “I want to see that.”
; “You’re looking at it, Captain,” a voice behind them said.
Dino and the captain turned to find George Mellon, the deputy DA, standing behind them.
“She doesn’t look all that dangerous,” he said, peering through the glass.
“I’m going to go in and feel her out,” Dino said.
“Get her signature on a Miranda waiver before you ask her a fucking thing,” Mellon said.
Dino opened the door and went into the room.
Stone was driving down the nearly deserted I-684 at 140 miles per hour.
“Won’t this thing go any faster?” Carpenter demanded.
“Yes, it will, but I won’t go any faster. I’ve never driven this fast in my life.”
“Chicken,” she muttered.
Stone eased the accelerator to the floor, and the speed climbed another fifteen mph. “I forgot, the speed is electronically limited to one-fifty-five.”
“Shit,” Carpenter said. “Why didn’t you buy something fast?”
Stone began thinking about what he might say to a New York State trooper, and about the roadblock that might have already been set up ahead of him somewhere. He checked the sky for helicopters.
“Good evening,” Dino said. “I am Lieutenant Dino Bacchetti.”
She offered her hand without getting up, like a lady. “How do you do?” she said.
“I do very well,” Dino replied, shaking her hand.
“Why on earth was I brought here?” she demanded, half angry, half frightened.
“Before we go any further, I have to advise you of your rights under the United States Constitution.” He recited the Miranda mantra. “Do you understand these rights?”
“Of course. So you think I have never watched television?”
Dino handed her a sheet of paper and a pen. “Then please sign this statement to that effect.”
She read it and signed it.
Dino placed her passport on the table. “This says you are Marie-Thérèse du Bois, of a Zurich, Switzerland, address. Is that correct?”
“Yes, it’s correct.”
“I’d like to ask you a few questions,” Dino said.
“About what?”
“When did you arrive in the United States?”
“It’s in my passport.” She had put the stamp there herself.
“And where do you reside?”
“At the Hotel Kirwan, on Park Avenue at Thirty-seventh Street, room one-oh-oh-three.”
“When did you check in?”
“Today . . .” She glanced at her watch. “Rather, yesterday. Do I need a lawyer?”
“I don’t know, do you?”
“I am happy to answer your questions, but I would like a lawyer present, please.”
Dino sighed. “I’ll get you a phone.” He went out of the room, got a cordless phone, and brought it back. “Would you like some privacy?”
“I doubt if I will get any,” she said, nodding at the one-way mirror. She dialed a number. “Hello, this is Marie-Thérèse du Bois. I am being held at a police station. . . . One moment.” She covered the receiver with her hand. “Where am I?”
“At the Nineteenth Precinct.”
“At the Nineteenth Precinct, and I require legal representation at once. Please come here right away, ask for a Lieutenant . . .”
“Bacchetti.”
“Lieutenant Bacchetti. Thank you.” She handed the phone back to Dino.
“Now, will you please tell me why I am here?”
“You are here, Miss du Bois, because you are a suspect in four murders in New York City.”
She laughed. “Good God! And when am I supposed to have committed these murders?”
“In the last couple of days.”
“I have spent the last couple of days driving down here from Canada with a friend.”
“What is your friend’s name?” Dino asked, taking out his notebook. “I’d like to corroborate that.”
“His name is Michel Robert. He is Canadian.”
“And where might I find him?”
“Frankly, I don’t know,” she said. “We had a petit contretemps. He left me in New York and went away, I don’t know where. May I ask on what evidence you suspect me of these preposterous charges?”
“We’ll get to that later,” Dino said. “Excuse me a moment.” He got up and went outside to speak to Mellon.
“She asked a good question, Dino,” Mellon said. “On what evidence do you suspect her of these murders?”
“There’s a British intelligence agent on the way here now who can identify her and tell you about her background,” Dino said.
“Was she carrying anything that we can use?”
“No,” Dino said, “but before I arrested her at Elaine’s she went to the ladies’ room. That’s being searched now.”
Two detectives walked in, and one was holding a large Ziploc bag containing a black pistol and a silencer, as well as an ice pick.
“Am I glad to see that,” Dino said. “Go dust if for prints, fire it for ballistics, and check it against the slugs from the guy on Park Avenue, and be quick about it.” He turned back to Mellon. “Feeling better now?”
