by Stuart Woods
“Immediately?”
“As soon as I was sure she meant it.”
“How long did that take?”
“A few minutes, I guess.”
“How many minutes? Exactly.”
“Five, I guess.”
“Did you lie down on the seat of the car?”
“For a minute or two.”
“Did you get your hand in her pants?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you get your finger inside her?”
“Yes, sir, for a minute.”
“Did you get her pants off?”
“No, sir. I didn’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Sir?”
“Well, it sounds to me like you were doing real well, there, Bobby; you got at her tits, you got your finger in her crotch, why stop?”
“I guess she didn’t want to.”
“If she didn’t want to, how’d you get your hand in her crotch?”
“Well, I-”
Stone leaned across to Eggers’s desk and picked up a legal pad. “It says here you forced her to have sex with you.”
“That’s a lie!”
“It says here, you ripped off her underwear, pinned her down with your weight, and fucked her against her will.”
“It wasn’t against her will!”
“So you fucked her, didn’t you?”
“No, I… you’re getting me confused.”
“It says here that when she got back to her dorm, her roommate took a cotton swab and collected a semen sample from her pubic hair and saved it on a glass slide. Her roommate is a biology major. That’s your misfortune.”
Bobby’s eyes widened, and his jaw worked, but nothing came out.
“Do you know what a DNA matching is, Bobby?”
“I… well, I read something in the paper about it.”
“Give me that lab report,” Stone said to Eggers.
Eggers promptly found a sheet of paper on his desk and handed it across to Stone.
Stone looked at the paper, an interoffice memo, and shook his head.
“Listen, I can give you the names of three guys who’ve screwed Janie Byron,” Bobby said. His face was red. “I-”
“I see,” Stone said. “So the guys at the frat house are going to back you, huh? They’re stand-up guys, so they’re all going to go into court and perjure themselves for you and risk going to prison.”
Bobby put his face in his hands for a moment.
Stone turned to Eggers. “You can’t go into court with this guy, Bill. He can’t even convince his own lawyers, how the hell is he going to convince a jury?”
“Bobby,” Eggers said gently, “you see what we’re up against, don’t you? I mean, Mr. Barrington is on your side, and he can’t bring himself to believe you. Now listen, if you’ll just tell us the truth, all of the truth, then we may be able to get you out of this.”
“He’ll never tell you the truth,” Stone said harshly. “He’s a lying little piece of shit.”
Bobby came half off the sofa, but, when Stone stood up, he sank back. “Can I talk to you alone, Mr. Eggers?” he said plaintively.
“Sure you can, kid,” Stone said, heading for the door. “I wouldn’t waste any more of my time.” At the door, he turned back to Eggers. “I’ll tell you one thing, I wish I was prosecuting this one, instead of defending.” He walked out, slamming the door behind him.
In the hall, Stone leaned against the door and took a deep breath. Jesus, it had been awhile. Dino usually played the bad cop.
Chapter 35
Bill Eggers leaned back in his chair and rested his feet on his desk. “That was good work, Stone. The boy has told me everything, I think; I don’t believe he actually screwed the girl, though God knows he meant to. He’s down the hall in an associate’s office right now, writing letters to the girl and the university administration. I think I can negotiate him out of this. The girl wasn’t entirely blameless, and she does have a reputation for sleeping around.”
“I’m glad it worked out,” Stone said.
“Well, you saved his father seventy-five or a hundred thousand in legal fees. Bob Keene will always be grateful to us for that.”
“Frank said you had something else for me.”
“I do, and this one’s sticky. Or, at least, it could be.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I’m going to have to be a little circumspect in talking even to you about this,” Eggers said. “There’s a lot at stake, and I’m going to have to proceed strictly on a need-to-know basis, all right?”
“All right.”
“I have a client I’ve known since I was in high school, whose wife is a prominent businesswoman. They’ve never had much of a marriage, but there were a couple of kids, and they stuck it out. Trouble is, the wife has had a couple of affairs. In fact, there’ve been other men all along, I think, but he’s finally run out of patience, and, even against my best advice, he’s determined to proceed his own way on this.”
“What does he want to do?”
“He wants custody of one of the two kids, the boy, and that means he has to nail her with the other guy – photographs, the works. Actually, he wants a videotape of her in bed with him.”
“Do you often proceed this way in divorce cases?”
“No, and I’ve advised him against this, but he’s absolutely determined. He wants a quick, clean divorce with no haggling about money, and, I have to admit, if he gets his little video, there won’t be any haggling. The wife has too much to lose to allow a Rob Lowe-type tape to be circulated. If her board of directors so much as got wind of such a thing, she’d be finished. Nobody would ever take her seriously again.”
“Well, even in an era of no-fault divorce, I suppose there are still certain advantages to having that sort of evidence. What exactly is it you want me to do? Kick down the bedroom door and film them in living color?”
“I definitely do not want you to do that. The firm can’t afford to have anybody as closely associated with us as you are be directly involved in such a distasteful affair.”
