“He is unwilling to separate any fingers from the corpse.”
Stone picked up Sam’s iPhone, which had been charging next to his bed, and handed it to Dino. “Then take this down to the morgue and find a finger that works without amputating it. You know how it works—you’ve got one of these, too.”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Dino asked, shoving the phone into his pocket. “I’ll be back soon.” He stalked out of the room and down the hallway.
The young doctor walked in. “How are you feeling?” he asked Stone.
“Just great!”
“Let me do a little checkup. He began to listen to Stone’s heart and poking and prodding. “Our radiologist has pronounced your brain undamaged. You were just shaken up by the blow to the head.”
“May I get out of here?” Stone asked.
The doctor picked up his chart from the foot of the bed and began writing on it, then he signed it and returned it to its hook. “You are officially discharged,” he said. “You can get dressed while I get a wheelchair for you.”
“I don’t need a wheelchair,” Stone said.
“Hospital policy—it’s a liability thing. Don’t move without it.”
Stone got into his clothes, pocketed his phone, and sat on his bed, waiting.
Dino came back into the room. “It didn’t work,” he said. “I tried every finger. The pathologist said it was probably a body temperature thing, and Sam didn’t have any to spare. I mentioned a microwave, but the doctor nixed that. Why are you sitting on your bed? Let’s get out of here.”
“I have to wait for a wheelchair.”
“Hang on.” Dino left the room and came back half a minute later with a wheelchair. “There was one in the hall. Hop aboard.”
Stone got into the chair and was wheeled down the hall at top speed, waving at the nurses. They took the elevator to the ground floor and raced for the emergency exit. A moment later, they were cruising downtown.
“Something I should point out,” Dino said.
“What’s that?”
“We were going to charge Sam Spain with attempted murder for trying to shoot you, but of course he’s dead now.”
“So?”
“Now, since Sam is dead and you’re not, we’ve got an assistant DA who’s thinking of charging you with Sam’s murder.”
“That’s preposterous,” Stone said. “He was trying to shoot me.”
“No witnesses to that,” Dino said.
“I was taped to a chair, for God’s sake, how could I murder him?”
“By hitting him in the head with the cosh. The DA’s got the X-rays and the murder weapon.”
“Stop saying that—it wasn’t murder, it was self-defense.”
“And when the uniforms got there, you weren’t taped to the chair, and you were pointing a gun at Sam Spain.”
“Of course I was!” Stone yelled. “I cut myself loose. I didn’t know if he was playing possum, and his own gun was within his reach.”
“The EMTs said he was unconscious when they got there,” Dino said. “Look, if he charges you, I’ll testify to your good character at your preliminary hearing, but you should know I’d get cross-examined pretty thoroughly, and I can’t lie for you.”
“Who’s asking you to lie?”
“I’m just saying.”
“Where’s my briefcase?” Stone asked.
“On the floor beside you.”
“Got it.” He opened it and found the money and the transparency there.
“Anybody steal anything?”
“Nope, it’s all here.”
Dino handed him Sam’s iPhone. “You can keep working on this. Maybe Bob Cantor can get into it.”
“You remember that case recently where the FBI wanted to get into an iPhone and Apple said even they couldn’t do it?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that’s what we’re up against.”
“Just try, okay? And get Cantor to try.”
Dino dropped him at home and he entered the house through his office entrance.
“Where have you been?” Joan asked. “I’ve been calling everybody, including Dino. He didn’t call back.”
“He’s been very busy,” Stone said. “I took a shot to the head and spent the night in the hospital.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, but I haven’t had breakfast. Ask Helene to bring the usual to my desk, will you?” He went through his phone messages and found nothing very important, except one from Arthur Steele. He called the private line.
“Yes?”
“It’s Stone, no thanks to you.”
“You didn’t really expect me to hand that ape five million dollars, did you?”
“You’re willing to pay me twelve million to recover it. You could have taken it out of my end.”
“Oh, I was going to pay the money, but you didn’t call me back.”
“That’s because the guy was trying to shoot me,” Stone said.
“Well, he didn’t, did he?”
“No, because I hit him in the head. Now he’s dead, and they’re talking about charging me with his murder.”
“They wouldn’t do that,” Arthur replied.
“They should be charging you,” Stone said. “After all, you’re the one who told him to go fuck himself and made him all mad. That’s when he reached for the gun.”
“It all turned out well, didn’t it? You’re okay.”
“And Sam Spain is dead, before he could tell us who he sent the picture to.”
“He sent it to somebody?”
“Yes. It was right there within my reach. If you’d agreed to the five million, we’d have it now.”
“Stone, let’s not drag up the past.”
“It’s the very recent past!”
“I can tell you’re upset. We’ll talk about this later.” Arthur hung up.
Stone sat there fuming, until his breakfast came.
40
WHEN HE HAD FINISHED breakfast Stone called Bob Cantor.
“Now what?” Cantor asked, as if he were in a hurry.
“I’ve got a very important iPhone I’ve got to get into, but no fingerprint to open it.”
“Where’s the fingerprint?”
“In the morgue on a corpse.”
“Cold?”
“Very cold.”
“Then your only shot is the four-digit entry code that comes up when a print doesn’t work.”
“And how do I break that?”
“By entering the code.”
“The code is inside the corpse’s brain.”
“Oh. Then you’re fucked.”
“There’s no way?”
“If you could recall Steve Jobs from the great beyond, maybe he could figure it out. Apple says even they can’t do it.”
“But somebody, some little company, got the FBI into an iPhone, remember?”
“No, I don’t remember and neither does anybody else, because the FBI didn’t mention their name. Maybe the director could point you in the right direction.”
“Thanks, Bob, you’ve been a big help,” Stone said, then hung up. He plugged Sam’s phone into the charger on his desk; it was 66 percent charged. He tried turning it on, but only the keypad for entering the code came up. He tried to think: What numbers might be associated with Sam Spain?” He had no clue, of course, having met the man only twice before he hit him with the cosh.
He tried emptying his mind, which wasn’t hard, but nothing came to him. He examined Sam’s iPhone, but it was the standard thing, white in color. He got up and started pacing, his hands in his pockets, then he felt a card in his trouser pocket and fished it out.
It was Sam’s business card; the address on 125th Street was a four-digit number. He grabbed the phone, turned it on, and entered the number. Nothing. He threw the card into the trash can; he wouldn’t be needing that anymore.
Stone slumped into his chair, but something was nagging at his mind. He picked up the trash can, found the card, and turned it over. On the back was a cell phone number. He picked up Sam’s phone, turned it on, and entered the last four digits of the number.
The phone came to life.
? ? ?
DINO’S PRIVATE LINE RANG, and he picked it up. “Bacchetti.”
“It’s Stone,” he said. “I’m calling from Sam Spain’s phone.”
“You got in?” Dino asked incredulously.
“I did. His entry code was the last four digits of his cell phone number.”
“Not very secure,” Dino said.
“Thank God for that.”
“How the hell did you get his cell phone number?”
“It was on a card I found in Manolo Fernandez’s pocket.”
“Manolo, the stiff who took the dive?”
“One and the same.”