by Stuart Woods
“Here’s a thought, Dino. You could retire, both of you.”
“Retire? From my dream job?”
“Maybe Viv would like to retire.”
“And spend all her time with me? She’d go nuts. As it is, she’s gone about half the time, and that seems to be just about right for both of us.”
“Anything else you want?”
“Yes,” Dino said. “I want Eduardo’s file on Jack Thomas and his family to not exist anymore.”
“Not going to happen,” Stone said. “I’m not going to play a part in papering over a bunch of murders and getting Hank Thomas elected president. I couldn’t sleep nights. You can have a choice: I’ll give you the dossier or I’ll give it directly to the D.A.”
“All right, give it to the D.A., and tell him I told you to do that. I don’t want it to pass through my hands.”
“I’ll do it tomorrow,” Stone said. “You think he’ll see me?”
“I’ll call him and tell him that some important information is coming from you, and that he should see it before anyone else does.”
“That’s a good idea,” Stone said. “He should be in complete charge of when and how he handles it, without worrying about leaks to the press from his staff.”
“Good. Does anybody else know about this, as we speak?”
“Only Mary Ann.”
“‘Only Mary Ann’?”
“She called and asked me what I found in the safe, and she’s sort of my client in this, so I told her.”
“Then by this time tomorrow, the entire world will know!”
“What are you talking about, Dino?”
“Mary Ann has the loosest mouth on the planet.”
“Well, she kept a lot of secrets about Eduardo’s life all these years.”
“Only because she knew that, if she said a word, Eduardo would send Pietro to see her some dark night, dagger in hand.”
“His own daughter?”
“If she had blabbed about him, Eduardo wouldn’t have considered her his daughter anymore, just a liability—and an expendable one, at that.”
“Who do you think she’ll tell?”
“Who’s available? One or more of her girlfriends, certainly. Let’s hope that none of them is acquainted with Jack Thomas, or he’ll know before breakfast. In which case, you might feel more comfortable in another country, while you think about where to hide for the rest of either your life or his.”
“You think Jack Thomas is still connected?”
“He never stopped being connected; I’ve known that for years, but I could never prove it.”
Dino paid the bill in hundreds from his Tiffany bag, and they left the restaurant. On the sidewalk, before they got into their respective cars, Dino said, “I’ll call D.A. Ken Burrows tonight and tell him to expect you in his office tomorrow morning. What time do you want to show up?”
“Ten o’clock,” Stone said, then they both were driven away.
“Did your friend enjoy his gift?” Fred asked.
“You might say that,” Stone replied.
8
Dino got home without using his car’s flashing lights, and he went upstairs to his apartment. He checked on Viv and found her snoring softly. He knew it was a bad idea to wake her, so he undressed, got into his pajamas, went into his study, and called the district attorney.
“Ken Burrows,” a sleepy voice responded.
“Ken, it’s Dino Bacchetti. I’m sorry to call at this hour, but it’s important.”
There were sounds of the man rearranging himself in bed. “All right, Dino, what is it?” He was fully awake now.
“You’re acquainted with my old partner on the NYPD, Stone Barrington?”
“Sure.”
“Stone is going to turn up at your office at ten o’clock tomorrow morning with something you should see. Are you going to be available at that time?”
“I’ve got a staff meeting at ten-thirty, but I can give him a few minutes, if you think I should.”
“I think you should. He’s told me about a file that has come into his possession that, if it becomes public, might blow the lids off the lives of some important people.”
“Who are these people?”
“I haven’t seen the file, but I can tell you that you are going to want to hold this information as closely as possible, perhaps even keep it from your staff, and especially from anyone with an Italian name.”
“So, we’re talking Mafia stuff?”
“Yes, but I believe it goes way beyond that.”
“Come on, Dino, tell me all of it.”
“I won’t, for two reasons. One, you wouldn’t get any sleep tonight—God knows, I won’t. And two, you should have the file in hand when you learn about this. You may want to keep it entirely to yourself, but that will be up to you.”
“All right, Dino, I’ll see Barrington, and I’ll listen to him and I’ll read his file, then I’ll call you and talk about how to proceed.”
“Ken, you may not want to proceed. If I don’t hear from you on the subject, I’ll know why, and I’ll feel better about it. Good night.”
“Good night, Dino.” Both men hung up.
* * *
• • •
STONE GOT READY for bed, then looked at his clock. It wasn’t all that late, and it was three hours earlier in L.A. He picked up the phone and called Ben Bacchetti.
“This is Ben.”
“Ben, it’s Stone. How are you?”
“I’m just terrific, Stone, and you?”
“Very well, thanks. Your father asked me to call you and give you some good news.”
“About Granddad’s Swiss bank account?”
“Well, yes.”
“Mom called me two hours ago about what you found in Granddad’s safe,” Ben said.
“Ah. Well, congratulations. What are you going to do with your newfound wealth?”
