Black Dog

Nineteen

Stone sat Joan down and put a document before her. “This is Ed Sr.’s estate tax return. If you read it carefully, you may note an additional declaration of three million dollars in income, which we have not previously discussed.”

“Then why are we discussing it now?” Joan asked.

“It’s like this: Ed Sr. had a financial relationship with Dominic Datilla, affectionately known to some as Datilla the Hun.”

“What kind of financial relationship?”

“Ed loaned Datilla money,” Stone replied.

“He loaned the Mafia money?”

“He did, and at a great profit to himself. Datilla distributed the money to his capos and their loan sharks loaned it, in varying amounts, to gamblers and as loans to those who could not obtain credit at banks. All at a very high interest rate. In return, Ed Sr. received a large payment in cash weekly. Some of it is the money in the Excelsior safe.”

“Ah.”

“I have given Ed’s accountant the three million dollars he loaned Datilla, in cash, which was reported on Ed’s tax return as income, so you’re all square with the IRS.”

“Datilla returned Ed’s money?”

“By the way, we are running out of safe space to store your millions. Ed may have a large safe somewhere in the house that you can store it in, and the combination will probably be concealed nearby.”

“Or in Ed’s notebook,” she said, “which I found in his desk drawer.”

“If he doesn’t have such a safe, I suggest that you measure an available space in the house, then drop into Empire Safes — on East Thirty-Ninth Street — and order a new one to fill the empty space.”

“What a good idea!” she said. “I must say, I’m impressed that you persuaded Datilla to return the principal. How did you do that?”

Stone shrugged. “I put it to him as a matter of honor. Those gentlemen take honor very seriously. And on occasion, they choose to live by it.”

“And Datilla did?”

“He did. I was very relieved because his honor was all we had going for us. He could have booted me out into the street, but he didn’t. We could hardly sue him.”

“I should write him a thank-you note.”

Stone laughed. “That might amuse him, but let’s let sleeping mafiosi lie.”

“As you wish. Where do I sign the return?”

“Your accountant has already signed it.”

“Oh, good. Now all I have to do is to put all the household accounts in my name, and I’m done.”

“May I make a suggestion?”

“Of course.”

“Give your household staff a ten percent raise. It will stand you in good stead with them.”

“What a good idea!”

“I’m glad you think so.”

The phone rang. Joan answered the one on Stone’s desk, then handed it to him. “Dino.”

“Good morning, Commissioner.”

“Yeah, sure. You know where I can put my hands on Eddie Jr.?”

“He was parked outside my house last time I knew that, so you had a shot.”

“That didn’t work out.”

“He’s living at the Yale Club, I think.”

“Well, he’s got some stuff there, but no sign of his corpus. Does he have another address?”

“I don’t think so. Annetta’s will barred him from her customary lairs. And we’ve changed the locks on all of those. Do you have a charge?”

“I’m thinking murder one,” Dino said.

“You finally think he killed Annetta?”

“Who else would profit from her death?”

“Well, Joan would and did. But she’s hardly a suspect.”

“We’ve already removed her name from the list.”

“Eddie won’t profit from Annetta’s death, either. She left him a generous bequest in a trust, but cut him off from everything else.”

“Did Eddie know that at the time?”

“I don’t know. She may have told him. Or she may have just let him find out about it later, when she wouldn’t be present for the resulting tantrum.”

“Okay, then. He can try proving at his trial that he didn’t know he was disinherited.”

“He can certainly try.”

“Can he bring a civil suit about the will?”

“Sure, but he won’t win. She had no obligation to tell him that she had cut him off at the knees.”

“Then we can make a case that he thought he was inheriting everything.”

“Why not? Given the life he’s led, he must have done something that he should do time for.”

“Has he got any hangouts where we might find him?”

“Well, he used to hang out at P. J. Clarke’s now and again, but after his last visit there, he won’t be welcome anymore. Of course, that may not stop him from trying to get a table. The guy is brazen.”

“That will make it all the more fun when we catch up to him.”

“Have you put out an APB?”

“Nah, if we do that, he’ll hear about it and go to ground or leave town. Did Annetta have any other houses anywhere?”

“The place in East Hampton. I’ll ask Joan about others.”

“Dinner tonight? Rotisserie Georgette?”

“See you at seven.”