by Stuart Woods
Mark Hayes entered the area and took them to his corner office, near the new elevator shaft. Men were carrying pieces of furniture through a set of double doors into the big room.
“The conference table will go there,” Mark said, pointing, “and each seat will have a workstation so that all the people in a meeting can view the same screen.”
As they left the room, Mark stopped them. “Herb, Mike, I’m very impressed with everything you’ve done to help us get this thing up and running, and I want to invite both of you to join the High Cotton Ideas board of directors. Marshall Brennan is joining, and he’ll be our financial guru.”
“I’d be delighted,” Herbie said.
“So would I, Mark,” Mike said.
Mark rode down to the street with them. “The next time you see this place, it’s going to look like an important place of work.” He shook their hands and went back upstairs.
Herbie and Mike thanked James for the tour and rode uptown together.
30
Herbie got back to his office and had a message to return a call to Parker Mosely, Dink Brennan’s roommate at Yale. He dialed the number.
“Hi, Mr. Fisher,” Parker said. “Thanks for returning my call.”
“How can I help you, Parker?”
“I just wanted to relay a message from Dink. He wants you to know how grateful he is to you for getting him into rehab. I saw him yesterday, and he’s doing really well.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Parker.”
“He asked me to tell you that if you’re anywhere near there, to please visit him. He’d like to see you and thank you personally.”
“If I get up that way I’ll stop in for a visit,” Herbie said. “Thanks for calling, Parker, and give Dink my best.” He hung up and tried to imagine Dink Brennan as a reformed character. He failed.
Parker put away his cell phone and turned to Carson Cullers, on whose parents’ living room sofa they were sitting, smoking a joint. “Okay,” he said, “that should prime the pump.” He handed Carson a small package wrapped in brown paper. “Now, here’s what Dink wants you to do,” he said. When he had finished he waved away a puff of her smoke. “Now, have you got that? He wants it done exactly that way.”
“Got it,” Carson said. “You know, this could be fun.”
“Okay, I gotta run,” Parker said. “There’s a car waiting, and I’ve got a shipment to get back to New Haven.” He said goodbye and left.
Carson went into her mother’s dressing room and pressed the button that started the moving closet, which resembled the sort of long, electric rack in dry-cleaning establishments. She let it run for a few seconds, then stopped it and removed a sheer, silk minidress. “Perfect,” she said. “He’ll never know what hit him.”
Herbie waited at the bar of the Park Avenue Cafe, since he knew Allison would be a little late; she was always a little late. She hurried in after a ten-minute wait, gave him a peck on the cheek, and they were seated in the dining room. He ordered her a drink, and they took a look at the menus.
“I’m not staying for dinner,” she said. “You order.”
Herbie closed the menu. “All right,” he said, “tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing is wrong,” she replied. “I just have to talk to you.”
She took a swig of her drink, as if she needed it.
“I’m listening,” Herbie said.
“I don’t think we should go on seeing each other,” she said.
“Do you want to tell me why?”
“You’ve been promoted at the firm, and I want to be promoted. I don’t think it would help my chances if we became an item of office gossip.”
“I don’t think anyone knows,” he said.
“Joan knows, and that means Stone knows, and that may mean that Eggers knows.”
“Stone wouldn’t mention it to Eggers.”
“I hope you’re right. I just don’t think it does either of us any good for anyone at the firm to know we’re seeing each other.”
Herbie shrugged. “Well, as far as I know, there’s no rule against it.”
“Still,” she said, “you must see that it’s not good for either of us.”
“I won’t argue with you,” Herbie said gently. “Now, let’s order some dinner.”
“There’s probably somebody from the firm in this restaurant right now,” she said, tossing off the rest of her drink and standing up. She put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Herbie,” she said.
“Please don’t be concerned,” he said, and then he watched her leave.
He waved at a waiter and ordered the veal chop. He didn’t have a girlfriend anymore, but it didn’t seem to have hurt his appetite.
Herbie got a cab home, and as he walked into his apartment, the phone was ringing. He sat down in the living room and picked up. “Hello?”
“Is this Herbert Fisher?” a low female voice said.
“Speaking.”
“My name is Carson Cullers,” she said. “I don’t know if that means anything to you.”
Herbie thought for a moment; the name sounded familiar. “Dink Brennan’s friend,” he said. “Washington, Connecticut.”
“That’s right. New York, really, Washington is just a weekend place. I live at Park and Seventy-first.”
“Then we’re neighbors. I’m just a couple blocks away.”
“I wonder if we could have a drink sometime?” she said. “I’d like to talk to you about Dink.”
“Sure,” Herbie said. “Would you like to come here now?”
“That would be great,” she said.
He gave her the address. “It’s the penthouse,” he said.
“I’ll be there shortly,” she replied, and hung up.
This was interesting, Herbie thought. Why would Dink Brennan’s girlfriend be calling him? He’d already had a call from Parker Mosely, Dink’s roommate, and now this? Was this some sort of campaign to persuade him that Dink should be released?
