A Delicate Touch

by Stuart Woods

“A pro isn’t going to have left any prints,” Dino said.

  “Maybe he left something—anything—that might be of use.”

  Dino’s dinner arrived, and he dug in. “Huey, are you considering investing with Charley Fox?” he asked.

  “I am,” Huey replied.

  “You won’t regret it,” Dino said.

  “That’s what I hear. Can anybody recommend an architect?” Huey asked.

  Nobody spoke for a moment, then Sol did. “Fella at the home has a great-grandson just got certified,” he said. “He’s been doing his apprenticeship at a big-time firm uptown, but now he’s opening up on his own.”

  “I’d love to meet him,” Huey said.

  “Get you the number tomorrow.”

  Huey gave him his card. “I’m easy to reach.”

  “I’ll look into an Excelsior for you, too.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Fink.”

  “Sol. You want to make me feel old?”

  Huey laughed. “Thank you, Sol.”

  * * *

  • • •

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING a detective arrived with a small satchel and introduced himself to Stone. “I’m Joe Carney,” he said. “I hear you’ve had a visit.”

  “Come with me,” Stone said and led him into the storage room. Carney let out a low whistle. “An Excelsior. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Only the second one I’ve ever seen.”

  “I hear they’re rare,” Stone said.

  “Don’t tell me your yegg got into that without nitro.”

  “He did not. He just got the mechanism locked up by entering the wrong combination twice.”

  “How do you know that?” Carney asked.

  “I had an expert in.”

  “Who the hell is an expert in Excelsiors?”

  “A very old man who used to help build them in his youth.”

  “I’d like to meet him.”

  “Maybe,” Stone said, “we’ll see.”

  Carney had a good look at the safe and dusted for prints. “A woman’s been here,” he said.

  “My secretary, Joan. You met her on the way in.”

  “Also, a man.” He examined Stone’s left index finger. “That was you.”

  “Nobody else?”

  “Pros don’t leave prints.” Carney sniffed the air. “You smoke?”

  “No. Nobody here does.”

  “Where’s the nearest outside door?” the cop asked.

  “Follow me,” Stone said and led him out of the storeroom, through his small gym and the kitchen, to the back door.

  Carney opened it and stepped out onto the patio. He looked around, then climbed two steps into the common garden and stopped. He reached into an inside pocket and produced an evidence bag, then came up with a pair of tweezers.

  Stone watched as he bent over, picked up a cigarette butt, and dropped it into the bag. “Maybe he wasn’t as careful as I thought,” Carney said.

  52

  It was late afternoon when Stone got a call from Detective Carney.

  “We got a DNA hit on the cigarette butt,” he said.

  “Who’s the guy?” Stone asked.

  “It isn’t a guy,” Carney replied.

  “A woman?”

  “Yep. Her name is Ruth O’Donnell. We wouldn’t have got a hit at all, if she hadn’t had an altercation with a cop at a party when she was a teenager—that got her DNA on record. She doesn’t have an arrest record, though. She’s been clean since the party thing.”

  “Have you ever known a yegg who was female?” Stone asked.

  “Once, when I was a rookie. The lady picked up some skills from her boyfriend, but she wasn’t a threat to safe making.”

  “Do you have an address for Ms. O’Donnell?”

  “Nope. I remember a yegg named Barry O’Donnell, who was real good, but he’s been dead for four or five years.”

  “Did he have a daughter?”

  “No kids at all. A confirmed bachelor, Barry was.”

  “So what’s your next move?”

  “I don’t have one,” Carney said. “I spoke to my supervisor about it, and he pointed out that, even if we found her, we don’t have a case, since we found the cigarette butt outside your house. She could say she was just looking at the flowers.”

  “She’d need a key to get into the gardens from the street.”

  “If she can open a safe, she can open a garden gate,” Carney said. “At least there’s no harm done. Want some advice?”

  “Sure.”

  “Arm your security system every night.”

  “Thanks, I’m sometimes lax about that.” He thanked the man again and hung up.

  * * *

  • • •

  HUEY HOROWITZ was standing in his new loft, talking to the architect Sol Fink had recommended. He liked the man and his ideas. His phone rang, and he answered. “This is Huey.”

  “Good evening, this is Sol Fink,” the caller said.

  “Hello, Sol. I’m standing here talking to Will Mather, the architect you recommended. We seem to be of like mind.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Sol said. “While he’s there, you better have him take a look at the floors.”

  “The floors? Why?”

  “Because I found you an Excelsior, and it weighs six hundred pounds.”

  “That’s great news, Sol. I’ll mention it to Will.”

  “Fella wants five grand for the safe. A new one would cost ten times that, if it were available. Fella says it’s in fine condition and working order. I remember the safe from when I used to service it.”

  “Tell him I’ll give him a check on delivery,” Huey said.

  “He wants cash, and you’ll have to hire a mover to pick it up and get it down to you. I’ll e-mail you the owner’s name and number.”

