Worst Fears Realized

by Stuart Woods

  He looked up and down the street. There were a few people in the block, and he recognized two cops in a plain sedan across the street. He walked up to Third Avenue and hailed a cab, constantly checking behind him. It was what the perp would expect him to do.

  Stone got into the cab. “Here’s what I want you to do,” he said to the driver. “I want you to take a right on Fifty-ninth Street, go across the bridge, then make a U-turn, come back across the bridge, then take First Avenue up to Seventy-ninth, over to Fifth, and I’ll direct you from there. There’s an extra ten bucks in it if you don’t ask me why.”

  The driver gave an elaborate shrug, clapped a hand over his mouth, and, miraculously, did as he was asked. When they were on Fifth Avenue, Stone asked to be let out a block before Sarah’s building, tipped the driver extravagantly, and, shopping bag in hand, walked casually down the east side of Fifth Avenue. Traffic was heavy going downtown, and there were a lot of people on the street. He couldn’t spot anyone following him.

  Stone found the address, and the doorman opened the door for him. Inside was a desk, and two uniformed men stood behind it. The younger one, Stone noticed, was a little too large for his jacket, and there was a bulge under his left arm.

  “Yes sir?” the older man asked. He looked worried.

  “My name is Barrington,” Stone said. “I’m here to see Miss Buckminster.”

  The man picked up a phone, announced Stone, then told him he could go up.

  Stone recognized the elevator operator. “Evening, Andy,” he said when the door was shut. “The uniform suits you.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Anderson replied. “Maybe I should make a career change.”

  “Where’s Mick?”

  “Sitting out on the street—eating doughnuts, probably.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “You think the guy followed you?”

  “If he did, he’s good; I didn’t make him.”

  “I hope he did; I’d like a crack at him.”

  “May you get your wish.”

  “Here we are; sixteen, top floor.”

  The elevator doors opened, and Stone stepped into a private foyer. “Watch yourself, Andy,” he said, then he rang the doorbell.

  12

  T HE DOOR WAS OPENED BY A BUTLER dressed in a dark suit. “Good evening, Mr. Barrington,” he said. “My name is William; will you follow me, please?” He led the way down a long gallery hung with very good pictures, and they emerged into a large, handsome living room. “Please have a seat, sir,” William said. “Miss Buckminster will be with you in a moment; she’s in the kitchen. May I get you something to drink?”

  Stone handed him the shopping bag. “There’s a cold bottle of champagne in there,” he said, “and a bottle of red wine. If you would open the red and allow it to breathe, then bring us the champagne and a couple of glasses.”

  “Of course, Mr. Barrington,” William replied. He took the shopping bag and left the room.

  Stone walked slowly around the room, looking at the pictures; he had never seen such a collection in a private home. A Monet of water lilies covered most of one wall, and the smaller pictures were hung in rows, covering nearly every square foot of wall space. Stone recognized works by Picasso, Manet, Braque, David Hockney, and Lucian Freud. “My God,” he muttered to himself. “I wouldn’t want to be saddled with these people’s insurance premiums.” Next to the fireplace he was riveted by something that he recognized from his childhood: one of his mother’s paintings, of Washington Square Park. He stood before it, taking in the brushwork and the light. “You’re in good company, Mother,’ he said.

  “Stone!”

  He turned to see Sarah Buckminster walking toward him, dressed in tailored slacks and a silk blouse. She held out her arms to him, and he embraced and kissed her. She held him away from her and looked at him. “Dear God, the years have made you even more handsome.”

  Stone blushed. “And you are even more beautiful.”

  She turned and looked at the Matilda Stone. “I knew you’d find it immediately.”

  “I haven’t seen it since I was, I don’t know, eleven or twelve.” He waved an arm. “Who owns all this?”

  “Jack and Hillary Beacon,” she replied. “He’s the CEO of Celltell, the wireless-phone company. Do you know it?”

  Stone nodded. “I bought some of the stock, as a matter of fact. I don’t have much, but it’s done well.”

  “This is the heart of one of the country’s great private collections. The rest is scattered around the apartment, which runs to seventeen rooms, or on loan to museums.”

  “It’s astonishing.”

  William appeared with a tray holding the bottle of Krug, two lovely champagne flutes, some canapés, and something wrapped in a napkin.

  “Come, let’s sit down,” Sarah said, drawing him to the sofa before the fireplace, in which a cheerful fire burned.

  William poured them both a flute of the wine and nodded at the napkin on the tray. “Yours, I believe, Mr. Barrington.”

  Stone winced.

  “Something for me, I hope,” Sarah said.

  “I’m afraid not,” Stone replied. “The Krug is for you.”

  “William,” she said, “you and Martha may go, now; Mr. Barrington and I will take care of ourselves for the rest of the evening.”

  “If you need anything, please ring, Miss Buckminster,” William said.

  “I’ll do no such thing. You and Martha take the rest of the evening off.”

  “Thank you, Miss, and good night. Good night, Mr. Barrington.”

  “Good night, William, and thank you for…” He nodded toward the napkin. William left them alone.

  “All right, I’m dying to know what’s in the napkin,” Sarah said.

