by Stuart Woods
“You remember Arrington,” Stone said. “We were having lunch when you called, and she offered to drive me up here.”
Amanda shook her hand. “How very kind of you, Arrington.”
“How are you feeling?” Stone asked.
“Still shocked, and very sad, of course. Would either of you like a drink? I’m having one.”
Everybody took a drink into the living room.
“I talked with the troopers as they were leaving,” Stone said. “It doesn’t sound as though there’s going to be any kind of problem. What might get into the papers is that the accident was alcohol-related. They’ve agreed not to report it that way, but the medical examiner in Hartford will have the final say, and we can’t influence him.”
“I understand,” Amanda said.
“Do you want me to notify Martha’s family?” Stone asked.
“I have already done so. Her parents live in Westchester; they’re arranging for a local funeral director to pick up the body as soon as it’s released. I’m paying the funeral expenses, of course.”
“Have you mentioned that to her parents yet?”
“No. I thought I’d wait until they were over the initial shock.”
“If I may sound like a lawyer for a moment, be sure that when you make the offer you be clear that it’s an act of friendship toward a valued colleague. Don’t say anything that might imply any sense of guilt or liability for what happened. From what you’ve told me and from what the trooper said, you’ve no reason to feel badly about the accident.”
“Thank you, Stone, that’s good advice.”
“Would you like me to drive you back to the city?”
“No, thank you. I’ll stay the night and drive myself back tomorrow. I’d really like to be alone, unless, of course, you and Arrington would like to stay.”
“Thanks, but I think we’ll go back today. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“I don’t believe so, Stone; thank you for coming, though, and please drive carefully going back to town.” She saw them to the door.
On the way back, Arrington spoke up. “Do you believe her?”
Stone didn’t want to answer that question directly. “I don’t have any real evidence to make me disbelieve her,” he said.
“I thought it was an act,” Arrington said.
“What?”
“Her grief. Her composure wasn’t an act, though; that lady is in perfect control.”
“Are you saying you think Amanda murdered Martha?”
“Let’s just say that I don’t think she’s terribly upset about it.”
“I can’t disagree with that,” Stone said, then changed the subject. After all, Amanda was still his client.
Amanda picked up the phone and called one of her two assistants. “Helen?”
“Yes, Amanda?”
“I’m afraid I have some very bad news. Martha has been killed in an accidental fall.”
“Oh, my God!”
“Yes, it’s terrible, isn’t it?”
“That’s just awful!”
“Of course it is. We’re going to have to learn very quickly to get along without her help. I’d like you to take Martha’s job; there’ll be a substantial raise, of course.”
“I’ll be happy to, if it will help,” Helen said.
“I’m in the country now. Can you meet me at the office at one o’clock tomorrow? We have to get you started in your new position.”
“Of course.”
“See you then, darling. Oh, and would you call Barry and tell him what’s happened? I’m really too stricken to talk anymore now.”
“I’ll do that. You try and get a good night’s sleep, and I’ll see you at the office tomorrow.”
“Thank you, dear. Good-bye.” Amanda threw another log on the fire and sat, staring into the flames, making mental notes on what had to be done the following day.
Chapter 44
Dino and Mary Ann Bacchetti got out of a cab on Sixty-sixth Street. Mary Ann had spent the morning having her hair cut by Frederic Fekkai at Bergdorf’s and having virtually every other part of her body attended to. She was wearing a newly purchased Chanel suit and matching black alligator shoes and handbag from Ferragamo. Dino was wearing a three-piece gray flannel suit from Ralph Lauren, a Turnbull & Asser shirt, and a polka-dot bow tie. A cream-colored silk square peeked from his breast pocket. His shoes were from Ferragamo, too, but they were only black calf. His hair had been cut at Bergdorf’s men’s store by a Fekkai disciple.
“I like the suit,” Mary Ann said to Dino. “You should get some more like it.”
“Stone made me buy it; the other stuff, too. I’m giving it all to him after this meeting. Listen, let me do the talking, will you?”
“What’s the matter, you think I can’t talk?”
“Stone tells me these people like to hear mostly from the men, and he knows about this stuff.”
“Stone can go fuck himself,” Mary Ann said pleasantly.
As they approached the building the doorman placed himself between them and the front door. “May I help you, sir?” he asked Dino, only slightly officiously.
“Thank you, I have an appointment with Mr. Whitfield; my name is Bacchetti.”
The doorman opened the door and allowed them into the lobby, then stepped inside and announced them to a man at a desk. “Mr. Bacchetti for Mr. Whitfield,” he said to the man, then backed out into the street. The man at the desk murmured something into a telephone, then hung up. “Mr. Whitfield is expecting you,” he said. “Charles will take you up in the elevator.” He indicated a uniformed man standing beside the lift. “Mr. Bacchetti for Mr. Whitfield.”
Dino couldn’t remember the last time he’d ridden in an elevator with an operator. The car was equipped for self-service but had an operator anyway; he wondered how much the guy got paid. The elevator stopped, and they emerged into a small foyer. The elevator operator locked the car, stepped out, and rapped on the double front doors. A maid opened the door. “Mr. and Mrs. Bacchetti for Mr. Whitfield,” he said to her.
