Desperate Measures

45

Stone said his goodbyes and got into his car. “Let’s go home, Fred,” he said, “and keep an eye out for a black Mercedes SUV.”

“Anybody we know?” Fred asked.

“Somebody I’d rather not know, who’s probably still limping from the last time he met you.”

“Ah, that gentleman. I’d love to meet him again.”

“If you do, he’ll be armed. Remember that.”

The following day Stone called Edie Beresford.

“Hello, you. How did the funeral go?”

“Beautifully, except that the murderer turned up and sat in the back row.”

“What chutzpah!”

“That’s the word for it. Are you free for dinner this evening?”

“I am.”

“Then I’ll pick you up at seven. Do you mind if some friends join us?”

“Not in the least. Who are they?”

“Dino and Vivian Bacchetti.”

“Is he the police commissioner?”

“He is. We were partners back during my cop days.”

“Where are we going?”

“Caravaggio, in the Seventies.”

“It’s around the corner from me; I’ll meet you there.”

“As you wish.” He hung up and invited the Bacchettis.

Stone waited outside the restaurant, and twice, a black Mercedes SUV circled the block and drove past slowly. The windows were too dark to see the driver, but Stone got the Connecticut plate number.

Dino and Viv showed up a moment later, and Stone told him about the car.

“Black windows? That’s against the law.” Dino made a call. “It’s Bacchetti. I want to report a Mercedes SUV with black windows.” He gave them the plate number. “Pick up the driver and be warned, he’s probably armed. Take him to the precinct, write him a ticket, and relieve him of his weapon and carry license. Reason? He’s a suspect in a murder.” He hung up. “Now we can eat.”

They were in the middle of their main course when Dino got a call. He listened, said, “Thank you,” and hung up. “Donald Trask is in custody, disarmed, and Muldoon and Calabrese will be interrogating him as soon as his attorney arrives.”

“Well, at least they’re inconveniencing him,” Stone replied.

“And making him madder,” Dino responded.

Edie invited them all back to her place for a cognac. She had an apartment on Fifth Avenue that reminded Stone all too much of Cilla’s in its size, shape, and elevation.

“Tell me,” Edie said to Dino, “is Stone still a suspect?”

“That’s for the investigating detectives to decide,” Dino said. “I can’t tell them not to suspect him.”

“But surely, you don’t share their views?”

“Not really. I just can’t get in the way of procedure for a friend. He’ll sweat it out okay, don’t worry.”

Dino got another call and listened, then hung up. “Trask, on advice of his attorney, has declined to answer questions,” he said. “Muldoon will make sure somebody at the papers gets the story. That’ll turn up the pressure a bit. Also, he has to get a new lawyer. Muldoon heard Terry Barnes tell him not to call him again, and he gave him another lawyer’s card.”

“Want to guess who he’ll call?”

“What’s your guess?” Dino asked.

“Alfred Goddard,” Stone said.

“Isn’t he a mob lawyer?” Edie asked.

“You’re very well informed,” Dino said. “He used to be a mob attorney, but there’s not much of a mob anymore, so he now specializes in representing people who are guilty of major crimes, having had a lot of experience at that. My guy, Muldoon, caught a glimpse of his card.”

“That’s the last word we’ll hear from Donald Trask,” Stone said, “until the trial.”

“Are you kidding?” Dino replied. “What trial?”

“There isn’t going to be a trial?” Edie asked.

“Not until my guys have come up with a lot more evidence than they have now.”

“Dino,” Stone said, “may I make a suggestion?”

“Sure, as long as you don’t expect me to take it seriously.”

“Get Muldoon to send another crime scene team to Cilla’s apartment and lift every print anywhere in the kitchen.”

“That’s grasping at straws,” Dino said. “Do you know if Trask has ever visited Cilla’s apartment?”

“He wouldn’t have done so,” Stone said. “There was too much anger in the divorce to get him an invitation. If they can find a single print of his, he was there for only one reason.”

“All right,” Dino said, “I’ll make the suggestion to Muldoon.”

Dino and Viv excused themselves and left, but a hand on his arm kept Stone from leaving.

“Stay,” Edie breathed into his ear. “Stay the night.”

“I’ve already given Fred the rest of the night off,” he replied.

They kissed, and she undid one of his shirt buttons, slipped her hand inside and fondled a nipple.

“Sold,” Stone said, and they took the walk to her bedroom, shedding clothes along the way.

They turned back the bed’s covers and got into it.

“I’m going to make this good for your morale,” she said, reaching for other parts.

“I believe you,” Stone said, then gave himself to the moment and the rest of the night.

The following morning at the precinct, Muldoon put down the phone. “The commissioner wants the crime scene guys to make another visit to the Scott apartment and go over the kitchen again for prints.”

“As long as they’re taking another look,” Calabrese said, “they might as well get all the prints off Trask’s gun. It’s in the evidence room.”

“Dante,” Muldoon said, using his partner’s first name for the first time, “I believe you’ve switched your brain on.”

“Yeah, well, we should have printed him last night,” Calabrese said.

“Don’t worry,” Muldoon repled, “he was printed when he applied for his carry license.” Muldoon made the calls.