  “I’m afraid it’s rather embarrassing,” Stone said. “I forgot that I had put it in the bag with the wine.”

  She slid the tray toward her and began unwrapping the napkin. “Jesus Christ!” she said, recoiling from the weapon. “You might as well have brought a rattlesnake!” She picked up the pistol by the barrel with thumb and forefinger and handed it to him. “Hide it somewhere,” she said.

  Stone took the weapon and tucked it into his belt at the small of his back.

  “I remember that you used to go armed, Stone, but that was when you were a policeman. What’s your excuse now?”

  “I’m afraid I’m in a rather delicate position,” Stone said.

  “An angry husband?”

  “Hardly. You remember Dino.”

  “How could I forget the ’orrible little man?”

  “Some years ago, Dino and I sent someone to prison, and he’s apparently decided to make us pay for it.”

  “Who is this person?”

  “We don’t know, really. We only know that he’s…tried to harm people close to us.”

  “Is that why you didn’t show up for lunch?”

  “Yes, it is. I was so glad to hear from you that I completely forgot that I have to be circumspect about whom I see. This started only very recently, and I’m still getting used to the idea that I shouldn’t endanger other people by associating with them.”

  “Well, this is really very exciting, isn’t it?”

  “I just don’t want it to get too exciting.”

  “Surely, you don’t think you’re endangering me simply by having dinner.”

  “I took some precautions to see that I wasn’t followed, and there are several police officers downstairs. One of them is operating your elevator.”

  Sarah burst out laughing. “This is hilarious,” she said. “I must say, I’ve never had a gun served with champagne.” She sipped the wine. “And Krug! It’s delicious.” She leaned over and kissed him. “And so are you.”

  “When did you get back?”

  “Yesterday; I’m still not entirely over the jet lag. I came by way of London, saw my parents for a few days.”

  “Are you going back to Tuscany?”

  “I haven’t decided. I
’m back for a show of my work that will open next week—all the work that I’ve done for the past six years.”

  “I can’t wait to see it,” Stone said.

  “I’ll give you a preview; I promise. Now you know that all I have done these past years is cloister myself in Tuscany and work; bring me up to date on you.”

  “I’ll give you the short version. What exactly was I doing the last time we saw each other?”

  “You were still on the police force, although I heard through friends that you left, and I remember that you had inherited that lovely old house from an aunt, I believe, and you were doing most of the remodeling work yourself.”

  “A great aunt, and yes, I couldn’t afford to hire many people on my cop’s salary.”

  “And you had gotten yourself shot and were recovering.”

  “Right.”

  “Where was it?”

  “In the knee.”

  “Oh, yes; no place important, then.”

  Stone laughed. “So I retired from the force on a full-disability pension—I was nudged in that direction, if the truth be known. I was being awkward about a case I was working on, and somebody decided I shouldn’t be there anymore.”

  “You were always the most unlikely policeman.” Sarah laughed.

  “That’s pretty much what the NYPD thought.”

  “So then what did you do? Live off the fat of the land?”

  “I had my law degree, so I boned up and took the bar exam. I’m of counsel to Woodman and Weld.”

  “I know that name; a prestigious firm, I believe. What does ‘of counsel’ mean?”

  “It means I handle their clients’ more delicate problems. I work out of an office in my home rather than from the firm’s offices.”

  “Sounds intriguing.”

  “It sometimes is.”

  “Are you prosperous, then?”

  “More so than I had ever dreamed I would be. The house is finished and furnished; I live very nearly in the lap of luxury.”

  “You’re certainly dressing better,” she said, stroking his jacket.

  “I’d like to think I’m doing everything better,” he said.

  “That remains to be seen.” She chuckled, her voice low. She stood up. “Come into the kitchen with me and watch me cook.”

  “I’d love to,” he said. “May I make a phone call first? I promised I’d call Dino.”

  “Of course; there’s a phone over there.” She pointed.

  Stone went to the phone and dialed Dino’s number; he got an answering machine. “Dino, it’s Stone; I’m in Sarah’s apartment.” He repeated the number. “Everything seems all set downstairs; Anderson is running the elevator. Don’t call me unless it’s important.” He hung up, grabbed the champagne bottle, and followed Sarah toward the kitchen.

  13

  T HE KITCHEN GLEAMED WITH RESTAURANT-quality appliances and granite countertops. Sarah seated Stone on a stool where he could watch, then she went to the huge range, poured a generous dollop of olive oil into a skillet, and while it was heating, chopped some plum tomatoes, garlic, and fresh basil. When the oil was sizzling, she dropped half a dozen slices of Italian bread into it and fried them on both sides. She arranged a small platter with the bread slices, then spooned the mixture of tomatoes, garlic, and basil onto each slice. She picked up the platter and headed for the door.

  “Follow me,” she said.

  Stone grabbed the bottle of Amerone and followed her through a swinging door and into a charming little corner dining room, where the table was already set for two.

  “This is where the family dines,” she said. “There’s a much larger dining room through there, with a table that seats eighteen.” She nodded at the door.

  Stone lit the candles on the table, and they sat down facing the windows, which overlooked Central Park and the lights of the city to the south. He poured them both a glass of wine and raised his glass. “Happy reunions,” he said.

