Insatiable Appetites

by Stuart Woods

  Carmine felt his only chance was to go limp, to seem less of a threat. He was dragged toward the door, then outside onto the stone walk, where he was stopped. Then the blade was withdrawn and his body began to gush. In a moment, he had passed out.

  When Carmine awoke he was in a different place; it was moving, and he felt the vibration of an engine. He tried to move just slightly, but could not. There was plastic sheeting over his face, inhibiting his breathing. He wasn’t thinking very clearly, but he knew he didn’t have long to live; either the bleeding or Jamaica Bay would end it for him.

  The boat continued its passage while Carmine fought to stay conscious. Twice more he fainted and came to again, then he stopped struggling to breathe.

  He thought about his wife until he passed out again. He never felt the cold water close over him.

  Elton Hills, at the behest of Bruce Willard, had subscribed to the New York Times and the Washington Post, and he was enjoying the reading. Then, in the social pages of the Post, a name in a caption below a photo of a group at a party caught his eye: Creed Harker.

  He counted the names and the faces, and his finger came to one floating a head above the rest of the group. He felt the blood rise in him; his ears burned. With no other evidence than what he had heard about Harker and the man’s appearance, he felt he had met his enemy. For the first time in years, except for his son’s burial, he began to think of leaving his property.

  Bruce Willard was at his desk going over a printout of his accountant’s monthly profit/loss statement, when the phone rang, and he picked it up. “Bruce Willard.”

  “Bruce, it’s Elton Hills,” a voice said.

  “Good morning, Elton. I hope you’re well.”

  “I am, thank you. Bruce, I was thinking I might come to Washington for a few days to see how Evan lived.”

  “What a good idea. I’ve got the keys to Evan’s house. I think you’d be very comfortable there.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that. I don’t think I could tolerate the crowds at a hotel.”

  “Evan has a live-in couple who take care of the place very well. I’ll let them know you’re coming.”

  “That would be grand. Do you think there’d be room for Manolo, too? I’d want him to drive me.”

  “Of course. When would you like to arrive?”

  “Late this afternoon? Would that be all right?”

  “Of course. I’ll take you to dinner.”

  “Do you think you could find a quiet table at the Four Seasons in Georgetown? I’ve heard about the restaurant from you and seen photographs of it in the papers.”

  “Certainly. They know me there, as they knew Evan. When you arrive in town, come to my shop. I’d like you to see it. Then I’ll take you over to the house—it’s not far.” He gave the old man the address, then hung up and called the house to alert the couple that a guest was coming. “It’s Evan’s father,” he said, “and his chauffeur. I hope you’ll make them very comfortable.”

  “Will you require dinner, Mr. Bruce?” the woman asked.

  “No, we’ll be going out, but after that you should be prepared to serve meals. Mr. Hills doesn’t enjoy going out a lot.”

  “We’ll be ready.”

  Bruce hung up and went back to reading his statements. An hour later, UPS arrived, bringing him a package from Apple Publishing.

  • • •

  Mr. Hills,” Manolo said, “the people you were expecting from your attorney’s office have arrived.”

  “Please show them in, Manolo.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And, Manolo, I want you to drive me to Washington, D.C., immediately after lunch. Pack a bag for two nights.”

  Manolo was momentarily speechless; he had never had such a request from his employer. “Yes, sir,” he was finally able to say.

  “And perhaps you’d better clean the car and fill it with gas.”

  “Yes, sir.” Manolo showed the group of people into the library, and they began to hand Elton documents.

  “Please read the marked passages, Mr. Hills,” the attorney said. “Those are where the changes you wished have been made. If they are correct, you may sign them, and we’ll witness them properly.”

  Hills read the documents, approved them, and signed them. The group lined up to witness them.

  Before lunch, Elton Hills did something he had not done for many years: he packed a bag. After lunch, he handed the bag to Manolo, then called him to look at a photograph in a folded newspaper. “Do you see this man, Manolo?”

  “Yes, sir, very tall, isn’t he?”

  “I believe so. I’m going out to dinner tonight with Mr. Willard, to a place this man frequents. If you see him arrive, come inside and tell me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then follow him. I want to know where he goes.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We’ll be staying at my son’s house tonight. I’m told we’ll be very comfortable there.”

  “Very good, sir.” Manolo took the bag to the car and put it into the trunk.

  Elton went to his desk, opened a drawer, and removed an object he had owned for more than fifty years. He put it into his coat pocket, got his overcoat, then went to join Manolo in the car.

  Elton got into the rear seat of the old Bentley with his newspaper. He was nervous about the trip, but curious about what he might see. They left the estate, and he was amazed at the amount of traffic on the roads, particularly the interstates. They moved at thrilling speeds—seventy, sometimes, at his urging, eighty miles an hour.

  This was fun!

  Dino was having a rare lunch at his desk when his secretary buzzed him. “There’s a woman on the phone called Gina Corretti. She says you know her.”

  “Sure.” Dino picked up the phone. “Gina? How you doing?”

