Loitering with Intent

20

STONE WAS GETTING out of the shower when his cell phone vibrated. “Hello?”

“It’s Eggers.”

“Hey, Bill.”

“Okay, I’m FedExing you the sales contract for Elijah Keating’s Sons. I had a hard time getting Warren Keating to let me do it, but I convinced him the sale won’t go through until Evan sees the deal. I can tell you now that when he does, he won’t like it.”

“Okay, I’ll get it to him tomorrow, then. Bill, was Warren telling me the truth when he said he has no idea what Evan has been doing since his college graduation?”

“Stone, after what you’ve learned about that family the past few days, I can’t tell you to believe anything Warren says, and if I were you, I’d be damn careful about believing anything Evan tells you, too. I did a little checking and found out what nursing home Warren’s dad is in, and I’m having that looked into.”

“Good. What’s the old man’s name?”

“Elijah, like his ancestor; he’s called Eli.”

“Warren said, or maybe you said, that he hired a skip tracer, who found Evan in Miami?”

“I hired him. Do you know Wally Millard?”

“Sure, from Elaine’s.” Wally was a retired cop, now a private investigator.

“I gave it to him, and he got it done.”

“I’ll call Wally.”

“Tell him I said it’s okay to talk to you and to call me for confi rmation if he wants.”

“Okay. Talk to you later.” Stone hung up and called the Gardens and left a voice mail for Evan Keating. “The contract will be here by noon tomorrow. Call me in the morning, and I’ll buy you lunch.”

Stone looked up Wally Millard’s number in his address book and called him.

“Hey, Stone.”

“Hey, Wally. Bill Eggers asked me to call you about a skip trace you did for him.”

“If I call Eggers, will he tell me that?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll take your word for it. What do you want to know?”

“It was a guy named Evan Keating. Apparently, you found him in Miami, but he skipped again.”

“Jesus, I’m getting too old to go running off to Miami on a skip. I called a guy named Manny White, ex-NYPD, who’s a P.I. down there, and he put somebody on it.” Wally gave him White’s number.

“Took him a couple of weeks, so finding the guy wasn’t a piece of cake. Tell him I said to call.”

“Thanks, Wally. Say hello to Elaine.”

“Sure.” Wally hung up.

“How’s Wally?” Dino asked.

“He’s okay.”

“I’m hungry, let’s get out of here. You can call Manny White later.”

“You know him?”

“Old-timer, Wally’s generation. I had some dealings with him on a case when I was still in a rookie uniform, and he busted my chops every chance he got.”

“Obviously, he knew you well.”

“What do you mean? I was a great rookie.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Remember what?”

“Everything.”

“Oh.”

THEY WENT TO the Raw Bar for conch fritters, third time. They were halfway through lunch when Stone’s cell phone went off. A Miami number.

“Hello?” Stone put it on speaker; it was easier than repeating everything to Dino.

“Is this that little Barrington shit who worked out of the Nineteenth, until they kicked his ass down the stairs?”

Dino broke up. “It’s Manny White.”

“No,” Stone said, “this is the Barrington who was a very smart detective at the Nineteenth and who walked down the stairs on his own.”

“I didn’t know there was one like that.”

“There was.”

“Wally called me. What the fuck do you want?”

“Wally gave you a skip trace on a guy named Evan Keating.”

“Yeah, I know that.”

“He said it took you two weeks to find him. What was so hard about it?”

“You think I hoof it up and down the streets looking for guys at my age? I put an agent on it. Took two weeks to check every hotel in South Beach, locate the guy and put a tail on him.”

“I hear you lost him.”

“So? People lose things all the time. Anyway, my agent lost him. What’s it to you?”

“I need background on the guy; there’s a hundred in it for you, if you can give me something I need.”

“What do you need?”

“Like I said, background. What was he doing in South Beach? Did he work? Who were his friends?”

“He was doing what everybody else in South Beach was doing—

looking pretty, drinking, snorting powder and spending money they don’t have, except he had the money. That’ll be a hundred bucks.”

“Come on, Manny, give me something about the guy, not about everybody else.”

Manny thought about it for a moment. “He had a boat. He left in it—that’s why my agent couldn’t figure out where he went.”

“I already knew he had a boat. Give me something worth the hundred.”

“He was staying at the Delano, which, if you don’t already know, is a hotshot hotel for the young and stupid. They got a pretty bar, but the rooms look like underfurnished cells in an insane asylum. The people who stay there think this is stylish.”

“Did he have a girl with him?”

“A different one every night. At least one.”

“How long was he there?”

“A month, give or take, and in a suite, too.”

“Where’d he come from?”

“His mama’s belly, where do you think?”

“Where did he live before South Beach?” Stone could hear some papers shuffl ing.

“Santa Fe.”

“In New Mexico?”

“No, in Alaska. A very hot spot, I hear.”

“How long was he there?”

“A month, give or take. Same thing with the girls. I hear he’s cute. Lemme give you my P.O. box for the hundred, which you’ve used up.” He gave the number and zip code. “You want to start on a second hundred?”

“You got anything else?”

“No, but I’ll take the second hundred.”

“Thanks, Manny, you’re a prince.” Stone hung up.

“Was he always like that?” he asked Dino.

“Always. Did you call the Swede? You promised.”

Stone sighed and got out his cell again.