Lucid Intervals

by Stuart Woods

  Felicity went below for a few minutes, then brought up a tray with their sandwiches and soup while Stone opened a bottle of California chardonnay from the little fridge.

  “Well,” Stone said, when they were munching away, “did the receipt of Hackett’s army service record do anything to convince you he is who he says he is?”

  “Certainly not,” she replied, forking a piece of lobster into her mouth.

  “Why don’t you get in touch with his old colonel and check out the story about how he got the file?”

  “It’s being done as we speak,” she replied.

  “So, if a retired colonel, living in a cottage somewhere in Sussex or Cornwall, declines to admit that he had too much wine at lunch one day and gave one of his old soldiers his own dossier that was about to be stored forever, Hackett is Whitestone?”

  “Not necessarily. But if the story doesn’t check out, he may not be Hackett, and that’s a start.”

  “God, I’m glad you’re not checking into my background,” he said, laughing.

  “What makes you think I haven’t?” she asked coyly.

  “You didn’t; you wouldn’t.”

  “Let’s see: son of a West Massachusetts family who did well in the textile business in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries; father disowned because he had Communist tendencies and chose to follow a career in carpentry and cabinetmaking instead of an education at Yale; mother disowned because she married your father. They moved to Greenwich Village, where your father found work as a handyman, then gradually built a business making cabinets and designing furniture; your mother became a painter of some renown, whose work is sought today in the art market. How’m I doing?”

  “Couldn’t find anything juicier than that?”

  “Not until you left the police, passed the bar exam and went to work for Woodman and Weld. It got a lot more interesting after that. My God, the women!”

  Stone reddened. “You’re a prying woman.”

  “I’d be a fool not to be, with a staff of researchers and a curious nature,” she said blithely.

  “Do you pry so deeply into the backgrounds of all the men you meet?”

  “All the ones I sleep with,” she said, “before I sleep with them.”

  “And have you turned up any cads?”

  “One cashiered army officer who embezzled his regiment’s funds,” she said. “One self-styled entrepreneur who turned out to be a bookmaker, haunting the tracks every day, and one murderer.”

  “Tell me about the murderer,” Stone said.

  “I had been seeing him for about a year,” she said. “I had just turned thirty and had been promoted to a position in my service that gave me access to a great deal of information. There was talk of marriage. He inherited quite a lot of money and a fine country property from his elder brother, who had died in a farming accident, and he proposed. I vetted him and found that he had been a suspect in the death of an elderly aunt in Scotland, and I brought that to the attention of the police. A few days later two detectives arrived at a restaurant where we were dining and took him away, charging him with his brother’s murder. It was revealed at the trial that he had driven a tractor over the poor fellow and then harrowed him. Tried to make it look like he’d fallen off the machine and under the harrow.”

  “And you turned him in?”

  “Most certainly,” she replied. “I am an upstanding subject of Her Majesty and an upholder of the law. If he’d been acquitted,” she added, “I’d have married him. As it was, he got life.”

  Stone’s cell phone buzzed at his belt. He looked at it and saw Dino was calling. “Excuse me,” he said, and answered it.

  “Hello, Dino.”

  “Where the hell are you?” Dino asked.

  “It’s a secret.”

  “I can find out, you know; I’m a detective.”

  “Far, far away,” Stone said.

  “Well, you’d better get your ass back here,” Dino replied.

  “Why?”

  “Because your esteemed client, Mr. Herbert Fisher, has been arrested for the murder of his girlfriend, one Sheila Seidman. My guys say he tossed her off his penthouse; she made a mess on Park Avenue.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Stone said.

  “I don’t know why not,” Dino replied. “If she’d been my girlfriend I’d have offed her a long time ago. Anyway, Herbie’s back in the tank, and he won’t talk to anybody but you. What time will you be here?”

  “I’m in Maine, Dino; it’ll have to be tomorrow.”

  “Stay another week, for all I care. I just wanted to give you the message.”

  “Tell Herbie tomorrow afternoon,” Stone said.

  “Okey dokey,” Dino replied. “Felicity with you?”

  “That information is classified,” Stone said.

  “That means she’s with you. It wouldn’t be classified, if she weren’t.”

  “You’re too smart for me, Dino.”

  “I always was,” Dino replied and then hung up.

  Stone put the phone back in its holster.

  “So what difficulty has Mr. Fisher got himself into now?” Felicity asked.

  “Apparently, Herbie’s girlfriend, an unbearable woman named Sheila, a prostitute by trade, has taken a dive from the terrace of his new penthouse, and the squad at the Nineteenth like Herbie for it. I have to go back tomorrow morning and deal with the situation, Herbie having paid me a large retainer to look after him.”

  “You think he did it?” Felicity asked.

  “Let me put it this way,” Stone said. “Today is going to be either the worst day or the best day of his life.”

  42

  The following morning Stone was loading their luggage into the 1938 Ford when Mary called to him from the house. “Phone for you, Mr. Stone.”

  Stone went back into the living room and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  “It’s Jim Hackett,” a voice said. “When are you planning to return to New York?”

