Contraband

33

Dino’s driver stopped at Roberta Calder’s townhouse, which was just down the block from his own place.

“I’m coming with you,” Dino said, getting out of the car.

“Why?”

“Because I want to see her face when you tell her that her husband has just been murdered.”

Stone understood. “Let’s go, then.” He glanced at his watch; nearly eleven o’clock. He rang the bell.

“Yes?” Sleepy.

“Robbie, it’s Stone Barrington. May I come in for a moment?”

“I was asleep.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s important.”

The buzzer sounded, and Stone pushed the door open and rang the inside doorbell.

Robbie answered the door naked. “Oh!” she said, jumping behind the door. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing company.” She went away and came back, struggling into a dressing gown. “Now,” she said, “what did you two handsome devils have in mind?”

“Some good news and some bad news.”

“Drink? It sounds as though I should have one.”

Stone and Dino shook their heads and sat down on the living room sofa.

“Nice place,” Dino said, looking around.

“She’s a designer.”

“What does she design?”

“Everything.”

Robbie returned, sat in a chair facing them, and took a deep swig of her drink. “Okay,” she said, “hit me.” She held up a finger. “Bad news first, please.”

“Randall Hedger is dead,” Stone said.

Robbie looked at both of them in turn, surprised. “That’s the bad news?”

“He was murdered, sitting in his car, earlier this evening,” Dino said, trying not to laugh.

“How murdered?”

“Gunshot to the head.”

“Not self-inflicted?”

“Was Randall right- or left-handed?” Dino asked.

“Right.”

“Not self-inflicted.”

“Okay,” Robbie said, “after that, I think I can handle the good news.”

Stone spoke up. “The good news is, you don’t have to get a divorce.”

“Oh! Right!” She was smiling.

“Also,” Stone said, “unless he left a will to the contrary, whatever was his is now yours.”

“I’m sure he had no will. He had nothing to leave anybody.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing I didn’t give him in the first place.”

“Robbie,” Dino said, “where did Randall live?”

She blinked. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t let him live or even sleep here, so I assume with some woman or other. If we talked, it was on cell phones.”

Dino nodded. “Did he have any enemies?”

“Well,” Robbie said, looking thoughtful. “Probably most of the women he ever knew. And maybe his bookie.”

“Did he owe a lot?”

“Usually,” she said.

“Bookies don’t normally kill clients who owe them a lot of money. It would mean they’re never going to collect.”

“Oh, I see. Makes sense.”

“Do you know the name of his bookie?”

“Let me see,” she said, furrowing her brow. “Pito something. Pito Palermo, that’s it!”

“Pino Pantero, perhaps?” Dino asked.

“Yes, you’re right!”

“Who’s Pino Pantero?” Stone asked.

“A high-end bookie. Took over the book of Datilla the Hun, when he was offed.”

“Oh, yes,” Stone said. Datilla had been shot in the head by his law partner, Herbert Fisher, in the days before Herbie righted himself and built a new life. “You’re not thinking Herbie,” Stone said.

“No,” Dino replied, “but why not?”

“No motive. If Herbie had done Hedger, he would be out of a big fee for the divorce.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re right.”

“Are you saying that my lawyer is a suspect in the murder of my almost ex-husband?”

“He is not,” Stone said. “Just a coincidence of acquaintance. He would have owed Pino money, once, years ago.”

“Okay,” Robbie said, “so who killed Randy?”

“Too soon to tell,” Dino said. “I’ll keep you posted on the investigation, though.” He stood up. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better get home and to bed. After all, I have a homicide to solve tomorrow.”

Robbie thanked him and saw him to the door, then she came back and sat down next to Stone. “Well,” she said, heaving a big sigh. “That’s a load off.”

“I’m glad you didn’t say that while Dino was here. It sounds too much like a motive.”

“I’ve never fired a gun,” she said. “Not a pistol, I mean. I did some grouse shooting a couple of times, but that was shotguns.”

“Are you going to be all right?” Stone asked.

“Sure,” she said, squeezing his thigh. “As long as I don’t have to sleep alone.”

“I can help with that,” Stone said, kissing her.

Stone had just gotten to his office the following morning, after a shower and a shave upstairs, when Joan buzzed him.

“Herbie Fisher on one.”

“Hey, Herb.”

“Good morning. I haven’t heard anything from Randall Hedger’s attorney,” he said. “Do you know who’s representing him?”

“I’m afraid Mr. Hedger is unrepresented,” Stone said.

“He’s not going to represent himself, is he? I hate that.”

“No, Mr. Hedger will not be requiring representation...”

“They reconciled? That lovely woman with that shit?”

“No, Mr. Hedger stopped a bullet to the head last evening.”

Herbie took a beat or two. “Well, I guess I can still represent her,” he said.

“Not unless you enjoy estate work. And it sounds as though Mr. Hedger didn’t have anything resembling an estate.”

“Well, on to the next case, I guess. I’ll drop her a note expressing my condolences.”

“Send me her bill,” Stone said.

“Oh, there won’t be one. Take care.”

He hung up, and Joan buzzed him. “A Mr. Werner Blau to see you,” she said.