Fresh Disasters (19 page)

S
tone sat at a table in the back room of P. J. Clarke’s and watched Dino devour a steak. His own lunch was a single beer, which he sipped occasionally. “I don’t know how you can eat that,” he said.

Dino carved a chunk off the steak and stuffed it in his mouth. “Why? It’s a decent piece of meat. Not as good as the strip steak they used to serve, though; I don’t know why they took that off the menu.”

“I’m not talking about the quality of the steak.”

“Oh, come on, Stone. You and I have attended a passel of corpses and autopsies over the years; what’s the big deal with a head in a box?”

“I knew her, that’s the big deal. You knew her, too.”

“You’re like most people, I guess: You confuse the remains with the person. A corpse—or part of a corpse—is a shell, a husk that once contained a human being. It deserves respect but not sentimentality.”

“You’re getting awfully philosophical in your old age,” Stone said.

“That’s always been my philosophy. Haven’t we talked about this before?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry it took so long; you need this information.”

“Now that I have it I don’t feel any better.”

“That’s because you haven’t eaten anything. Have a bacon cheeseburger; that always improves your morale.” Dino waved at a waiter. “Bring my friend a bacon cheeseburger, medium, and tell the chef if it arrives well done I’ll take it back there and make
him
eat it; I don’t care about his product liability policy.” The waiter left. “Have you noticed that you can’t get a burger anything but well done these days? It’s not like Clarke’s ever gave anybody food poisoning. Drives me nuts.” He waved at the waiter again. “Bring him some fries, too; he needs the grease.”

“I had a thought,” Stone said.

“Well, that’s an improvement.”

“I thought I might go and see Eduardo.” Eduardo Bianco was Dino’s former father-in-law, before his divorce from Eduardo’s daughter, Mary Ann. Although a distinguished elder statesman of the city, he retained discreet connections to his Mafia past.

“Why? You want somebody capped?” Dino chuckled.

Stone said nothing.

Dino looked more serious. “Oh, I get it: You want to get Eduardo to get somebody to get somebody else to knock off Devlin Daltry, right?”

“It crossed my mind.”

“Would that solve all your problems?”

“Pretty much.”

“That would never work, Stone.”

“Why not?”

“Because you have a conscience, and you take lawyering seriously. You believe in the system, and you won’t violate that.”

“I’ve violated it before; so have you.”

“My ethical system is based on something older than the law,” Dino said, “and besides, maybe I’ve done some things, but all you did was watch and keep your mouth shut.”

“That’s abetting, isn’t it?”

“Sure. You’re not above abetting if you don’t have to get your hands dirty. That’s why you want Eduardo to get somebody to get somebody else to whack Daltry, instead of doing it yourself. Of course, you’d be just as legally guilty and as morally reprehensible if you did that, instead of actually doing it yourself.”

“I guess.” The bacon cheeseburger arrived, and Stone took a big bite and chewed thoughtfully.

Dino inspected the burger and found it properly cooked. “Look, if you really want him dead, it would be a lot more fun to do it yourself.”

Stone swallowed and took a sip of his beer. “I grant you that, but there’s always the messy part about getting caught and arrested and tried and imprisoned and spending the rest of my life appealing a death sentence. It’s funny, but Celia told me once that she wanted Daltry dead, and I lectured her about the personal dangers involved in doing that, and now here I am giving myself the same lecture, instead of throwing caution to the wind and hunting the guy down and blowing his head off.”

“Well, if that’s what you want to do,” Dino said, “I’d advise against throwing caution to the wind.”

“You mean I should plan the perfect murder?”

“It doesn’t have to be perfect,” Dino pointed out, “at least, not if you do it in my precinct. A friend on the force is better than a perfect plan. You know, witness statements get changed, evidence gets lost. Like that.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Sure. I’d even work the case myself, to make sure it gets done right.”

“And risk your career?”

“I don’t care about promotion, and, thanks to my divorce settlement, I don’t need my pension anymore.”

“The pension comes in handy, believe me. There are times when I would have gone belly up without mine.” Stone, having been involuntarily retired from the NYPD for medical reasons after taking a bullet in the knee, got seventy-five percent of his detective’s salary, tax free.

Dino shrugged. “I’ll do whatever you want. What do you
really
want?”

