Loitering with Intent

41

STONE WA S PACKING his bags after a late breakfast when his cell phone buzzed. “Hello?”

“It’s Eggers.”

“Morning, Bill. I’m just packing for the return trip.”

“Unpack,” Eggers said. “You’re back on my dime.”

“What’s up?”

“Warren Keating’s attorney just called me. Early this morning, his housekeeper arrived and found him dead in his kitchen, shot in the head.”

“Suicide?”

“The lawyer didn’t have any other details.”

“This just gets weirder and weirder,” Stone said.

“Yes, it does. I want to know what’s going on, and I want you to find out for me. Take another week if you need to.”

“At my usual hourly rate?”

“I’ll spring for a generous flat rate. We’ll talk it over when you get home.”

“Okay, Bill. I’ll be in touch.” Stone hung up and walked out onto the front porch, where Dino was drinking a second cup of coffee.

“Ready for the latest?” Stone asked.

“Always.”

“Warren Keating has died from a gunshot to the head.”

“His own or somebody else’s?”

“That’s what I want you to find out. Call your buddy on the Connecticut State Police.”

Dino dialed the number and pressed the speaker phone button.

“Robbery Homicide, Lieutenant Dan Hotchkiss.”

“Dan, it’s Dino.”

“You again?”

“Me again. I heard about Warren Keating.”

“Are you still in Key West?”

“Yes. News travels fast in this modern age.”

“I want to know how you heard about it. The media don’t know yet.”

“Keating’s lawyer called a lawyer I know, who called the lawyer I’m down here with. I am not a suspect.”

“You are until I say you aren’t.”

“All I know is that he was shot in the head. Was it a suicide?”

“If it was, he managed to hide the gun after he was dead. Oh, and he removed a pane from the kitchen window so he could shoot himself through it without scattering glass everywhere and making a lot of noise. A very neat fellow, Mr. Keating. Quick on his feet, too.”

“So the shooter removed the window and popped him from outside?”

“From the azalea bed behind the house. We found some impressions, but nothing so good as to give us a usable footprint. He cleaned up his brass, too, though it was only one shell. Clean shot to the left temple.”

“Anybody hear a gunshot?”

“No, and it was dinnertime, so somebody in the neighborhood should have noticed. My guess is a silencer was used.”

“Any other evidence?”

“Some tire tracks at a lot next door that was otherwise pretty clean, since a bulldozer had scraped it for a building site. Pirelli 210 snow tires that can be driven year round—expensive. The nearest Mercedes dealer is the only place anywhere around here who stocks them.”

“Dan, this is a little off the wall, but we had a shooter like that in Key West who took a shot at somebody who was pretending to be Warren Keating’s son. Didn’t kill him, though; that’s another story. The shooter left town in a bright red Cessna 182, headed north. You might check the local airports for an airplane like that.” Dino gave him the tail number.

“Okay, I’ll get it on the radio.”

Dino gave him his cell number. “I’d appreciate hearing about anything else you come up with,” he said. “Did you ever know Tommy Sculley, from the NYPD?”

“Yeah, I talked to him a couple of times.”

“He’s the lead detective on the investigation down here, so you might coordinate with him.”

“I’ll do that.”

“Oh, by the way, did you find a slug?”

“We did, embedded in the drywall behind where Keating was sitting. It’s in Hartford for ballistics tests.”

“I’m sure Tommy would appreciate it if you faxed him the report for comparison.”

“Will do.”

“Thanks, Dan.” Dino hung up.

“It’s going to be from the same rifle,” Stone said. “The one in Vernon’s duffel.”

“You know what this sounds like?” Dino asked.

“What?”

“Sounds like the grandfather, Eli, hired somebody to off his son and his grandson, leaving him with all of the eight hundred million from the sale of the business.”

“That’s nice and symmetrical, but what would a guy in his eighties do with eight hundred million?”

“Maybe he just hated his son and grandson enough to want them not to get any of it. It would be interesting to know who the money goes to if Eli kicks off soon.”

“I’ll ask Eggers next time we talk. Call Tommy and tell him about this.”

Dino made the call while Stone listened in.

“That’s an interesting turn of events,” Tommy said.

“Tommy,” Stone broke in, “were there autopsy photographs taken of the corpse you thought was Charley Boggs?”

“Yeah, I’ve got ’em in my desk drawer.”

“See if there’s a knife wound to the left rib cage.”

Tommy took a moment. “No, nothing visible. Why do you ask?”

“The guy we thought was Evan Keating had a knife wound treated at Key West Hospital. Annika was his doctor, and she said he was clean-shaven.”

“So the real Charley Boggs had been knifed, as well as shot?”

“Something else: he paid his hospital bill with a black American Express card.”

“I’ve never seen one of those,” Tommy said.

“It’s their most elite card, limited to subscribers who spend a lot on their Amex cards.”

“So?”

“The card was in Evan Keating’s name. Do you think Evan Keating, during his identity swap with Charley Boggs, would loan Charley his credit card, one with no limit?”

“Well, let me put it this way,” Tommy said. “If you and I swapped identities and I had one of those black cards, I think I’d hang on to it.”

“So would I,” Dino said.

“So I take it you’re thinking that Charley Boggs might be Evan Keating instead of Charley Boggs?”

“It crossed my mind,” Stone said.

“Then why would he come in and confess to killing the real Charley Boggs, but say it was himself?”

“Because I told him that somebody might have put out a contract on him, and he apparently thought it was his father. Maybe he fi gured that if he was dead, his old man might save the money on the hit man.”

“That makes sense. Where is this guy now, do you know?”

“I do not. He checked out of this hotel three days ago.”

“So he had time to visit Connecticut?”

“I guess he did at that.”

Dino broke in and told Tommy about Dan Hotchkiss, and gave him his phone number. “Maybe you should consult with Dan,” Dino said.

“Consult I will,” Tommy said.