Shakeup

56

They slept quietly through the night, sated with each other. The bell on the dumbwaiter woke Stone at seven. They finished their saugage and eggs quietly and were having coffee when Stone spoke.

“We’ve got another problem,” he said.

“Swell,” she said, “and just when I thought we’d — or rather, you’d — worked it out. What is the problem?”

“We don’t know who the third party was — the pro.”

“Oh, shit.”

“And how are we going to find out?” he asked.

“Well,” Maren said, “pros don’t take out an ad in the Times, do they?”

“They used to do that in Soldier of Fortune magazine,” Stone said, “but I’m not sure that’s even still in business.”

“I haven’t heard of it in years,” Maren said.

“How well do you know Little Debby?” he asked.

“I’ve had a drink with her. I think we’ve been at the same dinner party a couple of times, but I can’t say I know her.”

“Who’s her best friend?”

“Donald Clark,” she replied, “but she apparently got tired of him.”

“Do you know of anybody who knows her well?”

“She’s not the sort to have a lot of friends, and certainly not the kind she would confide in about how to hire a pro.”

They finished their coffee and went to their respective showers.

Debby awoke in a bed that was empty on the other side, but still a little warm. She called Rocco’s room.

“Yes?”

“Aren’t you coming to me for breakfast?”

“I didn’t think I should be there, naked, when the room service waiter arrives.”

“Well, there is that.”

“You order, I’ll shower and dress. Call me when the waiter has gone.”

“I’ll do that.” They both hung up.

They had breakfast at the table in Debby’s sitting room. “Is it too early for us to scram?” she asked.

“Do you want to stick around until the cops call on you?”

“Why should they do that?” she asked.

“Well, if the only person who could give credible testimony against you takes a dive out a high window, they might have a few questions for you.”

She looked at her watch. “I’ll give them until we’re ready to check out, then we’re out of here. Call the driver for me, will you? Here in an hour?”

“Certainly,” Rocco replied.

At his desk later in the morning, Stone called Dino.

“Bacchetti.”

“Let me run a scenario by you about Eddie Craft’s death,” Stone said.

“You know that’s a federal matter, don’t you? Craft had already been served with a subpoena.”

“Well, yeah, but listen to this anyway. I just want to know if you think it plays.”

“Okay, I’m listening.”

Stone took him through his theory of the murders, pausing frequently to answer Dino’s questions. Finally, he was done. “What do you think?”

“I think you’ve crafted a theory to match the circumstances, but that doesn’t mean it will convince a jury. You’ve gotta come up with the third guy, the pro.”

“And even if we do, why is the pro going to tell us all?”

“Tell you what. You find the pro, then leave him in a room with me for half an hour, and he’ll tell me all.”

“So your plan is to beat it out of him?”

“Of course not! You know we don’t do that anymore!”

“I do?”

“Trust me, you do.”

“Okay, okay, but if we’re going to find the pro, we’re going to have to get his name out of Little Debby, and if we left her alone in a room with you for half an hour, she’d probably beat you up.”

“You wound me,” Dino said, sounding wounded.

“No, but Little Debby certainly would.”

“Whatever,” Dino said.

“So, who do you know who knows what makes Little Debby tick?”

“Donald Clark,” Dino said, “but he’s out of action.”

“You’re a big help. Anybody else?”

“Maybe,” Dino said.

“Don’t be coy. If you’ve got something, spit it out.”

“Okay,” Dino said. “How’s this for a trail of breadcrumbs for you to follow... Little Debby had a rep for liking her lovers in pairs, didn’t she?”

“Yes, and sometimes treys.”

“Then ask somebody she fucked.”

“Well, let’s see: I can think of three, and two of them are dead. In fact, it has just occurred to me that one of them, Deana Carlyle, died the same way Donald Clark did.”

“Deana Carlyle? Producing another victim isn’t going to get you the name of the pro, but she was somebody’s girlfriend, wasn’t she?”

Stone snapped his fingers. “That’s it!”

“Did you snap your fingers?” Dino asked. “You hardly ever do that. You must have come up with something good.”

“Art Jacoby,” Stone said. “Deana was his girlfriend, and they’ve both been in the sack with Debby.”

“And Art hates her, so he knows her well!”

“Is he sitting down the hall from you?”

“Hang.” Dino put him on hold. “Nope,” he said finally, “he called in sick. He should be home in bed.”

“Thank you, pal.” Stone hung up and called Art. The call went straight to voicemail. “Art, it’s Stone. Call me, please.” He tried the landline: busy, busy, busy.

Maren walked into Stone’s office, looking fresh. “Good morning again,” she said.

“I found somebody who knows Little Debby well,” Stone replied. He called Art again, got the same trip to voicemail.

“Come on,” he said, standing up and getting into his jacket. “We’re going to go see him.”

“See who?”

“Art Jacoby,” Stone said. “He’s a detective on the DCPD.”

“Why does he know Debby so well?”

“Because they hate each other.”

“What better reason?” she asked. “Let’s go.”