Hot Mahogany (5 page)

“That sounds like a pretty good offer to me.”

“Trouble was, the Colonel no longer had all the proceeds; we had done the split and scattered to the four winds. Three of us were out of the Corps by this time, one was getting out in a matter of days and the other one was dead.”

“Did that one get dead because of this… transaction?”

“I don’t want to go into that.”

“But the rest of you wouldn’t give back, so you cost the Colonel his career?”

“No, no, you don’t understand.”

“Make me understand.”

“The Colonel never asked us for our end back; he never even contacted us. The brass hat wanted the money for himself, so the Colonel turned down the deal and resigned from the Corps. By the time any of us heard about it, the deal was done, and the Colonel was gone.”

“Gone where?”

“Nobody knew. He was just gone.”

“Did any of you look for him?”

“I did. When I joined the NYPD I did a search every year or so, using department resources, but I always came up dry.”

“Are you in touch with the other three guys?”

Cantor shook his head. “We agreed never to make contact again. It was safer that way.”

“Did anybody get caught?”

“Nope.”

“And you never saw each other again?”

Cantor looked around. “Not until yesterday.”

“What happened yesterday?”

“I was having a drink here last night.”

“At Clarke’s.”

“At the bar. I looked up from my glass, and a guy was standing at the end of the bar, looking at me.”

“You know his name?”

“Of course, but I’m not telling you. All you need to know is that he was the one who wasn’t happy with the cut. In fact, he was so unhappy that a couple of us were going to off him, but he cut and ran before we had the chance.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“I looked away for a minute, trying to figure out what to do, and when I turned back, he was gone.”

Stone nodded, he hoped sagely.

“Stone?”

“Yes?”

“How is the Colonel?”

Stone told him.

“I’m glad he’s all right,” Cantor said.

“Bob.”

“Yeah?”

“If you see this guy again or hear from him, you should get in touch with me right away.”

“Why?”

“To make sure the Colonel stays all right.”

10

Stone went back to his office and tried to get some work done, but it took him more than two hours to write a brief that should have taken half an hour. There were times when he wished he had an associate to dump these things on.

Joan buzzed him. “Cabot on line one,” she said.

“Which Cabot?”

“There’s more than one?”

Stone picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“It’s Lance.”

“How did it go this morning?”

“We had a very nice lunch together at the Mayflower Inn, in Washington. He seemed not to want me in the house.”

“So, did you detect any sign of a woman there?”

“Don’t try and be funny, Stone.”

“You seemed miffed that I didn’t detect that; I just wanted to see if your powers of deduction exceeded mine.”

“Barton seems to have mostly recovered his memory.”

“What do you mean by
mostly
?”

“He doesn’t remember anything about the night he was attacked, but it’s common for trauma victims not to remember the trauma.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You sound skeptical.”

“Oh, no, not me.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Stone.”

“That was irony.”

Lance took a deep breath, obviously trying to remain civil. “I want you to keep an eye on Barton.”

“I’m not in the ‘keeping an eye on’ business, Lance.”

“You have a house in Washington; why don’t you spend a few days there and drop in on him from time to time?”

“I am not your brother’s keeper, to coin a phrase.”

“Stone, if you had any idea of the pressures on me at work…”

“That would still not induce the miracle of genetics required to make Barton
my
brother. Here’s an idea, Lance: Why don’t you instruct Holly to take a little vacation, go up there and keep an eye on him? You said he likes women, and Holly is a very attractive one. She can use my house.” Holly Barker was Stone’s friend and occasional lover and one of Lance’s staff at Langley.

There was a long silence before Lance spoke. “That is actually a very good idea, Stone.”

“If she’ll do it.”

“I think that if I put it as a request for a personal favor she would go up there. You could drop in on her for a visit.”

Stone ignored that suggestion, though it had already crossed his mind. He hadn’t seen Holly for a while, and the idea of a couple of days in Connecticut with her was appealing. “I hope it all goes well, Lance.”

“Thank you. So do I.”

