Hot Pursuit

12

Stone woke in the wee hours, still a little drunk from the bottle of wine. Pat slept silently beside him, and he didn’t wake her. He quietly got dressed and tiptoed downstairs, got his overcoat from the front hall closet, and let himself out of the building. He turned to walk toward Park Avenue to look for a cab, but as he did he became aware that the engine of a car was running somewhere nearby.

He looked over his shoulder and saw the mist from a vehicle’s exhaust coming from a car parked half a dozen spaces away. He could see the outline of a driver, a large man, behind the wheel. The car appeared to be some sort of Japanese sedan, but he couldn’t tell which one. It wasn’t big enough to be doing town car duty, and the driver had been sitting there long enough to keep the engine running for the heater. Why would anyone sit in a dark street in the middle of the night? If he had still been a foot patrolman, as he had been so many years ago, he would have rapped sharply with his nightstick on the driver’s window and demanded ID and to know what he was doing there.

He stopped at the corner and looked back, then, on a whim, he turned and started walking purposefully back toward where the car was parked. Apparently the driver saw him coming because he abruptly put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking spot, switching on the bright headlights and momentarily blinding Stone, keeping him from getting a good look at the driver as he blew past.

The car drove straight across Park Avenue, running a red light, and raced toward Lexington Avenue, running another light as it turned right and was gone. Stone’s impulse was to go back to Pat’s apartment and stay the night, just in case the driver’s interest was in her, but he didn’t have a key, and he didn’t want to wake her up. A cab showed up, sealing his decision, and he got in and went home.

Stone was at his desk at midmorning when Pat called.

“You sneaked out last night,” she said.

“You were dead to the world and useless to me,” he said.

She laughed. “I wasn’t useless when I woke up this morning,” she replied. “I would have been very useful if you had still been here.”

“A nice thought — hang on to it for next time.”

“I’ll do that.”

“You should write a letter to your doctor tenant whose lease is running out and tell him you won’t be renewing and that you want the space back. Send it by registered mail.”

“If I’m going to be a landlord I’ll need a lawyer,” she said. “Will you write it for me?”

“Sure — e-mail me his name, and I’ll take care of it. Being a landlord’s attorney is out of my line, though, so I’ll find somebody with the correct expertise to represent you. You’ll also need one for your business.”

“Good idea. Did I mention that I have three more clients?”

“No, and congratulations!”

“I think somebody at Cessna is recommending me to owners taking delivery of new airplanes.”

“That’s a good source of clients — cultivate it.”

“Don’t worry, I will.”

“Listen, I don’t want to intrude on your privacy, but is there somebody in your life who might be a threat to you?”

She waited for a long beat before replying. “Why do you ask?”

“Because when I left your building around two AM, there was a man sitting in a car with the motor running a few yards down the street, and when I approached to try to get a look at the driver, he took off, ran a red light to get away from there.”

She was still silent.

“Hello, hello, anybody there?”

“Nothing to worry about,” she said.

“I’d be worried if somebody was parked all night outside my house,” he said.

“He’s harmless.”

“Those could turn into famous last words.”

“I lived with a guy in Wichita for two years. We were supposed to go into the business together, but I ended the relationship when I left.”

“What’s his name?”

“Kevin Keyes. We worked for the same airline, the one that went out of business.”

“Would he know where you live?”

“He and I stayed with Greta once when we were visiting the city.”

“Does he have a key to the apartment?”

“I... I don’t think so.”

“You don’t sound certain.”

“I had a key — Greta may have given him one, too.”

“Do you have a security system in the house?”

“No. I asked Greta, and she said she never got around to installing one.”

“Get a pencil. I’m going to give you a name.”

“Ready to copy.”

He gave her Bob Cantor’s number. “He’s a friend of mine, an ex-cop who’s in the security business. Call him right now and get him over there. Have him change the front door lock to the building and the lock to your apartment, also the lock for the French doors leading to your garden. You want high-end locks — expensive, but necessary. And don’t forget to give your upstairs tenants the new keys to the front door.”

“I’m not sure if I’m ready to meet them, yet.”

“Then put their keys in envelopes with a note telling them who you are and slide the envelopes under their doors.”

“If you say so.”

“This won’t wait until tomorrow — get it done today. In fact, I’ll call Bob for you, so if you want a shower before he gets there, do it now.”

“Yes, boss!”

“I tell my friends that their lives would be so much richer, fuller, and happier if they would just take my advice.”

“I’ll take it, I’ll take it!”

“See you later. Bob will be there in less than an hour.”

He hung up and called Bob Cantor.

“Hey, Stone.”

“Hey there. I’ve got work for you.”

“Shoot.”

Stone gave him the name and address and told him what was needed, and fast. “Use good equipment, especially the locks.”

“I never use any other kind. Any particular reason for the rush?”

“She may have a stalker on her hands.”

“Does she have a gun?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to know, but I wouldn’t be surprised. The possible stalker’s name is Kevin with a K Keyes. Former airline pilot. Run the name, will you?”

“Okay, I’m on it.”

“I told her you’d be there within the hour.”

“All right already!” Bob hung up.

Stone didn’t feel relieved just yet.