Shoot First Page 15

  “Of course not. I trailed Beria and his gorilla to the Russian mission. They’ll find him there.”

  “No, the Russians won’t let them in, and even if they should find Beria off the reservation, he will decline to answer any questions because he’s a certified diplomat and has a diplomatic passport to prove it.”

  “Back to you, Stone,” Meg said.

  “I also have an excellent character witness,” Stone said, “who will tell the detectives that I would never murder anyone.”

  “They would discount my testimony,” Dino replied, “because they know that we are very good friends, and that I would probably lie for you.”

  “Probably?”

  “Probably.”

  “The ballistic evidence will show that the bullet did not come from any weapon I own.”

  “Of course not,” Dino said. “You would have been unlikely to use a weapon that could be traced to you. In cases like this, the murderer often obtains an untraceable weapon, and anyway, he would ditch it at the first opportunity.”

  “The doorman at Bellini’s building will testify that Beria and the gorilla went up to Bellini’s apartment,” Stone said.

  “He will also testify that you went up to Bellini’s apartment,” Dino said blithely.

  “Your detectives will find no gunshot residue on my person or clothing,” Stone said gamely.

  “You’ve had plenty of time to scrub your hands and send your clothes to be cleaned.”

  The waiter brought menus.

  “I recommend the steaks,” Stone said to Meg.

  “I think I’ve lost my appetite,” she replied. “You should have the steak, though. I understand the food is terrible in prison.”

  Stone took a deep breath and let it out.

  “Don’t lose your temper, Stone,” Dino said. “There are half a dozen people here who know you and could testify that you have trouble controlling yourself.”

  The waiter came to take their order.

  “Terry,” Stone said to the man, “have you ever known me to lose my temper?”

  “Well,” Terry said thoughtfully, “there was that time when your steak arrived too rare, and you threatened to murder the chef.”

  “Heh, heh,” Stone said. “You know that was entirely in jest.”

  “You didn’t seem to be jesting,” Terry replied. “And you were sort of fondling your steak knife.”

  “I rest my case,” Dino said.

  Stone ordered, through clenched teeth.

  Dino and Meg ordered, too.

  “And a bottle of that cheap Cabernet that Stone always orders when he’s buying,” Dino said to the waiter.

  “Gotcha,” Terry said, then left.

  “Well, Dino,” Meg said, “I don’t think Stone was very convincing about his anger problem.”

  “Neither do I,” Dino replied.

  Stone polished off his drink and began to fondle his steak knife.

  36

  Stone was stonily silent in the car on the way home, and Meg didn’t disturb him. Back at the house they undressed and Stone came to bed wearing a nightshirt, while Meg was naked, as usual.

  “That’s amusing,” she said, nodding at the nightshirt.

  “You are easily amused,” Stone replied. “You’ve been amused all evening by Dino, who was, as usual, very amusing.”

  “You thought I was serious about suspecting you of murder?”

  “Were you not?”

  “I was not, but perhaps I should revise my opinion.”

  “Which is?”

  “There you go—I was trying to amuse you, and you took it the wrong way, of course.”

  “What do you mean, ‘of course’?”

  “You’ve been intent all night on taking everything I said the wrong way.”

  “I suppose I had trouble discerning between your speaking the wrong way and your speaking the right way,” Stone said.

  “Hasn’t it occurred to you that I would never suspect you of murder?”

  “No, it has not, given the circumstances, and Dino had trouble coming down on the right side of that question, as well.”

  “Are you mad at me or mad at Dino?”

  “Can’t I be annoyed with you both, simultaneously?”

  “It’s very unattractive when you are.”

  “I plead guilty to being unattractive, but not to murder.”

  Meg got out of bed, went to her dressing room, and came back wearing a nightgown. “Good night,” she said, climbing into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin, and turning on her side, away from Stone.

  “Sleep well,” Stone grumbled. It seemed to him that Meg fell asleep immediately, which made him even angrier. He got very little sleep that night.

  * * *

  —

  STONE WOKE from a fitful sleep with sunlight streaming through a window where he had forgotten to close the curtains. He reached for Meg but found Bob instead, his tail thumping against the bed. Stone could hear Meg’s shower running. He rang Helene and ordered breakfast, then found the Times where it had been slid under the door and got back into bed, switching on Morning Joe, and pressed the remote control that sat him up and pointed him at the TV.

  Meg came out of the bathroom in a terry robe, toweling her hair.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “Good morning.”

  “I ordered breakfast for us.”

  “I’m not very hungry.”

  “That’s what you said last night and you ate a steak, then some of mine.”

  “Do you think I’m getting fat?”

  “I don’t know, I haven’t seen your body for about thirty-six hours.”

  She whipped off the robe and posed for him. “There, dear, is that better?”

  Stone looked up from his paper. “You’re not getting fat,” he said.

  “I’m so relieved.”

  Breakfast came and they both ate everything on the tray.

  “Now I’m getting fat,” she said.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Are we still angry with each other?” she asked.