“Good-bye, Lance.”

“There is just one more thing, Stone.”

Stone rolled his eyes. “What is it?”

“There’s the matter of the missing mahogany secretary.”

Stone said nothing.

“Stone?”

“I’m here.”

“There’s the matter of…”

“Yes, yes, I got that.”

“Barton is very concerned about it, of course, given its value.”

“Of course.”

“If you can locate and recover it, he is willing to offer you a finder’s fee.”

“Lance, I’m really very busy with my work, and…”

“A million dollars.”

Stone stopped talking. “How’s that again?”

“A million dollars in cash. On the barrelhead, I believe the expression is.”

“Well, I don’t know…”

“Tax free.”

Magic words, those. Stone’s palms were sweating. The thought of a million bucks at rest in his safe gave him a warm feeling all over.

“I take it, you’ll take it.”

“I’ll see what I can do, Lance.”

“Write down these numbers.” Lance gave him Barton’s home and cell phones. “Cell service is dodgy up there, as I’m sure you know, but you can always leave a message on his machine when you find the secretary.”

“Tell Barton to send me any photographs he has of the piece, or pieces, and a list of any identifying marks on the them. I’d also like to know which one I’m looking for.”

“He will respond immediately. I’ll have one of my people drop off an envelope by nightfall.”

“Give my best to Holly,” Stone said.

“You may give her your best in person.”

Stone wondered what he meant by that.

“And while you’re up there, you might just look in on Barton and see how he’s doing.” Lance hung up.

Stone tried to bring his pulse down. He was going to need Dino’s help to find the thing and maybe Bob Cantor’s, too, so he would just have to accustom himself to parting with some of Barton’s reward.

11

Stone was sitting in Elaine’s, studying the photographs of the mahogany secretary when Dino walked in and sat down.

Before he could speak a waiter set a glass of Scotch before him.

“You’re still interested in antique furniture?” Dino asked.

“More than ever.”

Dino took the photograph and looked it over. “Well, it’s certainly a handsome piece of work,” he admitted. “I’m not sure I’d fork out twenty-five mil for it, but that’s just me.”

“You know,” Stone said, taking the photo back, “I think if I had a billion, I’d pay twenty-five mil for it, but that’s just me.”

“Let’s call it a purely academic disagreement,” Dino said, sipping his Scotch. “Where’d you get the picture?”

“Barton sent it to me.”

“Why? Does he think you’re a potential buyer?”

“Hardly. He wants me to find it for him.”

“You? What are your particular qualifications for finding a missing piece of antique furniture?”

“About the same as yours.”

“But I’m not looking for it.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Stone, why do you think I’m going to help you find this thing?”

“Because, if you help me find it and return it to Barton, you’ll be paid the sum of one hundred thousand dollars, cash on the barrelhead, tax free.”

“Since I know you don’t have that kind of cash in your safe, I assume it’s Barton’s money we’re talking about.”

“We are.”

Dino regarded him closely. “And how much is Barton paying
you
?”

“You have a suspicious nature, Dino.”

“I’m a police officer; I’m paid to be suspicious.”

“Well, the NYPD is not offering you a hundred grand to do this particular bit of police work.”

“A good point, but you still haven’t answered my question: How much is he paying you?”

“More than he’s paying you, but I have to do most of the work. And anyway, Barton isn’t paying you; I’m paying you out of what Barton pays me.”

“I have a feeling that
I’m
going to end up doing most of the work,” Dino said.

“All you have to do is quietly circulate a description of the piece among your brother officers, keeping it unofficial, of course.”

“And just how do I keep it unofficial?”

“I would suggest that you offer a portion of your reward, say ten percent, to whoever locates it.”

Dino stared at Stone. “Barton is paying you
a million dollars
to find it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You’re paying me ten percent of what you’re getting, and I have to pay ten percent to some street cop?”

“Do you think this is a bad deal, Dino?”

“I think it’s an insufficiently good deal.”

“All right, what number would make you content enough with your lot, should we find the thing, that you would never feel it necessary to mention it to me again?”

