Dirty Work (4 page)
A full bladder woke Stone early in the morning, and he had relieved himself and crawled back into bed before he realized he was alone. He raised his head from the pillow. “Carpenter?” he called. No answer.
Stone struggled from the bed and looked in the bathroom, then in his study. She was gone, but her bags were still there. He stumbled back to bed, but as he lay there, his unconscious began to reveal what it had come up with during the night. After a few minutes of communing with his psyche, Stone sat up in bed and looked at the clock. Ten past nine, and he had slept like—excuse the expression—a stone.
He picked up the phone and called Dino at his office.
“Bacchetti,” Dino snapped into the phone.
“It’s Stone.”
“Don’t say another word. Meet me at Clarke’s for lunch.” He hung up.
“What the hell?” Stone said aloud. He was wide awake now, and he got into a shower and shaved, dressed, and went down to his lower-level office. He could hear Joan Robertson’s computer keyboard clicking away as he came into his office from the rear door. The clicking stopped.
“I’m in,” Stone called out.
Joan appeared in the doorway. “Herbie Fisher has called three times in the past twenty minutes,” she said, placing a call slip on his desk.
Stone groaned. “Get him for me. And I’m having lunch with Dino, so don’t book me for anything before three.”
Joan left, the light on Stone’s phone went on, and she buzzed him.
Stone picked up the phone. “Shut up, Herbie,” he said, before the kid could say anything.
“What have you gotten me into?” Herbie yelled.
“I told you to shut up, and if you don’t do it right now, I’ll hang up, and you can handle your own legal difficulties.”
Herbie shut up.
“Now listen to me very carefully, because this is the last time you and I are going to speak, on the phone or in person. Do you understand?”
“Yeah,” Herbie replied, sounding contrite.
“I’m going to work on getting the charges against you reduced—”
“
Reduced?
I’ll still have to go to jail.”
“Shut up, Herbie.”
“Sorry.”
“I’m going to work on getting the charges against you reduced to something that will get you probation instead of time.”
“But I’ll still have a record,” Herbie protested.
“Shut up, Herbie.”
“Sorry.”
“You don’t have any prior arrests or convictions, and you’re gainfully employed, so we can probably get you unsupervised probation, so you won’t have to report in every week.”
“That would be nice.”
“It would be
very
fucking nice, seeing that the alternative is probably five to seven for the manslaughter charge.”
“When do I get paid?” Herbie asked.
“PAID!!!!????”
Stone screamed down the phone.
“Paid for what?”
“Well, I did the job, sort of,” Herbie said.
“Yeah? Then where are the photographs of two people doing disgusting things to each other?”
“Well, my camera is still in the apartment,” Herbie pointed out. “I could go back and—”
“Don’t you go anywhere near that apartment!”
Stone shouted.
“Could you stop yelling at me, please?” Herbie said, sounding wounded. “It’s not very polite. And could I point out that my camera is brand-new, and the warranty is registered in my name, and if the cops find it, they can trace it back to me?”
Stone was momentarily taken aback by the appearance of a rational thought from Herbie, but not for long. “They’ve already arrested you for being in the apartment. What difference does it make if they trace the camera back to you?”
“Oh,” Herbie said. “Right.”
“Leave the camera to me,” Stone said. “Where do you work?”
“At Walgreens, in Brooklyn.” Herbie gave him the address and phone number of the drugstore.
“Listen,” Stone said. “If I can get that camera back, and if the pictures are worth anything, and if you never, ever call me again for any reason, then you’ll get paid.”
“I guess that’s fair,” Herbie said, seeming to sense it was the best deal he was going to get.
“Did Tony Levy give you his card?”
“Who?”
“The lawyer who got you bailed out last night.”
“Oh, him. Yeah.”
“If you have any further problems with the police, call Levy, not me. He’ll deal with the situation.”
“Okay.”
“How much was your bail?”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
‘ ’What?”
“That’s what the judge said.”
“Oh, shit,” Stone muttered. “If you run, Herbie, I’ll hunt you down and deal with you myself. You hear me?”
“I hear you.”
“Did Levy explain the conditions of your bail?”
“Well, yeah.”
“See that you follow those conditions to the letter.”
“All right.”
“Now, you sit tight and wait to hear about the charges. When I hear something, I’ll call Levy, and he’ll call you.”
