“I keep thinking there’s something else.”

“You could call the nursing home, pretend to be the cops and tell them not to let Warren anywhere near Eli.”

“That’s a wonderful idea, Dino. What’s the name of the nursing home?”

“I don’t know.”

“Neither do I.”

“Oh. Let’s play another set.”

They played another set.

“Come on,” Stone said, “let’s go to the Gardens. Maybe he’s just not answering his phone.”

“Okay,” Dino said, “but I was winning.”

“The hell you were.”

They drove to the Gardens and went inside.

“May I help you?” a young woman at the desk asked.

“Yes, I’d like to see Evan Keating,” Stone said.

“I’m afraid Mr. Keating just checked out,” she replied. “Not more than fifteen minutes ago.”

“Did he leave a forwarding address?” Stone asked. She checked her records. “Miami, Florida,” she said.

“What hotel?”

“No hotel, just Miami.”

“Do you have a cell phone number for him?”

She checked again. “Yes, we do.” She gave him the number. Stone was about to dial it when Dino spoke up.

“That’s his old cell number, the one that went overboard.”

“Shit,” Stone said in disgust.

“What do you want to do now?”

“You want me to call my guy on the Connecticut State Police?”

Stone thought about that. Somebody’s life was at stake. “Yes,” he said, “call him.”

“What do you want me to tell him?”

“You know what to tell him, but tell him not to tell anybody the call came from you.”

They got into their car, and Dino went through his address book and found the number. “You’re sure you want me to call?”

“Yes, dammit!”

Dino dialed the number and put the phone on speaker.

“Robbery Homicide, Lieutenant Hotchkiss.”

“Dan, it’s Dino Bacchetti, NYPD, remember me?”

“How could I forget?” Dan replied. “I bet you want me to solve another homicide for you.”

“I don’t need your help in solving homicides, Dan, but . . .”

“I know a perp who would still be a free man if . . .”

“I need help in preventing a homicide.”

“Anybody I know?”

“I doubt it; it’s an old man from Torrington named Eli Keating.”

“Elijah Keating’s Sons? That Keating?”

“That Keating.”

“Harry Keating’s father?”

“The late Harry Keating’s father.”

“Harry Keating is dead?”

“You hadn’t heard? I hear the Torrington police are looking into the cause of death.”

“What do they suspect?”

“I don’t know how smart the Torrington cops are, so I can’t tell you. Suffice it to say that Harry’s brother, Warren, and his son inherit the business, along with old Eli, and Warren is a chemist.”

“You mean . . .”

“I don’t mean anything; you’re going to have to draw your own conclusions, and you can’t tell anybody I gave you any hints.”

“Okay, hang on while I draw some conclusions: You think Warren poisoned his brother?”