  “Thanks, Sol,” Huey said.

  Sol hung up.

  “Will,” Huey said, “we’ve got to find a spot that will support a six-hundred-pound safe.”

  They walked around the rooms, then Will stopped. “I can build you a closet right over there that will hold your safe, if you’ll give me the dimensions. It’s in a corner, so the floor will hold it.”

  Huey’s iPhone made a chiming noise, and he looked at the screen. “Holy shit,” he said. “Will, do you have a car?”

  “No,” Will said, “I came on my motorcycle.”

  “Great. Can you give me a lift uptown?”

  “Sure.”

  Huey ran for the street.

  * * *

  • • •

  STONE WAS FINISHING UP for the day when Huey burst into his office. “They’re moving money!” he yelled and ran for the elevator, with Stone close behind.

  Huey opened the bedroom door and sat himself down before the monitors. “Look at that,” he said, pointing to a graph on one of the screens. “They’re wiring funds every eight to twelve minutes, and the sums are all just under a quarter of a million dollars. I guess that’s the level that might trigger alarms at the central bank.”

  “What are you going to do about it?” Stone asked.

  “I might be able to interrupt what they’re doing,” Huey said, “but then they’d know they’ve been hacked. I think it’s better to wait until they stop, then download their software to our computer.”

  “When will that be?” Stone asked.

  “Probably at whatever closing time is, wherever the central bank is operating from. We’ll just have to wait. These transfers are going all over the world, to dozens of banks.”

  Stone got out his phone and called Jamie Cox.

  “We still on for dinner?” she asked.

  “Sure we are, but I have news.”

  “I love news.”

  “The semi-supercomputer has come to life and is transferring funds
to accounts all over the world.”

  “Then we’ve got the bastards!”

  “Not yet we haven’t. We have to wait until they stop for the day, so Huey can download their software without getting caught at it.”

  Huey looked over his shoulder. “We might get caught at it anyway,” he said. “We don’t know what protections might be in their software.”

  “I heard that,” Jamie said. “I’d better go tell Jeremy and Scott.”

  “Okay, but don’t bring them over here,” Stone said. “We could be waiting for hours, and I don’t want them clogging up my house unnecessarily.”

  “All right. I’ll tell them to wait for our call, but I’ll be there in an hour; I have to finish a piece.”

  “We’re in the third-floor bedroom,” Stone said, then hung up. He sat down on the bed and waited. “It’s five o’clock on the east coast of North America,” he said, checking his watch.

  “If the bank is in Switzerland, it’ll be midnight there soon, and that could be closing time.”

  “Let’s see,” Stone said.

  They had been waiting for another half hour when the door opened, and Trixie came in. She threw some things onto the bed and ran for the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

  Stone leaned in close to Huey. “Huey, is Trixie your girlfriend’s given name?”

  “No, it’s Ruth. Ruth O’Donnell,” Huey replied, “but only her mother calls her Ruth. She’s been Trixie forever.”

  “Don’t let her know what we’re doing,” Stone said, “and get rid of her if you can think of a way without tipping her off.”

  Huey turned and looked at Stone. “What’s going on?”

  “Trust me,” Stone said.

  53

  Huey’s eyes were fixed on the screen, but he seemed to be thinking. Trixie was still in the bathroom. “What’s going on?” he whispered to Stone.

  “Trixie is the yegg,” Stone replied.

  “What?”

  “And she’s working for the opposition.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Did you give her a key to the house?”

  “I loaned her mine.”

  “Get it back, and get rid of her.”

  Trixie came out of the bathroom and headed for the bed.

  “Hold it, babe,” Huey said, looking up from his monitor.

  “Is something happening?” she asked.

  “No, I’m just running tests on some software I wrote for a client. I could be at this all night, so you might as well go home.”

  “You’re trying to get rid of me?” she asked.

  “I am getting rid of you, but reluctantly. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Well,” she said, “if that’s what you want.”

  “And I need my key back,” Huey said. “I may have to deliver the disks to my client tonight.”

  She fumbled in her bag, came up with a bunch of keys, and tossed them to him. “There you go,” she said. She went back into the bathroom and slammed the door.

  “Quite a lot of keys she carries,” Stone said, extracting his own from the key ring.

  “She says they’re for self-defense,” Huey said.

  Trixie came out of the john, grabbed her purse, and stomped out of the room. They heard the elevator door open.

  “Now,” Huey said, “tell me what that was all about.”

  “An NYPD detective, a safe specialist, came in today and inspected the case. Does Trixie smoke?”

  “Yes, and it drives me crazy.”

  “The detective smelled smoke. He went out the back door and found a butt, and sent it in for DNA testing. Ruth O’Donnell’s name popped up. Does she have a relative named Barry O’Donnell?”

  “Her uncle, father’s brother. He died in prison a few years ago.”

