Hit List

25

Young and his men stayed for breakfast. “We’ve dispatched blood samples and prints through the sheriff’s office, so we should have the results soon.

“It’s troubling that this guy isn’t the one who’s been killing people,” Young said.

“I’ll grant you that,” Stone said. “It’s equally troubling that the dead man had an accomplice — whoever drove the body away. Why do you think he was dumped on the island?”

“Because the other guy knew we’d be searching all vehicles getting on the ferry this morning, and a body would be hard to hide.”

The phone rang. Stone answered it and handed it to Tom Young. “The sheriff.”

“Morning, Harv. Whataya got for me?” He listened and took notes. “Okay, we’ll take the body to Augusta for an autopsy. Thanks for all your help last night.” He hung up.

“The guy’s name was James Weaver, a former marine. That’s why his prints were on record. There was no DNA hit, though.”

“Did they get an address for Weaver?”

“No, we’ll take care of that.”

“Search the Veterans Administration medical records,” Stone suggested. “He didn’t look all that healthy to me.”

Dino spoke up. “That’s because he was dead. People generally don’t look their best under those circumstances.”

“Thank you, Dino, good point.”

Young excused himself, and he and his men left for the dock.

“Dino, you want to see what your people can do with James Weaver, ex-marine?”

“Sure,” Dino said, and sat down with his phone.

The doorbell rang. Stone checked the peephole before opening it. Lance Cabot stood there, and Stone opened it. “Good morning,” Lance said.

“Come in, Lance. Would you like some breakfast?”

“Already had it,” Lance replied. “I’d love some strong coffee, though. Did I see uniformed police officers leaving your dock on a boat?”

“State police,” Stone said. “We had an intruder last night, who ended up dead, courtesy of Dino.”

Dino gave Lance a little wave from his chair.

“Tell me all of it,” Lance said. “Maybe I can help.”

Stone told him all of it, and Lance sent an e-mail with James Weaver’s name in it. “We cast a wider net than the police departments,” he said, sipping his coffee.

Dino hung up. “My office got the same stuff as the Maine guys,” he said. “We search the same computer sites.”

Lance’s phone rang; he stepped away to talk, then came back after a few minutes. “Weaver was black ops for us and the FBI while he was a marine,” he said. “Mostly Afghanistan and Iraq, but some domestic stuff for the Feds.”

“Maybe that’s where he met Sig Larkin,” Stone said.

“Right. They were contemporaries at the Bureau.”

“Larkin can afford to hire some associates,” Stone said.

“Looks as if he did so,” Lance said. “And it’s my guess that the vehicle driver last night was not Larkin; travel times don’t work.”

“Just the telephones,” Dino said.

“When are you going back to New York?” Lance asked.

Stone looked around. “What about it, people? We’re blown here, anyway.” Everybody made agreeable noises.

“Today,” Stone said to Lance.

“Can I hitch a ride? It’s a long hop in the chopper.”

“Of course.”

“Anyway, I want to see your new airplane.”

“Then you shall.”

They set down at Teterboro early enough to beat rush hour, cars waited for both Lance and Dino. Stone got their luggage into Dino’s car, but Lance waved him over.

“Come ride with me,” he said.

Stone got into Lance’s Agency SUV, and they left.

“This Weaver’s background troubles me,” Lance said. “It’s one thing having a mad killer running around taking revenge on his former coworkers, but it’s another thing to have the work conducted by hardened pros.”

“I agree,” Stone replied.

“Then I’m going to have some of my people watch over you.”

“Work it out with Mike Freeman,” Stone said. “We don’t want the two groups shooting each other.”

“I will do so,” Lance said.

“This includes Vanessa?”

“I’ll leave her to Strategic Services; hard to justify the expense.”

“Fair enough.”

They pulled up in front of Stone’s house half an hour later, and Stone got out.

“Nice airplane,” Lance said.

“Thank you, Lance.”

“And thanks for the lift.”

“Anytime.” Stone went inside through the office door.

“Hey, boss,” Joan said, slipping her .45 back into its desk drawer. “Where’s the lovely Vanessa?”

“At her lovely apartment. She was homesick.”

“You’ll be dining in, then?”

“I haven’t decided. I’ll let you know.”

“There’s a stack of stuff on your desk.”

“I’ll unstack it.”

“Including one that was delivered by hand.”

Stone went into his office, sat down at his desk, and reached for the envelope on top.

Stone didn’t know why it wasn’t signed, but he wished he could write a retort. He called Vanessa.

“Hey.”

“Hey, yourself. I suppose you got back all right. Everything okay there?”

“Not quite, you’re not here.”

“We’ll just have to tough it out,” he said. “I don’t think either of us should be traveling tonight.”

“You have a point.”

“Tomorrow night looks good. Dinner here?”

“You’re on. I’ll see you at the usual time, and I’ll bring my toothbrush.”

Stone hung up, already looking forward.