“Just a follow-up,” Dan said. “We traced the Pirelli 210 tires to a Mercedes station wagon owned by a Dr. Ralph Peters, of Torrington. Dr. Peters left his car at the airport, and he and his wife went to Maine for a couple of days. When he was taking his baggage out of the car a man offered to help, a white male, fortyish, medium height, medium weight, wearing sunglasses and a yellow ball cap.”

“That’s our guy,” Stone said.

“Dr. Peters said he saw a red Cessna there, too, one that isn’t based there and wasn’t there when he returned this morning. Also, when he got back he realized he was missing his ignition key from his key ring, and he found the key on the driver’s seat. He fi gured it had fallen off when he was getting out of the car.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dino said. “I figure our guy borrowed his car for a while.”

“The tire prints matched the Mercedes,” Dan said. “We got back the ballistics report from our lab, too. The bullet we found in the kitchen wall was a .223. I’ve faxed the report to Tommy Sculley to compare with his slug.”

“So now you know how the killer got to Torrington and out of town,” Stone said. “He’s probably having the airplane painted somewhere in South Florida as we speak.”

“Probably,” Dan agreed. “I don’t think our chances of nailing this guy are very good, which is a shame, because I’d really like to know who hired him.”

“Are you looking at Eli Keating for this?”

“God knows he’s got a motive, but I can’t see him hiring a hit man to kill his son and grandson. He’s in his eighties, and very rich already. I could see how he’d be pissed off at his son for trying to lock him away, but he wouldn’t have anything against the grandson. They were treating each other very warmly when I talked to them.”

“Anything new on the poisoning of Harry Keating?” Stone asked.

“The FBI lab report came back; the poison was thallium, which is found in some insecticides, one of which was present in Warren Keating’s toolshed. That one’s a wash, since Warren is dead, too.”

“Hey, Dan,” Dino said. “Don’t you guys ever catch a killer who’s still alive?”

“Go fuck yourself, Dino,” Dan said pleasantly. “Bye-bye.” He hung up.

“Looka here,” Dino said, nodding toward the pool as he closed his phone. Tommy Sculley, the Coast Guard cutter captain and a man they had not seen before were coming down the walkway toward them.

“Good morning, all,” Dino said.

“Morning,” Tommy replied. “Agent Corelli, this is Stone Barrington, an attorney, and Lieutenant Dino Bacchetti, of the NYPD.

Fellas, this is Agent Rocco Corelli, of the DEA, and of course you know Lieutenant Tabor, of the U.S. Coast Guard.”