“I’m Stone Barrington.” He shook the hand and found it soft but strong. “This is Hedy Kiesler. Your name has a familiar ring. Where might I have heard it?”

“Apparently, you read New York’s trashier newspapers,” Casselli said.

“Ah, Leo Casselli.”

“Americans tend toward diminutives,” he said. “Please call me Leonardo.”

Leo Casselli had been known in New York as a Mafia don for many years, until he either fled to Italy or was deported, Stone didn’t remember which. “As you wish,” he said.

“I know your name, too,” Casselli said.

“I’m surprised,” Stone said.

“We had a mutual, ah, acquaintance in the late Eduardo Bianchi.”

That did not surprise Stone, since (1) his good friend Eduardo had had a wide circle of acquaintances, and (2) his circle had included some of the Italian-American demimonde. “A lovely man,” Stone said.

“He was that,” Casselli agreed, “to those he liked and respected. To others, well . . .”

“Like most of us.” Stone wondered to which group Casselli had belonged.

The young woman returned to the table, and Casselli rose before she could sit down.

“You must excuse us,” Casselli said, “we have another engagement. It was interesting to meet you. And your car.”

“Good evening to you,” Stone replied.

“Perhaps the car was a warning,” Casselli said. “Perhaps you should heed it.” Then, without another word, he left.

8

Stone and Heddy went back to their suite; Stone called Dino.

“So,” Dino said, “is your Italian adventure improving?”

Stone had to think about that for a minute.

“Hello?”

“Sort of,” Stone was finally able to say.

“Define ‘sort of.’”

“Well, we got most of our stuff back.”

“The Italian cops caught the thieves?”

“No, the thieves returned the car, with our stuff still inside it.”

“Well, that’s a win-win, isn’t it?”

“Not exactly.”

“Why not?”

“The car was a total loss—the thieves set it on fire. In front of our hotel.”

“Did you report that to the police?”

“We didn’t have to, they turned up almost immediately. Their big action was to revise the police report to exclude the items returned.”

“Okay,” Dino said. “That makes sense. Anything else?”

“Nothing. They ventured no information on the thieves or their motive.”

“I see,” Dino said, clearly not seeing.

“Something else, though: at dinner I found myself sitting next to Leo Casselli.”

“Casselli? He got deported, didn’t he?”

“Deported to Italy. He may have self-deported, I don’t remember.”

“And how did you come to be seated next to him?”

“Luck of the draw, I guess. He was there with a very young lady.”

“And did you and Casselli converse?”

“We did. He pointed out that we had a mutual acquaintance in Eduardo Bianchi.”

“I’m not entirely surprised that he knew Eduardo. I’ll bet they hadn’t spoken for forty years.”

“I didn’t ask, but if I see him again, I will.”

“What makes you think you’ll see him again?”