During the remainder of his walk, he unloaded and dismantled the small gun and dropped pieces of it and the remaining ammunition and his raincoat and gloves in trash cans along his route.

—

BACK AT HIS BUILDING he found the lobby empty and took the elevator to his floor. He then pressed the lobby button and let it descend back to the lobby. He let himself into his apartment, switched on the kitchen lights, and examined his clothing for blood spatter, but the raincoat and gloves had taken it all; he was clean.

He went into the living room and emptied the black bag onto the dining table. A quick count told him there was a little over fifty thousand dollars there. He would add that to his safe-deposit box tomorrow. He hid the bag in a kitchen drawer.

He was overwhelmed with relief at having removed the only obstacle to his success and happiness, and he fell into bed exhausted and slept soundly.

58

DINO FOLLOWED VIV into the rear seat of his city-owned SUV, and as his escorting policeman closed the door his cell phone rang. “Probably Stone to see if we’re on time,” he said, putting the phone to his ear. “Bacchetti.” As he listened, his expression changed. “Be there shortly,” he said.

Viv looked at him. “What?”

“We’ve got ourselves a double murder,” Dino said. “Let’s go into Central Park, Seventy-second Street entrance, then turn left to the band shell.”

The car entered the park and left the road, driving down the broad sidewalk until he came to the yellow police tape. “I shouldn’t be long,” he said to Viv as he got out. Out of habit he clipped his badge to his jacket pocket, though every cop on the scene knew him by sight. “What’ve we got here?” he asked a detective.

“One stiff,” the man replied. “It’s somebody you’re interested in.”

Dino walked around the body on the bench and looked at the face. “That would appear to be one Marvin Jones,” he said.

“His ID confirms that identity, plus a couple of others,” the detective replied.

“I was told it was a double homicide,” Dino said. “Where’s the other one?”

“In a pawnshop in the Nineties.”

“A murder-suicide?”

“The other stiff is Irving Schwartz, the guy Jones was with when they broke into the Barrington house, the one who turned up at Lenox Hill with a bullet wound to the ass.”

“Ah.” Dino pointed at the .38 lying on the ground near the bench. “Would that be the murder weapon?”

“It would appear to be of the same caliber as Schwartz’s head wound.”

Dino peered closely at the hole in Jones’s temple. “I don’t think that was made by a .38.”

“That’s the puzzle, Commissioner. The murder and the apparent suicide appear to have been accomplished with different weapons.”

“So where’s the smaller caliber one?”

“It probably left with the shooter.”