Stone thought about that for a minute, while wolfing down half a dozen fries. “What I really want is to see him caught, convicted and imprisoned forever.”

“Then let’s do that,” Dino said. “You call Charley Sample and get him to call me and make a formal request for NYPD assistance. That’ll give me an excuse to put some people on Daltry. We’ll see what we come up with.”

“I like that, Dino,” Stone said, brightening.

“You know what the best possible thing would be?”

“What?”

“If you could get Daltry to make a serious pass at killing you. Then we could catch him in the act and send him up for ten-to-twenty while we keep working on Celia’s death.”

“You mean, like, if I just go stand in the street he might try to run me down again?”

“Yeah, like that. I don’t think there’s any doubt that Daltry would like to kill you; let’s just give the guy a chance.”

“And hope he misses?”

“Preferably. After all, we’d need you as a witness.”

“Well, Dino, as appealing as your idea is, I have a better one.”

“Stone, it’s been a long, long time since you had a better idea than I did. Maybe never.”

“How’s this? Let’s find out who the accomplice is, then we can bust him and turn him and fry Daltry.”

Dino nodded. “Well, it’s not a very original idea, but it has its points.”

“It keeps me out of the traffic, for one.”

“There is that.”

“I’ve got an idea about how to go about it, too.”

“I’m all ears.”

“I’ll bet Daltry already has another girlfriend. Get your people to find out who she is, then let’s turn her.”

Dino shook his head. “That’s asking an amateur to do undercover work. It could blow up in your face, might even get her killed. I’ve got a better idea.”

“What’s that?”

“Let’s get him a new girlfriend who’s trained for the work.” Dino smiled a secret smile. “You get Charley Sample to call me.”

Stone got out his cell phone and made the call. “Charley? It’s Stone. Give Dino a call, will you? He needs an official request for help with nailing Devlin Daltry.” He hung up.

A moment later, Dino’s cell phone rang. Dino flipped it open. “Why, Lieutenant Sample, how can the NYPD be of service today?”

S
tone was back at his desk in time to catch a call.

“Herbert Fisher, Esquire, is on the phone,” Joan said drily.

Stone didn’t want to take the call, but he was curious as to Herbie’s whereabouts. He punched the button. “Hello.”

“Stone!”

“Where are you, Herbie?”

“I’m calling from the backseat of a police car, that’s where I am.”

“I didn’t know they had phones in the backs of police cars these days. What’ll they think of next?”

“No, no, they let me use my cell phone.”

“That was very nice of them.”

“Don’t you get it, Stone? I’ve been arrested!”

Stone heard another voice from the car. “You haven’t been arrested; you’re in protective custody.”

“You haven’t been arrested, Herbie,” Stone said. “You’re in protective custody.”

“What the hell does that mean? Am I in the witness protection program or something?”

“No, Herbie, it’s just that the D.A. wants you to remain alive at least long enough for you to testify against Carmine Dattila.”

“Testify against Carmine Dattila? Is the D.A. nuts?”

“Herbie, you have a lawsuit against Dattila, remember? That means you’ll have to testify against him in civil court. What’s the difference if you testify in criminal court, too? If he’s convicted, it strengthens your lawsuit.”

“So I have to sit in jail until he goes to trial?”

The other voice came again. “You’re not going to jail; you’ll be in a nice hotel room with a big TV and room service.”

“Wouldn’t you like a nice hotel with a big TV and room service, Herbie?” Stone asked.

“Well, sure, but I’d like to get laid now and then.”

“We don’t provide that service,” the other voice said. “You’ll have to talk to a bellhop about that.”

“Herbie,” Stone said soothingly, “there’s nothing you can’t get sent to a hotel room. You can order Chinese or pizza; you can order a girl with her own donkey.”

“Donkey? Why would she want a donkey?”

“Herbie, it’s just an illustration of the wide world that’s available to you from a hotel room. Tell you what, I’ll call the D.A. and see if I can get you a suite.”

“Well, that would be better,” Herbie said, but he still sounded doubtful. “Can my girlfriend visit me?”

“Do you have a girlfriend, Herbie?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Well, then, whether she can visit you is kind of a moot point, isn’t it? You remember
moot,
from law school?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. What about my clothes?”

