Hit List (Stone Barrington #53)(11)

“Legal representation.”

“Do I need a lawyer?”

“Do you want your mother’s ill-gotten gains back?”

“Sure.”

“Then you need a lawyer.”

“Okay, but you’d better be worth it.”

“I’m keeping it whether I am or not. That’s how lawyers make a living.”

“I think you should institute a money-back guarantee.”

“Then I’d starve to death.”

“You know, I’m starving to death right now. Where are we going?”

“To Caravaggio.”

“I love that place.”



* * *



—

Gianni, the old headwaiter from Elaine’s, greeted them and sat them down, then brought drinks and menus.

“That is one magnificent nose over there,” Vanessa said.

Stone didn’t look up. “At the first table? Heroic, I’d call it.”

“How’d you know?”

“He’s said to be an ancient Mafioso, and I think every time I’ve been in here he’s had that table,” Stone replied.

“Maybe he owns the place.”

“Could be,” Stone said. “He certainly owns that table, at the very least.”

“Oh, Dino just came in,” she said. “Are we expecting him?”

“No, but be nice to him. Dino stopped and shook the hand of the ancient Mafioso, then continued to their table, where he unceremoniously sat down and received a large scotch from Gianni. “We got a tiny break,” he said.

“I’ll take whatever you’ve got,” Stone said.

“This afternoon a woman who works as a secretary at NBC took her lunch outside and was leaning against the parapet that surrounds the ice rink when she saw something at her feet. It turned out to be an empty .45 shell casing, and she recovered it.”

“Did she mess it up?”

“No, she watches a lot of TV, so she picked it up with a pencil and took it to the nearest cop, who placed it in an evidence bag and called his precinct.”

“Any prints?”

“A piece of an index finger,” Dino said. “It may be enough for a search. They’re running it now.”

“What brings you uptown, Dino?” he asked.

“I thought you’d like to know about the shell casing. It’s all part of the service.”

“I’m impressed,” Stone said.

“You should be.”

“Also, I’m not impressed.”

“Why not?”

“Why didn’t your people find the shell casing after the shooting? Apparently it was lying there, in plain sight.”

Dino looked uncomfortable, even squirmed a bit.

“I mentioned that to the captain in charge of the investigation,” he said. “He turned red.”

“Well, at least he has some shame.”

“And we have the shell casing!” Dino crowed. His cell phone rang, and he answered it. “Bacchetti.” He listened for a moment. “How many times was she shot? Oh. Thanks, keep up the good work.” He hung up.

“I take it there were no prints,” Stone said.

“Like I said, there was half a print.”

“Did they run it?”

“Yeah, but nothing popped up. The tech says he thinks it’s a woman’s print.”

“How do you tell a woman’s print from a man’s?”

“Smaller, I guess. Anyway, if we make an arrest, we’ll have some fingers to compare it to.”

“There’s always that,” Stone said.

“I think the print belongs to one of yours,” Dino said after a moment.

“One of my what?”

“Women. The fact that it’s a woman points to you.”

“First of all,” Stone said, “you don’t know it’s a woman’s print. Tell me that after you’re in possession of an actual finger that’s a match, one that’s attached to a woman.”

“You don’t believe in hunches, do you?” Dino asked.

“Only when they’re revealed to be true by means of actual facts.”

“Picky, picky, picky.”

“And even if they are, you’re going to be wrong at least half the time.”

Dino polished off his drink and stood up. “I don’t know why I bothered to come here and tell you this,” he said.

“Because you wanted to brag about something,” Stone replied.

“Vanessa, good evening, and my sympathies for having to put up with company like this.” He turned and walked out of the restaurant.

“You were very rude to Dino,” Vanessa said.

“That wasn’t rude; I was just keeping him in line. He was acting as if he’d cracked the case. Half a print!”





10


The following morning, Stone and Vanessa conducted one more inspection of each other’s physical properties, declared themselves satisfied, and put the equipment to work.

An hour later, shaved, showered, dressed, and just a little tired, Stone sat down at his desk and called Lance.

“Scramble,” he said.