6 Stone Barrington Novels (153 page)

L
ANCE AMBLED INTO the kitchen, dressed in a yellow cashmere turtleneck, a tweed jacket, cavalry twill trousers, and short alligator boots. He might have been a visiting movie star. Introductions were made, and he sat down. Daisy walked over and sniffed him. Lance scratched the top of her head, then ignored her.

“What's up?” Lance asked.

“The Feds are all over us,” Stone said. “Followed us up to Connecticut yesterday. They're camped outside right now.”

“Well,” Lance drawled, “I guess they take exception to Holly's trying to arrest their man.”

“Their murderer,” Holly said.

“Or is there some other reason they'd be interested in the two of you?” Lance asked.

“You take that one, Holly,” Stone said.

“Oh, a guy I went out with a few times works for them, followed me up here.”

“You were living with him,” Ham said.

Holly turned beet red. “Herbie was here when we got back,” she said, looking for cover.

Lance permitted himself a small groan. “Stone, I wish you'd take charge of your client.”

“He's not my client anymore, Lance. You shipped him off to Saint Thomas, remember?”

“Except he didn't ship.”

“That's not my fault.”

“Where did he go?”

“I gave him some money and told him to go to his mother's place, in Brooklyn.”

Holly laughed. “Stone told him they'd never think of looking for him there. I think he bought it.”

“If there's one thing I've learned about our Herbert,” Lance said, “it's never to expect him to do as he's told.”

Ham nodded. “I know the type.”

“You're ex-army,” Lance said.

“Yep.”

Lance regarded him coolly for a long moment. “I read your service record,” he said.

Ham evinced mild surprise. “Did you, now?”

“I did. You want to shoot somebody for me?”

“Who'd you have in mind?”

“Herbie.”

Ham chuckled. “I can see why, but he doesn't seem to be a threat to national security just yet.”

“Would you shoot him if I told you he was?”

“I wouldn't believe you if you told me he was.”

“Why not?”

“Because I think I know who you work for, and folks in your line of work tell the truth on only the rarest occasions.”

Lance laughed. “You judge us too harshly, Ham. But then, you've had some experience with us, in Vietnam.”

“I have.”

“I was too young for that godawful mess,” Lance said, “and I'm glad of it. But you shouldn't judge us now for how we operated then. You might find some satisfaction in working with us again.”

“Lance is recruiting,” Stone said.

Ham shook his head. “No, thanks. You want somebody shot, you do it yourself.”

“I was speaking metaphorically before,” Lance said.

“No, you weren't,” Ham replied.

Stone was proud of him.

For the slightest moment, Lance looked nettled, but then he relaxed. “Holly, I came to tell you that it's going to be another day or two before you can put your hands on Trini Rodriguez without an unduly large reaction from the
federales
.”

“Shit,” Holly said. “I'm getting impatient. Ham, you want to shoot Trini for me?”

“Him? It would be my pleasure. Just point him out.”

Stone couldn't tell if they were kidding. “Hang on,” he said. “We don't need a shoot-out on our city streets.”

“Wouldn't be a shoot-out,” Ham said. “Just a single
pop
.” He made a little gun with his fingers and fired it.

“Why didn't I think of that?” Lance said.

“Because there's nothing in it for you,” Stone replied.

“You have a point,” Lance admitted. He got to his feet and stretched. “Well, if you'll excuse me, I have a lunch date up the street.” He shook Ham's hand, waved goodbye, and was gone.

“Your assessment, Ham?” Stone asked.

“Now
that
,” Ham said, “is your large-bore, fully automatic Agency spook. Where the hell did you come by him?”

“I came by him in London a while back,” Stone said. “It's a long story. I'll tell it to you someday when I'm less sober.”

“I'll look forward to it,” Ham said. “He's more dangerous than Herbie.”

“Why?” Holly asked.

Ham got to his feet and moved his shoulders around. “Because he thinks of himself as a patriot, and they're always the most dangerous. Well, I think I'll have a nap. It's an old man's prerogative, and I've been traveling since dawn. See ya.” He headed upstairs, leaving Stone and Holly to ponder his assessment of Lance Cabot.

H
OLLY GOT INTO some sweat clothes, stuffed the Sig-Sauer into her jacket pocket, clipped on Daisy's leash, and headed uptown.

She and Daisy walked briskly until they entered the park, then Holly started to jog, with Daisy easily keeping pace. They ran past the zoo, then the pond where people raced model boats, and the statue of Alice in Wonderland, then they cut cross-country. Somewhere north of Alice, Holly became aware of another jogger not far behind.

Everything was perfectly normal until Holly noticed that there was something red attached to Daisy's back. She stopped to pull it off and discovered that what was in her hand was a dart. Daisy sat down, panting, then collapsed, and then something struck Holly in the head.

 

Stone was napping in a big wing chair in his library, a book in his lap, when the phone woke him. “Hello?”

“Is this Stone Barrington?” A man's voice.

“Yes.”

“This is the desk sergeant at the Twenty-second Precinct in Central Park. There's been a homicide in the park; I think you'd better get up here.”

“Who's dead?”

“I don't have that information. Just get up here, okay, Mr. Barrington?”

“I'm on my way. Will you get hold of Lieutenant Bacchetti at the one-nine and ask him to meet me there?”

“Okay.” The cop hung up.

Stone thought of waking Ham, but changed his mind. He ran outside and hailed a cab.

Stone walked into the precinct, and he was scared. He presented himself to the desk sergeant.

“Right,” the sergeant said. “See Detective Briscoe back there.” He nodded toward a door.

Stone walked into a small squad room and looked at the only detective there.

“Barrington?” the man asked.

