Стюарт Вудс - Shakeup

“That seems highly improbable,” Stone said.

“Then think of another scenario,” Felicity said. She waited for a moment. “Anyone? Anything at all?”

“Felicity is right,” Dino said. “What is Occam’s razor?”

“The simplest solution is usually the correct one,” Viv said. “If you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras.”

“And in this case, Felicity’s solution is not just the simplest solution, it’s the only one,” Dino said.

“Also,” Stone said, feeling enlightened, “it solves two crimes. This one and the murder of Alfred Bing and his wife.”

“How so?” Felicity asked.

“Bing must have had an order for the paintings — a dishonest collector, no doubt, since they couldn’t have been sold publicly. So, the client paid for the paintings, then had them checked out and discovered they were forgeries. Then he went back to Bing’s flat — or, more likely, dispatched someone else — with orders to get back his money. The police said the flat had been ransacked, so maybe he got it back. Then the dispatched guy dispatched the Bings!”

“I love it!” Felicity said, laughing.

“But,” Dino interjected, “if he got his money back, he only got half of it, because Bing must have already paid off Eddie Craft. I mean, he bought a very expensive car, then left the country in the dead of night.”

Everybody laughed, then they had another cognac.

And then, a few hours after their flight from Paris, the rains came to Miami. “Let’s get out of here,” Eddie said to Shelley.

“I miss home, in New York,” she said. “You think we’ll be okay on the airlines?”

“I’m not taking that chance,” he said. He called the concierge and had them booked in a drawing room on a train that evening.

Maren, reunited with Stone in New York, rolled over and woke him.

“Mmmph,” Stone said.

She fondled him. “Any interest?”

“Always,” Stone replied, turning to her.

Over breakfast, Maren took a call, then hung up. “Eddie Craft was spotted landing in Miami yesterday,” she said. “We’re canvassing hotels there.”

“You should canvass flights to New York, too.”

“It’s being done.”

Stone munched thoughtfully on a sausage. “How about trains?”

“A train?” she asked. “You can still get a train to New York from Miami?”

“I think so, but I’m not sure. I’d check, if I were you.”

Maren got on the phone and spoke for five minutes. “There is such a thing as a train, and all the reservation lists are being checked.” An hour later, she got a call.

“Thank you.” She hung up. “He’s not on anybody’s reservation list.”

“What if he’s traveling under another name?” Stone asked.

“You’re a big help. Got a name for me?”

“I don’t.”

“Then shut up, please.”

Stone thought it a good time to take a shower.

Early that evening Eddie and Shelley got off the train at Grand Central and were met by a porter, who took them to a waiting town car. “Do you think somebody might be waiting for us at your place?” Shelley asked.

“Let’s see.” Eddie called the doorman’s station in his building. “This is Mr. Craft,” he said.

“Good evening, Mr. Craft,” the man replied. “Are you on your way home? There’ve been some gentlemen waiting, asking for you.”

“No, Walter, I’m stuck in London for another couple of weeks,” Eddie said. “Be sure and tell that to anybody who asks.” He hung up. “Is your place still available?” he asked Shelley.

“Sure. My girl comes in once a week and cleans.” She gave the driver the address, three blocks from his apartment house.

It was small, but attractive and comfortable, Eddie thought. He settled into a reclining chair and switched on the TV. He had missed TV while in Europe; all they had was CNN, no Fox News.

Stone was watching MSNBC, while Maren was packing. He heard her phone ring, then she hung up and came into the bedroom.

“Eddie Craft is back in New York,” she said.

“One of your people spotted him?”

“Not exactly.”

“Ah, wiretap.”

“Don’t say that word. Somebody might be listening.”

“Nevertheless.”

“We’re not using it to gather evidence,” she said, “just to gather Eddie. He called his doorman to ask if anyone had asked about him. That means he’s thinking about going home.”

“I thought you said he was home already.”

“In the city. Not at home in his apartment.”

“You can tell that with a wiretap?”

“I didn’t hear that, and I won’t answer it.”

“Okay, where in Manhattan is he?”

“Within a six-block radius of his apartment house.”

“In what direction?”

“Northeast.”

“Then all you have to do is a little basic navigation.”

“Navigation?”

“Let’s say you’re on a boat, and you want to find your position.”

“Okay, let’s say that.”

“There’s a lighthouse on the chart you’re using to navigate. Let’s say the lighthouse is Eddie’s apartment building.”

“Okay.”

“You look at your compass, then at the lighthouse. Let’s say it’s at 210 degrees; that means it’s southwest of you. Now, on your chart you draw a line from the lighthouse at 030 degrees, which is the opposite of 210 degrees. Your position is somewhere on that line.”

“Got it. Where on that line?”

“To learn that you need a second landmark. Let’s say there’s a mountain peak to the right of the lighthouse. You draw a line from the mountain peak, until it crosses your first line. Where they cross is your position. So, you see, one landmark gives you direction; the second gives you distance.”

“There are no mountains in Manhattan,” she said. “What do I use for the second landmark?”

“How about the gate to Central Park at Sixty-sixth Street?” Stone got out a city map and drew the two lines for her. He pointed to where they crossed. “Eddie is in this building right here, probably a townhouse with several apartments in it, since that’s mostly what you have on that block.”

“Which floor is Eddie on?”

“For that, you have to use a different navigational technique.”

“What is that?”

“You ring the bell.”

“Which bell?”

“All of them, and you have men positioned on each floor, so when Eddie emerges, they introduce themselves with their badges, then arrest him on a material witness warrant. You do have such a warrant, don’t you?”

“We do.”

“Well, there you are. Go get him!”

Maren picked up her phone and gave the person who answered the address. “Eddie Craft is in that building,” she said. “Station men on each floor, then ring all the bells. When he comes out, take him into custody and take him to the office.” She hung up. “That was brilliant,” she said.

“Any Sea Scout could do it,” he said. “Perhaps the FBI should recruit from the Sea Scouts.”

“Good idea.”

Eddie was trying to digest the latest conspiracy theory on Fox when the doorbell rang. As he rose to answer it, he heard the bell upstairs ring, then another above that. He went to the peephole and peeped into the hallway. At the right edge of his view, the brim of a hat could be seen. Eddie sensed immediately that the hat rested on the head of an FBI agent.

Eddie hurried into the kitchen, where Shelley was scrambling eggs, and raised the window beside her and looked out. A fire escape beckoned. “Listen,” he said. “Wait until I’m out the window, then go to the door with a spatula in your hand and play dumb. And put this on.” He handed her an apron, then stepped through the window, closed it behind him, then walked down one flight.