“A guy named Devlin Daltry, a sculptor, who lives at…” He looked at the paper on the bedside table and gave Cantor the address.
“You’re sure he’s the guy?”
“Yes.”
“Is he going to be arrested?”
“No. He has an alibi from two retired cops, no names.”
“You want something to happen to him?”
“Yes, but the two cops may be hanging around him as bodyguards.”
“You care what happens to them?”
“Let’s not spread this around. I’d like Daltry found alone and pain inflicted upon him, but not anything even nearly like death.”
“Any message you want delivered?”
“The pain will be the message. Oh, and I want his left wrist broken.”
“That’s an odd request.”
“It’s what he did to me.”
“I know somebody who can handle this discreetly.”
“I thought you would.”
“When?”
“I’ll be at Elaine’s this evening with Dino, from about eight-thirty.”
“I’ll see what can be done.”
“If it’s not done this evening, call me beforehand, so I can have an alibi.”
“Sure.”
“Thanks, Bob. I hope Herbie gets found before…”
“Yeah.” Cantor hung up.
“Before he’s too dead,” Stone said to himself.
31
Stone was finishing his lunch when Joan buzzed. “Eliza Larkin on line one,” she said.
“Who?”
“Emergency room doctor.”
“Oh, yes!” He punched the button. “Hello.”
“Mr. Barrington, it’s Dr. Larkin. I wanted to see how you are feeling.”
“Well, when I take the pills, I feel better than I should.”