by Stuart Woods
“Don’t forget flat-chested,” Pio said sourly.
“That again? Do you want me to have a boob job?”
“Children, children,” Angelo said, “let’s not start opening old wounds. Everyone just needs to be calm. This will be over soon, and life will go on as usual.”
“I’m going to make an appointment with Dr. Bassey, in the village,” Ann said. “Boobs are his specialty.”
Pio started to say something about who the boob was, but he thought better of it. “I like you as you are, but as always, you can do whatever you like.”
“I will,” she replied. “Don’t you worry.”
Angelo tossed off his scotch. “I’m going to leave you two to this conversation,” he said, then left.
“Why did you lie to the police?” Ann asked when Angelo had gone.
“Just a reflex. I’ve never trusted cops.”
“Well, now they’re not going to trust you.”
21
ART MASI SAT AT HIS COMPUTER and Googled Pio Farina; he found a website. Art went there and clicked on Bio. Pio had attended a coed, arts-oriented prep school in New Hampshire for four years. He found the school’s website and did a search for Pio; in a moment he had found the school yearbook for his senior year.
There was a photograph of the young Pio with lots of hair, and underneath, a list of school activities: Sketch Club, 123&4; Drama Club, 3&4; Climbing Club, 123&4, captain, 3&4. Art didn’t need to read any further. Pio had lied to him about his fear of heights. Art loved it when suspects lied to him, and in this case, badly.
The two could have said they had both stayed home and watched the football game; instead, they had contrived to put Ann in Connecticut, and Pio thus had no one to back up his alibi. And since Ann had lied about her lunch at the Mayflower with her dying mother, neither did she. They had blown each other out of the water. How stupid could they be?
Art looked up Pio’s number in East Hampton and called. Pio answered. “Hello?”
“Mr. Farina, this is Art Masi from the NYPD.”
“Oh, yes, we met at our opening.”
“I’d like for you and Ms. Kusch to be in my office tomorrow at noon, to answer some more questions.”
“What?”
“I believe I spoke clearly.”
“In New York?”
“That is correct.”
“You want us to drive all the way to New York to talk to you? If you like, I’ll put Ann on the extension and you can talk to both of us now.”
“I’m sorry, this meeting will have to be face-to-face.”
“It’s a four-hour drive!”
“That’s why I scheduled our meeting for noon. Would one o’clock be more convenient? That’s the only other available time.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Masi, but we’re not going to make a trip into the city just to answer some questions that we can just as easily answer on the phone.”
“I can arrange for you to be driven to the city in a police car, if you like. Handcuffed.”
“What are you charging us with?” Pio demanded.
“We’ll discuss that at our meeting. One o’clock. The address is One Police Plaza. Ask for me at the front desk. Good day.”
Art hung up.
• • •
“JESUS CHRIST!” Pio said.
Ann came in from the next room. “What’s wrong?”
“That art cop, Masi, just called. He says he wants us in his office at one o’clock tomorrow to answer some questions.”
“He doesn’t really expect us to drive all the way into the city just to see him, does he?”
Pio looked up at her. “He offered us a ride in a police car, handcuffed.”
“Oh, shit.”
• • •
ART CALLED Stone Barrington.
“Hello, Art.”
“Stone, I’ve called Pio Farina and Ann Kusch in tomorrow at one for questioning.”
“Don’t they live in East Hampton?”
“They do.”
“Do you think they’ll show up?”
“As an alternative, I offered them a ride in a police car.”
Stone laughed. “That should do it.”
“I’m going to question them separately, and I’d like you to observe, if you have the time.”
“Sure, one o’clock. Are you downtown?”
“Yes, just ask for me at the desk. Make it twelve-thirty.”
“I’ll bet they bring a lawyer,” Stone said.
“I don’t think so, they still think I don’t have anything on them.”
“Do you?”
“They both lied to me when I questioned them at the gallery, and I can prove it.”
“So you’re going for a confession?”
“I may not be a homicide detective, but I’m a pretty good interrogator.”
“I’ll see you at twelve-thirty,” Stone said.
• • •
“WE’D BETTER CALL A LAWYER,” Pio said.
“Bringing a lawyer is as good as a confession,” Ann said. “Don’t you ever watch TV?”
“We watch all those cop shows together. If somebody lawyers up, they have to let them go.”
“Look,” Ann said, “we’ve got one more shot at getting Masi off our backs, before we get lawyers involved.”
“We don’t even know a lawyer,” Pio said.
“Sure we do,” Ann replied. “His name is Stone Barrington.”
22
STONE ARRIVED AT One Police Plaza at 12:30 and was immediately sent up to the art squad offices. Art Masi greeted him.
“How is this going to work?” Stone asked.