The woman admitted them. “They’re in the library,” the woman said in an English accent. “Please come this way.”
“I’ll come any way I want to,” Dino muttered under his breath, earning a sharp glance from his wife.
The maid led them into a paneled room where a sixtyish man in a pinstriped suit stood, his back to a merry little fire. A woman in an expensive-looking wool dress sat in a chair beside him.
“Mr. and Mrs. Bacchetti,” the maid said, then left.
“Ah, the Bacchettis,” the man said, approaching them. “I am Charles Greenleaf Whitfield, and this is my wife, Eleanor.” He offered his hand.
“I’m Dino Bacchetti,” Dino said in a voice and accent he could muster when it suited him, “and this is my wife, Mary Ann; good to meet you.” They both shook hands with Whitfield and his wife.
“Won’t you come and sit by the fire?” Whitfield asked, showing them to a sofa facing a pair of chairs, in one of which Eleanor Whitfield was seated. “May I get you a sherry?”
“Thank you,” Dino said. “Mary Ann?”
“Thank you, yes,” Mary Ann said.
Dino was surprised that Brooklyn seemed to have left her voice, as well.
When everyone had a sherry and was seated, Whitfield picked up a file on the table next to his chair. “Is it nice outside? I haven’t been out today.”
“A beautiful day,” Dino replied, crossing his legs and sipping his sherry.
That was it for small talk. “Now, Mr. Bacchetti, Mrs. Bacchetti, I hope you will forgive us for the formality of this meeting, but as you know, the board of a cooperative building has a responsibility to meet and interview prospective purchasers of apartments in the building to try and render some judgment of the suitability of applicants both as purchasers and as neighbors.”
“Of course,” Dino said.
“I am the president of the building, and, as such, my board members have asked m
e to represent them. There are one or two questions with regard to your answers on the application; perhaps I could ask you to expand on them just a bit.”
“Of course,” Dino said.
“You understand that it is the policy of the board not to allow the apartment to be used as collateral for a mortgage or other loan, which means, of course, that the price of purchase must be paid in cash.”
“I understand,” Dino replied.
“It’s not exactly clear to us from your financial statement just where the cash is coming from.”
Mary Ann spoke up. “The cash is a gift from my father,” she said.
“I see; how very generous. You have one child, as I understand it.”
“A son,” Dino said. “He’s four years old.”
“And where will he be attending school?”
“He’ll be going to Collegiate,” Mary Ann said, surprising her husband, who had never heard of Collegiate.
“Ah, yes; fine school. Do you have any pets?”
“No,” Dino said.
“And you are of Italian extraction?”
“I am.”
“Can you tell me a bit about your family background?”
“My family seat is Venice, where my ancestors have been Doges for twelve hundred years,” Dino lied.
“Ah, Doges, yes,” Whitfield said. The thought seemed to excite him. “And when did your family come to this country?”
“I am a tenth-generation American.” Minus nine.
“And Mrs. Bacchetti, are you of Italian extraction as well?”
“Yes. My people have always had lands in Sicily, from time immemorial.” There was only the tiniest trace of sarcasm in her voice.
“I see. And your family name?”
“Bianchi.”
“Ah.” Whitfield seemed to have heard this name before, somewhere, but he apparently didn’t remember where.
“Mr. Bacchetti, I see your father is deceased; may I ask what work he did before his death?”
“He was curator of a private art collection. His specialty was Renaissance drawings.” The closest Dino’s father had ever been to a Renaissance drawing had been the pictures in the girlie magazines in his candy store.
“How very interesting. And Mrs. Bacchetti, what does your father do?”
Dino felt Mary Ann shift; irritation was boiling off her in waves. He squeezed her hand, and she seemed to relax a bit.
“My people have always been in the revenge business,” she said sweetly.
Dino, unable to control himself, burst out laughing. To his amazement, Whitfield and his wife were laughing, too, as if Mary Ann had made some very clever joke.
“Just one more question,” Whitfield said when he had composed himself. “Mr. Bacchetti, I see that you are employed by the city of New York.”
“I am.”
“In what capacity?”
“I am a lieutenant with the New York Police Department; I command the detective division of the Nineteenth Precinct.”
“I see,” Whitfield said, not at all certain that he did. “And how did you come to choose that particular line of work?”
“My family has always been drawn to public service,” Dino replied.
“Very commendable,” Whitfield mused. “We had a burglary in our building recently, I’m afraid. Never happened before.”
“And if I come to live here, it will never happen again,” Dino said smoothly.
“Ah, yes!” Whitfield cried, his tumblers working. “I quite see your point! One watches NYPD Blue.”
“Excellent program,” Dino said. “Utterly realistic. By the way, I should mention that I am aware of the burglary, and I have doubled the police patrol on this block.”
“Wonderful! Have you caught the perpetrator yet?”
“I can reveal, in confidence, of course, that we now know his identity. We expect an arrest at any moment.”
