Dino arrived at the precinct and went to his office. A pile of mail on his desk greeted him.
“Morning, Lieutenant,” a voice said, and he looked up to find his newest detective, an attractive brunette named Viv DeCarlo, standing in his doorway.
“Morning, DeCarlo,” he said brusquely. “What do you need?”
“The DNA came back in the Bronson murder,” she said. “It’s a match for the boyfriend. I need an APB.”
“Have you been to his house?” Dino asked. “It would save a lot of departmental bother if you could make the collar without the trouble of an APB.”
“No, sir, I haven’t,” she said. “I’ll need an arrest warrant and a SWAT team for that. Would that be less trouble than an APB?”
“It’s a toss-up,” Dino said, “but call the DA and get the warrant. Type up an authorization for the SWAT team, and I’ll sign it.” Dino opened the top piece of mail on his desk, a large brown envelope with an FBI return address. He shook it, and a wanted poster featuring a becoming photograph of Shelley Bach spilled onto his desktop.
“Hey,” DeCarlo said, “that’s the chick from D.C. who offed all those people, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Dino said. “Is there anything else preventing you from getting back to work?”
“No, no, Lieutenant. Thanks for your help.”
Dino sat down and looked at the poster, then he called Stone.
“You’re up early today,” Stone said.
“I’m up early every day, unlike you.”
“I don’t have to get in early to make the morning shift think I work for a living,” Stone replied.
“Well, there is that,” Dino said. “Listen, pal, I’ve got some good news and some bad news.”
“Give me the good news first.”
“Okay, I threw what’s-her-name out first thing this morning.”
“Right after you screwed her, right?”
“The point is, she’s gone and out of my life.”
“What’s the bad news?”
“She’s not necessarily out of your life.”
There was a long silence. “Dino,” Stone said, “I’m failing to figure out what that means.”
“It means she knows you know.”
“You told her you told me?”
“Oh, no, nothing like that. I told her you saw her coming into my building and recognized her.”
“So, you managed to convey my knowledge of her presence in New York while covering your own ass?”
“Well, yeah, I thought that was best.”
“Best for you.”
“Listen, Stone, it was an accident. We were arguing, and I spilled that you knew, but I couldn’t let her think I told you. She might have offed me on the spot.”
“So now she’ll off me slightly later,” Stone pointed out.
“I did my best to convince her that you would never rat her out because you would protect me.”
“So, I come out of this dead, but a hero in her eyes?”
“Look, pal, I’m sorry, I really am, but she had me against the wall, and I was grasping at straws.”
“Next time, grasp at a different straw, will you?”
“Again, I’m sorry. Gotta run.” Dino hung up, and he was sweating. What the hell, he thought, the alternative was not to warn him.
12
Stone had just come into his office when Joan buzzed him. “Herbie on one.”
Stone picked up the phone. “Good morning, Herbie. How did it go with Mike Freeman?”
“Better than I could have hoped,” Herbie replied. “Dink is at the funny farm, thanks to Mike’s help, and Mike offered me a job at Strategic Services, if I ever want to leave Woodman and Weld.”
“Are you thinking of doing that?” Stone asked.
“No, but having that to fall back on gave me the guts to tell Karla Martin to sort of go fuck herself and get her to write a recommendation to Eggers that he promote me to senior associate.”
“Herbie, it takes a while for an associate to break through that particular ceiling.”
“It’s done, Stone. Eggers went for it.”
“What have you been smoking?”
“I kid you not. I’m in an office with a window, next to a corner office, with a beautiful view up Park Avenue, and I’m interviewing secretaries this afternoon. I’ve got myself an associate to abuse, too, name of Bobby Bentley.”
“Go easy on him, Herbie, Bobby’s dad is an important client.”
“Well, that’s good news. I need to make some rain around here.”
“Good thinking. Congratulations, and have a perfect day.”
“How could it get any more perfect?” Herbie hung up.
Half an hour later, Joan buzzed him. “Marshall Brennan on one.”
Stone was surprised; he had never received a call from Brennan. “Hello?”
“Stone, Marshall Brennan.”
“Good morning, Marshall.”
“I’m calling to thank you for the way you dealt with my son’s problem. He called me this morning from Winwood Farm, and we made up. He says he’s going to make a go of his treatment, then go back to Yale.”
“That’s wonderful news, Marshall.”
“Tell me, who is Herbert Fisher?”
“He’s a lawyer at Woodman and Weld and the young man who made all this happen.”
“You mean you weren’t responsible?”
“Only indirectly. I judged that Herb was the best man for the job, so I brought him in.”
“And he’s at Woodman and Weld?”
“Yes, a senior associate.”
“What does ‘senior associate’ mean?”
“It’s the level at the firm from which partners are selected, and Herb got that promotion faster than any other associate ever has. I’m sure he’d appreciate a call from you, and he’d certainly appreciate any other work you might be able to send his way.”
“Why don’t you bring him to lunch today? I’d like to meet him.”
“We’d both enjoy that, Marshall.”
“P.J. Clarke’s at one? I’ll book.”
“See you there, Marshall.” Stone hung up and called Herbie. “You and I are having lunch with Marshall Brennan today.”
“You’re kidding me!”
“Nope. He wants to express his gratitude for your work, and he might even be more appreciative than that. P.J. Clarke’s, at one.”
“Not the Four Seasons?”
“Marshall’s a pretty down-to-earth guy. I think he was uncomfortable at the Four Seasons last time we met.”
“I’ll be there.”
Stone and Herbie arrived at the restaurant simultaneously and found Marshall Brennan already seated. “You’re not Herbie anymore, you’re Herb,” Stone whispered. He made the introduction, Marshall thanked Herbie, and they ordered. Marshall had the bacon cheeseburger.
“Herb,” Marshall said, “can you ride a horse?”
“Yes,” Herbie replied, with a straight face.
“Can you take a couple of weeks off this summer?”
“I have some vacation time coming,” Herbie said, looking askance at Stone, who shrugged almost imperceptibly.
“Dink’s going to get out of Winwood Farm sometime this summer, and I’m sending him out to my ranch in Montana for a few weeks, before he starts at Yale again this fall. How’d you like to go with him?”
“Mr. Brennan, I’m a reasonably priced lawyer, but an expensive babysitter.”
Brennan laughed. “Dink doesn’t need a babysitter, he needs a friend. He spoke well of you when we talked this morning, said he’d like to get to know you better.”
“In that case I’d be delighted to visit Montana.”
“Good. I’ll let you know the dates later. Now, Herb, I understand you’re a senior associate and looking for some business of your own.”
“Both of those things are true,” Herbie said.
“I have a substantial investment in a start-up software company that I have high hopes for. They’re smart kids, but they need some adult supervision with legal matters, especially intellectual property. You know anything about that?”
“I do, sir, and by tomorrow morning I’ll know a lot more,” Herbie said.
Brennan handed Herbie a card. “This is the CEO. They’re housed in an old industrial building in SoHo. Drop in and see them, will you?”
Herbie looked at the card. “High Cotton Ideas,” he read. “I like the sound of that. Now, Mr. Brennan…”