“We’ve got two interrogation rooms,” Art replied, “and my colleague—” He was interrupted by a knock at the door, and a handsome woman in her forties entered. “Stone, this is Adrian Halstead, my colleague. Adrian, this is Stone Barrington, who has an interest in this interrogation.”
They shook hands. “Just what is your interest in this case, Mr. Barrington?”
“Call me Stone, please. I represent the insurance company that covered the van Gogh.”
“Adrian has been fully briefed on this case, and she will conduct the interrogation of Pio Farina, while I interrogate Ann Kusch. We have two interrogation rooms set up, each with two-way mirrors, and there is a small room between the two, so you can witness both interrogations simultaneously.”
“I hope I can keep up,” Stone replied.
The phone on Masi’s desk rang, and he answered it. “Thank you, please send them up to my office.” He hung up. “Stone, let’s get you in position.”
Stone followed him down a hallway and into a small room with blinds on either side. Masi raised both, revealing standard interrogation rooms. “There are speakers for each room above,” he said, pointing upward. “There are volume knobs on the table.”
Stone sat down at the table; he had never seen a setup quite like this. Masi left him there and closed the door behind him.
Stone took the moment to check his e-mail; there was one from Dino. “Dinner with girls, Rotisserie Georgette, 7:30?”
“Done,” Stone said. He forwarded the message to Morgan, who responded quickly.
“I’ll meet you there. Looking forward.”
Then the doors to the adjoining rooms opened simultaneously, and the interviewers and their subjects entered and took seats. Masi and Halstead spoke together: “I’m required to read you your rights. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to represent you at no cost to you. If you choose to speak to me, your answers may be used as evidence against you in a court of law. Do you wish an attorney?”
“No,” Pio said.
“Not at this time,” Ann replied.
&n
bsp; Masi and Halstead produced documents for their signatures. “This document says that you have been read your rights and have declined to have an attorney present during your questioning. If you agree, please sign and date.”
Both of them signed.
“Now, Mr. Farina,” Halstead said, “on a previous occasion you spoke to my colleague Lieutenant Masi, did you not?”
“I did.”
• • •
MASI BEGAN: “Ms. Kusch, do you recall speaking to me two days ago at an art gallery?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“Do you recall being asked about your whereabouts on the date of the death of Mark Tillman?”
“I do.”
“And what was your response?”
“I told you that I had had lunch in Washington, Connecticut, with my mother.”
“At the Mayflower Inn?”
“Yes.”
“The headwaiter there, who was acquainted with both you and your late mother, denies that you were present in his dining room on that date. He recalls because the restaurant was very crowded that day, and he was turning people away. His reservation book does not contain either of your names.”
“I suppose we must have had lunch in the bar that day,” she said. “They don’t require reservations there.”
“They do on weekends,” Masi said. “Why did you lie to me?”
• • •
HALSTEAD STARED INTO PIO’S EYES. “Do you recall telling Lieutenant Masi that you have no experience mountain or rock climbing?”
Pio blinked. “I’m not sure I recall being asked that,” he said.
“It was only two days ago, Mr. Farina.”
“I still don’t remember.”
“Do you recall telling my colleague that you are afraid of heights?”
“I may have said something like that, jokingly.”
“In fact, Mr. Farina, at your prep school in New Hampshire you were a member of the climbing club for four years and captain for two, were you not?”
“Um . . .”
“So it says in your school yearbook.”
“Then that must be the case.”
“Tell me, what do members of the climbing club climb? Stairs? Trees?”
“Mountains and rocks,” Pio replied.
• • •
“MS. KUSCH,” Masi said, “did you spend that particular day with your boyfriend, Pio Farina?”
“I may have, I’m not sure.”
“Do you recall watching a football game together on TV? Georgia versus Alabama?”
“Oh, yes, I believe I did watch that game with him.”
“Who won?”
“Ah, I’m not sure. Georgia, I think.”
“Alabama won by three points.”
“If you say so. I’m not very interested in football. In fact, I was probably reading a book while the game was on.”
“What book?”
“I don’t remember. I’m usually reading a book, and it was more than a year ago.”
• • •
“MR. FARINA, where were you on the date of the death of Mark Tillman?”
“I was at home, watching a football game.”
“Were you alone?”
“Yes.”
• • •
THE DOOR OPENED and Halstead walked in, handed Masi a note, and left.
Masi unfolded the note. “Ah, Mr. Farina has said that you were not present when he watched the Georgia–Alabama game, that you were out of town.”
“Well, he’s wrong.”
“Just as you were wrong about being in Connecticut?”
“I believe we had lunch at my mother’s house, since the restaurant was fully booked.”
“What did you have for lunch?”
“Tuna fish sandwiches.”
• • •
“I WAS WRONG,” Pio said. “I remember now that Ann was there.”
