Strategic Moves (11 page)

The doorman played the tape forward at double speed. The man left the way he came, at seven twenty-six, and paused to pull a piece of tape off the door lock; then he was gone.

“You got an outside camera?” Dino asked.

“Not working,” the doorman said. “I called it in late this afternoon, but the repairman didn’t show yet.”

“Bad luck,” Dino said. “Let’s take a look at the street.” He led the way to the service entrance, and they stepped out onto Seventy-first Street. Dino pointed at a dumpster parked across the street, and he and Stone crossed to have a look in it.

“Give me a leg up,” Dino said. “You’re dressed too nice.”

“Sure,” Stone said, cupping his hands.

“It’s pretty full,” Dino said from above Stone. “Somebody’s renovating. Uh-oh.” He held up a black sweatshirt, then handed it to Stone. “Got some latex gloves, too.”

Stone held it by thumb and forefinger and checked the label. “Banana Republic,” he said. “Must be thousands of them on the street.”

Dino hopped down to the street, produced a large plastic bag, and stuffed the sweatshirt into it and the gloves into a smaller bag, which he placed in the larger bag. They walked around the corner to where Dino’s car was waiting and got in. Dino tossed the bag into the front passenger seat. “Take us to Elaine’s, then get that bag to Bartkowski and Salero at the precinct, and tell them to get it to the criminalist,” he said. “Sign the chain of evidence log, and I’ll do it when I get in later.” Dino called the precinct and told the two detectives to expect the sweatshirt and gloves, to check the gloves for fingerprints on the inside, and to get a copy of the videotape from the doorman at the building, then he sat back in his seat and sighed.

“Feels good when you’ve done everything you need to do,” he said. “Let’s eat.”

Stone agreed.

At Elaine’s their first drink was delivered.

“It has to be a pro job,” Dino said. “It’s too clean for anything else—no rifling of her drawers or jewelry box, just in, slug the cook, shoot the woman, and out.”

“He must have cased the rear entrance earlier,” Stone said, “or the outside door wouldn’t have been taped. He came through the lobby to get in.”

“He could have stood around outside and waited for somebody to open the rear door, then grabbed it before it closed,” Dino pointed out.

“I guess. I think your detectives ought to get all the visitors’ names for the day, though, everybody who isn’t a resident.”

“Good idea,” Dino said. “I’ll send them back for that. Any other thoughts?”

“I can’t help think that this had something to do with the blowup at the Gunn company,” Stone said. “That seems to be the only irregular event in the family.”

“Another thing,” Dino said. “She offed her husband; that must have offended somebody—his family, a friend.”

“Revenge served cold,” Stone said. “Maybe; I guess it’s worth checking out.”

“Had to be a pro.”

“Or somebody who’s watched enough TV to figure out how a pro works. If I’d been on time for dinner, maybe things would have been different.”

“Yeah,” Dino said, “maybe he’d have shot you, too.”

Herbie Fisher and his new wife walked into the restaurant and approached Stone and Dino’s table. “We just heard,” Herbie said, and they sat down without being asked.

“Hello, Stephanie,” Stone said. “I’m sorry for your loss. This is Lieutenant Dino Bacchetti. He’s in charge of the investigation.”

“Tell us what happened, Lieutenant,” Stephanie said.

“Somebody came into the building’s service entrance, having taped the lock back earlier, took the elevator upstairs, opened the service door to the apartment, which wasn’t locked. The chef was at the stove, cooking. He hit her with something substantial, like a gun barrel. She fell to the floor, unconscious. He walked into the dining room, where your aunt was standing near the table, shot her in the head. She fell, he shot her again in the head, then he left the way he came. We got a video of him at the back entrance, coming and going, but he was wearing a hooded sweatshirt, and his face isn’t visible. We found the sweatshirt and a pair of latex gloves in a dumpster across the street. They’ll be checked for trace evidence. That’s about it, so far.”

