New York Dead

by Stuart Woods

  “Exactly what do you mean by ‘getting sort of friendly’?”

  “We were holding hands, and she was sitting close to me. We stopped at a traffic light on Sixth Avenue, and we kissed.”

  “Did you put your hands between her legs or on her breasts?”

  “Yes, on her breasts, and she seemed to like that. It was when I put my hand down the front of her dress that she became difficult.”

  “Difficult?”

  “She started screaming at me. I didn’t realize how drunk she was until that moment. She started to get out of the van, and I tried to persuade her to calm down, and then she started screaming for help.”

  “Were you fighting?”

  “I had hold of her wrists and was talking to her, trying to get her to calm down, when a police car pulled up alongside us at the light, and she jumped out of the van and started screaming hysterically about how I had tried to rape her.”

  “Did you ever get your hand on her breast – inside her dress, I mean?”

  “Yes, but just for a minute.”

  “Herbert, is that all that happened? Is there any more? I have to know if I’m going to be able to give you a proper defense.”

  “I swear to you, that was all there was to it. If the police car hadn’t just happened to show up, it would have been all over in a minute. She would either have calmed down, or she would have gotten out of the van. This whole thing about attempted rape is completely crazy. Oh, I forgot, the policemen gave me a breath test – made me blow up one of those balloons.”

  “Did they indicate what the results were?”

  “No, I asked them, but they didn’t answer.”

  “Did they give the girl the same test?”

  “I don’t know, I didn’t see them do that. They put me in the back of the police car while they were talking to her and calming her down.”

  “All right, you go with the officer back to the holding cell, and, when they bring you before the bench, I’ll be waiting for you.”

  Van Fleet stuck out his hand. “Thank you for coming, Stone; I really appreciate this. I didn’t want to get my mother involved, you know?”

  “I know, Herb. Maybe we can deal with this without her knowing about it; we’ll see.”

  When the charges were read against Herbert Van Fleet, Stone pointed out to the judge that Van Fleet had no record of arrests or of criminal activity, that he was gainfully employed in a supervisory position, and that he was a responsible member of the community. He mentioned also that the woman making the complaint was unharmed, unless she had a hangover, and that there were no witnesses to support her complaint. He asked that Van Fleet be released on his own recognizance. The judge thought for about three seconds, then set bail at ten thousand dollars and ordered the release of Van Fleet’s vehicle. An hour later, Stone and Van Fleet met in front of the courthouse, and Van Fleet thanked him profusely.

  “What happens next?” Van Fleet asked.

  “If you want me to represent you, what I’ll do first is to try to prevent the case going to trial. The district attorney might offer us a deal, but I don’t think we’d take it. If what you’ve told me is the truth, and there were no witnesses to any of this, then it’s your word against the girl’s. In fact, it sounds to me as though the police officers should have dealt with this on the spot, just put the girl in a cab and sent her home, then lectured you and let you go.”

  “I’d like you to represent me,” Van Fleet said.

  “All right; my fee will be ten thousand dollars, including tonight’s court appearance – that’s if I can negotiate this without a trial. If we have to go to trial, I’ll represent you on the basis of two hundred dollars an hour, with a guaranteed minimum of twenty-five thousand dollars, which will include any previous pretrial negotiations. And my fee will be payable in advance, as is customary with criminal cases.”

  Van Fleet thought for a moment.

  “Of course, I’m sure you can find another lawyer who will do it for less, and you’re free to retain anyone you wish. At the moment, all you owe me is a thousand dollars.” Stone watched the man think. He didn’t mention that he knew of the altercation outside Elaine’s some months before, and he thought that Van Fleet might be guiltier than he was admitting.

  “All right, that’s acceptable,” Van Fleet said finally. “I’ll give you a check for ten thousand dollars right now.”

  Stone nodded and watched while Van Fleet wrote the check. They shook hands. “I’ll call you as soon as I find out which assistant DA your case has been assigned to, and after I’ve had a chance to talk to him.”

  “Good night, then, and thank you again for coming down here and getting me out.”

  Stone watched the man walk to his van and drive away, then he caught a cab uptown.

  Later in the week, Stone visited the offices of the district attorney and found the assistant DA assigned to Van Fleet’s case. She was a rather plain young woman named Mendel. She offered him the other chair in her tiny cubicle, then flipped quickly through the file.

  “Your client is a potentially dangerous man, Mr. Barrington,” she said. “If the police had not arrived on the scene, chances are this young woman would have been raped.”

  “Come on, at a traffic light?” Stone said derisively. “This was nothing more than a quick grope, and the girl encouraged it.”

  She glanced at the file again. “Your client had been drinking.”

  “But he wasn’t even over the limit for driving, was he?” Stone asked, taking a stab. “And what was the girl’s blood-alcohol content?”

  Mendel snapped the file shut. “I can’t discuss that.”

  “Come on, Ms. Mendel, the police didn’t even test her, did they? How is that going to look in court?”

  “I might be able to reduce to simple battery,” she said. “Your client, as a first offender, wouldn’t do any time. I’d recommend counseling and community service.”