  “I’m not angry,” Stone replied. “I’m disappointed.”

  “Disappointed in me?”

  “I don’t know what you want,” he said. “I’ve kept you from being shot twice, I’ve recovered half a billion dollars of computer files, and kept those files from being sold to a notorious arms dealer who could have sold them to anybody. Oh, and I murdered the man who ordered you killed. Is that not enough?”

  “You murdered Bellini?” she asked, horrified.

  “Of course not, that was a joke.”

  “It wasn’t very funny.”

  “Funny, I thought it was.”

  “I didn’t think it was funny, and I have a great sense of humor.”

  “That’s what people with no sense of humor always say.”

  She sighed. “I’m tired of this,” she said.

  “We have that in common, if little else.”

  “Stone, I am no longer comfortable with this contentiousness.”

  “Then may I suggest, in the kindest possible way, that you not put up with it anymore and conduct your search for an apartment from a hotel? I’ll have Fred drive you to any one you like.”

  She threw off the covers and marched into the bathroom. The hair dryer could be heard for a while, and it was followed by the sounds of suitcases being opened, packed, and closed again.

  Stone buzzed Fred and asked him to get the car ready and to come and get her luggage. “Then take Ms. Harmon wherever she likes,” he said, and hung up.

  Fred knocked on the door just as she was leaving the dressing room, fully dressed.

  “Come in,” he shouted.

  Fred came in. “Yessir?”

  “Her l
uggage is in the dressing room.”

  Fred collected the bags and took them downstairs.

  “Well,” she said.

  “I hope you find what you’re looking for,” Stone said.

  “So do I,” she said, walking out of the room and slamming the door.

  “I meant an apartment!” he shouted after her. He muted Joe Scarborough’s daily rant about small government, then went back to his Times.

  * * *

  —

  AN HOUR LATER, as Stone was getting dressed after his shower, the phone buzzed. “Yes?”

  “There are two homicide detectives down here,” Joan said, “and they want to see you.”

  “Tell them to go—”

  “No, no, no!” Joan said. “I’m not telling them that; they might arrest me.”

  “Have they shown you an arrest warrant?” he asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Tell them I’ll be right down.” He knotted his tie and slipped on his jacket.

  * * *

  —

  “GOOD MORNING, gentlemen,” he said, walking into his office to find the two men on his office sofa, drinking his coffee. “How can I help you?”

  “Good morning, Mr. Barrington,” one of them said. “We’d like to ask you some questions about a couple of corpses on Park Avenue.”

  Stone refreshed their coffee cups. “Get out your notebooks, gentlemen,” he said, “and your recording devices.”

  They did so, and Stone launched into an account of his every moment since meeting Meg Harmon in Key West, covering every detail of his visit to Gino Bellini’s apartment and the events taking place there. An hour later he went to his desk, took out Bellini’s pistol, and handed it to one of them. “Do you have any questions?”

  The two men looked at each other. “I don’t believe so,” one of them said, tucking away his recording device. “We’ll call you if anything comes up.” They shook hands with him and left.

  Five minutes later, Joan buzzed him. “Dino, on one.”

  Stone pressed the button. “What?”

  “Were you nice to my detectives?” Dino asked.

  “I gave them coffee and bored them rigid for an hour,” Stone replied.

  “Are you still pissed off about last night?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Did you take it out on Meg?”

  “Probably.”

  “Can I speak to her to ascertain whether she’s still alive?”

  “If you can find out what hotel she’s staying in.”

  “And how would I do that?”

  “Start with The Pierre and work your way down.”

  “Dinner tonight?”

  “Will Viv be there?”

  “No, she’s still in California.”

  “Call me when she gets back. I’ll need someone to talk with over dinner.”

  “Have a nice day,” Dino said, then hung up.

  37

  Tommy Chang stirred from his sleep, wondering what had awakened him. The doorbell rang a second time. Tommy struggled out of bed and padded to the front door of his small house in his boxer shorts and bare feet.

  A uniformed messenger of some sort stood there, holding a box. Tommy opened the door. “You need a signature?”

  “Yes, please,” the man replied, holding out an electronic device with a pen attached.

  Tommy signed, took the package, and went back inside. He considered diving back into bed for another couple of hours, but a glance at the clock on the wall told him that he had already used up that time. He went into the kitchen, began the coffee by switching on the drip pot, then put an English muffin into the toaster oven and pressed the start button.

  He looked at the box and could not find a return address. He figured it must be from Dirty Joe, because who else would be sending him things by overnight delivery? He hefted the package, and it felt as if there might be a book inside. He wondered for a moment if he had made anybody mad enough at him to send him a bomb, decided he had not, then found a box cutter and opened the box. Inside was a shipping envelope, sealed and pre-addressed, plus a business envelope. He opened the business envelope and read the letter inside, which appeared to have been printed from a computer file. It did not begin with a salutation or end with a signature.

  I don’t know if you read newspapers or watch television news, so I may be the first to tell you that Joe and Jane were killed by the Maine State Police in a gunfight yesterday.

