New York Dead by Stuart Woods Page B

Dino agreed. “I never knew of nobody going up the pipe like this broad. It’s spooky.”
    “I’ll call the chief this morning; he’ll talk to the mayor. I’ll tell’em we need more time.”
    “We do,” Stone said.
    “Go to it.” Leary put his feet on his desk and picked up the telephone.
    Stone followed Dino out of Leary’s office. “You call Judge O’Neal’s secretary for an appointment. I’ve got a call to make.” He sat down at his desk, dug out Cary’s card, and called her direct line. He got her on the first ring.
    “Cary Hilliard.”
    “Morning.”
    “Well, good morning to you!” She was laughing.
    “How are you?”
    Her voice moved nearer the phone, and she whispered. “I’m sore as hell, and I feel great!”
    “Same here”—Stone laughed—“but I’m not sure great describes it; it’s somewhere above that.”
    “I’m free this evening,” she said.
    “No you’re not; you’ve got a dinner date.”
    “I’ll be done here by seven forty-five. Have you been to the Tribeca Grill?”
    “Is that De Niro’s new place?”
    “That’s it. Shall I book us a table?”
    “Come to my house first, for a drink.”
    “You’re on. I’ll book for nine o’clock. See you at eight.”
    “You betcha.”
    When Stone hung up, Dino was looking at him.
    “You got laid, didn’t you?”
    “What are you talking about?” Stone dissembled.
    “I can tell.” Dino batted his eyes rapidly. “You’re just glowing all over.”

    “Jesus Christ! Do I have to take this shit from my own partner?”
    “You betcha,” Dino said, imitating Stone.
    “What about Judge O’Neal?”
    “Half an hour.”
    “What are we going to do for some help with the search?” Stone asked. “Nobody here.”
    “Well, shit,” Dino replied, “if you and me between us can’t find a corpse in a funeral parlor, we ought to turn in our papers.”
    Stone led the way out. “She’s still alive, Dino. I can feel it.”
    “When I can feel her , I’ll believe it,” Dino called after him, hustling to keep up.
     
    Judge O’Neal was youngish, blonde, and extremely good-looking. She sat in her high-backed, leather chair, her robes thrown open and her legs crossed, and contemplated Stone.
    Stone contemplated right back. The woman had been wearing an engagement ring during the year since he had first come across her, or he would have asked her out.
    “The letters are enough for me,” O’Neal said, “even if he doesn’t talk dirty. A thousand letters is weird enough for a warrant. Nobody’s going to overrule.”
    “I shouldn’t think so,” Stone said. “By the way, we’ve included his place of work in the warrant.”
    “Off the record, Detective, for my own curiosity, what do you think happened to this woman?”
    “Off the record, Judge, I am completely baffled, but I think she may still be alive.”
    O’Neal’s eyebrows went up. “Get serious.”
    Stone explained his terminal velocity theory.
    O’Neal shook her head vigorously, and the blonde hairswirled around her shoulders. “ That ,” she said, “is the wildest theory I ever heard.”
    “It may not be plausible, but it’s possible.”
    Judge O’Neal uncrossed her legs and leaned on her desk, resting her chin in her hand. “I’ve got a hundred bucks says she’s stone dead—you should excuse the expression.”
    Stone laughed. “I’ll take your bet, but the loser buys dinner.”
    O’Neal pursed her red lips for a moment, then smiled. “You’re on,” she said, signing the warrant.
     
    In the car, Dino looked sideways at Stone while dodging a bicycle messenger. “Jesus, Stone, why didn’t you just fuck her right there on the desk? I’d have been happy to watch.”
    “Come on, Dino.”
    “She’s got the hots for you, I’m telling you.”
    “She’s wearing an engagement ring.”
    “So what the fuck? She was wearing a wedding ring, that’s maybe cause for pause, maybe. A diamond ring is an open door. Anyway, you got a dinner date, just as