“Beats me,” Cantor said.
“It would be like Herbie to run,” Stone said, “if he had the chance. On the other hand, the partner could have gotten the better of Herbie and taken him somewhere else.”
“I guess that’s a good possibility,” Cardoza agreed, “especially since Mr. Fisher left his weapon in Cheech’s chest. How about a description of both men?”
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“Herbert Fisher is how old, Bob?” Stone asked.
“Twenty-five.”
“Five-six, a hundred and fifty, light brown hair.”
“Any visible scars?” the detective asked.
“Not unless he got them tonight.”
“How about the partner?”
“About thirty-five, six-three, two-seventy, black hair, a nose like a fist.”
“That would also fit Cheech here.”
“They could be brothers,” Stone agreed.
Cardoza turned to his partner. “Call in the descriptions and ask for an APB, then get a scene team over here.” The young woman reached for her cell phone, and Cardoza turned back to Stone and Cantor. “I guess you two are too smart to have touched anything here?”
Both men nodded. “It’s as we found it,” Stone said.
“How long ago?”
“Ten minutes,” Stone replied.
“You arrived together?”
Cantor spoke up. “I took a cab over here; Stone arrived in time to go inside with me.”
“Why were you here?” Cardoza asked.
“We were looking for Herbie,” Stone said. “He’s been on the run from these two guys, and we were worried about him.”
“You said he’s your client,” Cardoza pointed out. “Why does he need a lawyer?”
“He’s suing Carmine Dattila.”
Cardoza burst out laughing. “For what?” he asked when he’d gotten control of himself.
“Battery, kidnaping, attempted murder. I have a recording of Dattila ordering his death.”
“I’m gonna want that,” Cardoza said.
“It’s evidence in a lawsuit, but I’ll get you a copy tomorrow morning.”
“I’m gonna need the original.”
“Not yet. When I can, or when a judge orders it.”
Cardoza shrugged. “That’ll do for the moment, I guess.”