Dirty Work (Stone Barrington 9)

“What?”

“You remember that conversation about this woman finding Stone by reading Page Six?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s a woman at the bar with the clipping, asking about Stone.”

“Describe her.”

“Well dressed, thirties, medium everything.”

“Do what you can to keep her there, but don’t piss her off. I’m on my way.” He shut the phone and kissed Mary Ann. “Sorry, baby, but something hot has come up.”

“Is she hotter than me?” Mary Ann asked, pushing him back into the chair.

“She’s committed four murders that we know of, and she’s at the bar, at Elaine’s.”

“I give up,” Mary Ann said, getting up and buttoning her blouse. “I’m never gonna get laid.”

“Don’t you believe it,” Dino said, grabbing his coat and heading for the door, the cell phone in his hand.

He grabbed a cab in front of his building. “Eighty-eighth and Second,” he said to the driver, then began dialing the precinct. “Gimme the duty commander,” he said. “This is Bacchetti. We got a rumble on a suspect

in this afternoon’s shooting on Park Avenue. She’s at Elaine’s restaurant, Second between Eighty-eighth and Eighty-ninth, west side of the street, sitting at the bar, her back to the window. I’m on my way there now. I want a SWAT team. . . . Scrub that, I want eight people in plain clothes, no visible weapons, no sirens on the way—shit, they can run all the way, it’s that close. Nobody parks out front, nobody enters the restaurant but me.”

The cab drew to a halt at the corner of Eighty-eighth and Second. Dino gave the driver a five and got out, still talking on the cell phone.

“I’m going into the restaurant now. I want two people on either side of the door, not visible from inside, and four across the street. Suspect is a white female, thirties, medium height and weight, alone, probably armed and very dangerous. Any questions?”

“No, Lieutenant,” the detective answered.

“Call me on my cell phone when everybody is in position.”

“Got it.”

Dino hung up and called Elaine’s, got her on the phone. “I’m coming in alone in just a minute. Is there an empty table by the bar?”

“No, but Sid Zion is at number four with two other guys. He’s got a couple of empty chairs. I’ll tell him you’re coming.”

“That’s good. Pay no attention to the woman at the bar. Don’t even look at her. Has she moved?”

“No.”

“I’m coming in now.” Dino checked his weapon, returned it to his holster, and walked into Elaine’s.

Suddenly, Marie-Thérèse was nervous. The bartender had said something to the restaurant’s owner, and she had made a phone call. Now she was on the phone again, and she had glanced at where she was sitting at the bar.

The front door opened and a man walked in: not too tall, Mediterranean-looking.

Dino walked toward table number four, where Sidney Zion, a journalist and writer, was sitting. “Hey, Sid,” Dino said, pumping his hand. “Mind if I join you?”

“Sit down, Dino,” Zion replied.

Dino took a seat with a good view of a woman at the bar he thought was probably Marie-Thérèse.

The man was a cop, she could feel it. “Where’s the ladies’ room?” she asked the bartender.

“Back that way, take a right, second door on the left.”