They both had another cup and a doughnut. Half an hour later, the Blankenships were driving east on the interstate. At the first exit they got off, drove under the bridge, and got on again headed west.
“Our next stop is a little town called Anderson, Indiana, which has a very nice airport. We can leave the car there for a couple of days.” Then he explained his plan to her.
“I like it,” she said.
He ran a hand up the inside of her thigh and made contact. “I always know what you’ll like,” he said.
54
Cheech entered the address into Maps on his iPhone, and he and his crew drove up the Hudson. “Nice view,” Cheech said to his driver.
“I never been up here,” the man responded.
“It’s what, fifty miles from home, and you’ve never driven up the Hudson?” Cheech asked.
“I like it fine in Jersey.”
The house was very pretty — gray shingles and what looked like a slate roof. Fairly big, too. The name “Blankenship” appeared on the mailbox.
“Looks like there’s nobody home,” the driver said.
“I expect,” Cheech replied. “If it belongs to Sol Fineman, he wouldn’t be home, either.” He motioned for the men in the other car to stay put.
“Where would Sol be?” the driver asked.
“Disappearing.”
“Huh?”
“He wouldn’t be waiting at home for us to find him.” They walked around the house peeking in windows. “Nicely furnished,” Cheech said.
“Whatever.”
They came to a rear door. “You any good with locks?” Cheech asked.
“Yeah,” the man said; he kicked the door open.
“That wasn’t exactly what I meant,” Cheech said. He heard a series of beeps. “Uh-oh, alarm system. We’ve got less than two minutes.” He ran into the house and looked for a desk or a home office, found it and went hurriedly through the drawers. Phone bill, gas bill, electrical, all in the name of Blankenship. The beeps were getting closer together. “Let’s get out of here fast,” he said, sprinting for the car.
The two carloads of crew drove away to the sound of a whooping alarm coming from the house.
“Slow down,” Cheech said to his driver, “we don’t want to get arrested for speeding.”
“I just throw the tickets away,” the driver said.
Cheech sighed, got out his cell phone, and called Rocco Maggio.
“Yeah?”
“We’re in Cold Spring, up the Hudson,” Cheech said.
“What the fuck for?”
“We found a piece of a property tax bill stuck to a garbage can at Sol’s old apartment, name of Blankenship. We checked out the house. Somebody lives there, but there’s no car in the garage, and no suitcases.”
“So you think Blankenship is Sol?”
“I gotta think that,” Cheech replied, “because there’s nothing else to think. The guy knows how to cover his tracks — except for that one thing, the tax bill.”
As the Blankenships drove their new Mercedes west, Cindy got a cell phone from her purse and started to dial a number. He took it from her. “That’s a no-no.”
“I just want to call the maid and tell her not to come tomorrow.”
“People can track cell phones,” he said. He took a throwaway from his pocket and handed it to her. “Use this,” he said. “On the other hand, don’t use it. It’s not important for the maid to know anything.”
“Whatever you say, sweets.”
They were coming up on a bridge. He rolled down the window and threw the phone as far as he could, into a river.
“Okay,” Rocco said, “the first thing you gotta do is find out if Blankenship has a cell phone.”
“He does, I saw the bill in his desk drawer.”
“Did you happen to get the number?”
“Sorry, we were working fast, against a ticking alarm system.”
“Hang on a second.” Maggio turned to his computer and did a cell phone search for Blankenship, Cold Spring. “Here’s the number,” he said. “See if you can track it.”
“How do I do that?”
“Hang on, I’ll do it.”
Maggio started tracking; this had always been a good app for finding recalcitrant borrowers. It worked this time, too. He picked up the phone. “He’s at 100 Riverview Road, Cold Spring.”
“That’s where we just came from, and we can’t go back because the cops are likely to be there,” Cheech said.
“Oh, never mind, this guy’s smart enough not to leave the phone there if it could do us any good.” Maggio thought for a minute. “Let me check the DMV. You hang on.” He pressed the speaker button and went to work on the computer again. “Got it! He drives a two-year-old Toyota Camry, silver.” He gave Cheech the tag number.
“What do I do with this? Set up a roadblock?”
“I’ll check it every day. He’ll probably sell it, and there’ll be a record of the change of title. You guys come home. Good job, at least we got a lead.” Maggio hung up. He could be patient when he had to.
55
Stone came downstairs to find a large FedEx package on his desk, sent from Angelo Farina. He got a box cutter and freed the contents from their vault.
Stone was stunned. He’d forgotten his order for a van Gogh from Angelo, and here it was: a glorious view of farmlands with trees in the foreground, beautifully framed.
There was an envelope in the box, and he opened it to find a bill for $6,000 and a handwritten note. Your van Gogh, as requested.
Joan came in and gazed at the painting. “Gorgeous,” she said.
“He really is a very talented painter, even when copying another one.” He handed her the bill. “Please pay this, pronto.” He took the painting up to the dining room and spent an hour shuffling things around to make a place for it.
When he came back to his desk, there was a message from Pio Farina, and he returned the call to a cell phone number.
“Pio.”
“Pio, it’s Stone Barrington.”
“Stone, I wanted you to know that Dad has had a heart attack, and he’s in the hospital.”
“How bad?”
“Not good.”
“Is he in East Hampton?”
“No, in the city, at the Carlsson Clinic. He has a pied-à-terre in the city, and he collapsed in the lobby of his building. The doormen got him an ambulance.”
“Can I visit him?”
“They say he can see us this afternoon, and we’re driving in now. I know he’d like to see you.”
“I just got the painting I asked for. It’s wonderful!”
“Yes, I saw him working on it in his studio.”
“Call me and let me know when I can see him.”
“Okay. There’s something else I want to talk to you about, too.” He hung up without an explanation.
Later in the afternoon, Stone got a call from Pio.
“They won’t let anybody see him today — maybe tomorrow.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you mind if Ann and I come to see you? There’s something we’d like to tell you about.”
“Fine, now is good.”
The two of them came in and sat on the sofa, while Stone took a chair. He waited for them to get settled with the coffee that Joan brought. “Tell me,” he said.
“It’s a fairly long story,” Pio said.
“I’ve got the time,” Stone replied.
“We told you about the day Mark died.”
“Yes, you did.”
“But not everything.”
“All right, tell me everything.”
“It was as we said, up to a point. Mark invited us for a drink and told us to come up in the service elevator.”
“Because the main elevator was being serviced.”
“That’s what he said. We had our drink and started to leave. He asked us to drop off the package at FedEx.”