Stuart Woods: Dirty Work

"Stay there. It's dangerous everywhere else."

"I intend to, for the moment. Have you spoken to Dino?"

"I'm with Dino."

"Is Sir Edward dead? Is it confirmed? These people won't tell me anything."

"It's confirmed."

"Oh, shit," she said.

"Well, yes."

"Ask Dino where I can claim his body."

"At the city morgue, but after a postmortem."

"Is there any way to avoid that? I'd like to get him home."

"Ask the director. He can probably call somebody."

"He's very annoyed at everyone in the New York City government, from Dino to the mayor."

"That's because Dino wouldn't let him play in his pond, and the commissioner and, presumably, the mayor backed up Dino."

"Something like that. Apparently, he has all these men in black with guns, and he can't use them."

"That always annoys the FBI."

"Will you come and see me here?"

"The FBI would probably shoot me if I tried."

"I want to see you. I need to see you."

"Don't you think it would be a little crowded in a hotel suite with you, me, and the director all there?"

"I'll figure something out."

"Tell me, was Mason on the scene when Marie-Therese's parents were killed?"

She paused. "Sort of. He was in a van nearby."

"Then you'd better tell him to watch his ass. Who else was there, who's still alive?"

"Just the two of us."

"If I were you, I'd order up an airplane to an airport other than Kennedy and get out of the country. She knows where you've been camping out in New York. You'd be safer in London."

"I'll think about it. Does she know I've stayed at your house?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"I'll call you later, on your cell phone."

"Promise?"

"Yes, but I don't know when."

"Whenever, just call." Stone hung up. "Carpenter's a little stressed," he said.

"Who wouldn't be?"

The duty manager came to the front desk.

Dino showed him a badge. "I'm Lieutenant Bacchetti. I need a list of all the women staying in the hotel who are traveling alone."

"What for?" the man asked.

"There may be a lady murderer in your hotel, and I'd like to arrest her before she kills some of your guests or staff."

"Just a minute," the man said, then went to a computer terminal. "We've got three."

"Do you know them by sight?"

"I know Mrs. King, from Dallas. She's stayed here before. And Ms. Shapiro, from San Francisco. I don't know Mrs. Applebaum, from Chicago."

Dino gave him the description.

"Both Mrs. King and Ms. Shapiro fit the general description," the manager said.

"I want to speak to both of them, but I don't want them to know we're the police," Dino said. "And find me somebody who knows Mrs. Applebaum by sight."

"Just a minute." The manager went away for a moment and came back with another man. "This is the concierge. He knows Mrs. Applebaum, and she's in her sixties."

"All right, here's what we do," Dino said. "You make up a story that gets both women out of their rooms for long enough for us to get a look at them."

"I could tell them we have a small fire in a suite near them, and ask them to leave their rooms for a few minutes."

"Where will you move them?"

The manager checked his computer. "I have empty suites near both of them," he said.

"Get us some hotel coveralls and a toolbox," Dino said. "Let's start with Ms. Shapiro."

The manager took Dino and Stone into his office and ordered coveralls for them, then he picked up the phone and called the room. "Ms. Shapiro, this is the duty manager speaking. I'm sorry to disturb you, but we have a small electrical fire in the suite below you, and I'm going to have to move you temporarily to a room down the hall while the electrician checks your room… Yes, I'm really very sorry. May I bring him upstairs?… Thank you." He turned to Dino. "Ready?"

Dino and Stone stood on either side of the manager while he rang the doorbell. Each had his hand on a gun.

The door opened and a woman in a dressing gown greeted them.

"Thank you for your cooperation," the manager said.

"Glad to help," she replied.

She had a very large, and quite beautiful nose, Stone thought. He looked at Dino and shook his head.

Dino put his cell phone to his ear. "Yes? Thank you." He turned to the manager. "The problem's been fixed," he said. "We won't have to disturb Ms. Shapiro."

"That's good news," the manager said. "Again, I'm very sorry, Ms. Shapiro."

She smiled and closed the door.

Dino handed the man his cell phone. "Now, Mrs. King," he said.

The manager called the front desk and asked for Mrs. King's suite. "No answer," he said. "She must be out."

"You got a passkey?" Dino asked.

"Yes, but you realize it would be an illegal search."

"Not with your permission."

The man handed over the key. "It's two floors up – nineteen-seventeen."

"Thanks," Dino said. "I'll return this to you. Let's go, Stone."

Downstairs, in the Cafe Carlyle, Marie-Therese was deep in conversation with a man at the bar.

Musicians began taking their places at the opposite side of the room, and a voice came over the sound system. "Ladies and gentlemen, the Cafe Carlyle is proud to present, in his thirtieth season at the Carlyle, Mr. Bobby Short!"

The music began, and Marie-Therese and her new acquaintance turned toward the stage.

Carpenter dialed Mason's cell phone and he answered immediately. "Speak," he said.

"It's Carpenter. Where are you?"

"At a restaurant called La Goulue, on Madison Avenue, at Sixty-fifth Street."

"Are you alone?"

"No."

"I have news, but don't react."

"Go."

"Architect is dead."

"Really?" he drawled, in his Etonian accent. "Anyone we know involved?"

"La Biche shot him in the men's room at the Four Seasons."

"Goodness gracious. Who's next in line?"

"You and I."

"Well, I wouldn't like that much."

"I didn't think so. I think she followed him from the firm offices, so don't go back there."

"Makes sense. Any suggestions?"

"Don't go back to your hotel, either."

"Well, I suppose I'll have to seek shelter elsewhere," Mason said, sighing.

"Good idea."

"Do you have any plans?"

"I think we should get an RAF airplane over here and get out. I'd feel more comfortable at home."

"Would you? I'm not sure I agree. After all, our, ah, friend is here, isn't she? I should think we'd have more luck making a connection with her right here in the Big Apple."

"You might not like the connection."

"Leave that to me."

"I'll be on my cell phone. Let's stay in touch."

"Where are you?"

"At the Waldorf Towers, in the director's company flat."

"How cozy."

"Don't make bad jokes. Stay in touch."

"Righto."

Mason hung up and gazed at the young FBI agent sitting across the table from him. "There's been a spot of bother. My governor is deceased."

"Well, at his age…"

"It wasn't a coronary."

The young man dug out a cell phone.

"Oh, don't do that," Mason said. "They'll just put you to work. They'll get in touch if they need you."

The agent smiled and pocketed his cell phone.

Mason leaned forward. "It's been suggested that I shouldn't go home. Mind if I bunk with you tonight?"

The agent smiled. "I'd be delighted."

Carpenter went back into the suite's living room, where the director and his deputy were on separate phones.

"I'm getting zero cooperation from the New York police and the local administration," the director was saying. "It might help if you called the mayor, sir." He took the phone away from his ear when the reaction came. "Sir, I think you should consider the reaction in the press when they find out that a high figure in British intelligence has been murdered while in the company of a high American official… Well, you have a point. The press will never have heard of Sir Edward, unless, of course, the NYPD decides to tell them who he is. I think that if you called the mayor, we might be able to keep this as the murder of a foreigner in a restaurant, nothing more… Thank you, sir." He hung up and sighed.