Стюарт Вудс - Contraband

“Dispel it if you can.”

“Hedger is the soon-to-be ex-husband of Roberta Calder.”

“Ah, so you’re fucking his wife, instead of mine.”

“There’s no ‘instead of.’”

“Let me put it this way: Is this Hedger paranoid?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“That’s a full and complete answer to my question.”

“I’m so happy to hear it.”

“Is he seeking to destroy your reputation or to kill you?”

“Well, if he wanted to kill me, he wouldn’t need a background investigation, would he?”

Dino ignored the question. “What are you doing about this?”

“I’ve ordered an investigation of Randall Hedger.”

“What for?”

“I want to see if he’s worthy of being despised as much as I now despise him.”

“You’re worried that you’re being irrational?”

“I’m confirming my instincts.”

“How many ex-husbands have you had to deal with over the years?”

“A few,” Stone admitted.

“Why so many?”

“Well, if you’re a bachelor, and you’re not interested in twenty-year-old girls, a third of the women you are interested in will be married, and another forty percent will be married and pursuing divorce — or just divorced. Those women come with ex-husbands.”

“How many ex-husbands have you ordered background checks on?”

Stone thought about it. “Mr. Hedger is the first.”

“So, why Hedger, but none of the others?”

“Because he tried to order a background check on me. That’s a first, too, as far as I know.”

“So this is a revenge background check you’ve ordered?”

“It’s more of a self-defense background check.”

“Did Viv’s guy’s guy take the job?”

“No, because he knew that you and Vi are my friends. But you may be sure Mr. Hedger is interviewing other investigators.”

“How may I be sure of that?”

“You can take my word for it. I’ve had more experience with ex-husbands than you have.”

Ken Aretsky, the owner of Patroon, appeared at their table, took their order, and sent them a complimentary bottle of wine.

Stone hoped that the interruption would cause a change of subject, but it did not.

“So, is this Hedger going to start taking shots at you?”

“Why would he do that?”

“As I recall, other ex-husbands have turned to violence to deal with you.”

“That doesn’t mean this one will,” Stone said. “My instincts also tell me that Hedger is a coward.”

“Cowards hire others to do their work.”

“My instincts also tell me that this one is too cheap to hire somebody.”

“But he’s already tried to hire somebody.”

“Yes, but he didn’t get as far as to inquire of the costs involved.”

“What are the costs?”

“Fifteen hundred a day, plus expenses.”

“Does that include capping you?”

“No, that would be extra — a lot extra, I should think.”

“Then let’s hope he’s cheap.”

Dinner arrived and was dealt with. They were on coffee when Dino’s phone made an odd noise.

“What was that?” Stone asked.

“Something new. It’s the ringtone that I have to answer.” Dino answered. “Bacchetti.” He listened. “In a restaurant on East Forty-Sixth Street. All right.” He hung up. “There’s a homicide a block from here,” he said.

“Do you have to go?”

“We both do.”

“Why me?”

“You’ll see.”

They got into Dino’s car. “Did you get the call on the homicide?” he asked his driver.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then take me to it.”

Two minutes later they pulled over. There were two patrol cars on the block with their flashers going. Dino got out and walked over to the object of their attention, a parked car. The driver’s-side window had a big hole in it, and there were blood and brains on it from the blowback. “What have we got?” Dino asked.

“A shooting. Looks like a pro job. A car pulled alongside the parked car and fired once.”

“What weapon?”

“Either a heavy handgun, like a .45, or a shotgun. We’ll know soon.”

“Did you ID him?”

The detective handed him a wallet. Dino looked at it for a moment, then handed it to Stone.

Stone borrowed a flashlight from a cop and turned it on. The wallet displayed a New York State driver’s license with the name “Randall R. Hedger.”

“Well,” Stone said, “I guess Herbie Fisher can tell his client that her divorce is final.”

Dino’s driver stopped at Roberta Calder’s townhouse, which was just down the block from his own place.

“I’m coming with you,” Dino said, getting out of the car.

“Why?”

“Because I want to see her face when you tell her that her husband has just been murdered.”

Stone understood. “Let’s go, then.” He glanced at his watch; nearly eleven o’clock. He rang the bell.

“Yes?” Sleepy.

“Robbie, it’s Stone Barrington. May I come in for a moment?”

“I was asleep.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s important.”

The buzzer sounded, and Stone pushed the door open and rang the inside doorbell.

Robbie answered the door naked. “Oh!” she said, jumping behind the door. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing company.” She went away and came back, struggling into a dressing gown. “Now,” she said, “what did you two handsome devils have in mind?”

“Some good news and some bad news.”

“Drink? It sounds as though I should have one.”

Stone and Dino shook their heads and sat down on the living room sofa.

“Nice place,” Dino said, looking around.

“She’s a designer.”

“What does she design?”

“Everything.”

Robbie returned, sat in a chair facing them, and took a deep swig of her drink. “Okay,” she said, “hit me.” She held up a finger. “Bad news first, please.”

“Randall Hedger is dead,” Stone said.

Robbie looked at both of them in turn, surprised. “That’s the bad news?”

“He was murdered, sitting in his car, earlier this evening,” Dino said, trying not to laugh.

“How murdered?”

“Gunshot to the head.”

“Not self-inflicted?”

“Was Randall right- or left-handed?” Dino asked.

“Right.”

“Not self-inflicted.”

“Okay,” Robbie said, “after that, I think I can handle the good news.”

Stone spoke up. “The good news is, you don’t have to get a divorce.”

“Oh! Right!” She was smiling.

“Also,” Stone said, “unless he left a will to the contrary, whatever was his is now yours.”

“I’m sure he had no will. He had nothing to leave anybody.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing I didn’t give him in the first place.”

“Robbie,” Dino said, “where did Randall live?”

She blinked. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t let him live or even sleep here, so I assume with some woman or other. If we talked, it was on cell phones.”

Dino nodded. “Did he have any enemies?”

“Well,” Robbie said, looking thoughtful. “Probably most of the women he ever knew. And maybe his bookie.”

“Did he owe a lot?”

“Usually,” she said.

“Bookies don’t normally kill clients who owe them a lot of money. It would mean they’re never going to collect.”

“Oh, I see. Makes sense.”

“Do you know the name of his bookie?”

“Let me see,” she said, furrowing her brow. “Pito something. Pito Palermo, that’s it!”

“Pino Pantero, perhaps?” Dino asked.

“Yes, you’re right!”

“Who’s Pino Pantero?” Stone asked.

“A high-end bookie. Took over the book of Datilla the Hun, when he was offed.”