He got up and walked around the living room, straightening up a bit. Ten minutes later, the doorman rang, and Herbie asked that she be sent up. He answered the door to find a tall, slender, elegantly dressed young woman standing in the foyer, in a nearly sheer dress, looking a little nervous. “Come in, Carson,” he said, and showed her into the living room. “Have a seat. What can I get you to drink?”
“Can you make a vodka martini?” she asked.
“Of course.” Herbie went to the bar and began to put that together. Since Allison had opted out of his life earlier in the evening, he felt glad to have someone there.
Then he brought himself up short. Hang on, this was his client’s son’s girlfriend, he thought. Better be careful.
He returned to the sofa with her martini and his cognac on a tray and started to take a chair.
“Please,” she said, patting the sofa next to her. “Sit here.”
Herbie had already had a drink and half a bottle of wine, and the girl was looking very good. What the hell, he thought. “Give me a minute, will you? I have to go to the powder room.”
“Of course,” she said.
Herbie got up and left.
Carson opened her purse, took out a prescription bottle, and shook two small pills into her hand. She put them on the glass coffee table, took a razor blade from her purse, and chopped them into powder, then held Herbie’s brandy snifter at the edge of the table and raked the powder into his glass. She stirred it with a finger, watching it dissolve, then licked her finger and put the glass back on the table.
Herbie came back from the powder room, sat down beside her, and raised his glass. “Cheers,” he said.
Carson smiled. “Cheers, indeed!” She took a gulp of her martini and rested her hand on his thigh.
“So, tell me about Dink,” Herbie said, taking a sip of brandy.
“As far as I’m concerned, Dink is history,” Carson said. “I’m sick of his behavior. I’m here because he told me about you, and I thought you sounded interesting.” She
moved her hand up his thigh a bit.
“Well, that’s flattering,” Herbie replied, taking another sip. He rested his head on the back of the sofa cushion and felt her hand move up farther.
“What are you looking for there?” he asked, sipping more brandy.
She moved her hand up to his crotch. “This,” she said.
“Well, now that you’ve found it, what’s next?”
She unzipped his fly and took out his penis.
Herbie felt drowsy. He took another pull on the brandy and set the glass on the coffee table.
She teased him erect, then took him into her mouth.
31
Detective Third Grade Vivian DeCarlo walked into the emergency room at Lenox Hill Hospital and looked around for her partner, Rose Mahon, who was supposed to meet her there to interview a hit-and-run victim. No sign of Rosie.
“Hey, Viv,” a young female resident in green scrubs said to her.
“Hey, Liz,” Viv replied. “How’s it going?”
“Now that you mention it, I’ve just examined a rape victim, and you might want to talk to her. She’s behind the curtain, there, in exam one.”
“What’s her story?”
“She says some guy got her drunk and raped her. She wasn’t wearing any panties, but there was no bruising, either internal or external, and she didn’t seem all that drunk, either.”
“You think she’s lying?”
“I’ve seen a couple of dozen rape victims in here, and she doesn’t fit the mold. She’s not crying, not even looking upset, and, like I said, not a mark on her. Her first name is Carson.”
“Did you do a rape kit?”
“Yep. I found no semen in her vagina, but there was some on what pubic hair she has left after a major wax job. I’ll get you the kit.”
Viv walked over and pulled the curtain back a few inches. “Carson?”
The girl was stretched out on the exam table, and she lifted her head a bit. “Yes?”
Viv walked into the cubicle and pulled the curtain closed behind her. “I’m Detective DeCarlo. Dr. Edwards tells me you’ve been hurt.”
Carson put her head back onto the table. “I’m not hurt, just raped, that’s all.”
Viv pulled up a chair, sat down, and got out her notebook. “Tell me what happened.”
“I went over to this guy’s apartment for a drink and had a martini. He was doing coke and drinking brandy. He made a move, but I wasn’t into it and I told him so. He slapped me across the mouth, pulled up my dress, and ripped off my panties, and he raped me.”
Viv looked at the woman’s mouth-no sign of swelling. “What’s the man’s name?”
“Herbert Fisher. He’s a lawyer at some big-time firm.”
“Address?”
She rattled off the address. “The penthouse.”
“Did anyone see you go to his apartment?”
“Just the doorman.”
“What’s your last name and your address and phone number?” She jotted down the information. “Do you want to make a formal complaint?”
“Maybe. Or maybe I’ll just go to the newspapers and TV. If I sign a complaint, what are the chances of anything being done about it?”
“Frankly, based on what you’ve told me, not very good. It’s a he-said-she-said situation. He’ll likely maintain that the sex was consensual, and since you have no injuries, the DA would probably not go forward with the case.”
“Let me think about it,” Carson said.
Viv gave her a business card. “You can reach me at both of those numbers.”
Carson suddenly sat up and hopped off the table. She was at least four inches taller than Viv. “I’m going home,” she said.
