Quick & Dirty

40

When he had finished breakfast Stone called Bob Cantor.

“Now what?” Cantor asked, as if he were in a hurry.

“I’ve got a very important iPhone I’ve got to get into, but no fingerprint to open it.”

“Where’s the fingerprint?”

“In the morgue on a corpse.”

“Cold?”

“Very cold.”

“Then your only shot is the four-digit entry code that comes up when a print doesn’t work.”

“And how do I break that?”

“By entering the code.”

“The code is inside the corpse’s brain.”

“Oh. Then you’re fucked.”

“There’s no way?”

“If you could recall Steve Jobs from the great beyond, maybe he could figure it out. Apple says even they can’t do it.”

“But somebody, some little company, got the FBI into an iPhone, remember?”

“No, I don’t remember and neither does anybody else, because the FBI didn’t mention their name. Maybe the director could point you in the right direction.”

“Thanks, Bob, you’ve been a big help,” Stone said, then hung up. He plugged Sam’s phone into the charger on his desk; it was 66 percent charged. He tried turning it on, but only the keypad for entering the code came up. He tried to think: What numbers might be associated with Sam Spain?” He had no clue, of course, having met the man only twice before he hit him with the cosh.

He tried emptying his mind, which wasn’t hard, but nothing came to him. He examined Sam’s iPhone, but it was the standard thing, white in color. He got up and started pacing, his hands in his pockets, then he felt a card in his trouser pocket and fished it out.

It was Sam’s business card; the address on 125th Street was a four-digit number. He grabbed the phone, turned it on, and entered the number. Nothing. He threw the card into the trash can; he wouldn’t be needing that anymore.

Stone slumped into his chair, but something was nagging at his mind. He picked up the trash can, found the card, and turned it over. On the back was a cell phone number. He picked up Sam’s phone, turned it on, and entered the last four digits of the number.

The phone came to life.

Dino’s private line rang, and he picked it up. “Bacchetti.”

“It’s Stone,” he said. “I’m calling from Sam Spain’s phone.”

“You got in?” Dino asked incredulously.

“I did. His entry code was the last four digits of his cell phone number.”

“Not very secure,” Dino said.

“Thank God for that.”

“How the hell did you get his cell phone number?”

“It was on a card I found in Manolo Fernandez’s pocket.”

“Manolo, the stiff who took the dive?”

“One and the same.”

“That’s brilliant, Stone!”

“Now I’ve got a list of numbers that Sam called during the last week. There are a couple of dozen.”

“Give them to me, and I’ll check them out.”

“I’ve already e-mailed them to you. Just find out who the numbers belong to. Don’t start calling them, you might frighten somebody, and we don’t want that.”

“I’ll get back to you,” Dino said, then hung up.

Stone went through the numbers carefully. Many of them had names attached that meant nothing to him; then he saw one he had missed. The name was Nellie Fineman. “That’s gotta be Sol Fineman’s wife,” he said aloud to himself.

Joan buzzed him. “Dino’s on one.”

“That was fast,” Stone said.

“No, actually it was a little slow. We’re still running the numbers, but I forgot to tell you that the morgue called this morning and reported a floater in the East River yesterday, up at Hell Gate.”

“Anybody I know?”

“Yep, one Ralph Weede, a doorman at 740 and the chief suspect in the murder of Manolo Fernandez.”

“Well, that will save everybody a lot of trouble,” Stone said.

“Who do you like for Ralph’s little swim?”

“Oh, Sam Spain, of course. The last time anybody reported seeing Ralph it was me, when I saw him going into Sam’s bar. In fact, come to think of it, I know how he ended up in the East River.”

“What do you mean, how?” Dino asked. “He took a long walk off a short pier.”

“Yeah? How was he feeling at the time?”

“Like a guy with two slugs in his head, in the best tradition.”

“Well, he got into the river from Sam Spain’s office.”

“That’s a longer pier than I imagined.”

“Sol Fineman told me there’s a river running under Sam’s bar that leads to the East River. He suggested that I might be exploring it soon.”

“Ah, that all fits together, doesn’t it?”

“I almost forgot, in going over the phone calls that Sam made or received, I found one listed under the name of Nellie Fineman.”

“Sol has a wife?”

“In fact, he mentioned her, said she ran up his cosh on her sewing machine. Accessory after the fact in Sam’s death maybe?”

“You mean, she was your accomplice?”

“Stop it!”

“Something I forgot to tell you — an assistant DA named Aaron Milestone would like to speak to you, preferably in his office. I’ll give you his number so you can make an appointment.”

“Okay, I’ve got his number, but I have no intention of calling him.”

“Want a tip?” Dino asked.

“Sure.”

“Call him.”

“I don’t have to.”

“No, you don’t, but it would be in your interest to talk to him before he sends somebody to look for you. It would look better.”

“Look better to whom?”

“His boss.”

“Oh, all right, I’ll call him. I assume you’ve already got an APB out for Sol Fineman?”

“Since yesterday.”

“Oh, good. I think Sol might be a very good chief suspect in the death of Ralph Weede, since you no longer have Sam Spain to kick around, and it’s the sort of work he did for Sam. And you can always name Nellie as an accessory in the attempted murder of me, just to turn up the heat. Also, it would be a lot of fun to get a look at Nellie’s cell phone.”

“I’ll get back to you,” Dino said, and hung up.