Worst Fears Realized

by Stuart Woods

“Ossining, New York.”

  “Yuck; sounds like an awful place.”

  “Many of the people who reside there think so.”

  “Why are we stopping there?”

  “I want to ask a man some questions.” Stone pulled onto the West Side Highway and left the thick traffic behind. He put his foot down and felt himself pressed into his seat as the car accelerated.

  “My goodness,” Sarah said.

  “Yes, indeed.” Stone looked into the rearview mirror at the small dot that was the detectives’ car. He punched a programmed button on the car telephone.

  “Krakauer,” a voice said.

  “Thanks, Krakauer,” Stone said. “I’ll take it from here. You can tell Lieutenant Bacchetti that you got me out of town alive.”

  “Right,” Krakauer replied. “Try not to come back.”

  Stone punched off the call, flipped on the radar scrambler, and concentrated on driving and watching for cops. In what seemed like half the usual time they were on the Saw Mill River Parkway, headed north. He crossed the Hudson on the Tappan Zee Bridge and picked up the New York State Thruway.

  “There’s a little wind noise around this window,” Sarah said. “I would have thought that at, what, seventy miles an hour we wouldn’t hear that.”

  “We’re doing a hundred and ten,” Stone replied.

  “Oh. Are we going to be arrested?”

  “Probably not.” He spotted a state trooper going in the opposite direction and slowed down, watching the car make a U-turn across the meridian. By the time the trooper was up to speed, Stone was at sixty-five. He could see the man fiddling with something on his dashboard, looking confused. A moment later, the trooper made another U-turn and drove off to the south. “Zap,” Stone said aloud.

  “What?” Sarah asked.

  “I just zapped his radar.”

  “I thought his radar was supposed to zap you.”

  “That’s the way it used to be.”

  A little later Stone pulled into the visitor parking lot at Sing Sing and approached the guardhouse.

  “Can I help you?” the guard asked.

  “I’d like to speak to Captain Warkowski.”

  “Just a minute.” The guard picked up a phone, said something into it, then handed it to Stone. “He’s on the line.”

  “Hello, Captain,” Stone said. “This is Stone Barrington; I was up here with Lieutenant Bacchetti.”

  “How could I forget?” Warkowski replied. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’d like to see Herbert Mitteldorfer again; just a few questions.”

  “I’m afraid you’ve missed him.”

  “Missed him? Is he in town, running errands?”

  “Herbie got out yesterday.”

  “I see.” This didn’t come as a complete surprise. “Can I have his release address?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know his new address.”

  “May I have the name of his parole officer, then?”

  “He doesn’t have a parole officer.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “He got an unconditional release.”

  “He was released unconditionally? From a sentence for murder? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “It’s rare, but it happens. Herbie was an outstanding prisoner, very helpful to the warden and me, and his psychiatric examination showed no likelihood of a repeat offense.”

  “So you just cut him loose, and you’re hoping for the best?”

  “That’s about it.”

  “And you have no address for Mitteldorfer?”

  “None at all; he’s as free as an eagle.”

  “Thanks; sorry to trouble you.”

  “No trouble at all,” Warkowski replied.

  Stone could hear him laughing as he hung up. He returned to the car.

  “Business all done?”

  “Almost,” Stone said. He drove away from the prison and into the town, looking for something. It didn’t take him long to find it, and he drove into a parking place.

  “I’ve got to run in here for a minute,” Stone said.

  “Stone, darling, do you really feel an urgent need for stationery right now?”

  “I won’t be a minute.” He got out and went into the store; the sign over the door read, WILHELM’S STATIONERS. A young woman was behind a counter near the door. “Good afternoon,” Stone said. “I wonder if I could speak to Mr. Wilhelm?”

  “I’m afraid he’s out for a couple of hours, delivering,” the young woman said.

  “Oh.” Stone turned to go, then stopped. “Did a man named Herbert Mitteldorfer used to buy supplies here for the prison?”