“A little,” Mellon said. “Can you tie her to the murder?”
“You just heard me tell my guys to go do that, didn’t you?”
“Have you printed her?”
“Not yet. We can do that now.”
A small, plump man bustled into the room “Where is my client?” he demanded.
“Hello, Sol,” Mellon said. “Who brought you into this?”
“She did,” Mellon said, pointing through the glass. I want to talk to her now, and I want everybody out of here while I do it.”
“How long do you need?”
“I’ll let you know, George. Now get out of here and let me do my work.”
Dino, the captain, and the deputy DA filed out of the room and went to Dino’s office. “Who is that guy, George?”
“His name is Sol Kaminsky, and he’s a very smart lawyer. But unless you can tie this woman to that weapon and the weapon to one of these murders, he’s not going to have to be very smart.”
32
Stone crossed the Harlem River Bridge, slowing down only for E-ZPass to let him through. He looked at his watch: He never would have believed he could have gotten to Manhattan this fast.
“What’s taking us so long?” Carpenter demanded.
“We’ve just broken the world record for a trip from Washington, Connecticut, to Manhattan,” Stone said, “and by half an hour.”
She sniffed. “So you say.”
Dino, the captain, and the deputy DA had been chatting uneasily for forty minutes, while Sol Kaminsky talked to his client. The two detectives walked into Dino’s office and placed the pistol, silencer, and ice pick on his desk.
“What?” Dino asked.
“No prints on any of these.”
“What about the ballistics test?”
“Two of the bullets were too deformed to get a match,” one of the detectives said, “but one of them was whole.”
“And?”
“No match. Not even close. This is not the piece that killed the diplomat.”
“Shit!” Dino said.
“But this is a very interesting pistol.”
“How so?”
“It has no manufacturer’s markings anywhere on it. We ran the ballistics against the FBI database, and it came up federal, probably CIA or Defense Intelligence Agency, something like that.”
Dino looked up to see Stone and Carpenter coming into the outer office. “Here’s our Brit spy,” he said. “Now we’ll get somewhere.” Dino introduced the two to the captain.
“Hello, Stone,” George Mellon said, not offering his hand.
“Hi, George.” Stone had once beaten him in court in a very embarrassing way.
“Where is she?” Carpenter asked.
Sol Kaminsky walked into Dino’s office. “You and I can meet with my client now,” he said. “Come on.
”
Everybody followed Kaminsky back to the interrogation room, and Dino went inside with him, while the others stood behind the one-way mirror.
Stone elbowed Carpenter. “Well, is that La Biche?”
“God,” Carpenter said, “she looks so different. I’m not sure I could swear to it.”
“Nothing like an eyewitness,” the deputy DA muttered.
“All right, Lieutenant Bacchetti,” Sol Kaminsky said, “my client has identified herself with her valid passport and answered your questions. What evidence do you have to connect her to any crime?”
Dino placed the pistol, silencer, and ice pick on the table without saying anything. He wanted to see her reaction.
Marie-Thérèse looked at her lawyer uncomprehendingly. “I don’t understand,” she said.
“The lieutenant, my dear, thinks these weapons belong to you,” Kaminsky said.
“I have never seen any of them,” she replied. “I have no need for weapons.”
Kaminsky turned to Dino. “What evidence do you have connecting these weapons to my client?”
“She put them in the toilet tank in the ladies’ room at Elaine’s,” Dino said with a sinking heart.
“How do you know this? Did you find her fingerprints on any of them?”
Dino gulped.
“Have you connected any of these weapons with any of the murders with a ballistic or other scientific test?”
“Not yet,” Dino temporized.
“Do you have any witnesses who can place Ms. du Bois at the scene of any crime?”
“I’ll be right back,” Dino said. He left the room and joined the others behind the one-way mirror. “What about it, Carpenter?”
Carpenter winced.
“She can’t make the ID,” Stone said.
George Mellon spoke. “This is not looking worth getting me out of bed for, Dino.”
“Just hang on a minute,” Dino said. “This woman is a professional assassin well known to the European authorities. Right, Carpenter? I can run her name against the Interpol database and find charges against her, can’t I?”