Insatiable Appetites

30

The bar at Clarke’s was jammed, and Stone practically had to elbow his way through the career women and metrosexuals. Dino wasn’t there yet, but the headwaiter knew him and gave him a fairly quiet table, where he ordered a drink.

Stone remembered that Hills had said he had only one friend he trusted, and he wondered who the friend was — maybe the man who owned the antiques shop where Carla had met with Hills. He called Carla.

“Anything new?” she asked.

“Nothing yet on the recording, but Hills told me there was only one person he would tell where he was, and I think it could be the man who owns the antiques shop. Why don’t you talk to him? He probably hasn’t heard about the event yet.”

“I’ll do that right now.”

“I’ll be on my cell.”

Dino walked in, hung up his coat, and sat down. His scotch magically appeared. “What a day!” He raised his glass and drank.

“Dino, have you released the congressman’s name to the media yet?”

“Nah, not until tomorrow. We’re having trouble finding a next of kin. His father’s phone is immediately answered by a machine, and he hasn’t returned our calls.”

“There are some things I’d better tell you,” Stone said. He gave Dino a blow-by-blow of the meeting, the phone call he’d received from Hills, and his contact with Carla Fontana.

“Isn’t she the one who interviewed you in Paris?”

“Right. She’s put together a big story on the meeting, and she has a statement from Hills. What she didn’t know is that Hills had a recording of the meeting. He told me this afternoon.”

“You saw him?”

“He came to my office and seemed very worried. He thought his life was in danger. I offered him the apartment next door, and he left to get his luggage. He didn’t come back. And, Dino, he was talking about checking out.”

“So you think he could have picked a car and just walked in front of it?”

“I think it’s about as much a possibility as someone murdering him. That part is far-fetched. I think he was just being paranoid.”

“Did you hear the recording?”

“No.”

“Did he say how he recorded it?”

“No, but an iPhone would do it.”

Dino got out his cell phone and made a call. “It’s Bacchetti,” he said. “Have you got the hit-and-run victim’s belongings?” He listened for a bit. “Did he have an iPhone or some other recording device on him? Bring it to me at Clarke’s, and tell your people to canvass the neighborhood, and when you find it, search his room for a recording device and if you find it, bring it to me.” He hung up. “He had an iPhone, and it’s on its way, but they haven’t found his hotel room yet. They’re canvassing every place in the neighborhood.”

They ordered dinner, and by the time they had finished their first course, a detective, Garbanza, was at their table. Dino introduced him to Stone.

“There’s a recording on the phone,” the detective said. “Some sort of political meeting.”

“Can I have the phone?” Stone asked.

“Of course not,” Dino said. “It’s evidence.”

“I just want to record his recording. I won’t mess it up.”

Dino nodded and Garbanza opened his briefcase, took the phone from a plastic evidence bag, found a cable and plugged it into Stone’s iPhone. “I’ll sync it for you.” He selected the recording and pressed a button. Dinner came, and they began to eat. The syncing ran for half an hour. Garbanza unhooked the phones and returned Stone’s. “If that’s who I think it is on the recording, it’s hot stuff,” he said.

“The Times already has Hills’s statement about the meeting. The recording will back up his account,” Stone said.

“If you haven’t reached a next of kin by nine tomorrow morning, release Hills’s name to the media,” Dino said, “but don’t say anything about the recording, and I want that phone secured, and I mean secured until further notice. Got it?”

“Got it,” Garbanza said.

“Not a word to anybody, not even your partner.”

“Got it.” The detective put the phone back into the bag, put the bag into his briefcase, and left.

Stone’s phone rang. “Hello?”

“It’s Carla.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“Yes, and he’s a mixture of broken up and mad as hell. Hills called him this afternoon and gave him your address. The man’s name is Bruce Willard. He was going to meet Hills in New York on Sunday.”

“Did he say where Hills was staying?”

“At the Lowell, Sixty-third and Madison. It was Hills’s regular place in the city.”

“Hang on.” Stone covered the phone. “Hills was staying at the Lowell.”

“That’s in my block.”

“I know.”

Dino got on his phone and Stone went back to his. “The recording was on Hills’s iPhone,” he said, “and it’s been copied to mine. The police have sequestered the phone and it won’t be mentioned when they release Hills’s name to the press tomorrow morning. They haven’t been able to reach his father.”

“He’s reclusive, I hear. I’ll see if I know someone who can reach him. Can I send someone to where you are to pick up the recording?”

“Let’s take care of that tomorrow. I’ll transfer it to tape and FedEx it to you.”

“All right. Good night.”

Stone hung up. “She’s going to try to reach Hills’s father. Apparently he’s something of a recluse.”

They finished dinner, then Dino dropped off Stone at home.