Dirty Work (Stone Barrington 9)

Stone dialed the number, which he now knew by heart, while Dino stuck his ear next to Stone’s.

“Yes?” she said.

“It’s Stone. What have you done?”

“They didn’t send the money.”

“Of course they sent it. I confirmed it. Didn’t you call the bank?”

“Yes, but it wasn’t the bank. It was obviously one of Sir Edward’s people. They lied to me and to you, Stone. I had it confirmed twice that the money never arrived.”

“You’ve got to stop this, Marie-Thérèse,” he said.

“I’ve no intention of stopping,” she replied. “They broke their agreement, and now they’re fair game.” She hung up.

Dino snatched his cell phone back and pressed redial long enough to get the number.

“What are you doing?” Stone asked. “That was a conversation with a client.”

“A client who has just announced her intention of committing a crime,” Dino replied. “Your obligation now is to report that to the police and render whatever assistance you can, which you have just done.” He called another number. “This is Lieutenant Dino Bacchetti at the Nineteenth Precinct,” he said. “I want a wall-to-wall surveillance on the following cell phone number.” He read out the number. “Nail it down in a hurry and call me back with a location. Highest priority. Do not—repeat—do not attempt to detain the holder of the cell phone.” He hung up. “I’m going to nail the bitch,” he said.

“What else can I do to help?” Stone asked.

“Think. Think of another way to get to her. Do you know where she’s sleeping?”

“No.”

“No idea at all? Hotel? Apartment? Safe house?”

“I have no idea. The only thing I have is the cell phone number, and you have that now.”

“I hope to God it’s enough,” Dino said. “Did I mention that at the time she shot Sir Edward, he and Carpenter were having dinner with the director of the FBI?”

“Oh, shit.”

“That’s right, pal.”

The car was waved through a roadblock at Fifty-second and Park, then screeched to a halt in front of the Four Seasons. Stone and Dino got out of the car.

“Stay with me,” Dino said, “and keep your mouth shut.”

“What could I possibly say?” Stone replied.

50

Dino and Stone walked into the downstairs lobby of the Four Seasons to find a phalanx of uniformed police officers standing in front of the men’s-room door. A man in a pin-striped suit was yelling at them. “You don’t understand! I’ve got to get into that men’s room right now!”

Dino tapped the man on the shoulder, spinning him around. He flashed his badge. “Sir,” he said, “go upstairs and ask the headwaiter to direct you to the other men’s room.”

“What other men’s room? There isn’t one.”

“Believe me, he’ll find you one,” Dino said. He pointed at an officer. “You. Escort this gentleman upstairs.”

The cop took the man’s elbow and steered him up the staircase.

“Out of my way,” Dino said to the uniforms, who parted like the Red Sea. He pointed a thumb at Stone. “He’s with me.” Then he led the way into the men’s room. A team of EMTs were bent over two bodies, one of them in a dark suit.

“Are they dead?” Dino asked.