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.
“To annoy Dino and me?”
“While annoying you and Dino has its pleasures, it’s not happening on this occasion.”
“Then you can get us in?”
Lance began tapping computer keys. “Got a pencil?”
“I prefer ink.”
“Whatever you like. This is a onetime pass code for the file. You may not both view it simultaneously.”
“May one of us print it?”
“Certainly not. It’s good for one hour.” Lance read out a thirty-six-character code of numbers and symbols, and Stone read it back to him.
“Have fun!” Lance said, then hung up.
Stone rang Dino.
“Bacchetti.”
“All right, I’ve got a onetime, one-person pass code to Clark’s file, and we can’t both view it simultaneously, so you’ll have to come over here.”
“Why over there? Why not over here?”
“Because here is where it works.” Stone glanced at his watch. “The pass code expires in fifty-seven minutes, so shake your ass.” He hung up and buzzed Joan.
“Yes, sir?”
“Please ask Helene to make lunch for Dino and me in” — he checked his watch again — “in sixty-four minutes.”
“Your wish, et cetera, et cetera,” Joan said, and hung up.
Dino arrived around thirty minutes later, pretending to pant. He pulled up a chair next to Stone’s. “Let’s go.”
Stone buzzed Joan.
“Yes, sir?”
“Please come in here with your pad and take notes.”
“On my way.”
Stone laboriously tapped in the thirty-six-character code. An on-screen message appeared: You screwed up. Try once more, because that’s all you get.
“I think Lance writes the error codes himself,” Stone said.
“Try and get it right this time,” Dino moaned.
Stone handed him the pad with the number. “Read it aloud to me.” Joan came in and sat down, pad and pencil at the ready.
Dino slowly read out the pass code, with Stone repeating every character as he entered it. Another on-screen message appeared: You made it. You have twenty minutes to read the file.
The screen wiped, and a typed form filled the screen, along with an older photograph of Clark, in a Marine dress uniform, his cap too large and resting on his ears, looking very young.
Stone began reading the file aloud, while Joan took shorthand.
It was four pages long.
“Done,” Stone said, twenty minutes later. The screen image of the file dissolved and melted away.
“Done here, too,” Joan replied.
“Type that up for us, please. We’ll be upstairs.”
Fred entered the room. “Gentlemen, lunch is served.”
“Those words always make me hungry,” Dino said.
Later over coffee: “It’s difficult to believe that the pudgy, bald guy we know was once a Marine,” Dino said.
“A Marine trained for special operations,” Stone said. “You know what I find most interesting about that?”
“What?”
“That Donald fired Expert with the Colt 1911 .45.”
“And with every other firearm in the special ops repertoire,” Dino replied.
“What bullet killed Art Jacoby’s girlfriend?”
“A .45,” Dino replied. “Anybody who could fire Expert with that weapon is damned good. I could never even hit the target with it.”
“Well, you’re pretty good with most guns,” Stone said, “so that says something about Donald’s skills.”
“What do you mean, ‘pretty good’?”
“Okay, more than pretty good.”
“Damn straight.”
“So, we have motive and means,” Stone said. “But opportunity?”
“I left my office in a rush, and I didn’t bring the file on the girlfriend’s shooting, but you can bet your ass Donald Clark has a solid gold alibi.”
“Can’t you remember what his alibi was?”
“I’ve got it,” Dino said. “He was dining with the D.C. chief of police.”
“Little Debby,” Stone said. “How convenient.”
“Ain’t it?” Dino said.
“I’ll bet that with a little elbow grease we can punch holes in that story.”
“I’ll get somebody with elbows on it,” Dino said, getting out his phone.
29
Stone picked up his own phone and called Art Jacoby.
“This is Jacoby.”
“It’s Stone. Are you settled in?”
“Very comfortably, thank you.”
“Dino and I just accessed Donald Clark’s file, which was blocked for national security reasons. That make any sense to you?”
“There must be something in his background that nobody wants you to know.”
“There was something,” Stone said. “He was in the Marines when he was younger, and he fired Expert with a Colt .45.”
“Interesting,” Art admitted. “I couldn’t do that, and I’m a pretty good shot.”
“That’s not the point. Your girl was killed with a .45, right?”
“Right, but she was shot at close range, so anybody could have done it.”
“I’m embarrassed to say I didn’t think of that. Did they find the weapon?”
“I don’t know, and I can’t call anybody at my shop, because I’m hiding out.”
“Would they give that information to Dino?”
“Probably. Just ask for the case officer.”
“There’s something else.”
“What’s that?”
“Clark’s alibi is that he was having dinner with Little Debby.”
“That’s not just interesting, that’s suspicious,” Art said. “In fact, as far as I’m concerned, culpable. It’s too convenient.”
“So they were both in on it, then they used each other as an alibi?”
“That’s my opinion,” Art said. “If I were running the case, I’d be all over that.”
“Who’s the case officer?” Stone asked.
“I don’t know, and I can hardly phone anybody down there and ask.”
“I’ll get Dino to find out who the case officer is. What do I do then?”
“Ask him if he’s tried busting that alibi yet. If he hasn’t, the case officer’s probably in on it, too.”
“Good idea.”
“You know, if they can’t break the alibi, I think I’ll just kill Don Clark myself.”
“I didn’t hear that,” Stone said.
“I SAID, IF—”
“I mean I didn’t hear it,” Stone said. “And if you repeat it, I won’t hear it then, either.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“I’ll get Dino on it.”
“Good. Let me know what he comes up with.”
They hung up, and Stone turned to Dino. “As far as Art is concerned, Don’s alibi being Little Debby means they’re in it together. Can you call the DCPD and find out who the case officer is? Art can’t do it without exposing himself.”
“If he does that in my city, he’ll get arrested!” Dino said.
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Okay, you want me just to call down there blind and ask who the case officer is?”
“I was hoping that, being as well-connected as you are with all things police, you might know somebody who could find out without tipping our hand.”
“I didn’t know we had a hand,” Dino said.
Stone sighed. “Nevertheless.”
“All right, suppose I can get the name. What do we do then?”
“Art says to ask the case officer if he’s tried to break the alibi. If he hasn’t, then he’s in on the murder, too.”
“That’s a pretty big leap, isn’t it?”
“Maybe not. Art knows those people.”
“And he’s going to tell that to a judge?”
“Look at it this way: if we accept Art’s hunch, and the case officer isn’t interested in breaking the alibi, then we’ll know that the murderer is one of at least three people.”