  “Herbie? Oh, yes. He was one of our better customers. He and Mr. Wilhelm used to speak German to each other.”

  “How often was he in here?” Stone asked.

  “Oh, practically every single day, even when there was a lockdown at the prison.”

  “He bought office supplies every day?”

  “Oh, no, not really. At first, he’d come in to see Mr. Wilhelm, then he started working here.”

  “He worked for Mr. Wilhelm?”

  “Well, not for Mr. Wilhelm; Mr. Wilhelm rented him office space. He had a computer and everything.”

  Stone blinked as he tried to get his mind around this. “Did you know he was released yesterday?”

  “Oh, yes. Herbie came by to get his stuff and to say goodbye.”

  “Did he have a lot of stuff?”

  “A couple of filing cabinets and his computer and printer; that was about all.”

  “Do you think I could have a look at where Herbie worked?”

  “Are you a friend of his?”

  “I came up to see him today, but I didn’t know he’d been released until I got to the prison.”

  “Sure, I guess you could see it; follow me.”

  Stone followed the young woman through aisles of stationery and office equipment to a door on the other side of the store.

  She opened the door and stood back. “This is where he worked,” she said.

  Stone looked into a room furnished only with a desk, a chair, and a small leather sofa. “Do you have any idea what Herbie did in here?” he asked.

  “Well, I know he traded stocks,” she replied. “I don’t know what else he did.”

  Stone stared at her. “On the stock market, you mean?”

  “Oh, yes; he was a very active trader; he spent every afternoon on the computer and on the telephone, talking to his broker. He gave me and Mr. Wilhelm a number of good tips; we made out real well. I was sorry to see Herbie go.”

  “Thanks,” Stone said.

  “Come see us again. Shall I tell Mr. Wilhelm you stopped in?”

  “No, that won’t be necessary. By the way, do you have Herbie’s new address?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t; neither does Mr. Wilhelm. He did say that he was headed west.”

  “How far west?”

  “I don’t know, really; he did say that he’d let us know when he was settled.”

  “I see. Tell me, how did Herbie take his computer and his file cabinets away?”

  “He had a man with a van; I guess somebody he hired.”

  “Was there a name on the van?”

  “Nope, just a plain, black van.”

  “Can you describe the man who drove the van?”

  “I’m sorry, I just didn’t pay that much attention; I was helping customers.”

  “Thanks again for your help,” Stone said. He walked back to his car, wondering why the hell Sing Sing would let a prisoner spend his afternoons in Ossining, trading stocks.

  “All done?” Sarah asked, as he got into the car.

  “Completely done,” Stone replied. He had no idea what to do next.

  21

  T HEY CROSSED INTO CONNECTICUT ON I-84, and Stone soon turned off the interstate at Southbury and headed north. The car behaved like a living thing, clinging to curves and accelerating in the straights.

  “When do I get t
o know where we’re going?” Sarah asked.

  “When we get there, not before,” Stone replied. “Just enjoy the countryside; it restores your corpuscles, remember?”

  “I can feel them pumping even now.”

  In Woodbury, Stone turned left on Highway 47, and a few minutes later they entered Washington Township.

  “Oh, Washington!” Sarah enthused. “I spent a weekend here a few years ago; what a lovely place!”

  “I’m glad you think so,” Stone said, making a right turn at a sign that read, MAYFLOWER INN. They drove around a pond and up a steep hill, pulling up outside a handsome, shingled building.

  “This is lovely,” Sarah said. “How did you find it?”

  “It wasn’t hard,” Stone said. “It was voted the best country inn in America last year in some magazine. I clipped the article.”

  “Well clipped,” she replied.

  Someone took their bags upstairs and let them into a handsomely decorated suite overlooking the rear gardens.

  “Have you reserved a dinner table, sir?” the young bellman asked.

  “No. Could you do that for me, at eight o’clock?”

