by Stuart Woods
“And did he?”
“Yes, a twenty-five Beretta, nickel-plated.”
“How much did you pay him for it?”
“Twenty-five hundred dollars.”
Dino knew immediately that something was wrong here. “That’s an awful lot of money for a street gun, especially small caliber,” he said slowly. His gaze let the lawyer know that he was suspicious.
“Yeah, well, maybe so, but I don’t buy all that many guns on the street, you know?”
“Mr. Elliot, you’d better tell me all of it, and right now.”
Elliot began to look very uncomfortable. He looked around the bar, checked the position of the bartender, and drained his glass of whiskey. “All right, it had a silencer.”
Dino’s eyebrows went up. “I see,” he said. “Well, that would certainly put the price up. Now why…”
Elliot held up a hand. “That’s it; I told you what I said I would; I’m not answering any more questions.” He rose to leave.
Dino put a hand on his shoulder and shoved him back onto the barstool. “We’re not finished,” he said.
Elliot sat down but said nothing.
“And you kept the weapon in your safe?” Dino asked.
“Yes.”
“The same safe that held the thirty-five thousand dollars that you reported stolen?”
“That’s right.”
“Where is the safe located?”
“In my dressing room. It’s one of those that fits between the studs in the wall.”
“And what else was in the safe besides the pistol and the cash?”
“A jewelry box.”
“Was the stolen watch in the jewelry box?”
“Yes, a Cartier Panther with a gold bracelet.”
“Was there anything else of value in the jewelry box?”
“About fifty thousand dollars’ worth of assorted jewelry – diamond cuff links, things like that.”
“Mr. Elliot, why did you have thirty-five thousand dollars in cash in your safe?”
Elliot glared at him. “I can’t always get to the ATM when I need cash,” he said. “And that’s all I have to say on that subject.”
Dino nodded. “Did you make a record of the serial number on the pistol?”
“As a matter of fact, I did,” Elliot said, handing Dino a scrap of paper.
“Very good,” Dino said. “Why? I mean, you weren’t exactly going to register the warranty, were you?”
“Habit,” Elliot said.
“Well, I’m very grateful to you for all this information,” Dino said, slipping the serial number into his pocket. “It may very well help capture a murderer.”
“Good.” Elliot looked at his watch.
“I’m so grateful that I’m going to give you a very valuable piece of advice, Mr. Elliot.”
“Yeah?”
“The combination of a lot of cash in a safe with a silenced pistol raises a very large warning flag,” Dino said. “So I’m going to advise you right now that if any loved one of yours, say your wife, were to meet a sudden end; if something awful should happen to a business associate of yours; in fact, if your name should arise in any investigation of a death by any cause, then I’m coming to see you. Do you get my drift?”
Elliot looked him in the eye. “I do.”
“Good, because dealing with that kind of event in your life would be so much more painful than whatever is causing you concern now.”
Elliot nodded.
Dino shook his hand and walked out of the bar.
Martha looked into Amanda’s office. “Anything else before I’m off?”
“No, dear. Listen, why don’t you come up to the country with me tomorrow? Just for the day. Unless you have some plans, of course.”
Martha sighed. “No, I don’t have any plans. I’d love to.”
Amanda smiled a disarming smile. “It’ll be just the two of us, dear.”
Chapter 42
Driving Amanda’s car, Martha turned onto the dirt road, as directed. “It’s so lovely up here,” she said. “I’ve never been to Connecticut before.”
“Yes, it is lovely, isn’t it?” Amanda replied. “The leaves are just a bit past their peak, but still glorious. Make your next left up ahead, dear.”
Martha followed her instructions and drew up before Amanda’s house. “Oh, it’s too perfect! What a wonderful place!”
“Thank you, dear,” Amanda said. “Let’s go inside.” She got the shopping basket from the rear seat, unlocked the door, and strode off toward the kitchen. “Don’t even take your coat off,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll just get a bottle of wine, and we’ll have a picnic up at Steep Rock.”
“Where?” Martha asked.
“Steep Rock is a beautiful land preserve that borders my property. You’ll love it.”
“How far is it? I’m not much of a walker.”
“Oh, not far, and believe me, it’s worth the effort.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
Amanda put a bottle of wine and a corkscrew into her basket, locked the door, and led the way at a brisk pace. “Come on, Martha!” she called out. “Let’s get that heart pumping!”
Martha hurried along behind her, already beginning to pant. “How much farther?”
“Not far; hurry up.”
At the top of the long hill Amanda spread out a tablecloth and opened the bottle of wine. She had already drunk half a glass when Martha came lumbering up the hill and flopped down beside her, completely out of breath.
“Take that heavy coat off,” Amanda said. “You’ll cool down much quicker. And here, have some wine.”
“Do you have any water?”
“I’m sorry, dear, I only brought the wine.”
Martha accepted the glass and drank it greedily. “I’m so thirsty,” she puffed.
Amanda refilled her glass. “Of course you are. It’s a very nice Chardonnay, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Martha was beginning to catch her breath now.