“I’m sure the nice policeman would be happy to stop by your apartment and let you pick up some essentials. My advice is, take lots of pajamas. Pajamas are good to wear when you’re swanning around a hotel suite.”

“Sort of like Hef, huh?”

“Exactly like Hef, Herbie. Look at it this way: You’ll be safe, you’ll be comfortable and you can have anything you want to eat, and the D.A. pays the bills. All that and cable with pay-per-view movies.”

“Will the D.A. pay for the movies, too?”

“Just charge it to the room, Herbie. And when you’re all settled in, you might give me a call and let me know what hotel you’re in.”

“Okay.”

“But Herbie, it’s very, very important that you don’t tell anyone else but me what hotel you’re in. You see that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Enjoy, Herbie.” Stone hung up and called Dierdre Monahan. “Dierdre, your men have located Herbie Fisher.”

“I heard, Stone; they work for me, remember?”

“Of course. Listen, kiddo, the boy is going to need a suite.”

“A
suite
? Are you kidding me? We’re not springing for a suite.”

“Dierdre, the kind of hotel you stash witnesses in doesn’t charge much more for a suite than for a room, and you’re going to have to have a couple of cops on duty there, and they’ll want someplace to hang out. You don’t want to trap them in one room with Herbie Fisher; they’ll blow their brains out.”

She was silent for a moment. “You have a point there.”

“And I’m sure the D.A.’s office can get a really good rate from the hotel.”

“I guess.”

“And Dierdre, don’t take the kid’s cell phone away from him. It’s a throwaway and untraceable, so Dattila can’t find him that way.”

“I got Dattila held without bail,” she said.

Stone could hear her grinning. “That’s great, kiddo!”

“When are we going to, you know, again?”

“Whenever you say; just call.”

“Will do.”

“And be nice to my client.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She hung up.

Joan buzzed him. “I’ve got Bob Cantor holding on two.”

Stone pressed the button. “Bob? What’s up?”

“I got good news and bad news,” Cantor said.

“Bad news first, please.”

“Bernie Finger has put the penthouse on the market.”

“That is bad news,” Stone agreed. “You think he’s really going to give up the girlfriend and go back to his wife?”

“You haven’t heard the good news. The girlfriend is shopping for a new apartment with the same agent who’s listing the penthouse.”

“Well, I guess she’s got to live somewhere. How is that good news?”

“She’s looking at apartments she could never afford, that’s how. Bernie can afford them, though.”

“That
is
good news. Keep on her, okay?”

“Oh, yeah.” Cantor hung up.

Stone toyed with the idea of calling Mrs. Finger and telling her about the masseuse’s search for shelter. No, he thought, not yet; not while Bernie is still being sweet to her. Wait until the girl finds a place and moves in; then Bernie will suddenly start working nights again. Stone would be patient.

D
ino walked through the detectives’ squad room at the 19th Precinct, tapped one of his people on the shoulder and motioned toward his office. He settled behind his desk and watched the new detective walk toward him.

“Have a seat,” he said. “How tall are you?”

“Six foot, two, Boss.”

“How long you had the gold shield?”

“Three weeks, Boss.”

“You don’t have to call me ‘Boss’ all the time, just sometimes. Try Dino.”

“Three weeks, Dino.”

“How would you like to do a little undercover work?”

The detective’s eyes brightened. “I’d love it, Boss. Uh, Dino.”

“You know why I picked you for this assignment?”

The detective looked thoughtful for a moment. “Does it have something to do with how tall I am?”

“That, and how beautiful you are,” Dino said. “And I don’t mean that in a sexual harrassment way. What’s your first name, Detective?”

“Willa.”

“As in Willa she or won’ta she?”

“Gee, I hadn’t heard that one before, Dino. Uh, Boss. What kind of undercover are we talking about?”

“The dangerous kind.”

“Goes with the territory, I guess.”

“Let me explain, Willa. There’s a corpse out in New Jersey, a very beautiful, six-foot, three-inch woman, and it has only recently been reunited with its head. It’s very likely that she was murdered by someone sent by a man named Devlin Daltry.”

“The sculptor?”

