“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.”