Стюарт Вудс - Desperate Measures

Stone nodded and made an ushering motion with his free hand.

Dino peered around the doorjamb, then looked back at Stone and grinned.

Stone made the ushering motion again.

Dino stepped inside the office, weapon pointed, and said, “Freeze!”

Stone stepped inside behind Dino and peered over his shoulder at the figure behind the desk: black coveralls and a hood with holes for the eyes.

“How nice to see you,” Stone said to the figure.

“In fact,” Dino said, “let’s see some more of you. Take off the hood.”

The figure didn’t move.

“Stone,” Dino said, “you do the honors while I cover you.”

“I’d be delighted,” Stone said.

“I hope he twitches,” Dino said, “because I’d rather shoot him than arrest him.”

“I know the feeling,” Stone replied. He walked clear of Dino and stayed near the wall, out of reach of the black figure, until he was behind the man. Stone frisked him thoroughly and found a small 9mm pistol tucked into a holster at the small of his back. He also found a flat, plastic box in the man’s right hip pocket and he laid it on the desk, then stuck his gun in a pocket. He took hold of a wrist and brought it up between the man’s shoulder blades and bent him over the desk. Finally, he reached up and placed a palm on top of the hooded head, grabbed a handful of fabric, and yanked.

“Well,” Dino said, “look who we have here.” He handed Stone his handcuffs and Stone applied them, the first time in years he had cuffed somebody. He stood the man up and looked at his face. “Good evening, Mike,” he said.

Mike remained quiet.

Stone opened the plastic box he had removed and found a syringe and a vial of clear fluid inside, set into a foam rubber bed. “What’s this, Mike?”

Mike still said nothing.

“Dino,” Stone said, “I think the perp is choosing to remain silent, as is his constitutional right.”

Dino read him his rights anyway, then he made the call for a patrol car.

Stone had a look around the office and opened the closet door. Behind a few hanging garments he could see an exposed corner of a sheet of drywall. He gave it a tug, and it came free. “Dino,” he said, “closet behind a closet. That’s where the costume was.”

“Oh, good,” Dino said.

A siren could be heard approaching, and a minute later a voice from the lobby yelled, “Commissioner?”

“Back here,” Dino yelled back, and two uniforms appeared in the doorway. “Take him in and book him on one count of first-degree murder.”

“Only one count?” Stone asked.

“We’ll let the DA sort that out.”

The cops escorted Mike out of the office and the building.

“Well,” Stone said, “I think that somewhere in this building is probably a forgotten room that Mike has equipped for his purposes.”

“So, we’ll charge him with bad interior decorating?”

“It’s better than finding a corpse in a garbage bag on Lexington Avenue,” Stone said.

“I’ll grant you that,” Dino said, taking out his phone. “We’d better get a search started.” He started issuing orders.

A few minutes later they were back in Dino’s car. “I’ll drop you at home,” Dino said, “but I won’t stay for the leftovers. I’m tired.”

Stone realized that he was tired, too.

Stone woke the following morning and checked the news shows for something on the arrest of Mike Adams, but there was nothing. He was able to hold his curiosity until after lunch, then he called Dino.

“Bacchetti.”

“It’s Stone. Why is there nothing on the news about Mike Adams?”

“You want the whole story?”

“Please.”

“Okay,” Dino said, “young Mike called Herbie Fisher at the first opportunity, and Herbie arrived as if he’d been shot out of a cannon, clutching a copy of the DA’s offer of immunity on all charges, in return for Mike’s testifying against the other two. You’ll recall that, faced with Mike’s testimony and his logbook of their movements, they both bought a deal of life in prison without the possibility of parole. So, the DA declined to prosecute, and Mike walked.”

“Shit.”

“No, really. We have no evidence that Mike has committed a crime, unless you consider dressing up like a killer a crime. His gun was licensed, and the chemical in the hypo kit was insulin. Herbie produced a note from his doctor confirming that he’s a diabetic. Also, I had twenty men searching that hotel and the adjacent building, and they found absolutely nothing to indicate that Mike planned to commit a crime there. Finally, no corpses have turned up in trash cans.”

“There’s nothing you can do, then?” Stone asked. “That black costume, combined with the fact that he didn’t report being shot at by Faith, indicates he’s not quite as innocent as we all thought.”

“For all practical purposes, yes, there’s nothing more we can do. What we think doesn’t matter.”

“I’m still surprised his recent arrest wasn’t on the news.”

“Herbie managed to get a gag order for that, pointing out that if the news story ran, large numbers of people would believe that Mike is guilty, when there is no evidence to support that contention. Mike’s life would probably be ruined. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that a member of the older generation may have made a phone call or two, as well. Also, if the story ran we’d get our asses sued for false arrest and defamation, and that includes you, too.”

“It makes a neat package, doesn’t it.”

“Look at it this way,” Dino said. “The fucking case is cleared.”

Joan stuck her head in Stone’s door. “Caroline Whitehorn is on line two.”

“I gotta run,” Stone said.

Dino hung up.

Stone steeled himself for the blast from Caroline about having Mike arrested. “Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Caroline.”

“How are you?”

“Very well, thanks. I called to thank you.”

Stone was mystified. “For what?”

“Oh, I know you’re being shy and all that, but your man Herb Fisher saved our cousin Mike from a fate worse than death.”

“I did hear about that.”

“Would you like to have dinner with Charlotte and me this week?”

“Caroline,” Stone said, “I regret that I don’t have the emotional capacity or the moral fiber to deal with the two of you, and if I made a choice, it would probably be the wrong one, so I’m just going to have to take a pass.”

“I understand,” Caroline said. “We can be a little hard to take.”

“Thank you for your understanding.” He said goodbye and hung up.

Joan buzzed him again. “Edith Beresford on one,” she said.

Stone picked up the phone. “Edie?”

“That’s me.”

“I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear from you. Let’s have dinner.”

“Sold,” she said.