  “Hear, hear,” she replied, sipping her wine. “Oh, this is huge. What is it?”

  “An Amerone.”

  “Luscious. Now eat your bruscetta.”

  Stone sliced off a chunk of bread and put it into his mouth. “Wonderful,” he said. “It’s so simple, but it’s really terrific.”

  “Glad you approve. I told you I learned a lot in Tuscany.”

  “Where exactly were you?”

  “In the Chianti country, north of Siena and south of Florence.”

  “Do you know I’ve never been to Europe?”

  Sarah looked shocked. “I don’t believe it.”

  “When I was a cop, I couldn’t afford it, and now I always seem to be too busy.”

  “We will cure that condition,” she said. “Just as soon as my show is launched.”

  “That might be fun,” he replied, swallowing the last of his bruscetta.

  “It certainly will be, I assure you.” She took away his plate. “The main course is in the oven; I’ll be right back.”

  Stone sipped his wine and gazed out over the park. He loved his house, he thought, but it didn’t have views like this.

  Sarah returned with a hot crockery dish. “Cannelloni,” she said, serving him the little crêpes, stuffed with ground pork. She spooned a creamy sauce over them, then served herself.

  “You should give up painting for cooking,” he said.

  They ate slowly, then Sarah brought out cannoli for dessert. When they had finished their dinner and the wine, she drew him from the table and led him through the apartment and upstairs. “I must show you the guest room,” she purred. She opened a door and led him into an elaborately decorated bedroom, then stopped and put her arms around his neck. “Now,” she said. “Another dessert.” She kissed him.

  Stone thought he had never felt so good. The dinner had been perfection, and now, as he felt her breasts against him, felt her tongue in his mouth, he…

  A loud buzzing noise interrupted them.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “The house phone,” she replied between kisses. “Ignore it.”

  “I think you’d better answer it,” Stone said.

  “Forget it.”

  “Sarah, this could be important.”

  “Oh, all right!” she said, breaking away and going to the phone. “Hello? Yes, Dan? No, I can’t right now. No, it’s impossible.”

  “What is it?” Stone asked.

  She covered the receiver. “It’s the desk man downstairs; he wants me to come down there and talk to the police.”

  “Tell him you’ll be right down,” Stone said.

  “Are you mad?”

  “Please, tell him you’ll be right down.”

  “I’ll be right down,” she said, then hung up the phone. “What on earth is going on?” she asked. “Why would the police want to see me?”

  “You stay here; I’m going downstairs,” Stone said.

  “When will you be back?” she asked plaintively.

  “As soon as I possibly can. In the meantime, don’t open the door to anyone except me, and I mean anyone.”

  “Stone, you’re beginning to frighten me.”

  “Don’t worry, everything will be all right. I’ll be right back.” He ran down the stairs, let himself out of the apartment and into the foyer, then rang for the elevator. He looked up at the lights, expecting to see it move. It remained on the ground floor. He rang again, but the car did not move. He tried a door to his left, found a staircase, and started down.

  As he ran quickly down the stairs he removed the pistol from his belt, worked the action, and put the safety on. He had started at the sixteenth floor, and it took him some minutes to reach the bottom. Finally at the lobby level, he put an ear to the door and listened. Nothing.

  He opened the door an inch and peered into the lobby. It was empty. No one was at the desk across the way, and he could see the elevator car, standing with the door open. He flipped the safety off the pistol and, holding it in front of him with both hands, stepped into
the lobby. He looked carefully behind the furniture and found nothing, no one, then he went to the desk and looked over it.

  “Good God!” he said aloud. He flipped up the desktop and opened the half door that gave access to the area behind the desk. The cop and the desk man both lay on the floor, and there was a lot of blood. He checked both for pulses; they were dead.

  He stood up and noticed two things for the first time. There was a bullet hole in one of the glass doors, and outside the building and to his right, lights were flashing. He walked outside and saw an unmarked police car standing a few yards up the street, the driver’s door open and a red light on the dashboard flashing. Traffic was moving unhindered down Fifth Avenue. Where the hell are Kelly and Anderson? He walked toward the car, passing two civilian cars on the way.

  “Mr. Barrington?”

  The voice spun him around. The doorman emerged from where he had been crouched between two parked cars. “Mr. Barrington, this is awful.”

  “What happened?” Stone demanded.

  “I let a man with a parcel to deliver into the lobby. He went to the front desk and, without a word, shot the police officer, then he held the gun to Dan’s head, and I saw Dan pick up the telephone. I ran outside, and then I heard a second shot.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “About a minute passed, and I heard more shots; then the man I had let in burst out of the building, ran across the street, and vaulted over the wall into the park. A few seconds later, the police officer who was running the elevator came out, looking up and down the street. I yelled that the man had gone into the park, and the officer went after him. Then I saw the red light start flashing in that car, there, and another man, I suppose a police officer, got out of the car and ran after the other two.”

  “Do you know if the man in the car called for help?” Stone asked.

  “No, I don’t know.”

  Stone went to the police car, found the microphone, and punched the switch. “Dispatch?”