“I got it.”
“And you understand never to call me again?”
“Right. And since I won’t be talking to you anymore, Stone, I’d just like to say what a pleasure it’s been working with you, and—”
Stone slammed down the phone, swearing. He buzzed Joan.
“Yes, boss?”
“Joan, please dip into the cash in the safe. Hand-deliver twenty-five thousand dollars to Irving Newman and a thousand to Tony Levy. Both addresses are in our book.”
“Right now?”
“Take a long lunch and do it then. And make them count it, and get a receipt from both.”
“Will do, but that will pretty much clean us out of cash.”
“Okay.” Stone hung up and listened to his stomach growl. He hadn’t had any breakfast, and it was too early for lunch. He rested his forehead on the cool desktop and tried to empty his mind of everything.
Then Joan buzzed him. “Bill Eggers on line one,” she said.
Stone groaned again and picked up the phone.
Eggers was not happy. “Have you seen this morning’s
Daily News
?”
“No.”
“Well, everybody else on the planet has. I don’t know how you missed it.”
“Bill . . .”
“Your guy killed Larry, you know.”
“Bill . . .”
“Elena wanted him caught cold, but not
that
cold.”
“Bill . . .”
“Explain to me how this could have occurred.”
“Accidents happen?” Stone said hopefully.
“Accident? This was no accident! This was pure, unadulterated stupidity and ineptitude. Do you know that Elena Marks, along with her trust, is one of the largest and most profitable clients this firm has? And now I have to go and explain . . .”
Stone pressed the hold button and buzzed Joan.
“Yes, boss?”
“Please go and get me a copy of the
Daily News,
right now.”
“Be back in a jiffy.”
Stone pressed the line button again.
“. . . and to every partner in the firm, too. You and I have a meeting with Elena Marks at three o’clock this afternoon at her apartment, and you’d better be ready to pull this out of the fire. And in the meantime, if the press gets wind of your association with this fiasco, you’re going to be looking for a new career or a country that will let you practice law. And when you show up at Elena’s, you’d better not forget those photographs!”
“Bill . . .” But Eggers had already hung up.
When he heard her return, Stone buzzed Joan. “Please get me Tony Levy—try his cell.” He sat staring at the wall, trying to figure out what to do.
“Levy’s on one,” Joan said.
Stone picked up the phone. “You bailed out Herbie for two hundred and fifty grand?” he said.
“Take it easy, Stone,” Levy said soothingly.
“Easy? Twenty-five grand is easy. A quarter of a million is very, very hard.”
“Judge Simpson got sick in court, and Judge Kaplan came in and subbed for him. You know what she’s like: I was lucky to get Herbie bail at all. We’re lucky she didn’t order him executed.”
“Kaplan came in?” Stone said. Tony was right. Kaplan wasn’t just a hanging judge; she was a draw-’em-and-quarter-’em judge. “Did you explain to Herbie how important it is for him to adhere to the terms of his bail?”
“Don’t worry, I scared the shit out of him,” Levy said. “He’s not going to run.”
“If he does, I’m going to let you pick up half the bail,” Stone said.
“In your fucking dreams,” Levy replied evenly. “I did the best I could for him. You and Johnnie Cochran together couldn’t have done better with Kaplan. Where’s my money?”
“It’ll be there at lunchtime,” Stone said.
Joan laid a fresh copy of the
News
on Stone’s desk.
“I see you’ve been talking to the press,” Stone said, flipping from the page-one lead to the rest of the story inside.
“You don’t see your name anywhere, do you?” Levy asked. “Let me have my little moment in the sun, Stone. It’s all a little shyster like me can hope for. After all, we can’t all do dirty work for Woodman and Weld.”
“This has nothing to do with the firm,” Stone said. “I told you, I was doing a favor for Bob Cantor.”
“Yeah, sure, Stone. And I’ll be representing the Bush girls the next time they get busted for ordering cosmopolitans at the college cafeteria. Don’t worry, buddy, I’m not going to embarrass you or blackmail you. But you’d better have some more work for me soon, or I might weaken.” He hung up, laughing maniacally.
Stone walked into P. J. Clarke’s, waded through the lunchtime bar crowd, and found Dino at a good table in the back room. “Good day, Lieutenant,” Stone said.