  “How long have you been on the job?” Stone asked.

  “That’s not relevant to this discussion,” she replied primly.

  “As little time as that, huh?” She had probably been a member of the bar longer than he had, but she didn’t know that. “Look, if this went to trial, I’d blow you right out of the water. In fact, I could insist on going down the hall to the chief prosecutor right now and get this one tossed, but that would embarrass you and take up my time. Please don’t think I’m patronizing you, but I want to give you some advice. The traffic is too heavy in this office to give your time to anything but cases you have a real chance of winning. This one is a nonstarter, and we both know it. Why don’t you just drop charges now – you have that authority – and let’s save ourselves for something worth going to trial on?” He smiled.

  “Oh, shit, all right,” she said, tossing the file on her desk. “But I’m going to take it out of your ass when I do get you into court.” She smiled seductively.

  Stone thanked her and fled the premises. Back in his new office, with Helen typing in the reception room, he called Van Fleet and gave him the news.

  “Oh, thank you so very much,” Van Fleet breathed into the phone. “I can’t tell you what a load off my mind this is.”

  “Glad to be of help, Herb,” Stone said, “but let me give you some advice. Stop picking up girls in bars. This was a close call, and, if you keep it up, you’re going to get in trouble. I don’t want to see that happen.”

  “Don’t worry, Stone,” Van Fleet said. “You won’t have to defend me again.”

  Stone hung up and reflected on what an easy ten thousand dollars he had made.

  Helen came into his office. “A Ms. Hilliard called while you were on the phone. She dictated this message to me.”

  Stone read the message:

  Please meet me in the lobby of the Algonquin Hotel at four o’clock this afternoon. Don’t disappoint me.

  Stone felt an involuntary stirring in his crotch. The hell with her, he thought; he wouldn’t do it.

  Chapter
44

  Stone arrived at the Algonquin at four on the dot. The Japanese had bought the hotel, as they had seemed to buy nearly everything else, and had restored the lobby. It was beautiful, he thought, gazing at the polished oak paneling and the new fabrics. He looked around for Cary; she had not yet arrived. He snagged the headwaiter and was given a table. He ordered a drink and waited.

  Five minutes later, a bellman walked among the tables calling, “Mr. Barrington, message for Mr. Barrington!”

  Stone accepted an envelope and tipped the man. It was a hotel envelope, and inside was a plastic card with a lot of holes punched in it. A number had been written on it with a marking pen. He paid for his drink and walked to the elevator. Sweat was beginning to seep from his armpits and crotch, and he was breathing a little faster than he normally did.

  The room was at the end of the hall. He inserted the card in a slot, there was an audible click, and the door opened into a nicely furnished sitting room. The door to the bedroom was closed, and he opened it, letting a shaft of light into the darkened room. He closed the door behind him and took off his overcoat. There was a slit of light from under the bathroom door and the sound of water running. Breathing harder now, Stone began ridding himself of his clothes.

  When she opened the door, the bathroom light illuminated her from above for just a moment. She was wearing only a terry-cloth robe, and it fell open. She switched off the light and crossed the room to him. Somewhere along the way, the robe disappeared.

  He rolled off her and sprawled on his back, panting and sweating. It had been the third time in two hours; he hadn’t known he was capable of that. In the time since he had entered the room, neither of them had spoken a word that had not been connected with what they were doing to each other.

  She handed him a glass of water from the bedside. He drank greedily from it, then handed it back.

  “Turn on a light,” he said. “It’s on your side.”

  “No.”

  “I want to see you.”

  “No.”

  “Why are we doing this in a hotel room? I have a home; you could have come there.”

  “It would have been an unnecessary risk,” she said.

  “Risk? What risk?”

  “We can’t be seen together.”

  “ Cary, for Christ’s sake! I think you owe me some sort of explanation for your behavior.”

  “My father always said to me, ‘Never explain, never apologize.’”

  He got angrily out of bed and went into the bathroom. He peed, then turned on the light and looked at himself in the mirror, his hair awry, his face streaked with sweat. He found a facecloth and cleaned himself, brushed his hair with his fingers, rinsed his mouth. When he came out of the bathroom, she was dressed and pulling on a coat. A silk scarf was tied around her hair.

  “ Cary, stay here and talk to me.”

  “I can’t.”

  The photograph of her and Harkness in bed together was still in his overcoat pocket. He felt an urge to thrust it into her face, but he held back. It disgusted him that he still wanted her, but he did, and he could not afford to push her further away.

  “Did you check on the Rome flight?” she asked casually.

  “Yes. Dino didn’t see Harkness. His name was on the manifest, though; that means someone used his ticket.”

  “Probably a crew member.” She was buckling the belt of her trench coat.

  “I can’t prove he wasn’t on the airplane, and, if he wasn’t, then I can’t prove where else he was. Not without your help.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not? If he murdered her, don’t you want him caught?”

  She went into the bathroom and began putting on lipstick. “There’s something else you could look into, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Sasha gave him a very large amount of money; I’m not sure how much.”

  Stone remembered the funds missing from Sasha’s accounts. “Could it have been as much as two million dollars?”