“I’ve been thinking about that all evening,” Ben replied. “I’m going to start buying shares in Centurion Studios and keep on buying until I have the controlling interest. Peter and I, of course. I’ve already talked to him about it. He’s going to call you in the morning and ask if he can use funds from his trust in the effort.”
“I’ll certainly agree to that,” Stone said, “and if you need more, I’d be happy to make a personal investment.”
“Thank you for that, Stone. We may well need it. I know we have a good coalition of shareholders, but that can always change: people die or lose interest. I’d like the real authority to rest in mine and Peter’s hands.”
“So would I,” Stone said. “Did your mother talk at all about the other contents of Eduardo’s safe?”
“She said there was three million in cash, which sort of blew my mind, and some old papers, that’s all.”
“I think we can clear up the tax hurdles in the next week or two, then I’ll be able to write you a very nice check.”
“I’ll look forward to that,” Ben said.
“I’ll wait for Peter’s call in the morning.”
“Good night, then.”
“Good night.” Stone hung up and went to bed.
* * *
• • •
THE FOLLOWING MORNING Stone went down to his office early and opened Eduardo’s safe. He took the Tommassini file from the safe, went to the Xerox machine, made six copies, numbered them, bound them, then put the copies in the Excelsior, retaining the original and putting it into his briefcase.
* * *
• • •
FRED WAS AT THE CURB with the Bentley at nine-thirty. They were halfway downtown when Stone’s cell phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Stone, it’s Mary Ann.”
“Good morning, Mary Ann,” Stone replied.
“I’m calling ab
out the files we found in Papa’s safe.”
“Yes?”
“I want them, especially the one we talked about in some detail.”
“Why do you want them, Mary Ann?”
“Because they could cause a lot of trouble, and I want them safe.”
“Safe, or destroyed?”
“Never mind, I just want them.”
“Mary Ann, I want to be very clear with you. You may not have the files—not at this time, anyway. There are legal ramifications, and I must follow the law in this.”
“What ‘legal ramifications’?”
“I won’t go into that, but as executor of your father’s estate, I have to be very careful with how this is handled.”
“But . . .”
“Mary Ann, have you told anyone—anyone at all—about the contents of those files?”
“Why, of course not,” she sputtered. “Why on earth would you ask me that?”
“You may remember that I directed you not to speak with anyone about those files. If you’ve ignored that directive, I need to know it right now.”
“Well, I . . . I certainly haven’t mentioned it to anyone whose discretion I don’t have the utmost confidence in.”
“To whom, exactly, have you spoken about this?”
“It would be a breach of confidence for me to tell you that.”
“It was a breach of confidence for you to tell that person or persons.”
“I just can’t tell you.”
“Mary Ann, you may have placed yourself in an untenable position by telling someone else about those files. Now the only way I can protect you is to know whom you told and what you told.”
Long silence. “Well . . . all right, I told my friend Heather about them.”
“Who else?”
“No one else, I swear to God.”
“And what is Heather’s last name?” Stone asked.
“Stone, please don’t make me . . .”
“Answer me, Mary Ann!”
“I’m not accustomed to being spoken to that way,” she huffed.
“All right,” Stone said gently. “Please tell me Heather’s last name.”
Another long silence. “Thomas,” she said finally.
Stone stopped himself from groaning. “Any relation?” he asked.
“She’s Jack’s ex-wife,” Mary Ann said. “Hank’s stepmother.”
“Please give me her cell phone number,” Stone said.
“You’re not going to call her!”
“I have to speak to her,” Stone said, “for her own safety.”
Mary Ann gave him the number. “Please don’t be unkind to Heather,” she said. “She’s a rather delicate person.”
“I won’t be unkind to her, Mary Ann,” Stone said. “I’ll speak to you later, after I’ve spoken to her. For God’s sake, and for your own, don’t say another word to anybody about this. And please don’t call Heather until after I’ve spoken to her.”
“Goodbye,” Mary Ann said, then hung up.
Now, Stone thought, I’ve got to handle a woman I don’t know who is “delicate.” He was very much afraid that “delicate” meant “unstable.”
The car stopped. “We’ve arrived, sir,” Fred said. “Sorry about the traffic.”
Stone looked at his watch: five minutes before ten. He’d have to call Heather Thomas later.
9
Stone went through the metal detector at the entrance to the building and allowed his briefcase to be looked through. He took the elevator to the top floor and gave his name to the woman at the reception desk. She made a call, then said, “You may go in.”
Stone walked into the district attorney’s large, paneled office, and Ken Burrows rose to greet him. “I’ve got a ten-thirty meeting, Stone,” he said, “so sit down, and let’s get right to it.”
Stone took a seat and set down his briefcase beside him. “Can anyone hear us?” he asked.
“Do you mean, do I have a recording system in this office?”
“Can anyone hear us, any way at all?”
