“Not anymore. That’s all settled.”
“Then you don’t want me to pick him up?”
For a moment, Stone considered blowing the whistle on Paul Manning, and the hell with their agreement. “No. You wouldn’t have a charge, anyway. He’s clean.”
“How do you know that? I thought you said he was the criminal type.”
“As a result of our settlement, he’s now too rich to be criminal.”
“You paid him off?”
“Let’s say he walked away in very good shape.”
“Well, I’ll leave him alone, if that’s the way you want it, but I intend to keep an eye on him.”
“That can’t hurt, I suppose, if you have the manpower.”
Stone thought of something. “Tell me, Dan, did the description of the man include a bandage on his face?”
“A bandage? No, nobody said anything about that. He’s clean-shaven, with dark hair, going gray.”
“Oh.”
“Why did you think he might be wearing a bandage?”
“When I saw him he was. I thought maybe he’d had an accident or something.”
“Well, I’ve got to get going,” Griggs said, turning back toward the house.
Stone looked up to see that Dolce was nowhere in sight. “I’ll walk with you,” Stone said.
“Don’t bother, I can find my way,” Griggs replied.
“I was going to the house, anyway.”
“Suit yourself.”
They walked down the gangplank and toward the house, with Stone casing every shrub and tree they passed.
“Did I tell you it was stolen?” Griggs asked.
“What was?”
“The Cadillac, the one that was shot at.”
“Sounds like a drug deal gone wrong,” Stone said.
“Maybe, but we don’t get a whole lot of drug dealing in broad daylight around the Worth Avenue shopping district.”
“I guess not,” Stone said, still looking for Dolce.
They reached the house and walked through the central hallway and outside to where Griggs had parked his car.
Stone looked around for the silver Volvo, or for any other strange car, but saw nothing.
“You know, Stone,” Griggs said, his mood still somber, “I’ve got a strong feeling that you know something I ought to know.”
“Me? I can’t imagine what.”