“Watching the football game?”
“Yes.”
“Is Ann very interested in football?”
“Yes, very. She enjoys it.”
Art Masi entered the room, handed Halstead a note, and left.
Halstead read the note. “Ann Kusch says that she doesn’t like football and read a book during the game. I’m sorry, didn’t she say she was in Connecticut?”
“She was somewhere,” Pio replied. “I just assumed it was Connecticut.”
“So you were alone?”
“Yes.”
“Entirely? Did anyone else visit you?” Halstead asked.
“No.”
“So no one can corroborate your contention that you watched a football game on that date?”
“My father may have dropped in for a drink. He does that sometimes, unannounced.”
Halstead wrote something on a pad. “Your father’s phone number?”
“Why do you want it?”
“To ask him his whereabouts on that day.”
“He doesn’t have a very good memory, he’s getting on in years.”
Halstead consulted her notes. “I see that your father is sixty years old and in excellent health,” she said.
“I think I’d like to speak to an attorney,” Pio said.
• • •
“MS. KUSCH,” Masi said, “it seems that since your mother is now deceased, there is no one who can confirm your whereabouts on the day Mark Tillman died.”
“I’d like a lawyer,” she said.
“Of course you would,” Masi replied, closing his notebook.
23
STONE WAITED WHILE Farina and Kusch vacated their interrogation rooms, then Art Masi came for him. “Did you hear everything?”
“Yes. I’m glad I’m not representing them.”
“If you were, they’d have done better,” Art said.
“If I were, I would have been there, and they would have declined to answer questions.”
Art laughed. “Typical lawyer.”
“I suppose so,” Stone said, looking at his watch. “I’d better get back to my office. I have an appointment.” They shook hands, and Stone departed.
• • •
STONE HAD BEEN BACK in his office for, perhaps, half an hour when Joan buzzed him. “An Ann Kusch on one. She says you know her.”
“I do,” Stone said, picking up the phone. “Ann?”
“Yes, Stone, thank you for remembering me.”
“How could I forget? I own your ax.”
“That’s right, you do.”
“How can I help you?”
“Pio and I are outside in the car. May we come and see you?”
“Of course, come right in.” He hung up and buzzed Joan. “Two people are arriving. Please show them in.”
A moment later, the two walked into Stone’s office. He directed them to the sofa, where he thought they might feel more comfortable. They declined refreshments.
“Now, how can I help?”
Ann did the talking: “The police seem to have somehow gotten the idea that we had something to do with the death of Mark Tillman and/or the theft of his van Gogh.”
Stone held up a hand. “Before we continue, I’m obliged to declare an interest in that case. I represent the Steele Group, who insured the van Gogh and whose desire is to recover the painting. Does that trouble you in any way?”
“I don’t see why it should,” Ann replied. Pio shook his head.
“As long as you know. Please continue.”
“Anyway, a Lieutenant Masi of the art squad questioned us at the gallery during our opening.”
“Were you troubled by that?”
“No, his questions were straightforward, and we answered them. Then we got a phone call from him demanding that we come to his office f
or further questioning.”
“Demanding?”
“He said that if we didn’t come voluntarily, he’d send a police car for us, and we’d be handcuffed.”
“It sounds like the lieutenant got a little too enthusiastic about his work. What did he ask you?”
“He seemed most concerned about where we were on the day that Mark Tillman died.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“I’m afraid that we got a little confused about where we were and what we were doing—after all, it’s been more than a year.”
“Did you give him truthful answers?”
“We tried to, but he and another detective did their best to trip us up and make us contradict each other.”
“And where were the two of you on that day?”
“I went to Washington, Connecticut, to see my mother,” Ann said. “We had lunch at her house, but at the first questioning, I thought we had gone to the Mayflower Inn, which turned out to be my mistake.”
“And, Pio, where were you?”
“Watching the Georgia–Alabama football game at home.”
“Alone?”
“Ann came back late in the afternoon, while the game was still on.”
“Ann, what route did you take going home?”
“I drove down to Bridgeport and took the ferry to Long Island. It saves a lot of time to avoid the city.”
“So can anyone prove that you didn’t visit your mother, or in Pio’s case, stay home and watch the game?”
“No,” they both said.
“Was there anything else of note they asked you?”
“They wanted to know if I had done any mountain or rock climbing,” Ann said, “and I told them I had. Masi also asked me my height and weight.”
“Which is?”
“Five-ten, a hundred and forty.”
“Masi asked me the same thing,” Pio said, “but I told him, jokingly, that I was afraid of heights.”
“Are you afraid of heights?” Stone asked.
“Not in the least,” Pio said. “I was captain of my climbing team at prep school.”
“Did you later tell them that?”
“Before I could, they looked up my school yearbook and found out for themselves.”