  “In a matter of minutes,” Stone said. “One of my clients is in a jam, and we’re just leaving for the airport. Do you need the airplane?”

  “No, no, it’s not that. I have a G-550 for long-distance travel; the Mustang is for personal pleasure. I’m calling from the Gulfstream now, on my way home. There are some things I want to discuss with you.”

  “I’ll be in the city by noon,” Stone said.

  “Then come and see me in my office tomorrow morning at eight,” Hackett said. “Where are you staying?”

  “In my own home,” Stone replied.

  “Not a good idea; the crazy lady is still on the loose. The company keeps a suite at the Plaza for important guests. Tell them I sent you, and stay there until it’s safe.”

  “How will I know when it’s safe?”

  “I’ll tell you.”

  “All right, Jim. See you tomorrow morning.” Stone hung up and went back to the car.

  At the airport, after a long preflight inspection and a careful reading of the checklist, Stone positioned the airplane at the very end of the runway, did his pre-takeoff check, then shoved the throttles to the firewall while standing on the brakes. When the instruments showed the engines were producing every drop of available power, he released the brakes and the airplane pressed him back into his seat. He kept one eye on the rapidly disappearing runway and the other on the airspeed tape until the little R landed on the pointer, then he put both hands on the yoke and pulled it back until the flight director told him he was at the correct angle for takeoff.

  The airplane rose, just as it seemed there was no runway left, and climbed as it had been designed to.

  “Well,” Felicity said, “it’s reassuring to know this little airplane can do that. For future reference.”

  “I always knew the airplane could do that,” Stone replied, “because it’s in the flight manual.” He climbed to altitude and moved the throttles back to the cruise detent. “By the way, Jim has suggested that, since Dolce is still at large
, we stay in his company’s suite at the Plaza. That okay with you, or do you want to move into the embassy?”

  “I’ll stick with you,” she replied. “The ambassador’s wife drives me mad.”

  “Good.”

  “I’m going to need more clothes, though.”

  “Give me a list, and I’ll have Joan pack a case for both of us and messenger them over to the Plaza.” Stone used the sat phone to call Joan.

  “Did Dino get hold of you?” Joan asked.

  “Yeah, I’ll go see Herbie this afternoon.” Stone gave her a list of what to pack for both of them.

  THE PLAZA SUITE had one bedroom and a large living room, both overlooking Central Park. Felicity approved. “No good sniper position out there,” she said, peeking through the sheer curtains.

  “Are you often the victim of sniper attacks?” Stone asked.

  “It’s just a standard security concern,” she said. “After a while, the handlers get you trained; makes their work easier.”

  The cases Joan sent over were already in the bedroom, and Stone and Felicity unpacked. Then they lunched on room service, and Stone left Felicity, who was watching a movie on the large TV screen in the bedroom.

  HERBIE LOOKED AWFUL, and the orange jumpsuit didn’t help. “Where have you been?” he demanded of Stone. “I’ve been in here for nearly a whole day!”

  “I was several hundred miles away when I heard, Herbie. I got here as soon as I returned to town. Now tell me, what happened?”

  “It was yesterday morning,” Herbie said. “Sheila and I had breakfast in bed, and we were watching some morning TV when we got into an argument about you.”

  “About me?”

  “Yeah. This is all your fault.”

  “Herbie, calm down and tell me what you’re talking about.”

  “You know what I’m talking about, Stone. It was you who insisted.”

  “Insisted on what?”

  “On the prenup.”

  “Ah, yes. I did insist, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did. So I told Sheila to go and see you about it, and she went absolutely nuts: ranted and raved and started crying. It upsets me when she cries.”

  “Does she… did she cry a lot?”

  “Only when I tried to get her to do something she didn’t want to do, like not go shopping.”

  “Or talk to me about a prenup.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you explain to her that she would need to see her own lawyer?”

  “I thought all she needed was you,” Herbie said.

  “Let me explain this to you, Herbie,” Stone said. “It would be unethical for me to represent both of you at the same time, so Sheila would have needed her own attorney. I would have insisted on that had she called me.”

  “Even if we were going to get married?”

  “Especially if you were going to get married. If she had signed a prenup without her own counsel and you later got divorced, she could get the prenup invalidated on the grounds that she was not properly represented.”

  “Oh.”

  “Now go on. What happened next?”

  “Well, I couldn’t stand the yelling anymore, and I said I would talk to her some more about it after I went to the john, and I went to the john.”

  “For how long?”

  “Long enough to read most of a magazine.”

  “How many minutes, Herbie?”

  “I don’t know… twenty minutes, half an hour. Who’s counting? So I got dressed, and when I came out of the bedroom, Sheila wasn’t there. I looked all over for her, but she was gone. I figured she was out doing some revenge shopping and she’d be back when she cooled off, so I sat down in the living room to watch some more TV. Then I heard all these sirens, and they would get louder and louder and then stop, like they were in front of the building. So I went out on the terrace-the sliding glass door was open-and looked over the, whatchacallit, the edge.”

  “The parapet.”