Stephanie teared up and shook her head. “I don’t get it,” she said. “Who would want to hurt Aunt Adele?”

“Give that some thought,” Stone said. “Anybody angry with her? Even a family member?”

Stephanie shook her head. “Everybody loved her.”

“Not everybody,” Dino said.

“Do you know anything about her will?” Stone asked. “Who would inherit?”

“She didn’t have any children,” Stephanie said.

“And her husband is dead,” Dino pointed out. “Did he have any close family members?”

“His parents are dead,” Stephanie replied, “but he had a brother. He’s a diplomat of some sort, stationed in London.”

Dino made a note of the man’s name. “Anybody else?”

“A younger sister. She lives in Hong Kong. Her husband works for an American bank there.”

Dino noted that, too. “Either of them in town?”

“Not that I know of,” Stephanie said. “I hardly knew them. I do know that they both liked Aunt Adele better than they liked their brother. He was a bad drunk, and everybody thought he was a real shit.”

“Was Mrs. Lansdown married before?”

“Once, in her early twenties. It lasted only a few months.”

“His name?”

“Karl Stein,” she replied. “Last I heard he was in LA, working in the movie business.”

“As what?”

“He started as a writer, but he produces and directs, too.”

“Any hard feelings there?”

“I don’t think so. They were young and stupid. I don’t think Adele ever heard from him.”

“You know who he works for?”

“Various studios. He has his own production company, Stein-ware Films. I read a magazine piece about him once.”

“Can you think of anyone else that Mrs. Lansdown had problems with? Former employees, that sort of thing?”

“No, she was a very likable person. Her chef had worked for her for years, and they’re quite good friends.”

“Tell me about David’s relationship with his aunt,” Dino said.

“They got along fine,” she replied. “I think between the two of us, he was her favorite.”

“How long has he been seeing Mia Meadow?”

“The better part of a year, I think. She was on the sailing trip with him. The family thinks they might end up married.”

“She and Adele have any problems?”

“No, Adele liked her.”

They were all silent for a moment.

“Would you like a drink?” Stone asked.

“No,” Stephanie replied. “We have to get back to Mother; she’s distraught. We just wanted to know what happened.” She thanked Dino and Stone, and she and Herbie left.

“This is going to be a tough one,” Dino said.

Stone couldn’t bring himself to disagree.

Stone worked through the week, clearing his desk. On Friday there was a memorial service for Adele at a small, nondenominational church on Lexington Avenue. A few people said nice things about Adele, including her nephew and niece. Stephanie was composed. David barely got through his part; tears ran down his face as he finished. A jazz quartet played a melodic, rather solemn piece, and the service broke up.

The Gunn family was lined up on the front steps, and Stone paid his respects. Herbie stood to one side, waiting for it to be over, and Stone walked over to him. “How are you, Herbie?”

“I’m okay, but everybody in the family is pretty broken up, and I don’t seem to be able to do anything to help.”

“Herbie,” Stone said, “has anyone in the family behaved oddly?”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean, has anyone done anything out of character, something you wouldn’t expect?”

Herbie thought about it. “Well, Stephanie has been pretty cold about the whole thing, and David has been crying, off and on. I would have thought it would be the other way around.”

“Is Stephanie normally a very emotional person?”

Herbie thought some more. “Only in bed,” he replied.

Stone went back to work.

Late in the afternoon Mike Freeman called.

“We closed on the sale of Strategic Air Services,” he said. “The new company is called Airship Transport. We’re meeting in my office early Monday morning. We’ll chopper up to Newburgh, New York, where the company is based, on the old Stewart Air Force Base. Bring your passport and clothes for a couple of days; you won’t need a necktie.”

“Okay. Mike, have you put the proceeds of the sale with Gunn yet?”

“No; we’ll deposit the check on Monday.”

“Put it in the bank until we get back from our trip.”

“Why?”

