Stone got up and went to his safe.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m getting the Walther out of the safe. He could change his mind.”
“You think you could set the alarm now?”
And he did.
43
STONE WAS SCRAMBLING eggs when Holly came downstairs, wrapping a robe around her naked body.
“Good morning,” he said.
“No, it isn’t. That son of a bitch would have killed us last night if you hadn’t talked him out of it.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll do the alarm every night.”
Holly picked up a phone and dialed a number.
“Who are you calling?”
“A certain cell phone.” She waited, tapping her foot. “Grant? Listen to me: Your star witness got out of his cage last night, came into my bedroom with a gun, and threatened to kill me. I’m filing a formal complaint with the NYPD about this. . . . What?” She put her hand over the phone and turned to Stone. “Turn on the TV.”
Stone switched it on. “What are we looking for?”
“Try CNN.”
He switched to CNN. A reporter was standing in front of Trini’s apartment building on East Eighty-eighth Street. “So one FBI agent is dead and another wounded, apparently by a man being held as a material witness. We don’t have a photograph yet, but his name is Trini Rodriguez, also known as Robert Marshall. He is in his mid-thirties, six feet two inches tall, one hundred and eighty pounds, and of Latin and Italian extraction. We expect to have a photograph of him later this morning.”
“So,” Holly said into the phone, “you got one of your people killed and another hurt? . . . Of course you did it! You’re responsible!” She held the phone away from her. “He hung up.”
“So, Trini is on the streets?” Stone asked.
“Since early this morning,” Holly said. “Grant couldn’t tell me anything more than CNN did.”
“You and I go armed everywhere,” Stone said.
“Too right. Where do we start looking for him?”
“Let me call Dino.” Stone dialed Dino’s cell phone number. “I hear our boy is off his leash,” he said.
“And in a big way,” Dino replied. “We’re taking a backseat to the Feds on this, since killing an FBI agent is a federal crime.”
“So you’re not actively looking for him?”
“Oh, sure. We’ve sent a photograph to all precincts and issued an APB.”
“You have any clues to his whereabouts?”
“If I did, he’d be in a cell right now.”
“Will you keep me posted?”
“Sure, that’s my only job, isn’t it?”
“Thanks, Dino.” He hung up. “The NYPD is on it, but the Feds are taking the lead. He’ll turn up.”