Stone explained. “Do you have access to the FBI’s facial comparison program?”

“I can manage that,” Dino said.

“I’m sure Felicity would appreciate it if you’d run that photograph. Who knows, maybe we’ll get a match.”

“It’s twelve years old,” Felicity reminded him.

“Ask them if they can age him twelve years,” Stone said.

“Okay.”

“And ask them to give him a nose job, too.”

“Yeah, that’s quite a honker,” Dino said, looking at the man’s profile.

Felicity laughed. “Yes, it is quite a honker.”

“There’s something else I have to tell you,” Stone said to Felicity, “which is unrelated to your work.”

“And what might that be?” She took a sip of her Rob Roy.

“A woman has been hanging around across the street from my house for . . . a while.”

“I’m not surprised,” she said.

“The thing is, she’s dangerous.”

“And what makes her dangerous?”

“Mental illness and a considerable facility with a knife.”

“An unattractive combination,” Felicity said. “What does she look like?”

“Like a Sicilian princess,” Stone said.

“That’s a good description,” Dino agreed. “It’s also what she is, right to the bone.”

“Should I go about armed?” Felicity asked.

“It couldn’t hurt,” Stone said. “I’ll loan you something, if you like.”

“Oh, I can manage,” Felicity said.

9

Stone sat in Bob Cantor’s van, parked right outside the Turtle Bay house, and looked at the surveillance tapes from the Seagram Building.

“I’ve copied them and done some editing and enhancing,” Cantor said, “so what you’re seeing is the most likely candidates.”

Stone watched a videotape of men entering the building and the elevators. An hour later he said, “Stop.”

“Which one?” Cantor said.

“The one with the hat, the beefy one.”

“Why him?”

“It’s his walk, it’s not completely natural. Do you see what I mean?”

Cantor rewound and watched the man. “Yeah, I see what you mean about the walk. It’s like one leg is stiffer than the other. Maybe he has an artificial leg?”

“I don’t think so, but I was told he walks funny.”

“Who wears a hat these days?” Cantor asked. “Nobody.”

“Maybe an English gentleman,” Stone said.

“Are his clothes custom-made?”

“Freeze the shot,” Stone said, then looked carefully at the man’s back. “I think so.”

“How can you tell?”

“For a start, his suit jacket has double pleats; ready-made suits more commonly have a center pleat. Then look at his shoulders: there’s no wrinkle near the collar, and there’s no puckering on the center seam. The sleeve has four buttons, too, and it looks like they have buttonholes. A man could get that from an expensive shop, but it all adds up to bespoke.”

“Bespoke?”

“What the Brits call custom-made. He’s showing more shirt collar than usual, too. His shirts are probably custom as well, so make a note to check out shirtmakers, starting with Turnbull and Asser. And the hat is a Trilby, taupe in color. That’s very British. See if you can find a shot of him in the elevator.”