Quick & Dirty

25

Stone was on his way uptown in a cab to meet Dino, Viv, and Morgan for dinner when his cell phone rang. “Hello?”

“It’s Art Masi.”

“Hello, Art. How did you do with Federal Express?”

“I did okay. How did you know?”

“Know?”

“Who the package was addressed to.”

“I guessed. Obviously, I was right.”

“You were. Why would Tillman send the painting to himself?”

“He sent it to the only person he trusted,” Stone said. “He didn’t have a lot of friends, and apparently none he would entrust with his art treasure. Did you find out when it was delivered?”

“He sent it for third-day delivery. The following Wednesday a doorman in his building signed for it. The homicide guys missed that.”

“It’s understandable. Why would they be interested in a package that arrived three days after his death? Would you have thought to look for that?”

“No,” Art replied.

“Neither would I,” Stone said. The cab pulled up in front of Rotisserie Georgette. “I’ve gotta run. Let me know if you come up with something else.” He hung up and got out of the cab.

Dino was there, alone. “Hey.”

Stone sat down and immediately a waiter set down a High Rock on the rocks. They didn’t serve Knob Creek. “Where are the girls?”

“Where are they ever?” Dino asked. “Viv wasn’t home when I left to walk down here. She probably went to the apartment to fix her makeup or something. Morgan is your problem.”

“Right,” Stone said, tasting his New York State bourbon. It was lighter than his usual, but flavorful. “I had an interesting day,” he said.

“I wish I could say that,” Dino replied. “Regale me with the events.”

“Well, I learned that Pio Farina and Ann Kusch were at Mark Tillman’s house on the afternoon he died.”

Dino sat up straight. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?” he demanded.

“Because I learned about it only today.” He explained how Art Masi had called them in for questioning. “After that they came to my office and asked me to represent them.”

“Do you think they offed Tillman?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because the evidence doesn’t support a charge. They got there at two-thirty, had a drink, then left.”

“Did you check that with the doormen?”

“No, did your people?”

Dino glowered at him. “Don’t be a smartass.”

“I haven’t been back to the building, or I would have asked, but I would have thought that your people, as a matter of routine, would have inquired if he had any visitors that day.”

Dino whipped out his cell phone and pressed a button; a brief conversation ensued, then he hung up. “They inquired and were told by the doormen that Tillman had no visitors, until his wife went up.”

“Something else,” Stone said. “When they left, Tillman asked them to drop off a package for him at a FedEx office on Second Avenue.”

“How big a package?”

“Not big, but big enough to hold the van Gogh.”

“I’d like to know who he sent it to,” Dino said. “I’ll have somebody check with FedEx.”

“Don’t bother, Art Masi has already done so. Tillman sent it to himself.”

Dino stared at Stone blankly. “What the fuck?”

“That’s pretty much what I thought, until I realized he had sent it to the only person he trusted. He sent it three-day. It arrived on the Wednesday morning after his death.”

“Does Morgan know about this?”

“She would have been the only one home on that Wednesday,” Stone said.

“Have you mentioned it to her?”

“No, but Masi has searched the apartment twice, and it wasn’t there. He searched the East Hampton house, too, and found nothing.”

“He’s an art guy,” Dino said, “not a homicide detective.”

“He knows how to look for a painting,” Stone pointed out.

“Here come the girls,” Dino said. “Keep your mouth shut about this.”

“We bumped into each other on the way in,” Viv said, “and we did a little window-shopping.”

Everybody kissed everybody else.

After dinner, Stone took Morgan home and stayed the night. After sex, she always slept like a stone, and she did so that night.

In the middle of the night, Stone crept out of bed and walked downstairs. He switched on the lights in the living room and had a look around. Now, where would somebody put a package that had been delivered? He looked under the furniture, then checked the coat closet in the entry hall. There, he found an empty frame, about the size to have held the van Gogh, but no package.

He walked back into the living room and looked at the wall of pictures; they were thickly hung. Without counting, he estimated fifteen or twenty. The space where the van Gogh had hung had not been filled; it was between a Matisse still life and a Utrillo Paris street scene.

He checked the wall with the pictures for a secret panel, then the same with the bookcases. Nothing. He went into the kitchen and opened the cabinet doors, one by one, then he checked the freezer.

“What are you doing naked in my kitchen?” Morgan’s voice said.

Stone jumped, then turned to find her behind him, also naked.

“I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep, and I felt a little peckish.”

“How about some cheese?” she asked.

“Perfect.” She lifted a bell jar and put the stand on the table, exhibiting a Saint-André, a Humboldt Fog, and a Pont-l’Évêque. “Choose something,” she said, sitting down with a box of crackers and a cheese knife in her hand.

Stone chose the Pont-l’Évêque and sat down. “This chair is cold,” he said.

“It will warm up in a minute.” She found an open bottle of red and poured them both a glass. “This will help.”

“You’re right, the chair is getting warmer,” he said.

They finished their cheese. Stone wondered if she had seen him searching her apartment. “What time does your maid come in?” he asked.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I don’t want to be seen naked in your kitchen, eating cheese,” he said.

“Don’t worry, she doesn’t get in until around six-thirty, and she leaves at one. Let’s go back to bed,” she said. “There’s something I’d like to do to you.”

There was, and she did.

On the way out of the building, Stone stopped at the front desk.

“Good morning, Mr. Barrington,” one of the men said.

“Good morning. Mrs. Tillman asked me to check and see if a FedEx package had arrived for her or Mr. Tillman—”

“Not this morning, sir. Not yesterday, either.”

“I was about to say that this would have been about eighteen months ago.” He mentioned the date. “They were expecting something, but it never arrived.”

The man produced a ledger from under the countertop and looked up the date. “No, sir, nothing arrived on that date, or the days before and after.”

“FedEx says it was signed for by a doorman.”

The man shook his head firmly. “No, sir, we log in every package that arrives.”

“Thank you.” Stone went home, annoyed.