of the eighty-eighth floor lobby and Tony scanned ahead. The way was clear to the door of Hobie’s suite.
The thickset man was at the reception counter. They walked straight past him into the office. It was dark, as usual. The blinds were pulled tight and it was quiet. Hobie was at the desk, sitting still and silent, gazing at Marilyn, who was on the sofa with her legs tucked underneath her.
“Well?” he asked. “Mission accomplished?”
Stone nodded. “She got inside OK.”
“Where?” Marilyn asked. “Which hospital?”
“St. Vincent’s,” Tony said. “Straight into the ER.”
Stone nodded to confirm it and he saw Marilyn smile a slight smile of relief.
“OK,” Hobie said into the silence. “’That’s the good deed for the day. Now we do business. What are these complications I need to know about?”
Tony shoved Stone around the coffee table to the sofa. He sat down heavily next to Marilyn and stared straight ahead, focusing on nothing.
“Well?” Hobie said again.
“The stock,” Marilyn said. “He doesn’t own it outright.”
Hobie stared at her. “Yes he damn well does. I checked it at the Exchange.”
She nodded. “Well, yes, he owns it. What I mean is, he doesn’t control it. He doesn’t have free access to it.”
“Why the hell not?”
“There’s a trust. Access is regulated by the trustees.”
“What trust? Why?”
“His father set it up, before he died. He didn’t trust Chester to handle it all outright. He felt he needed supervision.”
Hobie stared at her.
“Any major stock disposals need to be co-signed,” she said. “By the trustees.”
There was silence.
“Both of them,” she said.
Hobie switched his gaze to Chester Stone. It was like a searchlight beam flicking sideways. Marilyn watched his good eye. Watched him thinking. Watched him buying into the lie, like she knew he would, because it jibed with what he thought he already knew. Chester’s business was failing, because he was a bad businessman. A bad businessman would have been spotted early by a close relative like a father. And a responsible father would have protected the family heritage with a trust.
“It’s unbreakable,” she said. “God knows we’ve tried often enough.”
Hobie nodded. Just a slight movement of his head. Almost imperceptible. Marilyn smiled inside. Smiled with triumph. Her final comment had done it to him. A trust was a thing to be broken. It had to be fought. Therefore the attempts to fight it proved it existed.
“Who are the trustees?” he asked quietly.
“I’m one of them,” she said. “The other is the senior partner at his law firm.”
“Just two trustees?”
She nodded.
“And you’re one of them?”
She nodded again. “And you’ve already got my vote. I just want to get rid of the whole damn thing and get you off our backs.”
Hobie nodded back to her. “You’re a smart woman.”
“Which law firm?” Tony asked.
“Forster and Abelstein,” she said. “Right here in town.”
“Who’s the senior partner?” Tony asked.
“A guy called David Forster,” Marilyn said.
“How do we set up the meeting?” Hobie asked.
“I call him,” Marilyn said. “Or Chester does, but I think right now it would be better if I did.”
“So call him, set it up for this afternoon.”
She shook her head. “Won’t be that quick. Could be a couple of days.”
There was silence. Just the boom and shudder of the giant building breathing. Hobie tapped his hook on the desk. He closed his eyes. The damaged eyelid stayed open a fraction. The eyeball rolled up and showed white, like a crescent moon.
“Tomorrow morning,” he said quietly. “At the very latest. Tell him it’s a matter of considerable urgency to you.”
Then his eyes snapped open.
“And tell him to fax the trust deeds to me,” he whispered. “Immediately. I need to know what the hell I’m dealing with.”
Marilyn was shaking inside. She pushed down on the soft upholstery, trying to ground herself. “There won’t be a problem. It’s really just a formality.”
“So let’s go make the call,” Hobie said.
Marilyn was unsteady on her feet. She stood swaying, smoothing the dress down over her thighs. Chester touched her elbow, just for a second. A tiny gesture of support. She straightened and followed Hobie out to the reception counter.
“Dial nine for a line,” he said.
She moved behind the counter and the three men watched her. The phone was a small console. She scanned across the buttons and saw no speakerphone facility. She relaxed a fraction and picked up the handset. Pressed nine and heard a dial tone.
“Behave yourself,” Hobie said. “You’re a smart woman, remember, and right now you need to stay smart.”
She nodded. He raised the hook. It glittered in the artificial light. It looked heavy. It was beautifully made and lovingly polished, mechanically simple and terribly brutal. She saw him inviting her to imagine the things that could be done with it.
“Forster and Abelstein,” a bright voice said in her ear. “How may we help you?”
“Marilyn Stone,” she said. “For Mr. Forster.”
Her throat was suddenly dry. It made her voice low and husky. There was a snatch of electronic music and then the boomy acoustic of a large office.
“Forster,” a deep voice said.
“David, it’s Marilyn Stone.”
There was dead silence for a second. In that second, she knew Sheryl had done it right.
“Are we being overheard?” Forster asked quietly.
“No, I’m fine,” Marilyn said, brightness in her voice. Hobie rested the hook on the counter, the steel glittering chest high, eighteen inches in front of her eyes.
“You need the police for this,” Forster said.
“No, it’s just about a trustees’ meeting. What’s the soonest we can do?”
“Your friend Sheryl told me what you want,” Forster said. “But there are problems. Our staff people can’t handle this sort of stuff. We’re not equipped for it. We’re not that sort of law firm. I’ll have to find you a private detective.”
“Tomorrow morning would be good for us,” she said back. “There’s an element of urgency, I’m afraid.”
“Let me call the police for you,” Forster said.
“No, David, next week is really too late. We need to move fast, if we can.”
“But I don’t know where to look. We’ve never used private detectives.”
“Hold on a moment, David.” She covered the mouthpiece with the heel of her hand and glanced up at Hobie. “If you want it tomorrow, it’s got to be at their offices.”
Hobie shook his head. “It has to be here, on my turf.”
She took her hand away. “David, what about the day after tomorrow? It really needs to be here, I’m afraid. It’s a delicate negotiation.”
“You really don’t want the police? You absolutely sure about that?”
