Fresh Disasters

53

Stone’s cell phone rang. He didn’t recognize the caller I.D. number. “Hello?”

“It’s Dierdre.”

“Hi.”

“Dattila’s out of jail.”

“What?”

“His lawyer got a judge to release him, based on the fact that, since Gus’s death and Herbie’s disappearance, we have no witnesses against him.”

“But there’s the tape of Dattila ordering Herbie’s death.”

“The lawyer claimed they would show at trial that it’s fabricated.”

“Did Dattila buy a judge or something?”

“I don’t think the judge can be faulted. Dattila’s lawyer is right, except about the tape. It’s not fabricated, is it?”

“No, it’s genuine.”

“Have you heard from Herbie?”

“Not a word.”

“I know I’m not supposed to say this about my witness, but tell him he’d be smart to leave town. Dattila is going to spare no effort to see him dead. We got a tip that word has gone out to his people all over town: There’s a hundred grand on Herbie’s head.”

“There ought to be a hundred grand on Dattila’s head.”

“This is my third try at getting the guy, and I’ve never even gone to trial.”

“I can imagine how you must feel.”

“No, you can’t. If you hear from Herbie, tell him to scamper. After what happened at the hotel I’m not at all sure we can protect him.”

“I’ll give him the message.”

“Good night.”

“Good night.” Stone hung up and turned to Dino. “Dattila is out, and if what Dierdre says is true, Herbie’s as good as dead.”

Willa watched while Devlin Daltry unlocked three deadbolts on a huge steel door and let them into his building. They were on the ground floor, which was being used as a garage. Daltry pressed a button, and a freight elevator descended.

“That’s a very big elevator,” Willa said, for the benefit of her colleagues.

“Some of my pieces are of heroic proportions,” Daltry said, as they started up. “I couldn’t get them out of the studio without this.”

She counted three floors as they rose. “You live and work on the top floor?”

“Yes.”

“What’s on the others?”

“Not much, some office help on one. I’m thinking of converting the other two to lofts and selling them.”

They stopped at the fourth floor and stepped into an enormous room.

“My goodness,” Willa said, actually overwhelmed. The space was furnished as a living room, and at the other end she could see a professional-style kitchen. “This is fantastic.” She pointed at the kitchen. “You must do a lot of cooking.”

“I don’t cook at all, actually, but I need the kitchen for parties. The caterers love it. Come, I’ll show you my studio.”

They walked for perhaps half a block and passed through huge double doors into an artist’s studio that she could not have imagined. First of all, contrary to her notion of what an artist’s studio was like, it was spotlessly clean and extremely neat. Double-height windows rose to receive the north light, and scattered around the space were pieces of Daltry’s work, some already cast, some still in clay.

“You are obsessively neat, aren’t you?” Willa said.

Daltry seemed to take umbrage at the characterization. “I am not obsessive about anything,” he said defensively. “I simply like to live in an orderly world.”

Willa’s attention was riveted on a bronze of a very tall woman, missing its head. “What is that?”

“Oh, I was unhappy with the way the head turned out, so I’m going to redo it.”

“After it’s already cast?”

“It can be done. Would you like to see the rest of my home?”

“Yes, thank you. Is there still another level?”

“Yes. The elevator only goes to the fourth floor, but the stairs lead one more flight up.”

“Don’t go to his bedroom,” Bernstein said into her ear.

“Is that where your bedroom is?”

“Yes, but there’s more. I don’t need the sort of living spaces that occupy this floor; they’re just for work and entertaining. There’s another complete apartment upstairs.”

“Don’t do it,” Bernstein said.

“I’d love to see it,” she said to Daltry.

Dino’s cell phone rang. “Bacchetti.”

“Boss, it’s Bernstein. She’s inside Daltry’s place, and against my advice, she’s going up to the level where his bedroom is.”

“Are you inside yet?”

“We’re having hell’s own time getting in. There are three Assa locks in a steel door, and we haven’t been able to pick even one of them. A crowbar didn’t work, either.”

“Then break a goddamned window or something,” Dino said. “Be a burglar! His alarm system probably isn’t on while he’s home.”

“Yes, Boss.”

Dino hung up. “She’s locked inside Daltry’s building with him, and my people are having a hard time getting in.”

“Oh, my God,” Genevieve said. “I hope she’s armed.”

“I hope she is, too,” Dino said. “Since she’s undercover, she may not be.”

Stone’s cell phone rang. “Hello?”

“Stone, it’s me.”

“Herbie! Where the hell are you? Are you all right?”

“No, I’m not, and I’m not about to tell you where I am. The last time I told you where I was I nearly got killed.”

“Herbie, I didn’t tell anybody where you were. In fact, you never told me, remember?”

“Well, somebody knew, and he told Dattila.”

“What happened there, Herbie?”

“I didn’t like the food and stuff, so I was going to sneak out for something, so I turned on the shower and got dressed. I heard somebody yell in the next room, so I hid in a closet, and I saw this guy come into the bedroom with a gun. While he was in the bathroom, I got the hell out of there.”

“It’s good that you did. Now, listen. I talked to the D.A. a few minutes ago, and she says that you should get out of town, that she’s not sure she can protect you.”

“Well, that’s pretty clear, isn’t it?” Herbie yelled. “You said I’d be safe in the hotel; not even the two cops were safe.”

“It gets worse, Herbie. Dattila is out of jail, and word is he’s put out a very large contract on you. He’s probably got a couple of hundred people on the street looking for you right now. You’ve got money, haven’t you?”

“I’ve got about twelve hundred dollars.”

“My advice is take a cab to New Jersey-don’t go to the Port Authority Terminal or to Grand Central or Pe

“Your advice hasn’t been very good so far, Stone.”

“What are you talking about? If you’d taken my advice and not sued Dattila none of this would have happened!”

But Herbie had already hung up.

54

Willa walked up the curving staircase with Daltry holding her hand.

“I think you’ll like my living quarters,” he was saying.

They emerged into a handsomely furnished living room with cream-colored paneled walls, crown moldings and many pictures and sculptures.

He led her to the bar and was pouring them a drink when the phone rang. Daltry looked at the instrument on the bar and muttered something under his breath. “Excuse me,” he said, “I’ve got to take this call.” He picked up the phone. “What is it?” he said without preamble, then he listened for a moment. “Jerry, I’ve told you repeatedly how important it is for you to stay where you are and not go out for a while. You’ve got enough groceries to last a month, and enough to drink, too.” He listened some more. “I don’t care. I want you to do as I say, or I won’t be able to protect you. Don’t you understand?” More listening. “Jerry, do you want to go to prison? I didn’t think so. Well, that’s the alternative to doing as I say, at least for a little while. Look, I’ve got somebody here at the moment. I’ll come up there tomorrow morning, and we’ll work something out. I promise.” He hung up.

“Some people never listen,” Willa said.

“You’re right about that. I have this friend who’s gotten himself into a jam, and I’m trying to help him, but he just won’t be helped. Will you pour us a drink? I need the powder room.”