“You mean you want me to find someone else who’ll do it”
Eggers grinned. “Right. Someone who can be trusted to be discreet, even if he’s caught in the act of doing it. Do you know somebody like that?”
Stone did. The man’s face popped immediately into his mind. “Possibly,” he said. “But this could get expensive. He’s going to have to stalk the lady until he can catch her in the act, and that may not be easy.”
“I think it’s going to be easier than you think,” Eggers said, smiling.
“Oh?”
“My client has been very helpful. His wife’s company maintains two apartments in a rather elegant building that specializes in company flats – you know the sort of thing – the out-of-town executive stays in the company apartment instead of at the Plaza. It’s supposed to save money for the company, but, mostly, it’s regarded as just a perk for the upper-level executive. Anyway, my client has been tipped that his wife has been using one of the company apartments on a rather regular basis for her assignations with her male bimbo – a soap-opera actor no less, and he has thoughtfully supplied us with a key to the apartment.” He held up a key.
“Your client has been very helpful indeed,” Stone agreed.
“As I said, there are two apartments. My client, as a spouse, also has access to them, and what he is prepared to do, next time he thinks his wife is dallying, is to book your man into the other flat for the night. That gets him access to the building.” He tossed the key to Stone. “And this gets him access to the other apartment.”
“That’s very neat,” Stone admitted. “Your client is a very cunning fellow.”
“I hope I never have the misfortune to be married to somebody as smart,” Eggers said. “Can you think of any reason why this wouldn’t work?”
Stone laughed. “There are only a few dozen things that could go wrong,” he said, “but it’ll be up to our
man to handle those. Actually, your client has made it look pretty straightforward. When does he want this done?”
“Within the next few days. Next time the lady says she’s working late, he’ll call, and it’s on. Can you find your man in a hurry?”
“I’ll make some calls.”
“Let me know what he wants for a fee. I’m authorized to go to ten grand.” Eggers reached behind his desk and pulled out a fat aluminum briefcase. “My client has even supplied us with some very neat, lightweight video equipment.” He began to laugh. “It belongs to the wife.”
Stone had to laugh with him.
Teddy O’Bannion was a thick-set, gray-haired man of, maybe, fifty-five, who had been unfortunate enough to be chosen to take the heat for his precinct a few years back, when one of the periodically instituted crime commissions was going about its work of rooting out corruption in the police department. The evidence allowed against him had been slim, and he had simply been dismissed from the force without prejudice, which allowed him to collect a twenty-year pension, in addition to the very nice monthly stipend his old companions on the pad still paid him.
Teddy could easily pass for your typical out-of-town businessman, in the city for meetings. He looked around the house carefully, obviously trying to figure out how Stone could afford it. “Jesus, Stone, the pad must be bigger than ever,” he said, wonderingly.
“I inherited it, Teddy, from a great-aunt, and now I have to spend the rest of my life scrambling to keep it.”
“Whatever you say, lad.”
Stone handed Teddy a stiff scotch. “I’ve got a night’s work for you. There’s five grand in it.”
“How many children and dogs do I have to murder?”
“It’s a straightforward bedroom job, that’s all.”
Teddy laughed aloud. “Straightforward? Shit, the last bedroom job I did, the woman flew out of the bed and nearly bit my ear off!”
“Those are the risks you take, Teddy.”
“That they are, lad. What’s the setup?”
Stone explained about the apartment building. “There are only two apartments to a floor; you’ll be booked into 9-B. The wife will be across a vestibule in 9-A. You let yourself in – late, I’m advised – find the bedroom, wake the occupants, and take their picture.” He opened the aluminum case and showed Teddy how the camera worked. “You switch on the light; the camera is autofocus, so you just point and shoot. Make sure you get good shots of both faces, and show us a little flesh, if you can. The juicier the better.”
“I think I understand your needs,” Teddy said. “And I’ve used this camera before. Is there anything else I should know?”
Stone shook his head. “If there’s trouble, don’t hurt anybody; if you’re apprehended, say nothing and call me. My client will cover any costs. If a case against you comes to anything, there’ll be another five thousand for you, if you do the right thing.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not getting myself apprehended, and if I do, I’ll take the rap. Nobody’ll trace me back to you. Can I get a look at the place ahead of time?”
Stone shook his head. “I don’t want the concierge to see you twice. I’ll look it over myself.”
“That’s okay with me.”
“Good. When you’ve done the job, take a cab to P. J. Clarke’s and have a drink at the bar. Make sure nobody’s after you. I’ll be there, and, when I’m sure you’re clear, I’ll leave an envelope above the urinal in the men’s room with the five grand in it. You go in immediately after me, leave the camera case, take the money, and go home. That’s it.”
Teddy nodded. “Sounds fine.”
“I don’t want you recognized, Teddy. What can you do about that?”
Teddy put on his hat, took a pair of heavy, black-rimmed glasses from his coat pocket, put them on, then produced a fat cigar and stuck it in his mouth, distorting his face.
Stone laughed. “Good. Simple and good. Oh, and wear your best suit. You want to look prosperous.”
Teddy nodded. “When is it?”
