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“I need a handwriting expert. Do you know one?”
“Yeah,” Dino said. “She was my secretary when I was running the detective squad at the Nineteenth Precinct.”
“You had a secretary?”
“When I became a lieutenant and a squad commander—after you left. This girl was so great, she left her job and went to study handwriting with some guy at CCNY.”
“Name and phone number, please?”
“The secretary or the guy?”
“The secretary.”
“That’s good because I don’t know the guy. She’s Clarissa Onofrio.” He gave Stone the number. “What’s this about?”
“I’ve got what may be a fake will on my hands.”
“Big Eddie’s?”
“Yes.”
“He was a sly fox,” Dino said. “See ya.”
Stone dialed the number.
“Analysis, Inc.,” a female voice said.
“May I speak with Clarissa Onofrio?”
“Who’s calling?”
“Stone Barrington, of the firm of Woodman & Weld.”
“Oh, I know you. You were Dino’s buddy.”
“Still am,” Stone said. “Dino recommended you for a handwriting analysis job.”
“It’s what I do,” she said.
“Where are you located?”
“Lexington and Sixty-Fifth,” she said.
He gave her the address of Joan’s house.
“What time?”
“Fifteen minutes ago,” Stone replied.
“I’ll take a cab.”
“Add it to your bill.”
—
Clarissa was a classic Italian female, but prettier than most. She looked around her. “This is some place,” she said.
“Yes, it is,” Stone agreed. “I want to show you a will and some other handwriting samples that might relate to it.” He gave her some gloves, but she fished her own from her handbag. “Standard equipment,” she said.
