Stone Barrington 06-11

local driver’s license, picks up a credit card and finds a business partner who’s real and who can deal with the banks.”
    “Makes sense.”
    “Then he meets the rich widow, and pretty soon he’s living in a much nicer house, and he doesn’t need the business anymore, or, for that matter, the wife, so he sells one and does away with the other, and he gets away with it. Now he’s rich, footloose and fancy fucking free, and he’s house-hunting in Palm Beach and shopping for a Bentley.”
    “Okay, I buy it.”
    “I don’t,” Dino said. “I don’t buy it for a minute.”
    “What? Why not? You just convinced me.”
    “Yeah, well, you’re a pushover for a good story, Stone. You always were.”
    “What are you talking about, Dino? Have I missed something?”
    “You usually do, pal, and this time it’s this: If Bartlett is Manning, why would he hunt down his ex—well, his previous wife and start harassing her? He risks bringing himself to the attention of the local police, which he has already done, and exposing himself—in the fully clothed sense of the expression. Why would he want to do that?”
    “Because he’s pissed off at her for running off with all the money he stole, and he’s crazy as a fruit bat, and he knows how to hold a grudge.”
    Dino didn’t say anything.
    “Well?”
    “Okay, maybe you’re right. After all, you can’t depend on criminals to behave sensibly. I got another question, though.”
    “Okay.”
    “He doesn’t look enough like he used to look for anybody to ID him, even you. You didn’t get a picture of the guy, so Allison can’t identify him because she won’t be in the same room with him, and the FBI won’t tell you who his prints belong to. How are you going to know, once and for all, who he is?”
    “I wish you hadn’t asked that question.”
    “Because you don’t know the answer?”
    “That’s pretty much it.”
    Dino sighed deeply. “It looks like I’m going to have to come down there and straighten this out for you.”
    Stone had sort of been hoping he would; he missed Dino.
    “You’ll have to bring Mary Ann.”
    “Nah, she won’t come while the kid’s in school.”
    “How is Ben?”
    “Well, his grandfather hasn’t turned him into a made man yet.”
    “And how is Eduardo?”
    “As mean as ever. He never gets older, just meaner.”
    “And Dolce?”
    “I don’t know. Mary Ann won’t talk about her. I guess she’s still nuts. Eduardo’s got her locked up in farthest Brooklyn, and I don’t see her ever getting out.”
    “When can you come?”
    “Tomorrow, the next day, maybe. I can get the time off, I think. Can you find me a sack?”
    “Sure, and a nice one, too.”
    “I’ll call you with my flight number.”
    “I’ll be there.”
    “See you.”
    “See you.”

25
    T HE FOLLOWING MORNING IT WAS, TO STONE’S ASTONISHMENT, raining, and raining hard. Juanito had put up clear curtains around the afterdeck, so Stone had breakfast alone there and checked with Joan for messages. He returned half a dozen calls, including one to Bill Eggers.
    “I spoke to Thad yesterday,” Eggers said, “and he is one happy client. I hope you’re not thinking of coming back to New York before you clear up any remaining problems. If you do, I’ll have you hit over the head in the airport and put you on the next airplane back to Palm Beach.”
    “Oh, I’m sticking it out,” Stone said, “and it has turned interesting.”
    “How so?”
    Stone went through the whole story once again.
    “You know,” Eggers said when Stone had finished, “being a partner in this firm is not nearly as interesting as what you do.”
    “Probably not. By the way, I sat next to one of your clients at dinner last night—a Lila Baldwin.”
    “Oh, God,” Eggers groaned. “Be careful around her. Once, during a discussion of estate tax avoidance, she grabbed my crotch.”
    “I’m not surprised.”
    “ I was, I can tell you.”
    “You’ve led a sheltered life.”
    “Right, and I’d better get back to it. Call me if you need any backup.”
    “Will do.”
    Stone had hardly hung up when the phone rang. He punched a button. “Shames residence.”
    “May I speak with a Mr. Stone Barrington, please?” A male voice.
    “Speaking.”
    “Mr. Barrington, my name is Ebbe Lundquist. I’m with the Minneapolis Police Department.”
    “How are you?”
    “Okay. Earlier this morning I had a very interesting conversation with Chief Griggs of the Palm Beach