“Don’t be naïve. One buys a judge. With money.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that sort of thing still goes on.”

“It has never stopped. Only the price has changed.”

“I’ve still got that gun you gave me in my desk drawer,” Joan said. “If she crosses to this side of the street, I’m going to shoot her.”

“Joan, do not shoot her unless she shows you a gun. Then shoot her. I’ll get you off, I promise.”

“Well!” Joan said, then flounced off again.

“Get me Bob Cantor!” Stone shouted after her. He had found, over the years, that one got more respect if someone else placed one’s phone calls.

Seconds later his phone buzzed. “Cantor on line one,” Joan said.

Stone picked up the instrument. “Morning, Bob,” he said.

“To the rest of the world, it’s afternoon,” Bob replied.

“Oh, sorry. I had a late breakfast meeting.”

“I’ll bet you did,” Bob said. “What’s up?”

“Work,” Stone said. “How soon can you round up Willie and Peter Leahy and get to my office?”

“Hang on.” Bob put him on hold, and then he came back. “Half an hour. Willie and Peter are here now.”

“Half an hour is good,” Stone said.

“How long is this going to take?”

“It depends on how lucky we get,” Stone said.

“Oh, one of those.”

“Yeah, one of those,” Stone said. “See you in half an hour.”

5

Bob Cantor and the Leahy brothers arranged themselves in chairs around the coffee table in Stone’s office. Cantor had been a detective in the 19th Precinct squad when Stone had been on the force; the Leahys were of a later vintage, but Bob trusted them, so Stone did, too.

“What we’ve got here . . .” Stone began, then stopped. “No, that’s not it. I was going to say a missing person, but it’s more than that.”

“A missing person who doesn’t want to be found?” Bob asked.

“That’s a lot closer, but there’s more,” Stone said. “All I can do is tell you everything the client has told me.”

“Who’s the client?” Bob asked.

“I’m afraid I’ve signed a document that prevents me from answering your question,” Stone said. “Let’s just say it’s somebody from overseas.”

“Okay, let’s say that,” Bob replied, and the Leahys nodded as one man, as they did almost everything. The brothers were not twins but very close.

Stone handed each of the three men a copy of the photograph Felicity had given Stone. “This man used to be employed by an intelligence agency. His name used to be Stanley Whitestone.”

“How old is the photo?” Cantor asked.

“Twelve years. It was, apparently, the last picture anyone ever took of him.”

“Was he a spy?”

“I’m not sure what his duties were, but let’s assume he was. It will make it easier to understand how hard it is going to be to find him.”

Cantor shrugged. The Leahys looked sleepy.