Shakeup
- Автор: Вудс Стюарт
- Серия: Stone Barrington #55
- Год: 2020
- Язык: английский
- Год: G. P. Putnam’s Sons
- ISBN: 978-0-593-18832-3
- Жанр: Триллеры
Электронная книга - «Shakeup». Краткое содержание книги:
As it turns out, the mastermind behind the malfeasance rocking New York City and the nation’s capital wields a heavy hand of influence. And when Stone is unable to recruit those closest to the case to his side, he is left with few leads and a handful of dead-ends. But with the help of important people in high places — and the expertise of alluring new friends — Stone is more than ready to rise to the occasion.
“Forty-two long.”
Stone stood up and looked around the shop, saw an employee he knew. “Felix?”
He came over. “Yes, Mr. Barrington?”
“Will you see if you can find this gentleman a blazer or tweed jacket, forty-two long?”
“I’ll be right back.”
Stone stood behind Art and helped him off with his jacket, then turned to Rich Becker. “You need this?”
Becker asked somebody for a large evidence bag, then went through the pockets and handed the contents to Art.
Felix walked up holding two jackets. “Try one of these,” he said.
Art slipped into the blue blazer. “Feels good,” he said.
“Looks like it was made for you,” Felix said.
“Thank you, Felix, put it on my bill,” Stone said.
Felix nodded and walked away.
Stone said to Rich, “Are you through with him?”
“Yeah, you can get him out of here.”
Stone leaned in. “He’s staying at the Lowell. If you can’t find him, call me.”
Rich nodded.
Stone got out his phone and called Fred. “Where are you?”
“About ten feet from where you got out,” Fred replied.
“Be right there.” Stone looked around for hostiles, then led Art to the car and put him inside. He opened the armrest and found a bottle of water. “Drink some of this,” he said.
Art gulped down half the bottle. “That’s better,” he said.
“Home, Fred,” Stone said. He turned to Art. “Okay, now tell me what happened, and don’t leave anything out.”
Art took a deep breath. “Frank met me at the Lowell and drove me over to Lex and Sixty-fourth, for a fitting with my tailor.”
“Who’s your tailor?”
“Sam Leung’s nephew. Sam retired. Then Frank drove me to Turnbull’s and waited while I ordered some shirts. I came out, got into the car, talked to you on the phone, and then everything exploded, including Frank’s head.”
“I saw the car. The shot was fired from the sidewalk through your window, missed you and caught Frank.”
“From the sidewalk? That’s pretty bold.”
“It is.”
“I know Frank had an ex-wife,” Art said. “Any other family?”
“Dino will find out and make the calls. He’s used to it. Art, think about when you were walking out of the shop and to the car. Replay it in your mind, and tell me who and what you saw.”
Art closed his eyes. “I brushed past two women to get to the car; they were still walking when I got inside. Before I did, I saw a black van parked behind Frank’s car; I don’t know the make.”
“Could you see anybody inside?”
“Sort of, but there were reflections in the window that made IDing anybody difficult.”
“Could somebody have gotten out of the van on the curbside, taken the shot, then gotten back in?”
Art nodded. “Yes. That could have happened. Probably happened. I can’t recall anybody else.”
“Did you tell the police about that?”
“I did.”
“You still got your piece?”
“No, the cops took it.”
“Did you fire it?”
“No, there wasn’t time.”
“I’ll get it back for you, and if they’re slow, I’ll loan you something.”
“Stone, I didn’t remember this until now, but as I got into Frank’s car, I caught a glimpse in the door’s rearview mirror of a man getting out. He was wearing a black windbreaker and a black baseball cap.”
“Did you recognize him?”
“Not exactly, but something about him made me think of Donald Clark.”
25
As they drove into Stone’s garage, Dino’s official SUV pulled in behind them. Stone took Dino and Art to his study, where he poured Art some bourbon and handed it to him. “I expect you need this.”
“You’re right,” Art said, taking a swig.
“I’m feeling left out,” Dino said, and Stone poured him a Scotch and himself a bourbon, then Art recited his story to Dino.
“The guy getting out of the black van looked like Donald Clark?” Dino asked.
“I didn’t say that, exactly,” Art replied, draining his glass, which was instantly refilled by Stone. “I said there was something about him that reminded me of Clark.”
“Think about it,” Dino said.
Art appeared to do so. “His build,” he said finally. “Clark is a pretty husky guy; not a lot of fat.”
“That’s a start,” Dino said. “Think about his face.”
Art tried. “Clean-shaven, sort of a pudgy nose, like a potato, but not big.”
“Eyebrows?”
“Eyebrows?” Art asked.
“Were they dark or gray or blond?”
“Dark, I think. Clark has graying hair, fairly thick, no balding, but this guy was wearing a baseball cap.”
“Anything on the cap? Product name; team name?”
“Something. Wait a minute, it was a Yankees’ cap, with the ‘NY.’”
“Anything on the jacket? A second color? An emblem of some sort?”
Art put his right hand on his left breast. “Here,” he said. “The Yankees’ lettering again.”
“I think it’s pretty safe to say that the guy is a Yankees fan,” Dino observed. “Anything in his hands? Either one?”
Art closed his eyes again. “Shiny object,” he said. “Silver.” He clapped his hands together. “Short-barreled pistol, like a snub-nosed .38. Chrome or nickel-plated. Kind of old-fashioned, not like the chunky ones you see a lot of today.”
“Glasses? Sunglasses?”
Art shook his head. “No.”
“You’re doing very well, Art,” Stone said. “How about the man behind the wheel?”
“There was a reflection in the glass,” Art said. “But I think he was short.”
“The reflection?”
“No, the guy. The upper rim of the steering wheel cut across his face. He was a little uphill from me. The van was taller than Frank’s Cherokee.”
“Hair color?” Stone asked.
“Dark, I think. Fairly long.”
“Could it have been a woman?” Dino asked.
“Possibly. Fairly thin face.”
“Skin color?”
“White, pale.”
“Hands on the steering wheel?”
“Same color.”
“Nail polish?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Any rings?”
Art thought about it. “Yes! Something chunky, here.” He led up his third finger, left hand.
“Like a class ring?”
“Right. Gold color, red stone, I think.”
“So it’s a guy,” Dino said. “A college graduate, no less. A woman wouldn’t wear a class ring on her third finger, left hand. That’s reserved for an engagement ring or a wedding band.”
“Unless she’s unmarried and not engaged,” Stone pointed out.
“Women have hope,” Dino replied. “Art, close your eyes again and think about the inside of the van. Was there a partition behind the driver’s head, or was their light coming from behind from windows?”
“It was dark, maybe a partition.”
“So, a service van, like a plumber or an electrician or a delivery van,” Dino muttered.
“Something else,” Art said. “Two things: there was an object on the dashboard, near the windshield.”
“What sort of object?”
“A book,” Art said.
“Like a novel?”
“No, like a notebook. It had a wire binder.”
“Like a steno pad?”
“Yes, but smaller.”
“Like the notebook cops keep in a pocket,” Stone said.
“Could be. And there was something hanging on the rearview mirror.”
“Handicap placard?” Dino asked.
“No, some sort of personal thing. Cube shaped.”
“I used to have something like that on my first car,” Dino said. “My girlfriend made it for me, knitted it or something.”