  “Yeah, like that. And there were a couple of cop cars and a fire truck down on the street, and people were running around. So I went back inside and watched some of Ellen. Maybe five minutes later, the doorbell rang, and there were these two uniforms standing there.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “They asked me if I knew a woman that sounded like Sheila from their description, and I said yes, that sounded like my fiancée. They asked where she was, and I said I didn’t know for sure, but I thought she might have gone shopping. Then these two detectives arrived, and they asked me a lot more questions, and I started to get the idea something was wrong. Then they told me Sheila was down on the sidewalk. I ran to the…”

  “Parapet.”

  “Yeah, and I looked down, and the ambulance was driving away and the doorman was scrubbing the sidewalk. The four cops all followed me out, and I said I had to go to the hospital. A detective said there was no need to do that, since she was dead.”

  “Did you tell them about your argument with Sheila?”

  “Well, yeah. I told them everything I knew, then they arrested me and took me down here to the precinct.”

  “Did they tell you why they were arresting you?”

  “Yeah, they said for murdering Sheila. Honest to God, Stone, all I did was ask her to go see you.”

  “Herbie, you said the sliding glass door to the terrace was already open when you went outside.”

  “Right. Sheila closed it when we came in last night. We were going out to dinner.”

  “You didn’t touch the door?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know when it was last cleaned?”

  “Yesterday. The maid came.”

  “Did you touch the sliding door after the maid came?”

  Herbie thought about that. “No. Sheila opened it when we went out there for a drink, and she closed it when we came in.”

  “Where did you go to dinner?”

  “At that place you told me about, Sette Mezzo.”

  “Did you have a good time there?”

  “Oh, yeah. Sheila was in a great mood, which she wasn’t always in, but she was last night. We laughed a lot.”

  “Herbie, during the argument, did you happen to hit Sheila?”

  “No, no. I never hit her in my life.”

  “What was she wearing when you went into the john?”

  “Silk pajamas,” Herbie said.

  “Okay, you sit tight. I’m going to see if I can cut this short, before they arraign you.”

  “Okay, hurry back.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Stone said, and left the interview room.

  43

  Stone walked up to Dino’s office and was waved in and introduced to an attractive young woman who was sitting in one of Dino’s chairs.

  “This is Carla Rentz,” Dino said. “She’s prosecuting your client, Mr. Fisher.”

  Stone sat down and tried to look puzzled. “Prosecuting him? For what?”

  “For murder,” the young woman replied.

  “On what evidence?” Stone asked.

  “Mr. Fisher was the only one present when she was thrown off the roof,” she said.

  “Excuse me,” Stone said. “What evidence do you have that she was thrown off the roof?”

  “Well, she’s dead.”

  “Have you considered suicide?”

  “Why should I consider suicide?”

  “Because it’s one of two possibilities,” Stone said. “Either she was thrown off the roof, or she jumped.”

  “What is her motive for suicide?”

  “What is Mr. Fisher’s motive for murder?”

  “I’m sure that will emerge.”

  “Well, if a motive emerges, you may have cause to arrest Mr. Fisher but not now. Tell you what. Send a couple of Lieutenant Bacchetti’s detectives over to a restaurant called Sette Mezzo, on Lexington near Seventy-sixth. Mr. Fisher and Ms. Seidman had dinner there last night. Ask the headwaiter and their waiter what their demeanor was during dinner there. You
’ll be told that they were very happy, enjoying each other’s company. You see, he was in love with her, and they planned to marry.”

  “If they were so happy, why would Ms. Seidman commit suicide?”

  “Anger is a motive for suicide; people kill themselves all the time, because they think it will hurt the people they’re mad at.”

  “You say he was in love with her. Was she in love with him?”

  “In my opinion, no,” Stone replied. “Ms. Seidman was a working prostitute who had serviced Mr. Fisher on a number of occasions, and when Mr. Fisher won a large sum in the New York State Lottery, her interest in him became more… acute, shall we say. And so did the interest of her employer.”

  “You still haven’t given me a motive for suicide,” Ms. Rentz said. “Why was she angry?”

  “She was angry because Mr. Fisher had asked her to sign a prenuptial agreement. She didn’t want to go back to her pimp and tell him that, so she was between a rock and a hard place. I had already spoken to her earlier about a prenup, and she became angry at the mention of it. She was uncontrollably angry before she jumped.”

  “We didn’t find a prenup in the apartment,” she said.

  “That’s because I hadn’t given it to Mr. Fisher yet. He asked her to go and see me about it.”

  “Without her own attorney?”

  “I would have insisted on that,” Stone said.

  “Why didn’t you give Mr. Fisher the prenup earlier?”

  “Because I’ve been out of town for a few days, in Maine. I just got back today. My secretary will be happy to give you a copy of the prenup I had prepared.” He gave her the address and Joan’s name.

  “When the detectives arrived, Mr. Fisher feigned not to know that Ms. Seidman had… met her death. How could he have missed that?”

  “Because he was sitting on the toilet, reading a magazine, when she jumped. When he was finished there, he got dressed and went to look for her, but she was gone. He thought she had gone shopping, because that’s what she usually did.”

  “How can he prove that?” she asked.

  “Mr. Fisher will agree to a colonoscopy,” Stone replied.

  Dino burst out laughing.