Shoot First(Stone Barrington #45)(26)

“I don’t see anybody,” he said.



* * *



—

AN HOUR LATER they were rolling down runway 1 and lifting off. After a departure procedure they were pointed at Maine, and the flight to Rockland took little more than half an hour. Bob and Sugar sat on a rear seat each, looking out the window.

When they turned off the runway at Rockland and taxied to the FBO, a Cessna 182 was waiting for them. They transferred Meg’s luggage, emptied the dogs and boarded, and they were soon flying at a thousand feet over the largest and most beautiful bay in Maine, if not the world.

Meg seemed entranced rather than frightened. “Maybe small planes are not so bad,” she said.

“That’s Islesboro, dead ahead,” Stone said, pointing. “See the airstrip?”

“Oh, it’s paved,” she said. “I was expecting something more primitive, like dirt.”

“It’s a very civilized runway, it’s just short, only two thousand four hundred and fifty feet. I once offered to pay for lengthening it another thousand feet, and the locals were horrified. They don’t want jets flying in, and, anyway, this is a small inconvenience.”

They set down on the Islesboro strip and taxied to where Seth awaited, standing next to the house car, a 1938 Ford station wagon, beautifully restored. Stone introduced Meg, and Seth put her luggage into the car, then drove them to the house.

“Oh,” Meg said, as they drove up. “It’s bigger than I had expected.”

“You expected a dirt runway and a tarpaper shack?” Stone asked.

“Well, just something more rustic.” She liked the interior, too, and the bedroom. Seth’s wife, Mary, was introduced and asked their preferences for dinner.

“It has to be lobster,” Meg said. “I can never get enough lobster.”

Stone’s cell phone rang, and he answered it.

“Hi, it’s Dino.”

“What’s happening?”

“They haven’t turned up, but I’ve identified them.”

“How the hell did you do that?”

“I had a sketch done, scanned, and sent to the Monroe County sheriff’s office in the Keys. Somebody in the Islamorada office recognized them immediately. One Joseph Cross and his girlfriend, Jane, no last name yet, known to the locals as Dirty Joe and Jungle Jane.”

“They’re nothing if not colorful,” Stone said.

“He’s let it be known that he’s a retired businessman from San Francisco,” Dino said. “Nobody knows what business, but I can guess.”

“I expect it involves weapons,” Stone replied.

“That’s my expectation, too, but the guy has no criminal record in California, Florida, or anywhere else, and we can’t run a check on the girl without a last name.”

“Did you cross-check him with Gino Bellini?”

“Yeah, and no match.”

“Meg told me that Gino did some juvie time, but that could have been expunged if he kept his nose clean. Still, Gino and Dirty Joe could have met there and kept in touch.”

“Let’s not take our guessing too far,” Dino said.

“Have you put out an APB on them yet?”

“That’s too much of a stretch at this point, but we’ve checked the hotels and come up with nothing. Of course, they could have registered under an assumed name, if they have IDs and credit cards for that.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Stone said. “If the guy’s a pro he’ll have all the tools.”

“Are you in Maine yet?”

“We’re at the house.”

“I hope Meg likes it.”

“She was expecting a hovel, so anything would have impressed her. She’s upstairs getting unpacked now.”

“Okay, I’ll keep you posted. Go eat a lobster.”

“Will do.” Stone hung up.





20




Dirty Joe and Jungle Jane arrived at Gino Bellini’s apartment building and were sent up to the twenty-ninth floor in the elevator. A uniformed maid met them at the door and ushered them into the living room.

“Wow,” Joe said, “what a view!”

“Nice, isn’t it?” Gino replied. “Coffee?” There was a silver service on the table before the sofa.

“Thank you, both black,” Joe replied. They took a seat.

“I assume you’ve tracked Miss Meg to the house.”

“We have.”

“Whose house is it?”

“There’s a brass plaque on the street-level door that says ‘The Barrington Practice,’ followed by ‘Woodman & Weld.’”

“Is the house owner’s name Barrington?”

“That’s our assumption.”

“Have you been to the house this morning?”

“We were there at eight o’clock,” Joe replied, “for an hour and a half. Nobody left.”

“Then they must have left very early,” Gino said, “because they’re not there anymore.”

“Then where are they?”

Gino set an iPad on the coffee table. “They’re in Maine,” he said.

“Maine?”