Sex, Lies & Serious Money
Page 24
Viv looked at him. “What?”
“We’ve got ourselves a double murder,” Dino said. “Let’s go into Central Park, Seventy-second Street entrance, then turn left to the band shell.”
The car entered the park and left the road, driving down the broad sidewalk until he came to the yellow police tape. “I shouldn’t be long,” he said to Viv as he got out. Out of habit he clipped his badge to his jacket pocket, though every cop on the scene knew him by sight. “What’ve we got here?” he asked a detective.
“One stiff,” the man replied. “It’s somebody you’re interested in.”
Dino walked around the body on the bench and looked at the face. “That would appear to be one Marvin Jones,” he said.
“His ID confirms that identity, plus a couple of others,” the detective replied.
“I was told it was a double homicide,” Dino said. “Where’s the other one?”
“In a pawnshop in the Nineties.”
“A murder-suicide?”
“The other stiff is Irving Schwartz, the guy Jones was with when they broke into the Barrington house, the one who turned up at Lenox Hill with a bullet wound to the ass.”
“Ah.” Dino pointed at the .38 lying on the ground near the bench. “Would that be the murder weapon?”
“It would appear to be of the same caliber as Schwartz’s head wound.”
Dino peered closely at the hole in Jones’s temple. “I don’t think that was made by a .38.”
“That’s the puzzle, Commissioner. The murder and the apparent suicide appear to have been accomplished with different weapons.”
“So where’s the smaller caliber one?”
“It probably left with the shooter.”
“So he stages a suicide, then leaves the scene with the weapon? That’s not very smart.”
“Well, it does leave us with less to go on in solving this one, so it’s not completely stupid of the guy.”
“Any evidence left of the departing shooter?”
“Not a thing. There was some rain, but the area around the band shell is all paved, so no footprints.”
Dino pointed. “What’s in the bag?”
“Not much—nothing that would help us. Thing is, the owner of the pawnshop says a hundred and fifty grand was taken from his safe, but neither Schwartz nor Jones is in possession of it.”
“Well, first of all, I can’t see a pawnshop holding that kind of money. Thirty or forty, maybe, so that bit of testimony is probably meant for his insurance company.”
“It gives us a robbery motive for this shooting, though.”
“Was there a third guy involved in the robbery?”
“Not that we have found any evidence of. The only thing missing from the pawnshop safe was the cash. They left the jewelry.”
“So why would the other two come to Central Park? They could have divvied up the cash on the spot.”
“I think what we’ve got is two robberies and two murders,” the detective said.
“So where does the third guy come in? I mean, he was certainly here, so he and Jones must have planned to meet, but why Central Park at what time?”
“ME says between midnight and two AM.”
“I guess it’s lonely enough.” Dino looked around. “Well, I’m on my way out of town, so I don’t have time to solve this for you.”
The detective laughed. “I guess not.”
“I’ll be back in a few days. Try to have it wrapped up by then.” He started to go then hesitated. “Check Jones’s prison record. Find out who his buddies were—that might be a start.”
“I’ll do that, Commissioner. Thanks for the suggestion.”
“Don’t mention it. Have a good time.” Dino walked back to the car and got in. “Teterboro, as originally planned,” he said to his driver.
“What was it?” Viv asked.
“A guy named Marvin Jones, who was in Stone’s house the night of the Strategic Services party. Also, the other guy who was there, but he’s dead in a pawnshop uptown, and the two of them were shot with different weapons.”
“That’s weird.”
“Yeah, but it’s the kind of thing that makes police work interesting,” Dino replied.
59
STONE WAS NEARLY FINISHED with his preflight inspection, with Holly looking over his shoulder, when Dino and Viv arrived.
“Good morning,” Stone said.
“Good morning,” Dino replied.
“You can put your luggage up front.”
Dino did so. “Sorry we’re a little late. As I was leaving the house, I got a call about a double homicide.”
“Anybody we know?”
“As it happens, yes. The victims were the guys who attempted the burglary at your house, Marvin Jones and his buddy Irving Schwartz, late of the ER at Lenox Hill, where he presented with a gunshot wound to the ass.”
“Who did us the favor?”
“It appears that Jones put a round into Schwartz at a pawnshop in the East Nineties, after Schwartz had cracked the safe. Jones then turned up at the band shell in Central Park, an apparent suicide.”
“I get the motive for shooting Schwartz. What was his motive for offing himself?”
