Chapters (66)
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- Acknowledgements
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
“That’s because you’re a prosecutor and not a cop, or even an investigator. If you were an investigator you would be intrigued that Herbie heard fragments of phone conversations in which Stephanie discussed Attola and made travel arrangements.”
“Fragments of conversation? You call that evidence?”
“Stop with the evidence thing. Don’t you ever get a hunch?”
“Despite your opinion of grand juries, I can’t get an indictment based on a hunch, not even if it were my hunch.”
Stone handed her a menu. “Okay, what would you like for dinner?” He perused his own menu, and the waiter appeared on cue.
She regarded the menu. “Green bean salad and penne with mushrooms and Italian sausage. Do you have any other shred of information that might approach the level of actual evidence?”
“Osso buco with polenta, and a bottle of the Saint Francis Cabernet,” Stone said, and the waiter went away. “This afternoon, Herbie withdrew his entire investment of seven million dollars from the Gunn company.”
“On your recommendation?”
“Well, yes; he is my client, after all.”
“You know, what I would really like to investigate is where Herbie Fisher got seven million dollars. Now, that is intriguing, because he couldn’t have gotten it legally.”
“Actually, he got fourteen million—after taxes and further deductions to settle with his bookie and his loan shark and to keep his dead mistress in really sexy underwear, and to retain me. Now he’s left with about ten million, seven of which he invested with his father-in-law’s company.”
“Stone, would it be a violation of attorney-client confidentiality if you told me the source of Herbie’s millions?”
Stone thought about that. “No.”
“Then please cough it up.”
“The source of Herbie’s millions is the New York State Lottery,” Stone said.
Willa took a big pull at her martini. “Do you expect me to believe that?”
“I don’t know why not; people win the lottery every week.”
“Not Herbie Fisher.”
“I confess I thought that at first, too, but let me ask you this: where do you think Herbie got the money to buy the Park Avenue penthouse off of which his former mistress, Sheila, fell? I mean, he didn’t pull a fourteen-million-dollar bank robbery or win it on a horse. I’m sure if a high public official like yourself rang up the nice folks over at the lottery, they would confirm that one Herbert Fisher got very, very lucky.”
Willa took out her notepad and made a note. “I’m going to do exactly that, first thing tomorrow.”
“But you’re not going to look into Stephanie and David Gunn flying off to the South Pacific with a billion dollars of other people’s money?”
Willa downed the remainder of her martini and waved at the waiter for another. “Call the FBI,” she said. “They’re pretty hunchy over there.”
FIFTY-SEVEN
FIFTY-SEVEN