Bruce gulped his orange juice. This could not be happening.
At police headquarters, Detective Avery Morris was called into his captain’s office, along with his partner and their lieutenant.
“Are we ready to wrap this up?” the captain asked.
The lieutenant turned to Morris. “Avery? Bring us up to date.”
Morris nodded. “We processed the men’s room last night and found nothing to indicate the presence of anyone but Creed Harker in the stall. The gun contained only Harker’s fingerprints. The medical examiner did the autopsy early this morning, and he reports that Harker’s wound was consistent with a self-inflicted gunshot.”
“Well, that’s it,” the captain said, “in the absence of any other evidence.”
Morris removed a plastic evidence bag containing a handkerchief from his pocket. “We did come up with one thing that I haven’t been able to explain. We searched the various trash cans in the lobby, which was routine, and just outside the front door we found a man’s handkerchief, neatly folded.”
“Anything odd about it?”
“It’s made of a very fine linen and appears to have some age on it. It had been starched and ironed and it had oily stains that might be gun oil, as if it had been used to wipe a gun clean of fingerprints. It bears no manufacturer’s label and no laundry marks, indicating to me that it was custom-made and had only been laundered and ironed in the home.”
“Well, shit,” the captain said, “I was hoping that we could announce to the press that this case is closed. No indication of who it might have belonged to?”
“There was an elderly man sitting near the men’s room, who left the hotel by that entrance. He might have thrown it away as he left the hotel.”
“Who was he?”
Morris read from his notebook. “A Mr. Elton, apparently.”
“Did anyone see this Mr. Elton deposit the handkerchief in the trash can?”
“There are no witnesses to that effect.”
“So, it could have been deposited there by anyone leaving or arriving at the hotel at any time?”
“That’s correct, sir.”
“Well,” the captain said, “in my book it’s not evidence, since it has no identifying marks and no witness who can connect it with any person.”
“I’m inclined to agree, Captain,” Morris said. “I just thought I ought to mention it.”
“What about the gun Harker used? Was it registered to him?”
“No, sir, the serial number tells us it was sold to the U.S. Army in 1949. It’s a .45 Colt, of a size that makes it issued to general officers. Army records are not computerized back that far, and I have no reason to think that a paper trail exists. However, Harker’s secretary told us that he collected weapons of various kinds, and it could very well have been part of his collection.”
“Okay, we’ve pursued this case to its natural conclusion,” the captain said. “Death was by self-inflicted gunshot wound, using the man’s own gun. I’ll announce it to the press at my noon media conference. Any objections from anybody?”
Nobody spoke.
52
Stone sat at his desk and looked at his wristwatch. It was mid-morning, and Mary Ann Bianchi had not phoned. She was the first step in setting up everything, and he itched to call her to find out what was going on. Before he could do that, his attention was drawn to a bound document on his desk, titled Journal, Volume I, which lay on the first of Eduardo’s red leather-bound, handwritten volumes. That was fast, he thought. Anna Fontana had been working for only two days in the office next door.
Stone flipped open the binder. The first entry was dated January 1939.
I met, at his request, with M.L. in an apartment on Broome Street, downtown. The place was nicely furnished, but it did not appear to be lived in, just used for meetings. I had just arrived when C.L. joined us, in the company of two men who appeared to be bodyguards.
M.L. immediately asked me my age; when I told him I was nineteen, he at first seemed shocked, then intrigued. He began asking me questions about myself, to which I gave only terse answers. C.L. looked at me in disbelief and seemed ready to dismiss me, until I pointed out that I had been invited there. I had had no previous business relationship with either of these men, nor anyone who knew them, to my knowledge. I did not know who had introduced us.
M.L. took a new tack, asking my advice about the price of genuine scotch whiskey. I told him I could supply him with twenty cases immediately and named a price. C.L. laughed and said that was less than the wholesale price. I told him I would be happy to sell it to him at the wholesale price. M.L. thought this amusing and pointed out to C.L. that Prohibition was long gone, and scotch was plentiful at the wholesale price. He asked me if I could supply more than twenty cases, and I replied that I could, but not immediately; it might take another week or two. M.L. accepted my price and asked where he could collect the shipment. I told him that I would require payment of the entire sum in advance and that I would deliver it to any local address he wished within twenty-four hours.
C.L. objected to this arrangement and asked me why they should trust me. I told him that whoever had recommended me to them must have thought me trustworthy, and since I was clearly the weaker hand in the transaction, I would need advance payment to protect my position and to be of further use to them. I said that if this was not satisfactory to all concerned, we could forget the whole business and that I would sell my scotch elsewhere. I thanked them for their time and made to leave.
M.L. stopped me. He opened a briefcase and counted out the sum in large notes. I asked him if he would like a receipt, but he said that my beating heart was his receipt and that if I did not deliver on time it would be removed and delivered to him. I agreed to this arrangement, and he instructed me to deliver the whiskey to the basement of the building we were in. Suffice it to say, I was motivated to make the delivery on time, and M.L. and I agreed to do further business on the same terms.
Stone thought that M.L. and C.L. might well be Meyer Lansky and Charlie Luciano, and that Eduardo must have been selling them stolen scotch whiskey.
Then Joan buzzed him and said Mary Ann was on the line. Stone pressed the button. “Good morning, Mary Ann,” he said. “Where are we in all this?”
“I told Dolce that you needed to meet with the two of us about some business with the estate.”
“And...?”
“She agreed to have us for lunch at Papa’s house Monday at one PM.”
“I should think that’s enough time to make the necessary arrangements.”
“She wanted to meet today, but I thought Dino would need more time than that. I mean, this is all very complicated.”
“Yes, it is certainly that. I’d better get to work on my end right now.”
“Can I ride out there with you on Monday?”
“Of course. I’ll have Fred pick you up at eleven forty-five.”
“At my office, please.”
“As you wish.”
“Stone, I’m frightened.”
“I understand your concern,” Stone replied, “but I think this will be our only opportunity to bring this off without public notice.”
“I suppose this will be expensive.”
“Breathtakingly so. I can’t tell you how much now, but brace yourself.”