“Have some bread and cheese,” Amanda said. “It will fortify you for the walk back.”
“Thank God it will be downhill,” Martha said, digging into the food.
Amanda kept her glass full.
When they had finished their lunch, Amanda leaned back against a tree. “Now,” she said. “We’re all alone, just the two of us. Time for some frank girl-to-girl talk.”
Martha looked worried, but didn’t say anything.
“Why don’t we start with Jonathan Dryer,” Amanda said. “Tell me about him.”
Martha seemed to hold her breath for a moment, then answered, “Who?”
“Why, the young man you’ve been sleeping with,” Amanda said. “Did you think you could keep a secret from me?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know who you mean,” Martha said. She was blushing now.
“Martha, darling, it’s useless to play this game. I’ve had detectives following you, listening in on your telephone conversations. You were seen going into Dryer’s apartment and your phone conversations were taped. I think you’ll feel a lot better when you’ve told me everything.” In that part of the brain that deals with fury and revenge, Amanda felt a small explosion, but she kept her temper. “How did you meet him, Martha?”
Martha’s shoulders slumped. “At the grocery store,” she said. “We talked about food; he knows a lot about food and wine.”
“I’m sure he does, dear. When did you start talking about my business? Before or after you began fucking him?”
Martha blushed even redder. “I don’t really think that’s your business…”
“Martha, my darling,” Amanda interrupted, “let’s remember whose business you and Mr. Dryer talked about.”
A tear ran down Martha’s cheek.
“You’re going to feel so much better when you’ve told me everything.”
“You’re going to fire me, aren’t you?”
“Why, Martha, of course not. You’re absolutely indispensable to m
e; I could never do without you. I just have to know what you told him and what he told you, and then all will be well. Start at the beginning, now.”
Martha slumped. “We went out to dinner, and we talked about everything in the world. Everything! Then we went back to his place and…”
“And he fucked you, didn’t he?”
Martha nodded. “I had to go to confession,” she said.
“Confession is good for the soul, dear. Go on.”
“It wasn’t until our second date that your name came up. He didn’t even know where I worked until then.”
“Didn’t he, dear?”
“He just seemed so very interested in you; he wanted to know everything.”
“Everything?”
“Where you came from, who your friends were, who you were…”
“Who I was fucking, dear?”
Martha nodded. “He seemed especially interested in your sex life. I just wanted the evening to last forever, so I kept talking.”
“And you just poured out everything, didn’t you?”
Martha nodded again. “I’m afraid so.”
“You told him about my plans for that weekend, didn’t you? And where I’d be meeting my friend.”
Martha continued to nod. “I didn’t realize what I’d done until the first DIRT arrived.”
“And then you knew you’d betrayed a confidence, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Martha said, bursting into tears. “I’m sorry, Amanda; I didn’t know he’d do that.”
“But you didn’t stop seeing him, did you? You went on and on, didn’t you?”
“I couldn’t help myself. He was so beautiful; I’ve never known such a beautiful man. He taught me so much about love.”
“I’m sure he did, dear, in between screwing sessions.”
Martha looked up sharply. “I didn’t think of it that way,” she said. “I was in love with him.”
“And now? Aren’t you still in love?”
Martha nodded. “But he won’t see me. I called his apartment, but there was no answer. I went by there, and all his things were gone. He’d left.”
“And where did he go, dear?”
“I don’t know,” Martha wailed. “I want to know, but I don’t. I kept hoping that he would call, but he didn’t.”
“What did he tell you about himself, dear?”
“Well, he said he went to Harvard, and that he worked for the State Department in Washington for a long time.”
“What else?”
“I don’t think he sees his family; there was some kind of argument with them. They’re very wealthy, though, and Jonathan always had a lot of money. He paid cash for everything.”
“I’m sure he did. Did he say how he knew about Allan Peebles’s, ah, predilection?”
“He said something about having friends in Los Angeles, but he didn’t mention any names.”
“Who are his friends in New York?”
“I don’t know; I never met any of them. We spent all our time… alone.”
“What else can you tell me about him, Martha?”
“I don’t know anything else, Amanda, believe me. I’ve told you everything.” She began to cry again.
“There, there, darling,” Amanda said, rising to her feet and looking around. They were alone in the dense forest. “Come over here; you haven’t seen the best part of the view.”
“What?”
“Come over here, dear,” Amanda said, holding out a hand.
Martha took her hand and struggled to her feet. They walked a few yards farther along through the fallen leaves. A distant roar filtered through the trees, like the sound of heavy traffic.
Amanda led her along, thinking about the humiliation this little bitch had caused her, and after all she had done to make her life comfortable and secure. “Just a little farther, dear,” Amanda said soothingly, her brain on fire with anger.
“What’s that noise?” Martha asked. “It sounds like…”
“It’s the Shepaug River, dear,” Amanda replied as she took hold of Martha’s wrist with her other hand. “Just ahead is where it goes over the rapids.” Amanda took a step, turned, and with both hands swung Martha ahead of her, just as the ground fell away. Martha teetered on one foot on the brink of the rock, and for a moment it appeared that she would recover her balance. Then, without a sound, she went backward over the edge and, looking wide-eyed back toward Amanda, fell ninety feet onto the river-washed boulders below.