“I have some concerns about what’s going on at the Gunn company. His sister-in-law, Adele Lansdown, was murdered earlier this week, and I’m not yet certain whether that had anything to do with the business. I was going to put some money with them, but I’m holding off.”

“All right,” Freeman said. “I’ll hold off. We can talk more about this on the trip.”

“See you Monday morning, Mike,” Stone said.

They both hung up, and Stone went back to work.

 

 

Stone spent an idle weekend, sitting up in bed watching old movies and reading the Sunday
Times
. He didn’t even feel like dinner at Elaine’s with Dino.

 

 

On Monday morning, Stone packed a bag with rough clothes, put on a parka, and took a cab to the offices of Strategic Services. He walked into Mike Freeman’s office and was surprised to see someone he knew well.

“Hello, Holly,” Stone said, giving her a hug and a kiss.

“Hello, Stone,” she replied. Holly Barker was Lance Cabot’s assistant at the Agency, and they were old and close friends. “I’d like you to meet Todd Bacon, who’s going to run Airship Transport.”

A young man in his early thirties stood up and offered Stone his hand. He was about Stone’s size, but slimmer in the waist, and had short, sandy hair. “Hello, Stone. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Good to meet you, Todd,” Stone said. He’d never heard anything about the guy.

“We’d better get going,” Mike said. “Your luggage is already in the van.”

They trooped downstairs, boarded a plain van, and were transported to the East Side Heliport, where a six-passenger twin-turbine chopper was waiting for them. They and their luggage boarded, the rotors turned, and they were on their way north. They had a spectacular view of the city as they moved up the East River, then crossed to the Hudson, north of the George Washington Bridge. They descended into what was now Stewart International Airport and landed next to the ramp before a huge hangar. The C-17 was being towed out onto the ramp, and Stone found its size overwhelming.

Stone grabbed his bag and followed the group to the rear of the giant airplane, where they simply walked up the lowered tail ramp and into the airplane. They deposited their luggage in bins as instructed, and Stone took a moment to look around. He was standing inside a cavernous space more than twenty feet wide and high. Ahead of them was an Airstream trailer, strapped down and with various cables and tubes attached. They walked past the trailer and found a dozen first-class airline seats bolted to the floor, then past that to the cockpit, which was big enough for two built-in, double-decker bunks and four jump seats behind the two pilots. The instrument panel was a maze of large glass screens, switches, warning lights, and circuit breakers. It was several times the size of the panel on Stone’s Mustang.

“Preflight’s all done, and we’re ready to go,” Mike said. “Take a jump seat next to me, Stone.”

Stone sat down, buckled in between Mike and Holly, and watched the pilots start the four engines and work their way through their checklists.

“This thing has four Pratt & Whitney engines,” Mike said, “each producing more than forty thousand pounds of thrust. We can carry more than a hundred and seventy thousand pounds of cargo.”

“How much runway are we going to need?” Stone asked, worried about what was available to them.

“The airplane can work out of a thirty-five-hundred-foot runway,” Mike said. “How’s that for short-takeoff performance?”

“Range and speed?”

“This is the ER, the Extended Range version. We can fly two thousand eight hundred miles without refueling. Today, we’ll refuel at an air force base at Lajes, in the Azores, then go on nonstop to Iraq. We should have a nice tailwind, too. Cruising speed is four hundred and fifty knots.”

The airplane began to taxi, with linemen at each wingtip, making sure they cleared any obstacles. Stone watched an airliner take off ahead of them and then, after a final cockpit check, they taxied onto the runway. The first officer shoved the throttles forward while the brakes were held, and when the engines reached full power, the captain released the brakes and the airplane moved forward faster than Stone would have thought possible, pressing him into his seat. They were in the air after a takeoff roll that seemed to take only seconds, and Stone put his headset on to keep out the noise. He could hear the captain talking to the tower, then to New York approach. Shortly, they were at flight level 290 and over the Atlantic Ocean.