* * *
—
A couple of hours passed, and Lance called back.
“Well, we went over Betty’s office,” he said.
“Find anything?”
“The combination of the safe, taped to the bottom of a file drawer.”
“And what were its contents?”
“Stacks of dollars and euros, mostly.”
“She was ready to get out, then?”
“At all times,” Lance said, “save when we actually came calling on the Vineyard.”
“Did you find anything else of value?”
“No, but my team is on the way to her apartment now, and that could be more productive.”
“Good luck to you, then.” He hung up.
9
He picked up Vanessa at her apartment and was given a drink.
“You were right,” she said. “Those CIA—at least, I think that’s who they were—people turned up at my offices a couple of hours after you called.”
“What did they find?”
“A whole lot of money in the safe. I heard one of them say there was more than two hundred thousand dollars, some of it in euros. And do you know what?”
“What?”
“They took it away.”
“Did they give you a receipt?”
“Yes, but only because I demanded one, or I said I would call the police and charge them with burglary.”
Stone laughed. “I like that,” he said. “Would you like me to see if I can get it back from them?”
“Would I ever! I was thinking of a grand European vacation.”
“Where in Europe?”
“Wherever my little heart desires.”
“Well, you’re not going to get the actual banknotes back, but would you take a check?”
“As long as it doesn’t bounce.”
“Let me have your receipt.”
She dug into her purse and came up with a piece of notepaper that had been ripped from a pocket ring binder.
“Ray Rodriguez,” he read, peering at the receipt. “Or is it Roy?” They couldn’t tell. “I’ll call Lance tomorrow. Oh, do you have any actual cash in your purse?”
“What do you need?” she asked, rummaging.
“Whataya got? A buck will do.”
“The smallest I’ve got is a ten.”
“That’ll be ten dollars, please.”
She handed it to him but didn’t release her end. “Ten dollars for what?”
“Legal representation.”
“Do I need a lawyer?”
“Do you want your mother’s ill-gotten gains back?”
“Sure.”
“Then you need a lawyer.”
“Okay, but you’d better be worth it.”
“I’m keeping it whether I am or not. That’s how lawyers make a living.”
“I think you should institute a money-back guarantee.”
“Then I’d starve to death.”
“You know, I’m starving to death right now. Where are we going?”
“To Caravaggio.”
“I love that place.”
* * *
—
Gianni, the old headwaiter from Elaine’s, greeted them and sat them down, then brought drinks and menus.
“That is one magnificent nose over there,” Vanessa said.
Stone didn’t look up. “At the first table? Heroic, I’d call it.”
“How’d you know?”
“He’s said to be an ancient Mafioso, and I think every time I’ve been in here he’s had that table,” Stone replied.
“Maybe he owns the place.”
“Could be,” Stone said. “He certainly owns that table, at the very least.”
“Oh, Dino just came in,” she said. “Are we expecting him?”
“No, but be nice to him. Dino stopped and shook the hand of the ancient Mafioso, then continued to their table, where he unceremoniously sat down and received a large scotch from Gianni. “We got a tiny break,” he said.
“I’ll take whatever you’ve got,” Stone said.
“This afternoon a woman who works as a secretary at NBC took her lunch outside and was leaning against the parapet that surrounds the ice rink when she saw something at her feet. It turned out to be an empty .45 shell casing, and she recovered it.”
“Did she mess it up?”
“No, she watches a lot of TV, so she picked it up with a pencil and took it to the nearest cop, who placed it in an evidence bag and called his precinct.”
“Any prints?”
“A piece of an index finger,” Dino said. “It may be enough for a search. They’re running it now.”
“What brings you uptown, Dino?” he asked.
“I thought you’d like to know about the shell casing. It’s all part of the service.”
“I’m impressed,” Stone said.
“You should be.”
“Also, I’m not impressed.”
“Why not?”
“Why didn’t your people find the shell casing after the shooting? Apparently it was lying there, in plain sight.”
Dino looked uncomfortable, even squirmed a bit.
“I mentioned that to the captain in charge of the investigation,” he said. “He turned red.”
“Well, at least he has some shame.”
“And we have the shell casing!” Dino crowed. His cell phone rang, and he answered it. “Bacchetti.” He listened for a moment. “How many times was she shot? Oh. Thanks, keep up the good work.” He hung up.
“I take it there were no prints,” Stone said.
“Like I said, there was half a print.”
“Did they run it?”
“Yeah, but nothing popped up. The tech says he thinks it’s a woman’s print.”
“How do you tell a woman’s print from a man’s?”