  “Hey, Dino, not so good. Carmine didn’t come home last night.”

  “Has he ever done that before?”

  “Not without calling. I called his precinct, and they haven’t heard from him since he signed out yesterday. He came home and got his tackle box and a couple of rods and said he was going fishing.”

  “At this time of year?”

  “Go figure. He was wearing rubber boots and a heavy, waterproof jacket.”

  “Does Carmine own a boat?”

  “No, but he sometimes goes fishing with a friend of his who has one. I called him, and he hasn’t heard from Carmine since last summer.”

  Dino began to get a bad feeling. “Gina, do me a favor. Call the friend back and ask him to check on his boat.”

  “Sure.” Gina hung up.

  By the time Gina called back, everything had fallen into place in Dino’s mind. “What’d he say?”

  “He checked at the marina. A guy who said he’s a friend of his took the boat. Sounds like Carmine. The boat is a Boston Whaler, eighteen feet with a forty-horsepower outboard.”

  “Okay, I’m going to check this out, Gina, but it might be a while before I can get back to you.” Dino buzzed his assistant. “Call the Coast Guard and see if anybody has reported a Boston Whaler found in Jamaica Bay or around there.” Half an hour later, his assistant buzzed back.

  “They found such a boat this morning, aground on one of those little islands in the bay. It had some bullet holes in the bottom, but Whalers are almost impossible to sink. And, boss, there was some blood in it. Could be fish blood, but I called Corretti’s precinct, and they’re sending some people out there.”

  “Keep me posted,” Dino said. He hung up and called Stone.

  “Hey.”

  “We got a problem,” Dino said.

  “What problem?”

  “Dolce.”

  “Oh, shit. What’s happened?”

  “I think one of my detectives went out to the Brooklyn property, and he didn’t come back.
The Coast Guard found his boat.” Dino filled him in on what he knew.

  • • •

  Bruce Willard received Elton Hills at his shop and gave him the tour. A lot of what the shop had to offer was in line with what Elton had in his house, and he seemed to enjoy it. When they were done, Bruce rode over to Evan’s town house with Elton. The old man took an even greater interest in what Evan had collected.

  “Did you find all these things for him?” Elton asked, stroking a piece of silver.

  “Many of them, but Evan’s tastes were in place before we met. I think he must have inherited them from you.”

  “More likely, his mother,” Elton said.

  Bruce led him to the best guest room. “This is quite handsome,” Elton said, looking around. “I can sleep here.”

  The woman who took care of the place brought them tea in the library. Bruce poured.

  Elton accepted a cup, added lemon and sugar, and sat back in his chair. “Did I tell you that I served in the Korean war as a young man?”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “I was a platoon leader in the battle of Chosin Reservoir.”

  “That was a bad one,” Bruce said.

  “I was a first lieutenant. When our command post took an artillery shell, I suddenly found myself a regimental commander. We made a fighting retreat, and the best I can say for myself was that I got most of the regiment out.”

  “That says a very great deal,” Bruce said. “We studied that battle at the Point, so I have some idea of what you must have gone through.”

  “It wrecked me,” Elton said. “They sent me home with a decoration, and I spent four months in a military hospital, getting the experience off my chest.”

  They sipped their tea in silence. Bruce wondered why on earth Elton had brought up his military service.

  • • •

  Dino rang the bell at Mary Ann’s apartment, and she opened the door.

  “Come in,” she said, “and tell me about it. Anybody want a drink?”

  “No, thanks,” Dino said, and Stone shook his head. They threw their coats over a chair and sat down.

  Mary Ann sat in a chair, her hands tightly clasped in front of her. “What has Dolce done? Has she been worrying you, Stone?”

  Stone shook his head.

  Dino spoke up. “It appears that Dolce has murdered two men: one, a Catholic priest, the other an NYPD detective.”

  Mary Ann got up, crossed the room to a drinks cart, poured herself a stiff scotch, then she came back, sat down, and waited wordlessly for Dino to continue.

  She looked frightened, Stone thought, something he would never have imagined of Mary Ann.

  “The priest was also a psychiatrist who treated her when she was in Sicily. The cop was looking into his death on his own time.”

  “Was the priest the one who was found in the bay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dear God in heaven! Are you certain of all the facts?”

  “No, I’m not,” Dino said, “but I know enough to know that she did these things or had Pietro do them.”

  “Are you going to arrest Dolce?”

  “We don’t have a case in either instance,” Dino said. “If we wait until we do, then it’s going to be the biggest story in the news for a month.”

  “We can’t have that,” Mary Ann said.

  “No, we can’t,” Dino replied. “Here’s what we can do.”

  While Mary Ann finished off the scotch and poured another, Dino outlined what he had in mind.

  Elton Hills repeated his earlier instructions to Manolo, then entered the Four Seasons Hotel in Georgetown on the arm of Bruce Willard, his eyes flitting from face to face as they passed through the lobby and into the restaurant.

  Bruce had requested a quiet table, and they got one near the hallway that contained the restrooms.

