His subject sat down at the table, lifted his glass, took a sip and set the glass down.
Sutherland thumbed down the safety and squeezed off the round.
His subject took the bullet in his left temple, spraying blood and gore, and went down. Not even his wineglass was disturbed. Sutherland put the rifle on safety and made his way back to the car, where he unloaded and disassembled the rifl e and returned it to the duffel.
Half an hour later he drove into the darkened airport and parked the car where he had found it. He took a bottle of Windex and a cloth from his tool bag and wiped down every surface he might have touched, then shook out the fl oor mat to remove any dirt he might have tracked into the car. He took his tools and duffel and walked back to his own airplane.
EAR LY THE F O L L O W IN G morning, in the soft, green light of the predawn, Sutherland set down his airplane on the Everglades strip, taxied to the ramada, refueled the airplane, then got into the Jeep Wrangler he kept at the little house and drove home to Jupiter and his wife.
Later that day, an unmarked envelope containing a large sum of cash was left inside the front screen door of his house. 18 6
41
STO N E WA S PA C K I N G his bags after a late breakfast when his cell phone buzzed. “Hello?”
“It’s Eggers.”
“Morning, Bill. I’m just packing for the return trip.”
“Unpack,” Eggers said. “You’re back on my dime.”
“What’s up?”
“Warren Keating’s attorney just called me. Early this morning, his housekeeper arrived and found him dead in his kitchen, shot in the head.”
“Suicide?”
“The lawyer didn’t have any other details.”
“This just gets weirder and weirder,” Stone said.
“Yes, it does. I want to know what’s going on, and I want you to find out for me. Take another week if you need to.”
“At my usual hourly rate?”
“I’ll spring for a generous flat rate. We’ll talk it over when you get home.”
“Okay, Bill. I’ll be in touch.” Stone hung up and walked out onto 18 7
S t u a r t W o o d s
the front porch, where Dino was drinking a second cup of coffee.
“Ready for the latest?” Stone asked.
“Always.”
“Warren Keating has died from a gunshot to the head.”
“His own or somebody else’s?”
“That’s what I want you to find out. Call your buddy on the Connecticut State Police.”
Dino dialed the number and pressed the speaker phone button.
“Robbery Homicide, Lieutenant Dan Hotchkiss.”
“Dan, it’s Dino.”