Strategic Moves (Stone Barrington 19)

“Lansdown,” Dino said, thinking. “Last year. I remember the case. They ran it by me, and I didn’t see any need for charges.”

“You think anybody had something against the cook?” Stone asked.

“If so, he would have shot her and hit Adele over the head, not the other way around.”

“Good point,” Stone admitted. “You know, security is pretty good in a building like this. Makes you wonder how somebody got in through the service entrance.”

The ME came in from the dining room, followed by two helpers and the corpse on a gurney. “Death by shooting, two in the head, small caliber, typical of a pro job. She’d been dead for less than an hour when I got here.”

“Fax me the full report,” Dino said. “Thanks, Doc.”

The man left.

“I think we’re done here,” Dino said, “and the smell of that food cooking makes me hungry.”

“Elaine’s?”

“Where else?” Dino said. “Let’s leave by the service entrance.” He led the way out the back, where Dino had another look at the door. “Doesn’t seem tampered with.”

“Probably when you live in a building like this, you think you can leave your door unlocked,” Stone said.

Dino rang for the elevator and it came quickly. “New elevator,” Dino said as they got on. “Probably faster than the building’s main elevators, unless they’re new, too.”

They got off on the ground floor, and Dino had a good look at the outside door and its lock. “Look at this,” he said, touching the door beside the lock and rubbing his fingers together. “Mucilage; looks like the bolt was taped back.”

The door from the lobby opened and a uniformed employee of the building stood there. “Oh, it’s you, gentlemen. Sorry to disturb you.”

“You got a camera back here?” Dino asked, looking around.

“Right up there,” the doorman said, pointing to a high corner.

“Let’s have a look at your tapes,” Dino said, and they followed him back to the front desk.

At Dino’s request, the doorman rewound the tape to seven-fifteen and pressed the play button. At seven twenty-two the door opened and a man in a dark hooded sweatshirt entered, his hands in the sweatshirt’s pockets. “Rewind and replay one frame at a time,” Dino said.

The doorman did so.

“The angle of the camera is too high. You can’t see the face,” Dino said.

The doorman made a note. “I’ll see to that.”

“All his clothes are dark,” Stone said. “I can’t see anything identifying.”

“Keep playing,” Dino said. “I want to see him when he leaves.”

The doorman played the tape forward at double speed. The man left the way he came, at seven twenty-six, and paused to pull a piece of tape off the door lock; then he was gone.

“You got an outside camera?” Dino asked.

“Not working,” the doorman said. “I called it in late this afternoon, but the repairman didn’t show yet.”

“Bad luck,” Dino said. “Let’s take a look at the street.” He led the way to the service entrance, and they stepped out onto Seventy-first Street. Dino pointed at a dumpster parked across the street, and he and Stone crossed to have a look in it.

“Give me a leg up,” Dino said. “You’re dressed too nice.”

“Sure,” Stone said, cupping his hands.

“It’s pretty full,” Dino said from above Stone. “Somebody’s renovating. Uh-oh.” He held up a black sweatshirt, then handed it to Stone. “Got some latex gloves, too.”