“Excellent! Well, Mr. and Mrs. Bacchetti, I believe that tells us all we need to know. You will be hearing from the board very soon, and I think I can intimate that the answer will be a favorable one.”
The Bacchettis made their good-byes and departed. Once in the street again Dino said, “You sure you want to live in that place?”
“Very sure.”
“I mean, couldn’t you find a building with at least some Jews or something?”
“Get used to it,” Mary Ann said.
Chapter 45
Arrington, Dino, and Mary Ann sat at Stone’s kitchen table drinking wine while Stone cooked linguine with white clam sauce. The television was on NFL football, muted, and the men occasionally stole glances at the set.
“Anyway,” Dino was saying, “you shoulda been there to hear my wife tell these people that her family is in the revenge business.”
Everybody laughed.
“I always tell the truth,” Mary Ann said.
“Yeah? Then what was that about the Collegiate School?” Dino asked.
“That was almost the truth.”
“I never even heard of the Collegiate School, and my wife is telling these people that our kid is going there.”
“How old is he?” Arrington asked.
“Four,” Mary Ann replied.
“Apply now,” Arrington advised. “It may already be too late.”
“There’s not a public school in that neighborhood?” Dino asked innocently.
“Forget about it,” Mary Ann said. “He’s going to Collegiate.”
“Sounds like it’s tough to get in,” Dino said hopefully.
“We’ll have help,” Mary Ann said.
“Mary Ann, there are some things your old man can’t help with.”
“Name three.”
“Well, the Collegiate School is probably one of them.”
“Wanta bet?”
“I don’t think so,” Dino said resignedly.
“Good move,” Stone chipped in.
Arrington moved over to the stove and pretended to watch Stone work on the clam sauce. “Who is Mary Ann’s father?” she whispered.
“Why?” Stone whispered back. “You want somebody in cement shoes?”
“Oh.” She went back and sat down at the table. “Smells wonderful,” she said.
“I’m having a hard time with this,” Mary Ann said.
“With what?”
“With this extremely white-bread person over there making me Italian food.”
“I’m pretending to be a guinea,” Stone said.
“I hope it works.”
“We’re about to find out,” Stone said. He drained the pasta and dumped it in with the sauce, moving it around with a fork and spoon. He set the steaming platter on the table, where a salad and garlic bread already rested.
Everybody watched as Mary Ann expertly twirled some linguine around her fork and popped it into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Not enough garlic,” she said.
“There’s twelve cloves in there,” Stone said, sounding hurt.
“Just kidding,” Mary Ann said, “my mother couldn’t have done it better. Well, not much better.”
Everybody pitched into the pasta. A commercial interrupted the game, and Dino switched to New York One, the all-news local channel.
“Don’t do that,” Mary Ann said.
“Why not? There was a commercial on the game.”
She turned to Stone and Arrington. “He turns on New York One in the hope that he’ll learn about a recently committed crime and he can leave his dinner and rush out to solve it.” She turned back to her husband. “You can do that at home, but not when you’re at somebody else’s house.” She picked up the remote control and switched back to the game.
“Wait!” Arrington cried. “Turn it back!” She grabbed at the remote control and started changing channels desperately.
“Channel ten,” Dino said helpfully.
She found it.
“What’s going on, Arrington?” Stone asked.
“I saw him.”
“Saw who?”<
br />
“He’s there, look for him!”
“Look for who?”
“Shut up.”
Stone shut up and watched. Arrington turned on the sound.
“…the biggest benefit of the year,” a woman reporter was saying as a crowd swirled around her. “The Shubert Theatre is completely sold out at prices of up to a thousand dollars a seat, and some of the biggest stars on Broadway will be performing tonight.”
“There,” Arrington said, pointing. “The man just behind the reporter. You can see the back of his head.”
“So?” Dino asked.
“That’s Jonathan Dryer,” she said. “I’m sure of it.”
The crowd was moving slowly toward the doors of the theater. Just as the head was about to move off the top of the screen, it turned.
“There, it’s him!”
There was a brief glimpse of a face before the camera zoomed in on the reporter. “The crowd is just returning from intermission, and there’s been a rumor circulating that Barbra Streisand is going to make a surprise appearance. We’ll let you know.” There was a cut to the studio, and the anchorman began to talk about a fire in Queens.
“Are you sure?” Stone asked.
“That’s him.”
“Could you tell who he was with?”
“No, but that was Jonathan.”
“Who’s Jonathan?” Mary Ann asked.
“A guy Stone is interested in,” Dino said.
“You’re not interested?” Stone asked him.
“Yeah, sure, but I’m not going to worry too much about him until we have some more evidence.”
“And you’d like me to come up with it?”
Dino shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind.”
“Dino, he may be involved in a cop killing; doesn’t that mean anything anymore?”
“It does, if there’s any evidence tying him to it. All you’ve got right now is a lot of supposition. Okay, he went to parties at some people’s apartments that later got burgled. So did a lot of other people, including Arrington here. Should we take her to the precinct and beat a confession out of her?”
“Come on, Dino; for the first time we actually know where the guy is.”