  “Certainly. You’ll need a jacket, but not necessarily a tie.”

  “Thank you.” Stone tipped him generously, and he let himself out of the room. “Well,” Stone said, “we’ve got two hours until dinner; how shall we amuse ourselves?”

  Sarah walked into his arms. “I’ll need an hour to bathe and dress. That leaves a whole hour of free, unsupervised time.”

  Stone kissed her. “Unsupervised?”

  “Well, not entirely,” she said, working on his buttons. “I’ll do the supervising.”

  At seven-thirty they walked downstairs, now showered, changed, and entirely relaxed, and entered the handsome bar, taking a table near a window.

  “I could live here,” Sarah said. “All I’d need would be this table and the bed upstairs.”

  “I’ve heard worse ideas,” Stone agreed.

  A young woman appeared. “Would you like a drink, Mr. Barrington?”

  Stone nodded at Sarah.

  “A vodka gimlet, straight up, shaken very cold, slightly sweet,” she said.

  “Two,” Stone replied.

  Shortly they were sipping the clear, green-tinted liquid. The waitress returned. “Mr. Barrington, there’s a phone call for you at the front desk.”

  “Excuse me,” Stone said to Sarah, taking his drink with him. He went into the front hall and was shown to a phone booth. “Hello?”

  “It’s Dino; I hear you’re driving something alarming.”

  “Entirely so; I’ll show you the first of the week.”

  “Okay; how’d it go with Mitteldorfer?”

  “It didn’t.”

  “Warkowski wouldn’t let you see him?”

  “He wasn’t there to see.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “He’s out.”

  “Paroled?”

  “Unconditionally released.”

  There was a long silence before Dino spoke again. “Well, the little shit. He must have spent the last twelve years bending over for Warkowski.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. I went by the stationery store where he bought supplies and found out that Mitteldorfer was keeping an office there.”

  “An office? What the hell for?”

  “That was pretty much my reaction. The lady in charge said he had a computer in there and that he was trading stocks.”

  “Holy shit, and I bet I know who for.”

  “Warkowski.”

  “Damn right, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t for the warden, too.”

  “The lady said he gave her and the store’s owner a few hot tips.”

  “You ever hear of anything like this?”

  “Never.”

  “So where’s Mitteldorfer now?”

  “Nobody knows, or, at least, nobody’s saying. The lady in the store said he said he was going west.”

  “Jesus, I hope so,” Dino said. “I never want to see the little bastard again.”

  “Somebody came up with a black van and took his computer and his files away.”

  “So he’s not without friends.”

  “Not while Warkowski’s alive. I wouldn’t be surprised if the captain helped him move. What have you got to report?”

  “I’ve had two detectives going through every case we worked as partners, and I’m damned if there’s anything that looks good. Just about everybody we sent up for anything serious is still inside.”

  “You had any new experiences that would indicate that our guy is still out there?”

  “Nah. I think he’s licking the wounds that Mary Ann gave him. He’d be pretty noticeable with a big bandage on his ear.”

  “Nobody followed us out of town that I could see.”

  “That’s what Krakauer said.”

  “And once I was on the West Side Highway, nobody could have kept up.”

  “What are you driving?”

  “You’ll have to wait and see.”

  “How’s the inn?”

  “Perfect, except that I’m talking to you when I should be talking to Sarah.”

  “Bye-bye.”

  “Bye.” Stone hung up and returned to the bar.

  “That was Dino, wasn’t it?” she asked.

  “It was.”

  “Dino knows before I do where I’m spending the weekend?”

  “I wasn’t surprising Dino.”

  “Good point.”

  “You hungry?”

  “You bet.”

  “Miss, could I have a menu and a wine list, please?”

  They polished off a dinner of smoked salmon and roast pheasant and a bottle of very good cabernet, then, sated, went back upstairs.

  Later, after they had made love again, Stone said, “I like having you around. I’d like to have you around all the time.”

