Stuart Woods - Cold Paradise

“Nobody else looks quite like that. What the hell do they want?”

“I think we’re about to find out,” Stone said, as the two men came up the gangplank.

“Either one of you Lieutenant Dino Bacchetti of the NYPD?” one of them asked without preamble.

“Who wants to know?” Dino asked.

Both men whipped out ID.

“Wow, I’m impressed. I’m Bacchetti. Why are you disturbing my vacation?”

“We want to ask you some questions,” the first agent said.

“See me in my office in New York,” Dino said. “I’ll be back next week.”

“It’s in connection with a bank robbery in Arlington, Virginia, four years ago,” the man said.

“I didn’t do it,” Dino said, “and I can probably come up with an alibi.”

The man turned to Stone. “Who are you?” he demanded.

Stone started to reply, but Dino interrupted. “None of your fucking business,” he said. “Now get off my yacht.”

The agent looked around. “Yours, huh? Pretty fancy for a New York cop. I wonder what your Internal Affairs people would have to say about this.”

Dino began laughing, and so did Stone.

“What’s so funny?” the agent asked, annoyed.

“You be sure and mention my yacht to Internal Affairs,” Dino said. “I’d enjoy their reaction. Now, will you people go away?”

“Look,” the agent said, “maybe we got off on the wrong foot, here. My name is Miles, and this is my partner, Nevins. We’d really appreciate your help, Lieutenant Bacchetti.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” Dino said expansively. “Have a seat.” He kicked chairs in the agents’ direction, and they both sat down.

“Can I get you something?” Dino asked, the generous host, now that he had brought the two men into line.

“No, thanks,” Miles said.

“What can I do for you?” Dino asked.

“A couple of days ago, your office in New York ran a match on some fingerprints in our computer.”

Dino said nothing.

“Isn’t that right?”

“If you say so. We probably run prints a dozen times a day.”

“You ran a set of prints that matched with a thumbprint we got from a note passed to a teller in a bank robbery in Virginia.”

“So?”

“We want to know where you got the prints.”

“Didn’t you ask my office?”

“They wouldn’t tell us. They said we had to talk to you, and you were in Palm Beach, so we drove up here from Miami this morning.”

“How much did the bank robber get?” Dino asked.

“About thirty thousand, I think. I’m not sure.”

“Let me get this straight,” Dino said. “You two guys got into your government car and drove all the way up here from Miami, using government gas, in pursuit of a guy who got thirty grand from a bank four years ago?”

“That’s right,” Miles replied.

“Well, Agent Miles, I’m not too sure I approve of the way you people are spending my tax dollars,” Dino said.

“I don’t understand,” Miles replied.

Stone spoke up. “Neither does Lieutenant Bacchetti. He can’t figure out why you fellows are making this kind of effort to track down a penny-ante, walk-in bank robber who the bank won’t even make the effort to prosecute.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name,” Miles said.

“Stone Barrington.”

“Well, Mr. Barrington, bank robbery is a very serious crime.”

“Gee, the bank doesn’t think so. When you catch this guy, they won’t even send somebody down to court to testify against him.”

“No matter what the banks think, the FBI considers bank robbery to be a very serious crime,” Miles said. “It eats away at the roots of our economic system, if we let people get away with stealing even what you consider a small amount from a bank.”

“No kidding?” Stone said.

“What else did this guy do?” Dino asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“Come on, Agent Miles, you’re not here about a bank robbery. What did the guy do?”

“That’s confidential.”

“I’m a police officer. Mr. Barrington, here, used to be a police officer, and now he’s a distinguished member of the bar. You can tell us.”

“Those are not my instructions.”

“What are your instructions?”

“I’m, ah, not at liberty to say.”

“Well, Agent Miles, if you want information from me, you’d better be at liberty to trade a little information.”

“Lieutenant, why are you being so difficult about this? All we want is to catch a bank robber.”

“No, that’s not all you want. You want to catch an entirely different animal, and I want to know the species.”

Miles took out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. “Lieutenant, you’re interfering with an FBI investigation.”

“Oh? Well, I’m terribly sorry. Did it ever occur to you that you might be interfering with my investigation?”

“I think a federal investigation takes precedence.”

“That’s what you guys always think,” Dino said. “You never think that something the NYPD is investigating might be as important as what the FBI is investigating.”

“That’s not true,” Miles insisted.

“They’re not going to tell us anything, are they?” Dino asked.

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“Then why should we tell them anything?”

“I can’t think of a good reason,” Stone said.

“This is obstruction,” Miles said indignantly. “You obviously know something about this perpetrator.”

“I didn’t say that,” Dino replied.

“Neither did I,” Stone said.

“Look, Lieutenant, I could take this to your superior,” Miles said.

“Oh, my captain would love that,” Dino said. “Assuming you could even get him on the phone, he’d love you wasting his time about some dime-a-dozen bank job. He’d really call me in on the carpet about that.”

“How about this, Agent Miles,” Stone said. “Why don’t you just tell us why the checking of this guy’s prints would raise a flag on the FBI’s computer system? It can’t be just this bank robbery.”

“If I told you that…” Miles stopped and thought better. “I can’t tell you that,” he said.

“Agent Miles,” Dino said, “I’m trying hard to see some reason why I should help out the FBI, which wouldn’t cross the street to help me out on an investigation.”

Miles produced his card. “Here’s my number,” he said, handing the card to Dino. “I’ll owe you one. A big one. Anytime you need a favor from the Bureau, you can call me.”

Dino took the card. “How about you, Agent Nevins? Are you going to owe me one, too?”

Nevins produced a card and handed it over. “Yes, yes, I am.”

“Well, now we’re getting somewhere,” Dino said. “Stone, tell the agents what you know about this guy.”

“His name-or at least, one of his names-is William Charles Danforth, of a P Street address in Washington, D.C., a town with which you are no doubt familiar. Some years ago his name was Paul Manning, and he was a well-known author.”

“Have you ever seen this man?” Miles asked.

“Yes, a couple of days ago.”

“Can you give me a description?”

“Late forties, six-three or -four, two hundred pounds, dark hair going gray.”

“Facial characteristics?”

“I haven’t a clue.”

“But you say you saw him a couple of days ago.”

“That’s right, but he had a big bandage right in the middle of his face. I had the distinct impression that he didn’t want me to know what he looked like. Maybe he was afraid I might be talking to the FBI.”

“Do you know his present whereabouts?”

“A man answering his description has been seen in Palm Beach, but I’ve no idea if it’s the same man.”