“Was he lying about liking you?”
“We got along in ’Nam, but that’s about all. Renewing our ‘friend-ship, ’ as he put it, is not all that appealing.”
“Was there anything sinister in his tone?”
“No, he was affable, I guess you’d say. Charlie could always be affable if he felt like it. Some thought he had a lot of charm. It was pretty much lost on me, though.”
“Are you going to see him?”
“I faked another call coming in and said I’d get back to him.”
“I think it might be a good idea to see him, Bob.”
“Why?”
“It might help us help the Colonel.”
“Yeah, I guess it might.”
“You’ve got to play dumb, though. You can’t give him the slightest idea that you know about the Colonel’s problem. Remember, it wasn’t in the papers, so you can’t possibly know about it. If he brings up the Colonel, and I suspect he will, then you can talk about him.”
“All right. I’ll call Charlie back.”
“Bob, before we had lunch and had our first conversation about Colonel Cabot, did you know anything about his life after Vietnam up to now?”
“I never heard a word about the guy. I guess we travel in different circles.”
“Another thing: You have an unlisted number, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Then how did Crow get hold of it?”
“It’s not all that hard to get an unlisted number; I’ve done it for you from time to time, remember?”
“I remember. Okay, call Crow back and make the date. And I think having a recording of the conversation would be nice. Can you wire yourself in a way he can’t detect?”
“Yeah, I can wear a transmitter that looks like a pen and a tiny mike.”
“Where would it transmit to?”
“It has a range of about a mile. I can put the recorder in my van and park near the restaurant. Otherwise, I’d have to wear a recorder, and that would be easy to find in a pat-down.”
“Is he likely to pat you down?”
“How the hell should I know? Depends on how paranoid he is, I guess.”
“Better pick a quiet restaurant; don’t do it at P. J. Clarke’s.”
“A good point.”
“Don’t tell him anything about your expertise with electronics. There’s no reason why he would know about that, is there?”
“None. I didn’t get my first computer until ’79.”
“I’d love to know if he’ll admit having had any contact with Abner Kramer.”
“I guess I can ask him if he’s seen any of the other guys, give him an opportunity to say so. I’ll call you after.”
“Thanks, Bob.” Stone hung up. This, he thought, was a move in the right direction, especially since he had little or nothing to go on. He needed a break badly.
Stone met Dino for dinner at Elaine’s. “Anything to report?” he asked.
Dino gave him a smart salute. “Nothing to report, sir!”
“I’d hoped one of your people could give us something to go on.”
“What, you think somebody is just going to stumble across this piece of furniture?”
“I’d like that,” Stone said, “as unlikely as it is. Maybe there’s something else your guys can do.”
“I can’t wait to hear this,” Dino said.
“I need to know a lot more about Charlie Crow, not your Google sort of stuff – I need to know where he goes, who he hangs out with. Especially who he hangs out with.”
“You’re actually asking me to put New York City police officers on a tail unconnected to any crime?”
“It is connected to a crime: the beating of a man and the theft of an extremely valuable object.”
“It’s not like I can open a file on it, Stone. I mean, there was a time I could have opened a file, then shredded it when it was over, but these days, once you put something in a computer it’s there forever.”
“Well, for God’s sake, don’t put anything in a computer. Just put a couple of guys on tailing Mr. Crow for a few days. I especially want to know if he’s in touch with Abner Kramer.”
“Maybe I can do that. Why don’t you put Bob Cantor on this? Get him to tap Crow’s phones.”
“Fortunately, Crow called him and invited him to lunch, and he’s going to wear a wire.”
“That might produce something.”
“I’m counting on it, since I have nothing else.”
“How was your time with Holly?”
“It was very good, thanks. I’m sure she’s already reported back to Lance.”
“Well, she does work for him, after all. Is she enjoying being a spook?”
“Seems to be. I think she likes it better than being a small-town police chief. She doesn’t have to do traffic tickets and penny-ante drug busts. Also, working for Lance, she must be privy to a lot of very interesting information.”
“You think Lance’s job is all that interesting?”
“Jesus, Dino, he’s the fucking head of CIA operations.”
“Then he must know everything in the world.”
“I would think so.”
“Then how did he lose track of his brother for thirty years?”
“That’s an interesting question, and he hasn’t answered it very satisfactorily. My guess is when somebody doesn’t want to be found, he’s hard to find.”
“I don’t buy that.”
“Neither do I, entirely, but I don’t see how it affects what I’m doing for Barton.”
“Everything affects everything,” Dino said.
25
Stone left Dino at Elaine’s and took a cab to the Carlyle Hotel on Madison Avenue at Seventy-sixth Street. As he entered the Madison entrance, the Cafe Carlyle, former home of the late, great singer/pianist Bobby Short, was on his right, but he turned left, into the Bemelmens Bar.
The place was, maybe, three-quarters full, and the grand piano, in the middle of the room, was unoccupied. A maitre d’ appeared. “I’d like that table there,” he said to the man, pointing at a tiny table with an unobstructed view no more than eight feet from the piano.
“You’re alone, sir?” the man asked, as if he were asking for a king-size bed.
Stone passed him a twenty and was seated immediately. He ordered a cognac and a small bottle of San Pellegrino and waited for Carla to finish her break.
Five minutes later, she arrived, along with her bass player, who picked up his instrument and did a little tuning. Carla was a tall, Scandinavian-type blonde, clad in a long, slinky black dress set off by a diamond necklace that was either a fake or supplied by Harlan Deal, because she could never have afforded it on a singer/pianist’s income. She played a few chords, then swung into a medium-tempo version of “Day In, Day Out,” then followed that with songs by Rodgers and Hart, Cole Porter and Jerome Kern.
The music suited Stone to his core; it was what his parents had listened to, and he had grown up dancing to it in their home and at school dances. Then Carla did something that riveted him to his seat. She sang a Gershwin tune called “Do It Again” slow and sexy, and she sang it directly to him. Suddenly, beads of perspiration popped out on his forehead.
