Stone sighed. He ushered her off the elevator and into his bedroom, and they began to undress for bed.
“All right,” he said. “I met her four years ago. I didn’t seek her out; she found me. We saw each other for a while, and it got serious. She suggested we get married, and I didn’t refuse her.”
“A reluctant bridegroom?”
“No, just one with reservations. She is the daughter of a man named Eduardo Bianchi, an Italian-American of some note.”
“The name is familiar, but I can’t place him.”
“A great many people would say the same thing,” Stone replied. “No one really knows Eduardo’s true history, but the stories are that, as a young man, he became associated somehow with some Mafia figures. There is disagreement about whether he was ever actually a member, but there is disagreement about almost all the details of Eduardo’s life.”
“Very interesting,” Felicity said.
“There is some evidence to support the idea that he was the man behind, but not a member of, the Commission, which was an organization that tried to impose some order on the criminal elements under it and sometimes succeeded.”
“I’ve heard of that.”
“Back in the fifties, when J. Edgar Hoover finally began to believe that the Mafia might just exist, Eduardo is said to have withdrawn even further from the organization, but he is thought to have continued to control it from a distance. Meanwhile, he became a prominent business figure, investing in and serving on the boards of a number of important banks and other financial institutions. Over the years he became a model of respectability in spite of the rumors about his past as well as an important figure in the worlds of the arts and charitable institutions.
“Eduardo lived quietly in a house he built way out in Brooklyn on the water. He maintained offices in Manhattan but did most of his work from home. He entertained judiciously, when it suited him, and sent his two daughters, Anna Maria and Dolce, to fine schools, where they did well. They both worked in various businesses and foundations that Eduardo controlled.
“Anna Maria, who preferred to be called Mary Ann, met Dino at some function in Little Italy, and almost immediately after that she found herself pregnant. It was imparted to Dino that, if he wished his testicles to remain attached to his body, a proposal of marriage would be in order. A boisterous wedding was followed by an even more boisterous marriage, which produced a son, now in a New England prep school.
“A couple of years ago, there was a divorce, and Eduardo insisted on a settlement in Dino’s favor, which has enabled him to live well as a newly minted bachelor.”
“But you digress,” Felicity said. “Tell me about the other daughter.”
“We traveled to Venice, where Eduardo was attending a business convocation allegedly attended by the more important members of both the American and Italian Mafias. Dolce and I were married in a small civil ceremony, which was to have been followed a day or two later by a large religious ceremony presided over by a high-ranking Italian cardinal who was influential in the Vatican.
“The day before the second wedding, the husband of a friend of mine was murdered in Los Angeles. You may remember the actor Vance Calder.”
“Of course,” Felicity said. “You were involved in that?”
“I was involved in the subsequent investigation, and the murderer was identified but never convicted. Dino and I left Venice for L.A., and Dolce began to behave erratically, which was to say, dangerously.
“After a time, the relationship ended, and Eduardo sought psychiatric treatment for Dolce, keeping her in his home. Shortly after that, I received by messenger the torn-out page from the Venetian registry book that Dolce and I had signed. It could only have come from Eduardo.
“The following year, Dolce escaped from her father’s house and found me in Palm Beach, where I was working on a case. At a large party she fired several shots at me, but only one struck. Fortunately it was a nonfatal part of my body. She was immediately returned to her father’s custody and has remained there since.
“Eduardo and I have remained friends, lunching together several times a year at his home. Recently, Dolce showed improvement, and Eduardo allowed her to be escorted to the city on shopping trips. A few days ago, she knifed her escort and disappeared. She has been seen outside my house several times since then.”
“And she still wants to kill you?” Felicity asked.
“I don’t know what she wants,” Stone said, “but I think it’s wise to assume the worst. That’s why I had a man in the house, and he’s looking for her now. He will have called others to help.”
“Do you think we’re safe here?” Felicity asked.
“Yes, or I would have sent you away by now.”
“That’s good enough for me,” she said, tossing away the last of her clothes and pressing her naked body against his.
They stood there for some time, savoring each other and becoming more and more aroused. Finally, she climbed him like a tree, wrapped her legs around his body and took him inside her.
Stone supported her weight with his shoulders and his hands under her buttocks for as long as he could, and then he lowered her to the bed and began all over again.
They were both in the throes of orgasm when the phone rang. Stone let the voicemail pick it up, but then it began ringing again.
“Perhaps you’d better answer it,” Felicity said.
Stone rolled over and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“It’s Cantor. Peter and I are on the street, looking for the woman.”
“Any luck?”
“We found Willie.”
“Is he all right?”
“He’s unconscious, but he doesn’t seem to have any wounds, knife or gunshot. An ambulance is on the way; we’ll be at Lenox Hill.”
“See you there.” Stone hung up and began rounding up his clothes. “The man who was watching the house went after Dolce, and he has been found unconscious. I’m going to have to go to the hospital.”
“Do you want me to come?”
“No, I think you’re safer here. Are you armed?”
“There’s a gun in my handbag,” she said.
He picked up the purse from the floor and handed it to her. “Keep it in your hand until I get home,” he said. “I’ll ring the phone once, then hang up to let you know, so you won’t shoot me.”
15
Stone found Bob Cantor and Peter Leahy seated in the waiting area of the Lenox Hill emergency room. Cantor moved his jacket and made room for Stone between them.
“How is he?”
“Awake but with a concussion. They’re admitting him for observation.”
“What happened to him?”
“A blow to the head with something like one of those flat black-jacks that detectives used to carry.”
“That’s enough to concuss an ox,” Stone said. “Were you able to talk to him?”
“A little. He was confused, and he couldn’t remember being hit.”
“Just as well,” Stone said. “At least she didn’t knife him.”
“Yeah, I was worried about that until we couldn’t find a wound. A nurse found a big bruise under his hair. Where’s your houseguest?”
“Locked in with a gun in her hand,” Stone said. “Don’t worry; she’s a very capable lady.”
“Isn’t she the British spook I heard about a few years back?”
“Yes, but I didn’t tell you that.”
“Of course not. She’s your client, isn’t she?”
“I didn’t tell you that, either.”
“Tell me the truth about this Whitestone guy.”
“It’s Whitestone like the bridge. You know everything I know. Dino ran the photo through the FBI facial comparison computer program and came up with a surveillance photo from a bank on Park Avenue, near the Seagram Building, but it wasn’t as good as what you got.”
“If he’s going into a bank on Park, maybe he works around there, maybe even in the Seagram Building.”