“Probably this week. Stay loose, and I’ll give you as much notice as I can. You can pick up the camera stuff here, on your way.” Stone gave him a hundred-dollar bill. “Here’s cab fare.”
Teddy shook his hand at the door. “Thanks, Stone. I’ll do it right for you.”
Stone hadn’t the slightest doubt he would.
Chapter 36
“Your name is Willoughby,” Eggers said. “Just check in with the concierge, and he’ll give you the key to 9-B. I gave you the key to 9-A, but be careful, there may be somebody in residence.”
“Okay,” Stone replied.
“I take it you found your man.”
“I did. He’s waiting for my call.”
“Looks like Friday night.”
Stone breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t wanted this to interfere with his Saturday night with Cary. “All right. When will we know for sure?”
“Maybe not until that day. You sure you have to go to the building yourself?”
“Yes. I don’t want my man seen there more than once, and, anyway, I’m in no way at risk today.”
“Okay, it’s your call.”
The building was a small postwar apartment building in the East Sixties that had been refurbished for its current purpose. An elderly man in a blue suit was behind the desk.
“Good afternoon,” Stone said. “My name is Willoughby; I believe I’m expected.”
The man consulted a list. “Yes, Mr. Willoughby, you’re in 9-B. You just need it for the afternoon, I believe?”
“Not even that. I just needed a place to do a little work, and they were kind enough to offer me the apartment.”
The man produced a key. “To your right as you leave the elevator. Do you have any luggage?”
“Just my briefcase,” Stone said, holding it up. “Is there anybody using the apartment next door? I may have to do some shouting on the telephone.” He smiled.
“Shout all you like,” the man said. “9-A is empty at the moment.”
Stone thanked the man and went to the elevator. When he got off, he put an ear to the door of 9-A and listened for a long moment. No sound. He let himself into 9-B and looked around. The place was handsomely, if impersonally furnished, with good upholstered pieces and one or two antiques. There were two bedrooms, a master and a smaller one, and two baths. After a quick look around, he went next door and let himself into 9-A.
The apartment seemed to be a mirror image of the other, but there was a difference. 9-A had been lavishly done to someone’s particular taste, and probably by a very expensive designer. The furnishings were richer and more distinctive than those in 9-B, and the art on the walls was probably a part of the company’s collection of expensive paintings. He checked both bedrooms and decided that the master was where the assignation would take place. There was a gorgeous, canopied bed, with a matching silk bedcover, and every stick of furniture in the room dated from the eighteenth century, Stone reckoned. He was about to reenter the living room when he heard the front door open and close.
Oh, shit, he thought, trying to think of some plausible reason why he should be in the apartment. There was a rustling of what sounded like paper bags, followed by a feminine cough. He looked around the bedroom for someplace to hide, should the woman come his way. Her footsteps on the carpet told him she was doing just that.
He ran on tiptoe across the room and practically dove behind the bed. She came into the bedroom, then he heard the hollow click of the bathroom light being turned on. Please close the door, he said to himself, be modest. She did not. He peeped above the edge of the bed and saw it standing wide open and her shadow against the door. There was the sound of water running, then the toilet seat being raised. The water continued to run while she peed. Sitting on the toilet, she would be facing the bathroom door, he knew, so he could not make a run for it. He arranged himself more comfortably and waited.
The woman came out of the bathroom, and he could hear her foot
steps approaching the bed. Stone pressed himself closer to it. He heard the rustle of the silk bedcover being turned down and the creak of the springs as the woman lay down.
Stone lay motionless for the better part of a half hour, while the woman tossed and turned, then finally settled down for her nap. When her breathing told him she was sound asleep, he stirred from his position as silently as possible, wincing at the cramps that had formed in his legs. He slipped off his shoes and started for the bedroom door. As he approached the door he glanced back at her, just as she stirred, her back to him. He froze until he was certain she had not actually awakened. Then he made his way across the deep Oriental carpet in the living room to the front door, where he spent several seconds turning the knob as silently as possible. As he closed the door, he saw two large shopping bags from Bergdorf Goodman lying next to a living-room chair.
A moment later, he was back in 9-B, running cold water over his face in the master bathroom. He had done some undercover work in his time, but nothing in his police career had ever prepared him for being a second-story man. Now he knew that burglars are just as frightened as their victims.
He let himself out of the flat and left the building before the lady next door finished her nap.
At home, there was only one message on his answering machine: “Hi, it’s me. I’m sorry you aren’t in; I wanted to hear your voice. And now I have to go to a production meeting, so you can’t even call me back. I’m so looking forward to Saturday; I want to hear this important news of yours – and it must be important, if you want a table at Lutece. I booked that, which was no problem. Barron goes there all the time, and they know me. After dinner, and after hearing your news, I’m going to make you the happiest man in New York City, I promise. I’ve missed you so. Until Saturday night, my love.”
Stone felt the sort of glow that comes with a double brandy. Saturday night was no longer the loneliest night in the week; it was the only night in the week.
The phone rang. “Hi, it’s Bill. We’re on for Friday. My client reckons they won’t be in the apartment until near midnight.”