“Sit down,” Dino replied, “and shut up.”
“What is it with you today?” Stone asked. “Why can’t I talk anymore?”
“Because I already know everything you’re going to say,” Dino replied, sinking half a draft beer and waving at the waiter. “Two bacon cheeseburgers, medium, and two bowls of chili,” he said, “and bring Clarence Darrow, here, a beer.” The waiter vanished.
“About last night . . .” Stone began.
“I already know about last night,” Dino said. “Everybody who can read at the sixth-grade level knows about it.” He tapped his copy of the
News,
resting on the table.
“I do have a few questions,” Stone said.
“And I’ll answer them for you. One: The girl got away from my people across the roof. She apparently has the agility of a cat burglar, which is more than I can say for your boy, Herbie. Two: The four suits who got there first work for a foreign intelligence service, and their country of origin shall remain nameless. Three: They and the cops got there so fast because they were waiting on the landing below, laying for one or both of the people in the apartment. Four: No, I don’t know where the photographs are that Herbie took. Any other questions?”
Stone shook his head. “Thank God Herbie kept my name out of it.”
“Yeah? What makes you think that? He was spilling his guts in the patrol car, up the front steps of the precinct, and into an interview room faster than anybody could write it down, and you were the star of his story.” Dino swept a hand expressively across the table, nearly spilling his beer. “Above-the-title billing!”
The waiter set their food before them.
“I’m going to throw up,” Stone said.
“Well, do it in your hat, pal. I’m eating, here.”
“I can’t eat this,” Stone said, beginning to eat the chili.
“Don’t worry, the detective knows we’re friends; he’ll keep it to himself, and I’ve already scrubbed the interview tape clean.”
“Thank you, Dino.”
“Is that all you can say? You ought to be offering me Carpenter’s sweet body on a platter.”
“Carpenter’s in this, somehow,” Stone said. “I have a feeling she knows the country of origin of the gentlemen present last night. When I told her what happened, she started making phone calls, and when I woke up, she hadn’t slept in the bed.”
“Poor you.”
“I don’t think Herbie’s fall killed Larry Fortescue,” Stone said.
“Well, neither do I,” Dino replied, “but we’ll probably never know.”
“Why not? The medical examiner will figure it out.”
“The ME was poised over the corpse this morning, scalpel raised, when two guys showed up with a federal court order and took the body away in a van.”
“Holy shit.”
“My sentiments, more or less.”
“This whole business is completely out of control,” Stone said.
“Well, completely out of
our
control,” Dino agreed. “But
somebody
must know what’s going on. Certainly, nobody in the NYPD does.”
Stone finished his chili. “I do know something you don’t,” Stone said.
“What?”
“I know where the photographs are.”
“I want them now,” Dino said, pushing away from the table.
“Just a minute,” Stone said. “You get one set of prints, I get the negatives and all the others.”
“Deal,” Dino said, standing up.
“And I need them processed by two-thirty, with nobody the wiser. You know somebody who can do that?”
“You bet your ass,” Dino said. “Let’s get out of here.”
Stone threw some money on the table, took a quick swig of his beer, grabbed his burger, and ran after Dino.
Stone dove into the cab behind Dino, who sat staring at him.
“You going to tell the driver where to go?” Dino asked.
Stone gave him the address of the building with the skylight, then he took a huge bite of his burger.
“The camera is still in the building?” Dino asked.
“If we’re lucky,” Stone replied through the cheeseburger.
“Nobody from the precinct has been there today,” Dino said. “I checked. The Feds were in on this. I hope to God they haven’t turned it over.”
“Me too,” Stone replied.
The cab screeched to a halt in front of the building. Dino got out.
“Pay the guy,” he called over his shoulder.
Stone paid the cabbie and followed along, still trying to eat his bacon cheeseburger.
Dino was on the stoop, ringing doorbells. The super appeared, chewing his own lunch.
“What d’ya want?” he said, in heavily accented English.
Dino showed him his badge. “Is the sixth-floor apartment locked?” he asked.
“You better believe,” the man said. “FBI guy gave me instructions.”
“Give me the key,” Dino said.
“I’m not fucking with FBI,” the man replied, swallowing food.
“Give me the key now, or I’ll arrest you for obstruction of justice and send you back to whatever godforsaken country you came from.”
