“Now, Dierdre, if you’re referring to the unfortunate incident with your brother the cop…”
“Oh, he’s got more than that on his sheet,” she said. “There’s another DUI and that business when he crashed through the skylight while taking dirty pictures and fell on some poor guy who died as a result.”
“Dierdre, you know as well as I that it has been positively determined that the guy was already dead when Herbie fell on him. He was just trying to make a buck.”
“Stone, why do you keep getting involved with this little creep? He’s nothing but trouble, and one of these days he’s going to get you in trouble.”
“Circumstances beyond my control,” Stone said, “but everything I’ve told you is true.”
“Well, maybe so, but I hope you can find your client in time to get him in my office at ten tomorrow morning, because at that time, I’m going to start getting a lot harder to convince. Bye-bye, sweetie. Oh, by the way, bring that tape of Dattila committing a crime, or I’ll have your balls.” She hung up.
Stone called Bob Cantor.
“Cantor.”
“Bob, have you heard anything at all from Herbie?”
“Yeah, he called just a minute ago. He wants me to bring him some money.”
“Where?”
“He said he’d call me when he finds a safe place.”
“Bob, when you see him you’ve got to collar him and take him home with you. I’ve got to have him in the D.A.’s office tomorrow at ten a.m. to keep him from getting a murder charge slapped on him.”
“Are you serious?”
“Dead serious. Somehow, the case got assigned to Manhattan, and the A.D.A. in charge is the one whose brother Herbie kicked in the balls last year.”
“Oh, shit.”
“My sentiments exactly. Hang on to him, Bob. Have him at the D.A.’s office at ten tomorrow, or everything is going to get a lot worse.”
“I read you, Stone. I’ll bring him over here and handcuff him to a radiator.” Cantor hung up.
As Stone hung up, Joan buzzed him again. “A Dr. Larkin on two.”
Stone punched the button. “Eliza, how are you?”
“I’m very well, Stone. Do you like Italian food?”
“My favorite.”
“I’m cooking this evening. Would you like to join me?”
/> “What’s an Irish girl doing cooking Italian?”
“Would you rather I cooked Irish?”
“Italian will be just great. What time?”
“Seven thirty.”
“Can I bring the wine?”
“You’d better.” She gave him the address.
“See you then.” Stone hung up and walked through the ground floor of his house to a room he kept cooled as a wine cellar. He found two bottles of the Masi ’91 Amarone and set them on the kitchen counter to settle. “Yum,” he said aloud to himself as he wiped the dust from the bottles. He had been saving them for a special occasion, and this was a special occasion.