FORTY-SEVEN

AS Hunter bolted for the secret door, Matt started to go after him.

“Hey, pal, we’re not done here!”

“Let him go!” I tugged Matt’s arm. “Sophia needs a shoulder to lean on—and Hunter’s looks substantial enough. It’s time he lent it to his wife.”

“Fine.”

Still agitated, Matt paced the long table of used plates, cups, and glasses from the final course of the group’s lavish dinner. Among the bottles on the table, he caught sight of one in particular. A single glance at the label turned his grimace into a smirk.

After finding us two unused glasses, he gestured for me to join him at the old wooden booth, built into the wall of the wine bins at the far end of the room.

So this was it, I realized. This was Mayor Jimmy Walker’s famous Prohibition-defying seat. As fitting a place as any to discuss crime and corruption, I thought, and slid onto a polished bench.

Matt sat down across from me, poured from the bottle of Glenfiddich, and clinked my glass.

Drinking the twenty-one-year-old single malt at 21 was heady, I have to admit. Aged in barrels once used to store premium Caribbean rum, the scotch was woody, warming, and supernaturally smooth with hints of vanilla, toffee, banana, and citrus—sweet aromas that appeared and disappeared on my palate like magic smoke.

“Well, at least Sophia will be glad,” Matt said after a few quiet sips. “It actually was a business meeting and not another woman.”

“Yes, but we still don’t know anything about this ‘man in Rome,’ who Hunter implied knows something about the Campanas’ family history with the ‘sinking ship.’ He must have been referring to the jewel Gus and your father hid for the last half century, don’t you think?”

“You heard Rolf. He’s going to come clean with Sophia. If we need to know about the guy in Rome, she’ll tell us about it.”

“What I want to know is whether we can trust Sophia’s husband? I sincerely doubt it, considering the other company he keeps. That man I asked him about—Eduardo De Santis—he used to have a nightclub in the Meatpacking District that—”

“Stop, Clare. I know all about ‘Club Town Eddy.’”

“You do?”

Matt touched his nose and snorted.

I froze in unhappy understanding. With one gesture, Matt confirmed De Santis had been one of his cocaine suppliers in those bad old days, which gave me yet another reason to despise the man. Club Town Eddy had effectively contributed to ruining my young marriage.

“You’re right, Clare. He’s a creep, and a nasty one.”

“Is he nasty enough to take revenge on the detectives who had him prosecuted?”

I told Matt about Quinn’s involvement with De Santis a few years ago when his OD Squad had secured his arrest and indictment. I’d spent months stumbling over NYPD surveillance photos of the man, which was the only reason I was able to recognize him.

“Quinn and his team got the nightclub closed, and put a few low-rent dealers behind bars—”

“But Eddy De Santis walked. I remember.” Matt leaned across the table. “I heard stories about Eddy’s bad side. And there’s one I know is true. He had a cocaine-fueled falling-out with his partner. It happened right in front of me and a few other party animals I used to know.”

Matt swirled the liquid gold in his glass. “A week later, that partner was shot dead outside his Hamptons summer home by a man waiting for him. The cops said it was a botched robbery, but I doubt that’s what went down. So if you’re asking me if De Santis is capable of violence, I’d have to say yes.”

My stomach churned at this news. Still, I needed facts, as ugly as they might be.

“What do you think about Hunter? Is he capable of violence?”

“It might be the scotch, but I’m not following your logic.”

“What if Eddy De Santis hired Hunter to play Panther Man?”

Matt just about fell out of Jimmy’s booth laughing.

“Hear me out, because it’s not so crazy. I saw Panther Man. He was a tall, muscular guy like Sophia’s husband—a man who knows how to shoot so well that he gave pointers to De Santis in Africa.” I met my partner’s skeptical gaze. “They met on safari, Matt. Big-game hunting. And there is no bigger game than hunting humans.”

As he considered my words, Matt poured another scotch. I covered my glass. The Glenfiddich was amber bliss, but on top of my Southside cocktail, half a bottle of Pinot Noir, and a dessert shooter, I’d consumed more alcohol tonight than my last New Year’s Eve party.

After another savored swallow, Matt sank back in the booth.

“Well, either it’s this second scotch, or your theory is starting to make sense. Enough sense to be possible, anyway.”

“What changed your mind?”

“The deal Hunter made with Eddy is worth millions. He might be willing to go along with attempted murder for that kind of money.”

Just then, a pair of busmen entered the wine cellar, gave us a polite nod, and began to clear the long table. Our privacy ended, Matt drained his glass, set it down, and helped me to my feet.

“It’s time for you to go home to Sergeant Friday, and me to get some sleep in Brooklyn. Mother’s been ignoring my calls all evening, and it’s too late to upset her, so I’ll deliver the news of the day tomorrow.”

“I guess that’s best. She’s better off hearing about Gus after a good night’s sleep, and you know how she felt about opening that box. She dreaded it.”

“Well, with Gus in the hospital and that cursed diamond on our plate, now she has something real to dread.”