The man dug into a pocket and gave Dino a key. “Don’t tell nobody,” he said, then went back into his apartment.
They took the elevator to the sixth floor. “There’s the door to the roof,” Dino said, as they got off. He opened the apartment door.
It was dark inside, and Stone found a light switch that turned on a lamp in a corner. The massage table, two of its legs broken, lay on its side in the middle of the floor.
“There’s why it’s dark,” Dino said, pointing upward. The broken skylight had been replaced with sheets of plywood. “Cozy little pad,” Dino said.
“Looks like it was rented furnished,” Stone observed. “Nobody would buy those pictures, except a landlord.”
“Okay, enough of the art lecture,” Dino said. “Where’s the film?”
Stone went to the fireplace and opened the wood box next to it. It was half full of logs made of compressed sawdust. He lifted one and extracted a 35mm camera with a zoom lens attached. Stone rewound the film, popped the case, and put the film cartridge in his pocket. He removed the lens from the camera and put the lens in one inside pocket of his raincoat and the camera body in the other. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.
“I want to see the roof,” Dino said, striding toward the door. He opened the door and walked outside. Stone followed him. The door closed behind them.
Stone looked around. “I don’t see how that girl got down from here,” he said.
“Well, we’d better figure out how in a hurry,” Dino said.
“How come?”
“Because the Feds will probably be here any minute, and you’ve closed the fucking door and locked us out.”
Stone tried turning the knob. Nothing. “Shit,” he said.
Dino peered over the edge of the roof. “There’s a drainpipe,” he said. “You go first. I want to see if it’ll hold your weight.”
Stone peered over the parapet. “I’m not shinnying down that,” he said. “I’m wearing a good suit. You go down it, then take the elevator back up and open the door.”
“You know, that’s a terrific idea,” Dino said. “Why should both of us have to shinny down the drainpipe?” He pulled out his gun and pointed it at Stone. “Go down the drainpipe, or I’ll shoot you.”
Stone shook his head. “Go ahead and shoot me. It beats falling off a building.”
They were standing there like that when the door opened, and the super stepped out. “The FBI just call,” he said. “You guys got to get out or I get in trouble.”
Dino put his gun away and stepped inside. “Lucky for you,” he said. “I was going to shoot you.”
“No, you weren’t,” Stone said, getting into the elevator.
“Oh, yes I was,” Dino replied. “I wasn’t about to shinny down that drainpipe.”
“Neither was I,” Stone pointed out.
“That’s why I was going to shoot you.”
Downstairs they got into another cab and got out in front of a photo shop on Third Avenue. Dino went inside and walked over to the one-hour processing machine, flashing his badge.
Stone handed him the film cartridge.
“I want this developed right now—two sets of five-by-seven prints, and don’t you look at them,” Dino said.
“Make it three sets,” Stone said.
“Yes, sir,” the kid behind the counter said. He took the film and went to work.
“How long is this going to take?” Stone asked.
The kid pointed at the one-hour sign. “An hour,” he said.
“It better not,” Dino said.
Ten minutes later, the kid was holding up a strip of film to the light. “There are only four frames exposed,” he said.
“Stop looking at them and make the prints,” Dino said.
Ten more minutes and they had the prints.
“Can I drop you?” Stone said, giving the cabbie Elena Marks’s address.
“You betcha,” Dino replied. “Gimme my prints.”
Stone gave Dino a set, put a set in his raincoat pocket, along with the negatives, and looked at the third set.
“What a fucking mess,” Dino said. “You couldn’t nail anybody in a divorce with these. In this one, he’s lying on his belly. In these three, he’s got his arm over his face, and in all of them her head blocks his crotch. For all we can see, she might have been giving him a legit massage. Where’d this kid learn his photography, in juvenile hall?”
Stone looked at the fourth photograph. The woman was looking up at the skylight. It was the only shot that showed part of her face. She had long, dark hair and, from what he could see, was attractive. “Not bad,” he said.
“Yeah,” Dino agreed. “What you can see, anyway.”
The cab stopped on Dino’s corner, and he got out.
“What are you going to do with the photographs?” Stone asked through the window.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Don’t give them to the Feds.”
“I never give anything to the Feds without a court order and a gun at my head,” Dino replied, walking away.