“Yes. What's happened?”

“You were a detective over at the Nineteenth, weren't you?” the man asked.

“What the hell has happened?” Stone demanded.

“Are you acquainted with a cop from Florida named Holly Barker?”

“Yes, she's staying at my house.”

“Come with me.” He got up and walked down a corridor with Stone at his heels. He opened the door to an interrogation room. “In here.”

Stone walked in and the door closed behind him. Holly was sitting at the table stroking Daisy, who was stretched out on the tabletop.

Holly looked up at him. “It's okay,” she said. “She's coming around.” She stroked Daisy's head. “It's okay, sweetheart. Just take your time. You'll be all right in a minute.”

Stone sank into a chair and gave Daisy a pat. “I thought you were dead,” he said.

“No.”

“The desk sergeant who called me said there was a homicide.”

“There was a shooting—self-defense.”

“Who?”

“I don't know; a guy. There were two of them. The second one ran when I shot the first one.”

“Why did you shoot him?”

“Because he was trying to kill me with a knife.”

“Where did all this happen? Start at the beginning.”

“Daisy and I were running, and she was shot with a dart, then somebody hit me upside the head, but not hard enough to put me out. I rolled over a couple of times and got hold of the gun Ham gave me. It was in my jacket pocket. The guy was walking toward me with the knife, as if he didn't expect any opposition. I shot him.” She held up a corner of her jacket, where the bullet had gone through. “I didn't have time to draw.”

Stone put a hand to her cheek. “You're cold,” he said. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I am now,” she replied. “I had a case of the shakes
for a while. A cop on horseback found me. I guess he heard the shot.”

“Can I leave you here for a couple of minutes?”

“Sure, we're all right. Daisy's going to have a hangover, but she's not hurt.”

Stone got up, went back to the squad room, and found Briscoe. “She's told me what happened. It was a good shooting.”

“Looks that way,” Briscoe said, “but I don't have the final call on that.”

Stone noticed for the first time that Holly's new Sig-Sauer was on Briscoe's desk in an evidence bag, and her badge lay beside it. “She's on duty,” he said. “She's got a fugitive warrant.”

“I got that,” Briscoe replied. “That ought to cover it. We want to see the warrant, though.”

“It's at my house. I'll get it to you. Will you release her to me?”

“Oh, we're not holding her. She can go. She can have her gun and badge back, too.” He handed them to Stone. “We took a sample round for the file.”

Dino burst into the room. “What happened?”

Stone told him.

“Are we all square here?” Dino asked Briscoe.

“Yes, Lieutenant. We need a phone number for her, and we want to see her fugitive warrant, but that's it. It's clearly self-defense.”

“You got an ID on the guy with the knife?”

“He had nothing on him but the knife, but we'll run his prints.”

“What happened to the second guy?”

“He beat it out of there. The gunshot must have scared him off.”

“Thanks, Briscoe,” Dino said. He pulled Stone aside. “How's Holly taking all this?”

“She's okay, I think. She's mostly worried about Daisy.”

“Where are they?”

“In an interrogation room back there. Are you in a car?”

“Yeah. Let's get her back to your place, and I'll pick up the fugitive warrant.” He gave Briscoe Stone's number.

 

By the time they were back at the house, Daisy was walking, but slowly.

As they walked in the front door, Ham came down the stairs. He pointed at Holly's jacket pocket. “Was the bullet going in or out?”

“Out,” Holly said.

Ham put an arm around her. “Let's get you into bed.”

“Ham . . .”

” Tell me about it later.”

When Holly and Daisy were tucked in, Stone and Ham went down to the kitchen and had a beer.

“She can take care of herself,” Ham said.

“Apparently so.”

“What's going on here, Stone?”

“My best guess? Trini doesn't like being dogged,
and he decided to do something about it. From what I've heard about him from Holly, he wasn't there today, because Holly's alive. I guess he put a couple of his pals on her.”

“So the two guys outside your house weren't Feds?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Stone had an idea. He picked up the phone and got the number for the New York State Police in Albany. He called, identified himself, and asked about the traffic stop on I-684 earlier that day. He was transferred to the relevant field office and, good luck, managed to get one of the traffic officers who had made the stop.

Stone identified himself. “You stopped a black SUV on 684 this morning?”

“Yes, we did.”

“I was the guy out front in the black Mercedes.”

“How fast were you going?”

“I'll take the fifth on that, but I was transporting an officer on duty. Did you get an ID on the guys in the SUV?”

“Yeah. They were FBI, and they wouldn't tell us what they were doing. I wrote 'em a ticket for grossly excessive speed.”

“Good for you. Thanks, that's all I needed to know.” Stone hung up and turned to Ham. “Well, it looks like absolutely
everybody
is following us.”

“What's your take on what happened in the park?” Ham asked.

“I think they wanted it to look like a mugging, and
they didn't want to attract anybody with the noise of a gunshot. They used a dart on Daisy, then tried to knife Holly. They would have knifed Daisy, too, once she was out. So somebody would have stumbled on a jogger and her dog, both dead.”

“Why not use a silencer on both?” Ham asked.

“Because it would then look like a professional hit. The dart thing is funny, though. It's not the sort of thing mob guys would normally think of using.”

“This Trini guy is not a normal mob hood,” Ham said. “He's a lot smarter and a lot worse. He would think of the dart.”

“Maybe so.”

“Good thing I came up here,” Ham said. “While I'm in New York, she doesn't leave this house without me watching her back.”

“Sounds good to me,” Stone said.

“Oh, and you may as well move her back into your room,” Ham said. “I get the idea that's where she wants to be.”

Stone gulped. “Up to her.”