Amanda watched for a moment as Martha’s limp form traveled through the rocks and downstream, out of sight in the rushing waters. Then she returned to where she’d spread the tablecloth, sat down, poured herself the last of the wine, and sipped it. When she was again completely composed, she took her portable cellular phone from her pocket and punched in a number.
Chapter 43
Stone and Arrington were having brunch at the Brasserie, which had become a weekend hangout for them. Stone had his notebook out and was writing as quickly as Arrington could talk.
“So that’s five parties I took Jonathan to, one of them a dinner party,” she was saying.
Stone checked his notes against the list of burglaries. “He hit all five, plus three more – Berman, Charleson, and White.”
“They were all at one or more of the parties I took him to.”
“Plus your apartment and my house.”
“Ten burglaries in all?”
“That we know about. Jonathan has been a busy fellow.”
“What about women?”
“Beg pardon?”
“How many other women was he seeing when he was seeing me?”
“Two that I know of. His landlord said there were a lot of women coming to his apartment.”
“Figures,” she said. “I can really pick ’em, can’t I?”
“Your record is improving.”
She reached across and squeezed his hand. “It certainly is,” she said.
Stone’s pocket telephone rang. He dug it out and pressed a button. “Yes?”
“Stone, it’s Amanda.” Her voice was shaky.
“Hi, are you all right?”
“I’m afraid something awful has happened.”
“Tell me.”
“I’m up at the Connecticut house. Martha and I went for a walk and a picnic, and I’m afraid she strayed too close to a bluff called Steep Rock.”
“Go on.”
“She fell, and I couldn’t stop her.”
“Is she badly hurt?”
“It was a long fall, and there were rocks at the bottom.”
“I see,” he said. “Where are you now?”
“I’m still at Steep Rock; this happened only a moment ago.”
“Have you called the police?”
“No; I wanted to talk to you first. After all, you’re my lawyer.”
Stone noted the emphasis on those words. “Amanda, I want you to call nine-one-one right this minute and report what happened.”
“All right. Can you come up here?”
“I’ll have to rent a car, so it’s going to take at least two and a half, three hours.”
“All right.”
“After you’ve talked to the police, ask them to take you back to your house; I’ll meet you there. If anything else comes up, call me on this number.”
“All right. Good-bye.”
Stone hung up. “Jesus Christ,” he said.
“What’s happened to her?” Arrington asked.
“Not to her, to her secretary, Martha. She’s had what sounds like a fatal accident.” Stone began to wonder if “accident” was accurate.
“You’re going to Connecticut, then?”
“Right now; I’ve got to rent a car first.”
“I’ve got a car; I’ll drive you.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to drive you.”
“Then let’s go.” He waved for the check, paid the bill, and they took a cab uptown to Arrington’s garage. Twenty mi
nutes later they were in Arrington’s Jeep Grand Cherokee, on their way.
When they arrived at Amanda’s country house, a state police car was parked out front, and two uniformed troopers were leaving.
Stone got out of the car and handed them his card. “I’m Stone Barrington; I’m Mrs. Dart’s attorney.”
“I’m Captain Quentin,” one of them said. “This is Sergeant Travis.”
Stone shook their hands. “Can you tell me what’s happened?”
“Mrs. Dart said she phoned you.”
“That’s right, but she was pretty shaken up, and I’d like to know what you’ve learned.”
“The two women went for a walk up to Steep Rock, took a picnic lunch. According to Mrs. Dart they had lunch, drank a bottle of wine between the two of them. Miss McMahon got up to stretch her legs, wandered too close to the edge of the bluff, and fell.”
“Is she dead?”
“Yes. Her body finished up a couple of miles downriver, at a weir. It’s being taken to the state morgue in Hartford for an autopsy, but I don’t think there’s much doubt about the cause of death. For now we’re calling it an alcohol-related accident.”
“Is it absolutely necessary to report alcohol-related on this? Mrs. Dart is a very well-known person, and her reputation might suffer. From what you’ve told me she has no culpability; it was an accident, after all.”
“I can leave it out of my initial written report, but the final determination will be made by the medical examiner. It will depend on the blood alcohol level.”
“Thank you, I appreciate that,” Stone said. He shook the men’s hands. “Is there any reason why Mrs. Dart can’t return to New York when she’s ready?”
“None at all; we have her phone number in the city if we need to get in touch with her.”
“If you need to speak with her, I’d appreciate it if you’d call me,” Stone said.
“Sure. Good afternoon.”
The two men left, and Stone opened the front door. “Amanda?” he called out.
“I’m in the kitchen,” she called back.
They left their coats in a hall closet and went to the kitchen, where Amanda was washing and putting away dishes, apparently from the picnic. She showed only a trace of surprise at seeing Arrington.
