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distinguishing features?” Dino asked. He was taking notes now.
    “Small scar at the corner of the left eye, another scar on the inside of the right wrist—childhood injury—and a broken nose from football that never healed properly.”
    “You saw all that?” Stone asked. “How?”
    “I’ve known him since college; he’s my ex-husband.”
    “Did you ever see his face?”
    “No, but I know how he walks. I know his fascination with knives; he has a collection. It was Max.”
    “What’s his last name?” Dino asked.
    “Long.”
    “Address?”
    “It used to be on Habersham Road in Atlanta, big house. He’s living in an apartment now. I don’t know where; it’s just what I’ve heard. Maybe one of his own developments.”
    “But in Atlanta.”
    “Yes. He wouldn’t go any farther from Habersham Road than he had to.” She was perfectly collected now.
    Dino produced his cell phone. “I’ll get the precinct looking for him now.”
    “No, don’t,” Carrie said, putting her hand over the cell phone. “I can’t have this in the papers.”
    “Carrie,” Stone said, “if you know Max was the guy, then we have to get him off the street. He knows where you live.”
    “Monday morning I start rehearsals, the biggest break of my life,” she said. “I’ve been all over the papers for two days; they would just love this.”
    Stone looked at Dino and shook his head. “Do you have an alarm system in your apartment?” he asked Carrie.
    “No.”
    “Is there another entrance besides the front door?”
    “Yes. There’s a rear door from the kitchen and stairs down to a garden.”
    “Excuse me for a minute,” Stone said. He walked into the empty dining room next door and made a call to Bob Cantor, an ex-cop who did many jobs for him.
    “Cantor.”
    “Bob, it’s Stone.”
    “Hey, Stone. What’s up?”
    “I need a bodyguard for a woman first thing tomorrow morning at my house. Her name is Carrie Cox; she’s at Elaine’s with me. Are you free right now?”
    “Yeah, but I’ll put somebody else on guard duty.”
    “She needs a security system: double front door, kitchen door leading to a garden, the usual windows, front and rear.”
    “You got a key?”
    “You can pick it up here.”
    “I’m on it.”
    “Listen, on the bodyguard, not too much of a gorilla—she travels in polite circles—but somebody who can handle a man with a knife and deal with an angry ex-husband.”
    “Gotcha. I’ll be there in half an hour.” Cantor hung up, and Stone returned to the table.
    “What did you do?” she asked.
    “Tomorrow morning there will be somebody with you, and they will be until it’s no longer necessary. Give me the key to your apartment.”
    She took a small ring from her purse, took off one of two identical keys, and handed it to him. “What for?”
    “My friend is going to install a security system; it’s probably going to take all night, because he does these things right, so you should come home with me tonight.”
    “All right.”
    Stone handed her a cocktail napkin and his pen. “Make a list of what you need from your apartment for the weekend; my friend will put it together and bring it to you.”
    Carrie began writing and filled up one side of the napkin, then the other.
    Bob Cantor walked into the restaurant and stood at the front, waiting. Stone waved him over and introduced him to Carrie.
    “Hi, Bob,” she said. “Let me explain this list to you, where everything is in the apartment.” She took him through it, item by item, and told him where to find a suitcase.
    “Got it,” Cantor said, pocketing the list. “Do you have a photograph of your ex-husband?”
    “No, I threw all of them away.”
    “What’s his name and address?”
    “Max Long, Atlanta. I don’t know his street address.”
    “Your protection is named Willie Leahy. He’ll be at your house with his brother Jimmy at nine tomorrow morning. You want them to rent a car? I think it’s best; you can be a target