“Well, the Brooklyn D.A.’s office is a little backed up, so I took the murder one charge against Herbert Fisher off their hands.”
“
“That’s not how I read it, buddy. If it was self-defense, why is Mr. Fisher on the run?”
“He’s been hiding from Carmine Dattila’s goons for a couple of weeks. He owes money to a bookie, and they’ve already beaten him up and tried to kill him.”
“I haven’t been able to locate the criminal charges on that,” she said.
“We’re treating it as a civil matter for the moment, but I’ve no doubt that criminal charges will result.”
“Oh, yeah, the detective told me you were suing Carmine. We all got a great laugh out of that.”
“Well, Dattila isn’t laughing; he sent those guys to Herbie’s apartment to kill him, and Herbie got lucky. That’s all this is.”
“Tell you what, why don’t you bring Mr. Fisher down here tomorrow morning, and we’ll talk about it.”
“I think that’s a good idea, but I don’t know where the hell he is. He contacts me from time to time, so when he does, I’ll give you a call, and we’ll get together.”
“You’re aware that there’s an APB out for him, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but that’s purely for his protection, isn’t it?”
“Sure. I’m positive he’d be safe in a cell at Rikers.”
“Dierdre, he wouldn’t last a day at Rikers; Dattila has a long reach, and Herbie’s a little guy.”
“He’s big enough to take out a big chunk of Dattila’s muscle guy with a butcher knife.”
“A cornered rat will fight a pit bull,” Stone said, “as a friend of mine likes to say.”
“Well, ‘rat’ certainly describes the little shit,” she said.
“Now, Dierdre, if you’re referring to the unfortunate incident with your brother the cop…”
“Oh, he’s got more than that on his sheet,” she said. “There’s another DUI and that business when he crashed through the skylight while taking dirty pictures and fell on some poor guy who died as a result.”
“Dierdre, you know as well as I that it has been positively determined that the guy was already dead when Herbie fell on him. He was just trying to make a buck.”
“Stone, why do you keep getting involved with this little creep? He’s nothing but trouble, and one of these days he’s going to get
“Circumstances beyond my control,” Stone said, “but everything I’ve told you is true.”
“Well, maybe so, but I hope you can find your client in time to get him in my office at ten tomorrow morning, because at that time, I’m going to start getting a lot harder to convince. Bye-bye, sweetie. Oh, by the way, bring that tape of Dattila committing a crime, or I’ll have your balls.” She hung up.
Stone called Bob Cantor.
“Cantor.”
“Bob, have you heard anything at all from Herbie?”
“Yeah, he called just a minute ago. He wants me to bring him some money.”
“Where?”
“He said he’d call me when he finds a safe place.”
“Bob, when you see him you’ve got to collar him and take him home with you. I’ve got to have him in the D.A.’s office tomorrow at ten a.m. to keep him from getting a murder charge slapped on him.”
“Are you serious?”
“Dead serious. Somehow, the case got assigned to Manhattan, and the A.D.A. in charge is the one whose brother Herbie kicked in the balls last year.”
“Oh, shit.”
“My sentiments exactly. Hang on to him, Bob. Have him at the D.A.’s office at ten tomorrow, or everything is going to get a lot worse.”
“I read you, Stone. I’ll bring him over here and handcuff him to a radiator.” Cantor hung up.
As Stone hung up, Joan buzzed him again. “A Dr. Larkin on two.”
Stone punched the button. “Eliza, how are you?”
“I’m very well, Stone. Do you like Italian food?”
“My favorite.”
“I’m cooking this evening. Would you like to join me?”
“What’s an Irish girl doing cooking Italian?”
“Would you rather I cooked Irish?”
“Italian will be just great. What time?”
“Seven thirty.”
“Can I bring the wine?”
“You’d better.” She gave him the address.
“See you then.” Stone hung up and walked through the ground floor of his house to a room he kept cooled as a wine cellar. He found two bottles of the Masi ’91 Amarone and set them on the kitchen counter to settle. “Yum,” he said aloud to himself as he wiped the dust from the bottles. He had been saving them for a special occasion, and this was a special occasion.
He went cheerfully back to work.
Shortly before five, Joan came into his office with a large package.
“This just arrived by messenger,” she said, setting it on his desk.
Stone stood up and looked at the package. “Any return address?”
“Some gallery downtown,” she said, picking up the scissors to cut the string holding it together.
“No!” Stone said, holding up a hand. “Come with me.” He took her by the arm and led her upstairs.
“What, are you expecting a bomb or something?”
“No, I am not, but that package is from Devlin Daltry’s gallery, and nobody is opening it but the bomb squad.” He picked up a phone and called Dino.
39
Stone sat in his living room with Joan and Dino.
“I hope it’s a bomb,” Dino said.
“Are you nuts?” Stone inquired. “It’s sitting on my desk.”
“If it’s a bomb, then I can charge Daltry with something that’ll keep him in jail while he’s awaiting trial.”
“That office is where I earn my living,” Stone said.
“You earn your living in your head. Wouldn’t it be worth a little redecorating to get that guy off the street?”
“It might,” Stone said.
There were heavy footsteps on the stairs and a man wearing a lot of protective gear stood in the doorway. “Okay,” he said, “you can come downstairs now.”
The three followed him back to Stone’s office, where the box still rested on his desk. Next to it was a bronze head.
“There was no bomb,” the officer said. “It’s just a sculpture thing.”
Stone walked over and picked up the head. “It’s Celia,” he said.
“Looks like the head was sawed off a statue,” Dino pointed out. “What do you think the symbolism is here?”
Stone nodded. “It’s a threat,” he said, “pure and simple.”
“You better call Celia,” Dino said.
Stone sat down at his desk and found Celia’s number in New Jersey. She answered on the first ring.
“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Stone.”
“Oh, hi. I’m glad you called; I’m bored out of my skull out here.”
