“Can you find out if he had insurance and, if not, how he paid his bill?”

“Yes,” she said. She picked up a phone, called the hospital’s billing department and spoke for a couple of minutes, then hung up.

“He didn’t have medical insurance,” she said. “He paid with his American Express card. The cashier remembered it, because it was black, and she had never seen one before.”

“A black American Express card? That’s the one you have to spend a lot of money to get, isn’t it?”

“I think so; I’ve never seen one. Why are you interested in this?”

“Idle curiosity. Did Evan Keating have a beard?”

“No, he was clean-shaven. There was a girl with him, I remember—very pretty.”

Stone’s cell phone buzzed on his belt. “Hello?”

“It’s Tommy; Dino and I are on the way to the airport. Paul DePoo called, and the guy with the red Cessna is there, waiting for them to get it out of the hangar.”

“I’ll be right with you,” Stone said, and he hung up. “Annika, are you ready?”

She presented herself in an outfit that showed off her long legs and considerable cleavage. “I am ready,” she said.

STONE MADE IT to the airport in record time. “Annika, do you mind waiting in the lounge for a few minutes? I have to do this.”

“All right,” she said, and she went inside. Stone followed her, then found Tommy and Dino in Paul DePoo’s offi ce.

“The guy’s in the waiting room,” Tommy said. “Did you notice him?”

“No, I wasn’t looking for him, I guess.”

“And he’s getting impatient,” Paul added.

“Give us a one-minute head start,” Tommy said to Paul. “We’ll wait for him in the hangar.”

The three of them hotfooted it to the hangar, where a lineman with a tow was just clearing the doors with the red Cessna.

“Okay,” Tommy said, “let’s just be looking at the airplane, until he gets close enough to talk to. Dino, are you carrying?”

“Yep,” Dino said.

“Nope,” Stone said.

“Then stay behind us, Stone, and let me do the talking.”

“He’s coming,” Dino said, pretending to inspect the airplane,

“and I don’t believe it, but he’s got the gun case slung over his shoulder.”

The man approached. As the counter woman had said, he was medium everything, and his yellow baseball cap was his only distinguishing feature. “Can I help you gentlemen?” he asked, unslinging the gun case and setting down a leather duffel.

“We were just admiring your airplane,” Tommy said. “Are you Frank Harmon?”

“No,” the man replied, “Frank Harmon is the man I bought the airplane from. I’m Jim Vernon.”

Tommy showed him a badge. “May I see some I.D., Mr. Vernon?”

The man looked slowly around the group. “For what purpose?”