Desperate Measures
- Автор: Вудс Стюарт
- Серия: Stone Barrington #47
- Год: 2018
- Язык: английский
- Год: G.P. Putnam's Sons
- ISBN: 978-0-7352-1922-9
- Жанр: Триллеры
Электронная книга - «Desperate Measures». Краткое содержание книги:
“Scott v. Trask,” he called out.
They all stood and were directed into the judge’s chambers. She was a small woman, wearing her robe. They were not offered seats but stood before her.
“Your Honor,” Terry Barnes said, “these are Ms. Scott and Mr. Trask, and Herbert Fisher for the co-plaintiff.” He placed a sheaf of documents on the desk before her. “Both parties have had counsel review the property settlement, and they have both signed. I believe everything is in order. I’ve printed out a decree, which both counsels have reviewed.”
The judge scanned the property settlement and nodded.
Cilla found herself breathing more rapidly. Donald was going to somehow torpedo this, she thought. Perhaps he would produce a weapon and kill them all.
“Are both parties satisfied with the agreement? Ms. Scott?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Trask?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Ms. Scott, do you have a financial instrument that will effect settlement?”
“Right here, Your Honor,” Herb said. “A cashier’s check in the amount of eight million dollars for Mr. Trask, and transfer documents to be signed by him. They already bear Ms. Scott’s signature.”
Trask signed the transfer documents, and the judge handed him the check, then she signed two copies of the decree and handed them to the lawyers. “If you have nothing else before the court, this matter is adjourned,” she said, and everyone filed out of the room.
The attorneys shook hands.
“Donald?” Cilla said.
“Yes?” He seemed surprised to be addressed.
“I have guests coming to Greenwich for the weekend, and I’d be grateful if you would remove your personal effects by five PM on Friday.”
“I’ve already arranged a mover for Friday,” Donald replied.
“Then goodbye.”
“Goodbye.”
They left the courtroom together but took separate elevators down. Cilla called Fred to let him know she was coming.
“Herb, can I give you a lift uptown?” she asked.
“Thanks, but I have a car and driver.”
“Oh, by the way, my offer for the apartment was accepted last night, so I’ll need you to arrange a closing as soon as possible.”
“Have the seller’s attorney call me, and I’ll get right on it.”
“How long should it take?”
“Assuming a clean title, say next Monday, at ten AM?”
“Fine.”
“I’ll need a cashier’s check for the balance on the apartment.”
“Here you are,” she said, handing it to him. “I’ll see you next Monday at ten.”
They air-kissed and Cilla got into the Bentley.
“I’m a free woman, Fred,” she said.
“My congratulations, miss. Where would you like to go now?”
She gave him the address. “I have a one o’clock appointment there.”
They made it with time to spare, and Margot was waiting out front for her. “Here’s my check for six million,” Cilla said.
“Great. I’ll give it to her Realtor. The seller is away for the weekend, so the place is ours.” She handed Cilla a set of keys.
“The seller has tagged some pieces of furniture that are for sale; she’s downsizing, so she won’t need to take a lot of things.”
When they were let into the apartment, Cilla’s decorator was already there. Margot received the signed contract document and handed the deposit check to the Realtor. “We’ll be ready to close next Monday morning at ten AM at my attorney’s office.” Cilla handed her a card. “Please have your closing attorney call him.”
“The place is all yours,” the Realtor said. “I’ll stay for a few minutes to record which pieces of furniture you wish to purchase.”
Cilla went straight to the grand piano at one end of the living room. It was a Steinway Model B, in walnut. She sat down and played for a minute, then checked the tag. “I’ll take this,” she said to the Realtor. She continued around the apartment with the Realtor and her decorator, taking some things, leaving others. “I’ll want the two sofas reupholstered,” she said. “And I like the style of the living room and dining room curtains, but I’ll want new fabrics.”
“I’ll get some samples together.”
In the kitchen, she was introduced to the middle-aged couple who cared for the place and, after a brief chat about their duties, hired them on the spot, then she continued her tour. When she was done the Realtor added up the prices of the pieces she had chosen, and Cilla wrote a check for them.
It was after five before Fred returned her to Stone’s house; she found him in his study and flopped down on the sofa. “What a day! We close next Monday morning, and I’ve bought enough furniture from the seller to allow me to move in immediately!”
Stone fixed them drinks and sat down beside her. “I haven’t heard from Dino yet. His guys are camped out at the Athletic Club.”
“I don’t care about that anymore,” she said. “I’m free of him — signed, sealed, and delivered!”
Stone hoped he would be free of the man, too, and soon.
25
The two detectives, Sharkey and Paulson, made themselves at home in the commodious lobby of the New York Athletic Club and flashed a badge when a retainer asked their business.
“This is quite a place,” Sharkey said.
“You wouldn’t believe,” Paulson replied. “I used to work out here with a friend who was a member — until he couldn’t pay his dues anymore, and they kicked him out. There’s twenty-six floors here, a couple of restaurants and bars, gyms, steam rooms, a pool, a running track, everything you could imagine in the way of indoor sports.”
“And rooms for the members?”
“A couple of floors of them — for guys whose wives have kicked them out, or guys between apartments, or out-of-towners.”
“So, I guess Donald Trask is a regular member.”
“I guess so. The commish says he’s a member of the Yale Club, too, and might move over there because of the gun thing. But he’s supposed to be going to Connecticut from here, so we can bust him at Grand Central Station.”
“Twelve-thirty,” Sharkey replied. “And there he is.”
Donald Trask entered the lobby from Central Park South, stopped at the front desk for a brief conversation, then got onto an elevator. The detectives walked over and noted the floor number of his stop, then took their seats again.
“Maybe he’s packing up to move,” Paulson said.
“We’ll see.”
Shortly after one o’clock, Trask got off the elevator in the lobby, towing a large suitcase and carrying a smaller one. They followed him to the door he had entered. Outside, a black town car was waiting for him. Sharkey trotted around the corner to get their car. The driver stowed the luggage and drove away, making a U-turn toward Columbus Circle, with the detectives following half a block back.
“We’ll brace him at Grand Central and take his gun and license,” Paulson said.
“Then where the fuck is he going?” The town car had turned uptown on Broadway.
“Beats me.”
The town car turned west on West 72nd Street and drove all the way to the West Side Highway, where it turned onto the ramp and headed north.
“Maybe he’s staying with friends on the Upper West Side,” Paulson said, but near the George Washington Bridge exit, the town car turned east.
“How long do we follow?” Paulson asked.
“I don’t know — to the city limits, maybe?”
The town car turned north, and still the two cops followed.
“Suppose he’s headed for Boston?” Paulson asked.
“I’m good as far as the Connecticut state line,” Sharkey replied, but when they reached that point, he kept going.
“We’re out of state now,” Paulson pointed out.