“Two hundred grand.”

“And you’ll tip your help out of that?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll never again mention to me the relative sums earned by the two of us in this endeavor?”

“Probably not.”

“Make that certainly not, and you’ve got a deal.”

“Deal. What do you want me to do?”

“Well, find the fucking thing, of course.”

“Any suggestions as to how?”

“You’re a police officer, remember?”

“I know that.”

“Well, use the resources at your command to motivate your subordinates to find it and do so discreetly enough that neither of us will ever get bitten on the ass by your superiors.”

“If I get booted off the force for doing this, I’m going to want more money.”

“We have a deal,” Stone said, “and we’re both sticking to it. Anyway, you need motivation for not getting caught using NYPD resources for your personal gain, and the risk of getting the boot might just meet that need.”

Dino looked at him narrowly.

“Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

“Okay, okay, but it seems to me I’m taking all the risks.”

“Do you remember what happened to Barton Cabot when he last possessed the secretary?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that could happen to me, too.
That’s
risk.”

“All right,” Dino said. “Do you have any leads?”

“There is something, but I’m going to have to violate a confidence in order to reveal it.”

“Will it make you bleed onto the tablecloth to tell me about it?”

“Metaphorically speaking.”

“Eight hundred grand ought to soothe your aching conscience a little.”

“It involves Bob Cantor.”

“I spoke to him yesterday,” Dino said.

“And I had lunch with him today, and you promised not to mention money to me again.”

“Tell me.”

“Bob served under Barton Cabot in the Marine Corps in Vietnam. Together with four other men, they stole something and got it back to the States, where they divided the proceeds.”

“What did they steal?”

“He wouldn’t tell me, just that it belonged to the South Vietnamese government.”

“Which doesn’t exist any more.”

“Right.”

“And this happened when, in the seventies?”

“Right.”

“So the statute of limitations has expired?”

“Right.”

“So, what’s he worried about?”

“The other three men.”

“You said there were four, plus Bob and Barton.”

“One of them is dead, probably because he was unhappy with his cut of the deal.”

“You’re just saying that to make me shut up about
my
cut of this deal.”

“I’m just telling you the facts.”

“So what does this have to do with anything?”

“One of the other three guys turned up at P. J. Clarke’s yesterday; Bob saw him at the bar.”

“And?”

“And then he vanished.”

“In a puff of smoke?”

“No. Bob looked away, and when he looked back, the guy was gone.”

“What does this mean?”

“I think that Bob thinks that this guy was — is
still
— unhappy with his cut.”

“And that he stole Barton’s secretary to get even?”

“To get more than even. That’s my theory, anyway, not Bob’s, because he doesn’t know about the secretary.”

Dino looked uncomfortable.

“Dino, when you mentioned Barton Cabot to Bob Cantor, did you also mention the secretary?”

“At the time, there was no reason why I shouldn’t, was there?” Dino asked, defensively.

“I guess not,” Stone said.

“And I can’t talk to Bob about this, because of your conscience?”

“If it becomes necessary, I’ll talk to him.”

“So who is this disappearing guy?”

“I don’t know,” Stone said, “but I may have a way to find out.”

12

When Stone got home, he called the cell phone number he had for Lance Cabot and left a message. The following morning, early, Lance called him back. “Good morning, Stone.”

Stone tried to wake up fast. “Yeah, good morning.” His bedside clock said 5:46 A.M.

“You really should get an earlier start to your day,” Lance said.

“You’d get more done.”

Stone ignored that. “I need your help on something, Lance.”

“Is this something to do with Barton’s secretary?”

“Yes.”

“What, exactly, do you need?”

“At the end of the Vietnam War, Barton was commanding a Marine regiment.”

“I suppose that command would be appropriate to his rank.”

“Before he made colonel, he had commanded a company, and there was a squad leader, a sergeant named Robert Cantor. Barton got him a battlefield commission, and he became a platoon leader and, later, after Barton got the regiment, an acting company commander.”