  “Yes. She wanted it back, and he couldn’t come up with it.”

  Motive, he thought. Finally, a solid motive. Harkness borrowed the money, then lost it somehow – gambling? Bad investments?

  “Why did she give him the money?”

  “To invest. Barron thinks of himself as God’s gift to Wall Street. Wall Street thinks of him that way, too; he’s lost millions in his time.” She put her makeup back into her purse and snapped it shut.

  “How can I get in touch with you?”

  “I told you before, you can’t. I’ll call you soon.” She was in the living room and opening the front door before he could move to stop her. She paused there and looked back. “You were wonderful,” she said. “You’re always wonderful.” She closed the door behind her.

  He nearly went after her, then remembered he was naked.

  When he got home, there was an invitation in the mail, postmarked Penn Station:

  The pleasure of your company is requested for dinner,

  Saturday evening at nine.

  A car will call for you at eight thirty. Black tie

  A handwritten note was in a corner:

  I so look forward to meeting you.

  S.

  Chapter 45

  Stone spent a good part of the night restless in his bed, wondering how he could use the new information Cary had given him about Barron Harkness. He found a possible answer in the television column of the following morning’s New York Times:

  BARKER GETS LATE-NIGHT SHOW

  Hiram Barker, the writer and social gadfly, has landed his own interview show, Sunday nights at 11:30 P.M., on the Continental Network, beginning this Sunday. Barker, contacted for comment, said that negotiations had been going on for several weeks and that he expected to be able to attract guests who did not ordinarily give interviews.

  Stone picked up the phone and called Hi Barker.

  “Hello, Stone, how are you? I hear good things about you from Frank Woodman.”

  “I’m very well, Hi. I see in this morning’s Times that you’ve landed a television show.”

  “That’s right. In fact, I had hoped to interview you about the Sasha business.”

  “It’s a little early for that, I think, but you may remember that when we first met I agreed to tell you what I knew first, in return for your help.”

  “I remember that very well indeed, dear boy, and that’s an IOU I intend to collect.”

  “Well, I’m not ready for you to publish just yet, but I am ready to start telling you what I know about the case.”

  “I’m delighted to hear it.”

  “How about lunch today?”

  “You’re on. Where?”

  “The Four Seasons at twelve thirty?”

  “Fine. Use my name; you’ll get a better table.”

  “There’s just one thing, Hi.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If I’m going to tell you all, you’re going to have to do the same.”

  “But I thought I already had, Stone.” Barker sounded wounded.

  “You held something back, Hi, something important, and today I want to know all about that.”

  “Hmmmm,” Barker said, “I wonder if you’re fishing.”

  “Today, I’m catching,” Stone replied. “See you at lunch.”

  He was fishing, indeed. He didn’t know what Barker was holding back, but he figured there must be something. Most people held back something.

  Stone arrived first, and Barker’s trip to their table was slowed as he stopped at half a dozen others to greet their occupants.

  “I love this place,” Barker sighed as he slid his bulk into a seat. “It’s just so… perfect.”

  “I’m glad I chose it,” Stone said. He ordered a bottle of wine.

  “All right,” Barker said when their lunch had come, “you first.”

  Stone began at the beginning and took Barker through his investigation of the Nijinsky case. He glossed over the business
with Hank Morgan’s suicide to protect Dino, and Barker didn’t call him on it. When he had finished, Barker looked skeptical.

  “Then you’re still nowhere on this?”

  “Not quite nowhere,” Stone replied. “I have some new information.”

  “Tell me, dear boy.”

  “I’ve learned that Barron Harkness wasn’t on the airplane from Rome.”

  Barker’s eyebrows went up in delight. “And how did you learn that?”

  “I must protect my source.”

  “So now you’ll have him arrested?” Barker seemed thrilled at the prospect.

  “No. I can’t prove he wasn’t on the airplane. His ticket was used, so his name appears on the manifest.”

  “How about questioning the flight attendants? Surely, they would remember such a celebrity.”

  “Not necessarily. Months have passed. The flight attendants might testify that they don’t remember seeing him, but they couldn’t credibly swear that he was not on the plane.”

  “Hmmmm. I see your problem.”

  “There’s something else. Sasha gave Harkness two million dollars to invest, and he was having trouble returning it.”

  “Now that’s very interesting.”

  “Yes, but again, I can’t prove it. The money seems to have been laundered through a Cayman Islands bank, so there’s no paper trail. The only person who could testify to the transaction is Sasha, and she’s not available – at least, not yet.”

  “Not yet? You sound as if you think she might still be alive.”

  Stone took Barker through his terminal velocity theory.

  Barker looked doubtful. “That’s pretty farfetched, Stone. I think you’re grasping at straws.”

  Stone took the note and the invitation from his pocket and put them on the table.

  “Jesus H. Christ,” Barker said. He took out his glasses and examined the note carefully. “I’ve had a couple of letters from Sasha in the past, and that certainly looks like her handwriting.”

  “An expert says it almost certainly is,” Stone said. “What’s more, her fingerprints were on the note.”