  “I hope to God that’s not a proposal,” she said, lifting her head from his shoulder.

  “Not yet.”

  “Not for a long while,” she said.

  “As you wish, but I would like to point out that you are, technically, at least, homeless.”

  “And whose fault is that?”

  “Mine, entirely mine. And I want to make up for it by offering you a bed…home, rather.”

  “And a very nice home it is,” Sarah said. “Your house was a shambles when I left for Italy.”

  “Do you think you could feel at home in it?”

  “I think I could feel at home with you.”

  “Then there’s nothing more to say.”

  “Yes, there is.”

  “What?”

  “I told you before, I’m a country girl; I need a place outside the city.”

  “Where would you like to have a place?”

  “Not the Hamptons; I’ve had too much of that crowd.”

  “Where, then?”

  “Maybe here.”

  “I don’t think I could swing the inn, even with a mortgage.”

  “A house, silly, and not a big house; a cottage, perhaps.”

  “Sounds good,” he said. “Why don’t we find a real-estate agent tomorrow morning?”

  “Do you mean it, Stone?”

  “Do you think I’m saying this just because you got me into bed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’re a rotten judge of character.”

  “We’ll see in the morning,” she said, snuggling her naked body against his.

  Stone fell asleep wondering where Herbert Mitteldorfer was.

  22

  S TONE SAT IN THE FRONT PASSENGER SEAT of a black Range Rover and tried not to fall asleep. The car was being driven by a real-estate agent named Carolyn Klemm, and she had already shown them half a dozen houses, all charming, but not quite right. Sarah dozed in the rear seat. The car stopped, jarring Stone fully awake.

  “What do you think of that?” the agent asked.

  Stone focused on a very lar
ge, very beautiful shingle-style house in the medium distance.

  “I’ve got the key in my pocket,” Carolyn said.

  “Carolyn, I don’t want a house tour,” Stone grumbled. “I want to see houses I can afford.”

  “Not that,” Carolyn said. She pointed. “That.”

  Stone turned his head to the right. There, much closer, was a very much smaller relative of the large house.

  “The big place is called The Rocks,” Carolyn said.“The little place was originally the gatehouse.”

  Sarah spoke up. “Let’s see it.”

  Carolyn pulled into the driveway, past a row of evergreens that partly shielded the little house from the road. It was a Victorian, or perhaps a Queen Anne, style, shingled, with a turret taking up half the front facade. “Two bedrooms, two and a half baths, garage, and in back, a very nice little pool.” She got out of the car, led them up the front path, and opened the front door.

  Stone and Sarah stepped into a larger room than he had expected. A new-looking kitchen occupied a rear corner, and the wooden floors looked recently refinished.

  “It was built in 1889, at the same time as the house,” Carolyn was saying. “When the original owner left, he sold it separately from The Rocks, and it’s changed hands two or three times since.”

  “Let’s see the upstairs,” Sarah said.

  They followed the agent up a handsome staircase and were shown a large master bedroom with a new bath and a second, smaller bedroom, with only a shower. They poked into closets and looked out windows. The bedrooms overlooked The Rocks, and the front windows took in the Gunnery School, across the street. They went back downstairs.

  “This whole area is called The Green,” Carolyn was saying. “It’s the oldest part of town and the most sought-after.”

  “What are they asking for the house?” Stone asked.

  “You could get lucky here,” Carolyn replied. “The couple who own it are divorcing, and they’re highly motivated sellers. They want to get their money out and divide it.” She named a figure.

  Stone looked at Sarah inquiringly; she responded with an almost imperceptible nod. Stone turned to Carolyn and quoted a figure twenty percent lower than the asking price.

  “Let me use the upstairs phone,” Carolyn said.

  When she had gone Sarah grabbed Stone by the lapels. “If you hadn’t made the offer I would have! It’s absolutely beautiful, and it’s just been renovated.”