Class Act

57

The following morning Stone felt like running. Normally, he worked out in his home gym, but it was a beautiful day, and Bob could use the workout, too. Besides, for the first time in a while, nobody was trying to kill him. He had tried to interest Bob in the treadmill, but the two had not become friends.

He dressed in his running garb, and put on a belt holding a pouch, into which he put a facecloth, his phone, some cash, and a small wallet with his driver’s license and credit cards, then he clipped Bob’s expandable leash to his collar, and they left the house. He went unarmed for the first time in many days.

Stone’s gait and Bob’s meshed easily, and they both ran at a good lope. They headed uptown and entered Central Park, where Stone took a breather on a park bench, and Bob lay down beside him, panting.

Stone’s cell phone rang: Caller Unknown. “Hello?”

“Stay where you are,” Jack said. “I’m going to come and sit beside you, but don’t acknowledge my presence.” He hung up before Stone could reply.

Five minutes later, someone sat down at the other end of Stone’s park bench and opened a New York Times. “Good morning,” Jack said.

“Right,” Stone said, looking the other way.

“I’ve some things to tell you,” Jack said, “and it’s going to take a few minutes. When I’m done, resume your run, and I’ll keep reading my paper until you’re out of sight.”

“How did you know I’d be here?” Stone asked. “I mean, half an hour ago, I didn’t know.”

“I was sitting on my terrace, as I often do, checking out the people in the park with my binoculars, when you ran into my field of vision and sat down. Now, are you ready to listen?”

“Yes,” Stone wiped his face and neck with a facecloth from his bag.

“I cleaned up more than the Carlyle suite last night,” he said. “I cleaned up Sal Trafficante’s house, too, to the extent that it needed cleaning up. Or rather, I had it cleaned, by somebody whose knowledge of police procedure exceeds mine. I’m speaking of Michael O’Brien, who, as I expected, had found the perfect horse and bet big on it. I offered him fifty thousand dollars to kill Sal and Hilda. I took the money to his house and showed it to him, then sent him to Sal’s place, which is right around the corner from Michael’s. This was about nine-thirty. He called me and told me they were already dead. I told him I’d still give him the money. He said he’d make the crime scene cop-proof, then he returned to his own house, where I had done some things in his absence.”

“What sort of things?”

“Mainly, the note.”

“Note?”

“Michael had a small, electric typewriter on his desk. I fed in a sheet of his stationery, then typed a note which said, more or less, ‘I did both Sal Trafficante and Hilda Ross, because I was afraid of them both. I owed a bookie that belonged to Sal, and I thought he would hire Hilda to kill me. I arranged the crime scene, especially the bodies, then I got out and came home. I had expected to find money in Sal’s house, but I didn’t, so I came home empty-handed. I’m broke, now, and my mother will disinherit me as soon as she finds out, so I’m doing this for her, so she won’t have to have the pain of dealing with me anymore.’

“When Mickey came home I was ready for him. I had long latex gloves on and a bib around my neck, and a plastic face shield on. I pointed a gun at him, sat him down at his desk, took his own weapon from his shoulder holster and, without another word, shot him in the right side of his forehead. His fingerprints were already on the weapon, so I dropped it beside him, stuffed my protective gear into a shopping bag, took my briefcase containing his money and left, disposing of the various pieces of my gear along the route uptown. Questions?”

“Jesus, Jack, why did you do it?”

“Because Mickey O’Brien was still a threat to me. And what’s more, I believe Sal hired him, not Hilda, to kill you. Now you and I both are clear of everybody who could have hurt us. I couldn’t tell you this last night, because Dino was there. Any other questions?”

“No.”

“Then resume your run, and I’ll do the crossword.”

Stone got up, and so did Bob. They continued their run.

When he got back to his office, he stopped by Joan’s desk.

“Good morning. Nice run?” she asked.

“Perfect,” Stone said. “Remember all the cash you got from the bank?”

“Yes. I couldn’t forget that much money.”

“It’s in the safe in my study. Please return it to wherever you keep cash. We’ll use it as necessary.”

“Is the money anything to do with this?” she asked, handing him a Daily News with a photo of Sal Trafficante on the front page.

“Jesus!” Stone said, reading the piece while faking surprise. “No, it’s nothing to do with this.”

She looked at him askance. “Whatever you say, boss.”