  Tommy was shaken by that news. They were his friends, and he and Joe were business partners. Yesterday, as mentioned in the letter, would have been the day before yesterday. He took a deep breath and began to read again.

  Joe told me a while back that his will is in the safe at your office, and that you and Jane are his heirs. If she is deceased, then everything goes to you.

  Tommy thought about that. He and Joe were partners in a flying school and air charter service at the Marathon Airport, and they also owned a small marina and boatyard nearby. His next thought was that they were cash poor, and that Joe had told him he was going to New York to remedy that, which meant to Tommy that Joe had taken a contract on somebody, and that he had probably been killed in an attempt to execute it. He read on.

  There is $100,000 in hundred-dollar bills in the envelope contained in this package. There is also some information regarding the individual who was the subject of Joe’s attention at the time of his demise. If you wish to replace Joe in the effort in which he was involved, you may secure the money and get on with it. If you do not wish to accept, you need only return the cash in the envelope provided, and you will hear no more from me. Should you accept the offer, you must complete it within ten days of receiving this package, or return the money.

  Details of the subject and of Joe’s death are in the package. The subject is in New York City as I write this, and the last known address is a private town house on East 49th Street, owned by a person known as Stone Barrington, a lawyer, whose office is on the ground floor. There is a thumb drive in with the cash. Download it to your computer, and it will automatically populate your iPhone. The app keeps constant surveillance at all times and will display the location on a map.

  I do not wish to hear from you again and you will not hear from me. I wish you good luck on your assignment and a prosperous year.

  The letter was not signed, but Tommy knew the sender to be Gino Bellini, with whom he and Joe had shared a cell for a few months in their extreme youth.

  Tommy had no intention of returning the money.

  He opened the shipping envelope, which was addressed to a building on Park Avenue, apartment 30, and found, as promised, ten packets of one hundred hundred-dollar bills, and two news stories, one from a newspaper, the other from a business magazine. The first, from a Maine newspaper, apparently downloaded from the Internet, described the circumstances of Joe’s and Jane’s deaths on a boat at an island in Penobscot Bay called Islesboro. The second was an article from a business publication, with two photographs, about a businesswoman named Meg Harmon, who had recently sold a large share of her company and netted something more than a billion dollars. He knew that Bellini had made a large sum, himself, on the transaction.

  Tommy called his office, and his chief pilot, Rena Cobb, answered. “Bad news,” he said, “Joe and Jane are dead.”

  There was a brief silence at the other end, then she said, “Holy shit.”

  “Yeah, I know. Day before yesterday, in Maine. I just heard a few minutes ago.”

  “Are we going to be okay?” Rena asked. She was aware of their cash-flow problem.

  “Yeah, we are. I’m going to want you to make a deposit today—tomorrow at the latest. I’ll be there in a few minutes. I have to fly to New York for a few days, so have the Baron refueled, and you take the Cessna 210.”

  “Okay, see you soon.”

&nbs
p; Tommy hung up, then downloaded the app to his computer and checked his iPhone to be sure it was working properly. A blue dot appeared at New York City. He showered and shaved, packed a bag, dressed, locked up, and headed for the airport.

  * * *

  —

  HE PARKED in his usual spot and went into the office. Sheila, his secretary, was at her desk. “Tomorrow you can start paying bills,” he said. “Rena will confirm when the money’s in the bank.” He went into Rena’s office, opened the shipping envelope and took $10,000 for expenses, then gave the rest to Rena.

  “I can fly this afternoon and be at the bank by noon tomorrow,” she said. The procedure was to fly to Nassau, then depart there on a flight plan to Jamaica, then, an hour out, change the destination to Georgetown, in the Cayman Islands.

  “Okay, I’ll be back in a week or so.” He took his bag into the hangar and stowed it in the baggage compartment of the Beech Baron, then he went to a steel locker in the hangar and removed an aluminum case on wheels containing two handguns, a folding sniper rifle, and ammunition for all. He stowed that in the Baron, then hooked up the tow to the airplane and pulled it out onto the ramp. He used his cell phone to check the weather, which was good, and file a flight plan for Brandywine Airport in West Chester, Pennsylvania. At the appropriate moment, he would cancel his flight plan and land, instead, at Essex County Airport, in Caldwell, New Jersey, and from there, take a car service into New York.

  Tommy did a thorough preflight inspection of the airplane, then started the engines. He entered his flight plan into the Garmin 1000 flight computer, got his IFR clearance from the tower, then taxied to the runway, where he was immediately cleared for takeoff. He lifted off, retracted the landing gear and flaps, switched on the autopilot, and let the Garmin 1000 begin flying the programmed route. Soon he was at cruising altitude, and he set the fuel mixture for best economy. He had a four-hour flight ahead of him. Plenty of time to make a plan.

  38

  Stone had lunch at his desk and pretended to work, but he was depressed about how things had gone with both Dino and Meg. His iPhone chimed, and he looked to see who the e-mail was from. There was only one, and he opened it.