  Elton sat quietly and sipped a bourbon while Bruce ordered for him. Before leaving Evan’s house, the old man had removed his .45 caliber general officer’s pistol, a battlefield souvenir from his demolished command post in Korea, from his pocket, emptied it, then cleaned every accessible part of it, including the individual cartridges. He then reloaded it, worked the action, and let the hammer down to a half-cock, then he wrapped it in his handkerchief and returned it to his coat pocket.

  “Well, Elton,” Bruce said, interrupting his reverie, “what do you think of the Four Seasons?”

  “It’s very modern, isn’t it?” Elton replied. “Of course, given my absence from the scene for so long, almost everything looks modern. Georgetown looks much the same as when last I saw it, except that it’s cleaner, and the trim on the buildings is more freshly painted. It looks much like the way I keep my house.”

  “I think that’s a good assessment,” Bruce said. He handed Elton the book he had prepared of his home’s furnishings. “I thought you might like to have this.”

  Elton removed the brown paper wrapping and leafed through the book. “This is quite lovely,” he said. “It makes me look at my home afresh.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  “Bruce, there’s something I have to tell you.”

  “Please do, Elton.”

  “I made a new will this morning. I’ve come to have a fatherly feeling for you, and I would have made you a substantial bequest, had not Evan already done so.”

  “That’s quite all right, Elton. I would have expected nothing.”

  “I didn’t say I left you nothing. I know that, since I don’t have an heir, the substance of my estate will go to my family foundation.”

  “Yes?”

  “However, the sale of my possessions is within my gift, and I have appointed you as my agent to conduct the sale of my furniture, silver, art, library, and personal effects, by whatever means you deem advisable, at a commission of forty percent.”

  “That’s extraordinarily generous of you, Elton.”

  “Not really. It costs me nothing and my estate only what it would cost for an agent if I didn’t know you. I did this because I think you might guide my things into the hands of sympathetic owners.”

  “I will endeavor to do that, Elton.”

  “There, I feel better now. There is some satisfaction in having prepared for my death. I’m not the sort to leave loose strings dangling.”

  “I understand how you feel,” Bruce said. “I, myself, try to be prepared for that at all times, though I’m fairly young by today’s standards and very healthy.”

  Manolo suddenly appeared at tableside, apologized for the intrusion, and whispered something into Elton’s ear. Elton’s eyes widened a bit, but he gave no other outward sign of anything out of the ordinary. Elton thanked him, Manolo left, and Elton said, “Manolo wanted me to know that he found a parking place near the door, so we won’t have to hunt for him when we leave.”

  “That was very thoughtful of him.”

  “Bruce, will you excuse me for a moment? I’d like to wash my hands before dinner.”

  “Of course.”

  Elton went down the hallway toward the men’s room; it was quiet until a waiter opened the kitchen door, then it was noisy, until the door closed again. He noticed that the door was covered in tufted leather. He walked into the men’s room and saw that the inside of the door and the walls were covered in the same tufted leather; it was dead quiet in the room. Then he heard the sound of toilet paper unrolling and noticed that the door of the last stall was closed. He took the pistol, still wrapped in his handkerchief, from his coat pocket and rapped on the stall door.

  “There’s a free one next door,” a voice responded, sounding irritated.

  “I believe you dropped something of value out here,” Elton said. “If you’ll unlatch the door, I’ll hand it to you.”

  There was a cranky noise from behind the door, then it opened to reveal Creed Harker
standing there, holding up his trousers with one hand. “What the hell?” he said.

  Elton pushed him, and he fell backward onto the toilet seat. Elton pointed the pistol at him. “Hands on your head,” he said.

  Harker looked terrified, but he put his hands on his head.

  Elton reached out and pinched Harker’s nostrils. When he opened his mouth to breathe, Elton cocked the pistol, inserted its barrel into the open mouth, and pulled the trigger.

  Harker’s brains exploded against the wall behind him, and he slumped to one side. Elton took Harker’s hand and wrapped it around the pistol, then let it fall to the floor. Elton backed out of the stall, pulled the door shut, and with a small penknife from his pocket, he lowered the inside latch into place. He washed his hands thoroughly and made sure that none of Creed Harker had stuck to him, then he turned and walked out of the men’s room, folding the handkerchief and slipping it into his pocket. He doubted if the noise of the pistol had made it past the tufted walls. A moment later he sat down across from Bruce.

  “Dinner will be here in a moment,” Bruce said.

  “I’m looking forward to it,” Elton replied, smiling.

  Bruce wondered why he suddenly looked so happy.

  They were well into their main course when a man came running from the men’s room, looking for someone. He disappeared in the direction of the front desk.

  Elton looked at his wristwatch; some twenty minutes had passed since he had left the men’s room. He reckoned there had been other visitors who had taken no notice of the last stall.

  A couple of minutes later, a pair of uniformed police officers appeared outside the dining room; they were followed by plainclothes types and, eventually, by men with a stretcher. An out-of-order sign appeared at the entrance to the hallway.

  “Looks as though something has happened in the men’s room,” Bruce said.

  “Oh?”