Stone said his goodbyes and got into his car. “Let’s go home, Fred,” he said, “and keep an eye out for a black Mercedes SUV.”

“Anybody we know?” Fred asked.

“Somebody I’d rather not know, who’s probably still limping from the last time he met you.”

“Ah, that gentleman. I’d love to meet him again.”

“If you do, he’ll be armed. Remember that.”

The following day Stone called Edie Beresford.

“Hello, you. How did the funeral go?”

“Beautifully, except that the murderer turned up and sat in the back row.”

“What chutzpah!”

“That’s the word for it. Are you free for dinner this evening?”

“I am.”

“Then I’ll pick you up at seven. Do you mind if some friends join us?”

“Not in the least. Who are they?”

“Dino and Vivian Bacchetti.”

“Is he the police commissioner?”

“He is. We were partners back during my cop days.”

“Where are we going?”

“Caravaggio, in the Seventies.”

“It’s around the corner from me; I’ll meet you there.”

“As you wish.” He hung up and invited the Bacchettis.

Stone waited outside the restaurant, and twice, a black Mercedes SUV circled the block and drove past slowly. The windows were too dark to see the driver, but Stone got the Connecticut plate number.

Dino and Viv showed up a moment later, and Stone told him about the car.

“Black windows? That’s against the law.” Dino made a call. “It’s Bacchetti. I want to report a Mercedes SUV with black windows.” He gave them the plate number. “Pick up the driver and be warned, he’s probably armed. Take him to the precinct, write him a ticket, and relieve him of his weapon and carry license. Reason? He’s a suspect in a murder.” He hung up. “Now we can eat.”

They were in the middle of their main course when Dino got a call. He listened, said, “Thank you,” and hung up. “Donald Trask is in custody, disarmed, and Muldoon and Calabrese will be interrogating him as soon as his attorney arrives.”

“Well, at least they’re inconveniencing him,” Stone replied.

“And making him madder,” Dino responded.

Edie invited them all back to her place for a cognac. She had an apartment on Fifth Avenue that reminded Stone all too much of Cilla’s in its size, shape, and elevation.

“Tell me,” Edie said to Dino, “is Stone still a suspect?”

“That’s for the investigating detectives to decide,” Dino said. “I can’t tell them not to suspect him.”

“But surely, you don’t share their views?”

“Not really. I just can’t get in the way of procedure for a friend. He’ll sweat it out okay, don’t worry.”

Dino got another call and listened, then hung up. “Trask, on advice of his attorney, has declined to answer questions,” he said. “Muldoon will make sure somebody at the papers gets the story. That’ll turn up the pressure a bit. Also, he has to get a new lawyer. Muldoon heard Terry Barnes tell him not to call him again, and he gave him another lawyer’s card.”

“Want to guess who he’ll call?”

“What’s your guess?” Dino asked.

“Alfred Goddard,” Stone said.

“Isn’t he a mob lawyer?” Edie asked.

“You’re very well informed,” Dino said. “He used to be a mob attorney, but there’s not much of a mob anymore, so he now specializes in representing people who are guilty of major crimes, having had a lot of experience at that. My guy, Muldoon, caught a glimpse of his card.”

“That’s the last word we’ll hear from Donald Trask,” Stone said, “until the trial.”

“Are you kidding?” Dino replied. “What trial?”

“There isn’t going to be a trial?” Edie asked.

“Not until my guys have come up with a lot more evidence than they have now.”

“Dino,” Stone said, “may I make a suggestion?”

“Sure, as long as you don’t expect me to take it seriously.”

“Get Muldoon to send another crime scene team to Cilla’s apartment and lift every print anywhere in the kitchen.”

“That’s grasping at straws,” Dino said. “Do you know if Trask has ever visited Cilla’s apartment?”

“He wouldn’t have done so,” Stone said. “There was too much anger in the divorce to get him an invitation. If they can find a single print of his, he was there for only one reason.”

“All right,” Dino said, “I’ll make the suggestion to Muldoon.”

Dino and Viv excused themselves and left, but a hand on his arm kept Stone from leaving.

“Stay,” Edie breathed into his ear. “Stay the night.”

“I’ve already given Fred the rest of the night off,” he replied.

They kissed, and she undid one of his shirt buttons, slipped her hand inside and fondled a nipple.

“Sold,” Stone said, and they took the walk to her bedroom, shedding clothes along the way.

They turned back the bed’s covers and got into it.

“I’m going to make this good for your morale,” she said, reaching for other parts.

“I believe you,” Stone said, then gave himself to the moment and the rest of the night.

The following morning at the precinct, Muldoon put down the phone. “The commissioner wants the crime scene guys to make another visit to the Scott apartment and go over the kitchen again for prints.”

“As long as they’re taking another look,” Calabrese said, “they might as well get all the prints off Trask’s gun. It’s in the evidence room.”

“Dante,” Muldoon said, using his partner’s first name for the first time, “I believe you’ve switched your brain on.”

“Yeah, well, we should have printed him last night,” Calabrese said.

“Don’t worry,” Muldoon repled, “he was printed when he applied for his carry license.” Muldoon made the calls.