“I don’t think he had one. His so-called suicide was effected with a small-caliber shot to the right temple, while Schwartz got it with a .38, ballistics pending. There was a motive—the cash was missing from both scenes.”
Stone thought about that. “So Jones was murdered by a third party?”
“It would appear so, and he took the small-caliber with him, along with all the money.”
“How much money?”
“The pawnbroker claims over a hundred grand, but that’s just what he told his insurance company. I suspect it was a lot less.”
“Any leads on the identity of the third party?”
“None.”
“I’d check on his prison associates. These guys don’t have a wide acquaintance among civilians when they get out.”
“Already being done.”
“Nothing to keep us here?”
“Zip.”
“Then let’s go to Santa Fe.” Stone locked the forward luggage compartment, opened the cabin door, and ushered Dino and Viv aboard.
“You’re flying right seat in the cockpit,” he said to Holly.
“Gotcha,” she said, climbing aboard and taking her seat.
Stone climbed in, secured the stairs, and entered the cockpit. He ran through his checklist, got a clearance from the tower, and taxied to the runway.
Ten minutes later, they left the ground and were given a vector to the west. Stone set his assigned altitude of 40,000 feet into the autopilot, switched it on, and allowed it to take over the flying.
“Could you hand me the Times crossword?” he asked Holly. “It’s in my flight bag.”
“Sure.”
Stone switched on the satellite radio and tuned it to the classical channel. They climbed to altitude with Mozart in their headsets.
“We’ll have the sun behind us all the way,” Stone said.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I am happy to hear from readers, but you should know that if you write to me in care of my publisher, three to six months will pass before I receive your letter, and when it finally arrives it will be one among many, and I will not be able to reply.
However, if you have access to the Internet, you may visit my website at www.stuartwoods.com, where there is a button for sending me e-mail. So far, I have been able to reply to all my e-mail, and I will continue to try to do so.
If you send me an e-mail and do not receive a reply, it is probably because you are among an alarming number of people who have entered their e-mail address incorrectly in their mail software. I have many of my replies returned as undeliverable.
Remember: e-mail, reply; snail mail, no reply.
When you e-mail, please do not send attachments, as I never open these. They can take twenty minutes to download, and they often contain viruses.
Please do not place me on your mailing lists for funny stories, prayers, political causes, charitable fund-raising, petitions, or sentimental claptrap. I get enough of that from people I already know. Generally speaking, when I get e-mail addressed to a large number of people, I immediately delete it without reading it.
Please do not send me your ideas for a book, as I have a policy of writing only what I myself invent. If you send me story ideas, I will immediately delete them without reading them. If you have a good idea for a book, write it yourself, but I will not be able to advise you on how to get it published. Buy a copy of Writer’s Market at any bookstore; that will tell you how.
Anyone with a request concerning events or appearances may e-mail it to me or send it to: Publicity Department, Penguin Random House LLC, 375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014.
Those ambitious folk who wish to buy film, dramatic, or television rights to my books should contact Matthew Snyder, Creative Artists Agency, 9830 Wilshire Boulevard, Beverly Hills, CA 98212-1825.
Those who wish to make offers for rights of a literary nature should contact Anne Sibbald, Janklow & Nesbit, 445 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10022. (Note: This is not an invitation for you to send her your manuscript or to solicit her to be your agent.)
If you want to know if I will be signing books in your city, please visit my website, www.stuartwoods.com, where the tour schedule will be published a month or so in advance. If you wish me to do a book signing in your locality, ask your favorite bookseller to contact his Penguin representative or the Penguin publicity department with the request.
If you find typographical or editorial errors in my book and feel an irresistible urge to tell someone, please write to Sara Minnich at Penguin’s address above. Do not e-mail your discoveries to me, as I will already have learned about them from others.
A list of my published works appears in the front of this book and on my website. All the novels are still in print in paperback and can be found at or ordered from any bookstore. If you wish to obtain hardcover copies of earlier novels or of the two nonfiction books, a good used-book store or one of the online bookstores can help you find them. Otherwise, you will have to go to a great many garage sales.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Stuart Woods is the author of more than sixty novels. He is a native of Georgia and began his writing career in the advertising industry. Chiefs, his debut in 1981, won the Edgar Award. An avid sailor and pilot, Woods lives in Florida, Maine, and New Mexico.
stuartwoods.com
facebook.com/StuartWoodsAuthor
What’s next on
your reading list?
Discover your next
great read!
* * *
Get personalized book picks and up-to-date news about this author.
Sign up now.