“If you’ve heard of the guy you’re a lot more artsy-fartsy than I am. Yeah, the sculptor. The guy has a history of obsessing over women, stalking them and doing violence to other men who are interested in them. He’s not a very big guy, but he seems to have a thing for tall women who are also beautiful.”

“I get the picture,” Willa said.

“I want you to study up on him, then place yourself in his way and see what happens.”

Willa straightened her skirt and looked uncomfortable. “Do I have to fuck him?”

“Of course not. Do you think I would order a detective to fuck somebody in the line of duty?”

She thought about it for a moment. “I guess not.”

“That would be very unprofessional, even if it was a good idea in the context of the thing.”

“Are you saying, unofficially, that it might be a good idea for me to fuck him?”

“Are you wearing a wire or something?”

“No, Boss.”

“That sounds like the kind of question somebody who was wearing a wire would ask.”

“I’m not. You want to search me?”

“We’re not going there, Detective. All I’m saying is that you have a certain amount of personal discretion in how you handle this. Suffice it to say, if you’re ever asked in court whether you fucked him, the answer had better be an emphatic no. Never mind what Daltry says.”

“I think I get the picture.”

“Good. Just remember that I ordered you never to fuck him.”

“You did? I missed that.”

“Well, I’m ordering you now, just in case you’re ever asked about that in court.”

“Got it.”

“You’re going to need to wear a wire.”

“All right.”

“The new equipment is very good: hard to detect and it works like a charm.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“You can actually wear the microphone in your hair, in a whatayacallit.”

“A barrette?”

“Yeah, that. Or even glued to your scalp, under your hair.”

“So, even if I took all my clothes off, I would still be wired?”

“That’s an extreme example, but yes.”

“What is it we want to learn about Daltry? Whether he had the woman killed?”

“Somehow I don’t think he’s going to confess to you. What we want to know is who he got to do it. The guy cut off this woman’s head in a fit of rage, and that doesn’t square with a hired pro. Maybe it’s somebody who’s Daltry’s friend, or something. We’re looking for suspects so we can work their alibis and see who was available to run out to New Jersey and commit this heinous act.”

“How soon do I start?”

“Just as soon as you’ve researched Daltry.”

“I can do that in a few minutes, on the Internet.”

“Okay, this evening, then.”

“What am I going to have for backup?”

“I’m putting four detectives on this. Who’s your partner? I forget.”

“Bernstein.”

“And what’s your last name again?”

“Bernstein.”

“You’re not married to your partner, are you?”

“Nope. No relation.”

“Okay, Bernstein and four other detectives.”

“Do I get to choose?”

“I get to choose.”

“Who do you choose, Boss?”

“You get started on the Internet thing, and I’ll see who doesn’t have enough work to do.”

“Can I make a request?”

“Maybe.”

“Can I have another woman as one of the four?”

“Why?”

“Because I think a woman who was listening to me on a wire might understand better what I’m thinking than a bunch of guys. She could also cover me in, say, a bar without attracting attention. Cops have a way of looking like cops.”

“You’ve got a point. Okay, pick one of the other women in the squad.”

“Shelly Pointer.”

“Okay, you’ve got Pointer; you can have her partner, too. Go tell her.”

“Thanks, Boss.” Detective Willa Bernstein got up and left.

S
he found Detective Shelly Pointer in the ladies’ room. Pointer was an attractive, cafe-au-lait black woman of average height with a better-than-average body. “Hey, Shelly.”

“Hey, Willa.”

“You and I have got an assignment.”

“What, together?”

“Yeah.”

“What about my partner?”

“He’s on it, too.”

“What’s the assignment?”

“You ever heard of Devlin Daltry?”

“The sculptor?”

“Right.”

“Sure.”

“He’s suspected of persuading somebody to cut off a girl’s head. Bacchetti wants me to find out who he got to do it.”

“Do you have to fuck him?”

“I don’t think Bacchetti cares one way or the other, but if I do, I’m supposed to deny it. I’ll be wearing a wire, and I want you on the other end of it, not just a bunch of guys.”

“When do we start?”

“Right now. Let’s get on the Internet and see what we can find out about Daltry.”

“Lead the way.”

The two women headed toward Willa’s desk and her computer.

“Willa,” Pointer said, “are you going to fuck him?”

“Shelly, I don’t even know if he’s nice yet.”