“No,” Burrows replied.
“I am the executor of the estate of Eduardo Bianchi,” Stone said.
“I knew him,” Burrows replied. “He and my father were close.”
“A couple of days ago,” Stone said, “Eduardo’s daughter, Mary Ann—”
“Dino Bacchetti’s ex-wife?”
“Correct. Mary Ann called me and told me that she had found a concealed safe in Eduardo’s study, but she couldn’t find the combination. She asked if I knew someone who knew a safecracker.”
“And do you know such a person?”
“I know a person who knows a person who worked on the building of this particular safe, which is very hard to open. The two of them and I drove out to the Bianchi estate and looked at the safe. The elderly gentleman we took along was able to open it. Inside we found three million dollars in cash, which will be reported on the final estate tax return. There were some other records that I retained for the estate, and on the bottom shelf we found twelve files, or dossiers. Each outlines the criminal activities of a prominent mafioso, eleven of whom are now dead.”
“And the twelfth?”
Stone picked up his briefcase, opened it, and handed Burrows the Tommassini file.
Burrows weighed it in his hands and began to leaf through it. “Who is Enrico Tommassini?” he asked. “I’ve never heard the name.”
“Many years ago, the family name was anglicized to Thomas. This file concerns Enrico, now named Henry, and his son, Gianni, now named John and called Jack by everyone.”
“Not H. Thomas & Son,” Burrows said, frowning.
“Yes. The file contains what amounts to an affidavit from Eduardo Bianchi, who witnessed the son being assigned to commit the assassinations of half a dozen people, who were, in fact, murdered. I have no reason to doubt Eduardo’s veracity. There are names and dates.”
Burrows closed the file and placed it on his desk. “And what do you expect me to do about this?”
“I have no expectations in that regard,” Stone replied. “I have a duty as an officer of the court to report the contents of that file to the proper authorities, and I have just done so. You may do with the file as you wish.” He took a receipt from his briefcase and handed it to Burrows, who signed it without comment and returned it to him.
“Ken, you might also find the other eleven files of interest. I haven’t read them through, but there could be evidence connecting others to various criminal acts—some of them, no doubt, beyond the statute of limitations. But murder has no statute of limitations. If you’d like to see them, please let me know and I will turn them over.” He closed his briefcase and stood. “Now, Ken, if you will excuse me, I’ll leave you to your reading.”
“Thank you for coming to see me,” Burrows said.
As Stone was leaving the office he heard Burrows pick up his phone. “Cancel my ten-thirty meeting and reschedule,” he said.
* * *
• • •
STONE WAS NEARLY HOME when his son, Peter, called. “Good morning, Dad.”
“Good morning, Peter. Are you well?”
“Very well. Ben has told me about his inheritance and his intentions of buying up shares in Centurion. As my trustee, would you be amenable to my using funds from my trust to help us buy those shares?”
“I would be happy to do that. And I’ve told Ben that if he needs further investment I would like to participate.”
“That’s good news.”
They chatted a bit longer, then said goodbye.
* * *
• • •
STONE RETURNED to his office and found Heather Thomas’s cell number. He tood a deep breath and exhaled, then dialed the number.
“Hello?” a woman said.
/> “Mrs. Thomas?”
“Speaking.”
“My name is Stone Barrington. I am the executor of Eduardo Bianchi’s estate and a friend of his daughter, Mary Ann Bacchetti.”
“I know who you are, Mr. Barrington, and I think I know why you’re calling. You want me to keep my mouth shut about what Mary Ann told me.”
“I want more than that, Mrs. Thomas,” Stone said. “I want you to forget that Mary Ann ever told you what she did.”
“What she did, Mr. Barrington, was give me grounds to reopen my divorce case and to greatly enhance the terms of my settlement.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that,” Stone said. “Have you consulted your divorce attorney yet?”
“I was about to call him when you called.”
“I must tell you that if you reveal the details of what Mary Ann told you, your attorney will be ethically bound to report them to law enforcement. Can you imagine what a chain of events that would set off?”
“I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. Barrington.”
“Let me be blunt, Mrs. Thomas. If the information you have passes to another person, then that person’s life and yours will be in danger.”
“Are you suggesting that my former husband would murder me?”
“No. I’m quite sure he would pass that work to another person or persons, and then arrange to be out of town when your body is discovered.”
“I cannot believe that he would behave in that fashion.”
“Think about it, Mrs. Thomas. You must know your ex-husband well. Do you believe that he would allow anyone to live who learned that he has already committed at least half a dozen murders? Do you think the content of his character includes a forgiving nature?”
“Well . . .”
“And have you considered the effect on your stepson’s political career?”
The woman began to sob.
“Mrs. Thomas . . .”
“No, you shut up.”
“Please tell me what your intentions are.”
She seemed to get control of her emotions. “I would never do anything that might harm Hank’s standing in Congress.”
