“Anytime. Oh, and I’ll give you two to one that when they find Bats’s head, there’ll be a bullet in it.” They hung up.

• • •

Stone called Dino.

“Hey.”

“Are your people working the Buono murder with Dan Sparks?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve got a suspect for you.”

“I accept free gifts.”

“I didn’t say it was free, it’s going to cost you a couple of dinners.”

“Okay, one dinner—don’t get greedy.”

“There’s a guy named Marty Parese, who was Buono’s best friend since childhood.”

“So, your theory is that the best friend did it? Why not the butler?”

“It’s not my theory, it’s Gino Buono’s theory—Bats’s father.”

“Yeah? Are you and Gino best buddies these days?”

“I didn’t say he told me.”

“So this is what you lawyers call hearsay?”

“In case you didn’t know, Dino, hearsay works when you’re investigating a murder, just not in a courtroom.”

“You’re just trying to get Hank out of this, aren’t you?”

“I don’t represent Hank, Herb Fisher does.”

“I wonder how that happened.”

“I recommended him, he’s good.”

“Yeah, he is, I guess.”

“Somebody I know thinks that Bats and Marty were in the kidnapping together, and that when I agreed to give Bats the money, Marty came running, but when he got to the cottage both Hank and the money were gone. After that, there was a disagreement.”

“I can imagine,” Dino said.

“There’s a theory about Bats’s head, too.”

“I can’t wait to hear it.”

“Marty put one into Bats’s head, then remembered he’d used his favorite gun, so he took off the head because he didn’t want anybody to find the bullet.”

“Great. That explains all the knife wounds in Bats’s back.”

“Marty didn’t want it to look like a shooting.”

“Anything else?”

“That’s about it.”

“Okay, it’s good for a dinner, but it’s not that good, so you’d better order something cheap.”

“When have you known me to order something cheap?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

They both hung up.

Dino called the lead detective on the Buono case.

“Yeah, Chief?”

“You ever heard of a Marty Parese?”

“Yeah, he and Buono were partners in the chop shop. Allegedly.”

“There’s a theory—this is about fourth-hand by now—that Parese and Buono were partners in the kidnapping, too, and when Parese got to the lake cottage and found Buono there but without the money or the girl, he put one in his head and cut off the head so we couldn’t make a ballistics match. What do you think?”

“It does make a weird kind of sense,” the detective said. “I mean, the medical examiner says the knife wounds in Buono’s back were postmortem. We’ll pick up Parese and have a chat with him.”

“Hey, that’s a good idea,” Dino said. “And Dan Sparks might like to have somebody there when you question him.”

“Sure, Chief.”

“Have a good time.” Dino hung up.

48

Joan buzzed. “Mike Freeman on one.”

“Did his people pick up the money?”

“Half an hour ago.”

Stone pressed the button. “Hey, Mike.”

“We have a problem with your money, Stone.”

Stone’s stomach lurched. “What is it, Mike?”

“Your bank won’t take it.”

“That doesn’t sound like my bank, turning down a five-million-dollar deposit.”

“The manager said he’d call you. Meanwhile, the truck is on its way back to your house, so be prepared to receive it. I’ll be happy to send the truck back to you when you’ve sorted out the problem.”

“Thanks for the call, Mike.” Stone hung up and buzzed Joan. “The two bags of money are on their way back to us, so be ready to get them inside fast.”

“What’s going on?”

“My bank manager is going to call.”

“He’s on the other line.”

Stone pressed line two. “This is Stone Barrington.”

“Mr. Barrington, this is Charles Crockwell, your bank manager.”

“Good morning, Mr. Crockwell. What’s the problem?”

“Good morning. The problem is, we can’t accept that kind of unsorted cash deposit.”

“I don’t understand, you cashed my check, why won’t you take it back?”

“The problem is, you asked for the sum in tens and twenties, which we were happy to arrange, but then you asked us to unband everything and mix it up.”

“That’s right, I did.”

“Well, we’d have to close down the branch and put everybody to work sorting it in order to be able to accept the deposit. I don’t think you realize how difficult that would be.”

“I thought you folks had machines that did that work.”

“We have such a machine, but it’s gone back to the manufacturer for repairs. The only place I know that might do that is the Federal Reserve Bank of New York, and their only customers are banks.”

“Mr. Crockwell, I’m a pretty good customer of your bank, am I not?”

“Mr. Barrington, you are an extremely good customer, and we value your trust in us, but I’m telling you that what you’re asking is beyond our ability to accomplish at this time, and our counter and sorter won’t be back for another ten days, I’m told.”

“What do you suggest I do?”

“Well, if you know a couple of dozen people that you would trust with five million dollars in small bills, invite them over and ask them to help you sort it. You could make a sort of party of it.”

“That’s an amusing suggestion, Mr. Crockwell.”

“I don’t mean to make light of the situation. I suppose you could call the chairman of the board. He could convene a board meeting, and they could count it, but I should mention that there are a couple of people on that board that I wouldn’t trust with a large sum of loose cash.”

“Thank you, Mr. Crockwell,” Stone said, and hung up. “Joan!” he screamed.

Joan came running and entered the office with her trusty .45 in her hand. “What?”

“You don’t need to be armed.”

“All right, then, what is it?”

The doorbell rang.

“That’s gotta be your cash,” she said, then left the room. She came back a moment later with two men and a steel cart that barely squeezed through the door. “Right over there,” she said, pointing at the sofa. The two men hefted the leaf bags and a cardboard box onto the sofa, Joan inspected the seals, approved and signed a receipt, and the two men left. “Now what?” she asked.

“What’s in the cardboard box?” Stone asked.

Joan read the label. “Cash-binding bands.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Stone said.

“What’s the problem?”

“The bank won’t take the money unless it’s sorted into tens and twenties and banded.”

“Won’t the bank do it?”

“They don’t have the people, and their equipment is broken.”

“Who’s going to do it, then?” she asked.

“That’s the problem.”

She looked at the bags. “Let me know when you figure it out,” she said, then went back to her office.

Stone sat, staring at the bags. Joan buzzed. “Hank is on line one.”

Stone picked up the phone. “Hi.”

“You sound a bit disconsolate,” she said. “Something wrong?”

“The bank won’t take the money back.”

“The five million?”

“Yes. It has to be sorted and banded or they won’t take it back. Right now, the two bags are sitting on my office sofa.”

Hank began to laugh. “You’re the only person I know who could possibly have this problem.”

“I’m the only person you know with five million dollars in small bills in the house?”

“I can’t think of another soul. You want to have dinner tonight?”

“Okay.”

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic about it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Where should I meet you?”

“Come here for a drink, say seven?”

“How do I dress?”

“Let’s keep it in the neighborhood—how about the Four Seasons?”

“You talked me into it. I’ll see you at seven.” She hung up.

Joan came into the office holding an office supply catalog. “Here’s a machine that could solve your problem,” she said, handing him the catalog.