  “Not before teaching her something about safes. She wasn’t good enough at it to open the Excelsior, though.”

  “That’s good to know because Sol found me one. It’s being delivered tomorrow. What’s Trixie’s connection to the Thomases?”

  “I don’t know,” Stone said. “Maybe she picks up a few bucks safecracking on the side.”

  “Well, she won’t be back, I can promise you that. I’m glad she hasn’t seen my new loft, either. Sol found me an architect, and he’s already at work on plans for the remodel.”

  “What’s that?” Stone asked, pointing at the computer. The images had stopped moving.

  “They’re done,” Huey said, typing furiously.

  “Are you copying their software?”

  “No, I’m trying to reverse their transfers before they shut down. There,” he said, “that’s a day’s work undone. Now I’ll copy the software.” He went back to typing. Finally he sat back. “There.”

  “Won’t they miss it?” Stone asked.

  “I didn’t steal it, just copied it. It’s still on their computer, but I’ve made a couple of changes that will make it work erratically.”

  “Won’t they notice?”

  “Sure, they’ll notice, but they won’t know why it’s happening. They’ll think it’s a bug in their code. They will notice that the transfers didn’t go through. When they try to move the money again, it won’t be there. That’ll drive them crazy.”

  “They’re going to know it’s you, Huey.”

  “How?”

  “Trixie will tell them what you’ve been doing.”

  “I’ve never explained it to her,” Huey replied.

  “Can you get her on the phone?” Stone asked.

  “If she picks up,” Huey said.

  “Then do it. I want to talk to her.”

  Huey pressed a speed-dial button, waited for her to answer, then handed Stone the phone.

  “Trixie?”

  “Who’s this?”

  “It’s Stone Barrington. I want you to know that the police know you tried to open my safe last night.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “They found your DNA. I guess Uncle Barry didn’t teach you about that.”

  “You’re nuts.”

  “If you tell anybody anything about my house or about Huey or me, I can have you in jail the same day.”

  “You don’t have anything on me.”

  “We have your DNA, and that’s all we need. By the time the courts get through with you, you’ll be broke from the lawyers’ fees and very likely in prison.”

  “You can’t do that to me.”

  “You’ve already done it to yourself, and I want some answers from you right now.”

  “What answers?”

  “Who hired you to open the Excelsior?”

  “Nobody.”

  “You think they’re going to get you out of the hole you’re in? Do you trust them that much?”

  Long silence.

  “A man named Damien. I don’t know his first name.”

  “How did he get your name?”

  “From a friend of Uncle Barry’s.”

  “Have you done any work for Damien before?”

  “No.”

  “Then tell him you failed to open the safe, which is the case.”

  “I’ve already told him that.”

  “What did you tell him about Huey?”

  “Huey? Why would I tell them about him?”

  “I’m just asking, and I want the truth.”

  “His name never came up.”

  “See that it doesn’t. Now, you’ll be all right if you keep your mouth shut and stop breaking into people’s houses. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  Huey leaned into the phone. “And I won’t be calling you again,” he said. He took the phone from Stone and ended the call. “You think that’ll work?”

  “Probably.”

/>   “Who’s this guy Damien?”

  “He’s a relative of the Thomases, works for them. Have you heard the name before?”

  “No.”

  “Then you’d best forget it. If you hear it again, from anybody, I want to know about it.”

  “Sure, Stone.”

  Jamie walked into the room. “What’s going on?”

  Stone brought her up to date.

  54

  Stone and Huey sat in Stone’s office with Jamie, Jeremy, and Scott from the Times, who had brought a lawyer with them.

  “Bruce is from our legal department,” Jeremy said. “His specialty is digital.”

  “Okay,” Stone said. “Huey, tell everybody where we are.”

  Huey talked them through what he had done with his software, then sat back, expecting approval.

  “Wait a minute,” Bruce said, “did you say you caused the withdrawals they made from the central bank to be returned?”

  “That’s right,” Huey said. “They transferred more than forty million dollars to their own accounts, and my alterations to their software caused them to be returned.”

  “Then the Times can’t run the story,” Bruce said.

  “Why the hell not?” Jamie demanded.

  “Because we have no evidence of what they did. Huey wiped it out—with the best of motives, of course—but the evidence is no longer there.”

  “Huey,” Scott said, “did you copy all the transactions?”

  “Yes, but Bruce is right, I’m afraid,” Huey said ruefully. “I wiped out our evidence.”

  “But they can do it all again, can’t they?”

  “It’s going to be a lot harder for them because of some alterations I made in their code.”

  “Then how are we going to get publishable evidence of what they’ve done?”

  “I’ll have to catch them making a new batch of transfers, which they’ll do, as soon as they learn they have zero balances in the receiving accounts. But their process is going to be very slow.”

  “How much are they transferring at a time?”

  “Just under a quarter of a million dollars per account. I think that’s because the central bank has alarms that go off when somebody transfers more than that amount.”