“You should speak to the doctor first.”
The curtain was pulled back and Dr. Edwards entered and handed Viv a paper bag. “Here’s the kit. Where are you going, sweetheart?” she asked Carson.
“Home.”
“You’re sure you’re okay to travel?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Edwards took a form from her clipboard and handed it to Carson. “Give this to the cashier on your way out. She takes credit cards.”
“Okay, thanks.” And she was gone.
“That was not like any rape victim I’ve ever seen,” Edwards said.
Viv found her partner in the waiting room. “Sorry, I was interviewing a rape victim.”
“I spoke to the hit-and-run victim. She had nothing useful. Didn’t see a thing, didn’t remember anything.”
“Let’s go talk to the alleged rapist,” Viv said. “He lives near here.”
They got into their unmarked car and drove to the building. The doorman buzzed the penthouse repeatedly. “I don’t get it,” he said. “Mr. Fisher always answers immediately.”
“You think he could be ill or hurt?” Viv asked.
“I don’t know-there was nobody up there but a woman, and she left in a hurry.”
Viv flashed her badge. “Can you let us in? We just want to be sure he’s all right.”
“Sure, give me a minute.” He picked up the phone and asked for somebody to spell him at the desk, then he led them to the elevator and pressed the PH button. “Actually, he doesn’t usually lock the elevator door when he’s home. It opens directly into his foyer.”
The elevator stopped, and the two women stepped off.
“You want me to wait?”
“No, that’s all right. We won’t be long.”
The elevator door closed behind them.
“Mr. Fisher?” Viv called. “NYPD. Anybody home?”
Nothing.
Viv led the way into the living room, which was lit by lamps at either end of the sofa. A man was sitting on the sofa, his head back and lolling to one side. His fly was open and his penis exposed.
Viv walked over to him and shook him by the shoulder. “Mr. Fisher? Wake up. We’re the police.” There was no response. Viv peeled back an eyelid and the pupil contracted. “Well, he’s not dead.” She pinched his cheek, hard. Still no response.
“I think we need an ambulance,” Rosie said. “He could have OD’d. Look.” She pointed at a pile of white powder on a piece of brown paper on the coffee table. “There’s at least an ounce here.”
“It’s a neat little pile,” Viv said. “It hasn’t been cut into lines, and I don’t see a straw or rolled-up bill that he could snort with. I wonder how much he’s had to drink.” She tapped the brandy snifter on the table. “Most of at least one drink.”
Rosie walked across the room to a bar and lifted a bottle of Remy Martin cognac. “Looks like a fresh bottle. One drink missing, maybe.”
“I’ll call it in,” Viv said, reaching for her phone. “We don’t want him to die on us.”
Rosie came back to the sofa, pulled the man’s pants up until the penis fell back inside, then zipped it up. “We don’t want to embarrass the EMTs, do we?” She looked toward the end of the sofa, then walked over and picked up a pair of torn panties. “Looka here.”
Viv ended her call. “They’re on the way.” She looked carefully at the panties. “There’s a tear, but not the sort of tear that would get made when somebody ripped them off. You know, this situation is off. I’m going to get somebody up here to take prints.” She dialed another number.
32
Dino was getting ready for bed when his phone rang. “Bacchetti.”
“Lieutenant, this is Viv DeCarlo.”
“What’s up, Viv?”
“I’ve got ahold of an alleged rape case, but everything’s a little off. Guy named Fisher, has a penthouse on Park Avenue. A young woman named Carson Cullers says he raped her, but there are no marks on her and no semen inside her. There’s other stuff that doesn’t add up, too.”
“What’s Fisher’s first name?”
“Herbert. Cullers says he’s a lawyer with a big firm.”
“Let me speak to Fisher.”
“I’m in his apartment, but he’s out like a light, and I can’t wake him up.
I think there might be something in the drink he was drinking. I’ve called an ambulance.”
“Have them take him to Lenox Hill, and send your partner with him. I’m coming over to the apartment, and we’ll look at the scene together. Fifteen minutes.”
“Right.” She gave him the address.
Dino hung up and called Stone.
“Hello?”
“It’s Dino. I just got a call-some woman claims Herbie raped her, but my detective on the scene says her story looks hinky. Herbie’s unconscious in his apartment, and she can’t wake him. She’s called an ambulance to take him to Lenox Hill. I’m going to the apartment now.”
“I’ll meet you there shortly,” Stone said, then hung up.
Dino reached for his pants.
Stone walked into the apartment and found Dino there with his detective. There was a technician dusting surfaces for prints, but no sign of Herbie.
“Stone Barrington, Viv DeCarlo,” Dino said. “Stone and I were partners in the squad about two hundred years ago.”
The two shook hands.
“Where’s Herbie?” Stone asked.
“On his way to Lenox Hill,” she replied. “You know him?”
“We’re with the same law firm. Give me the tour.”
“We couldn’t raise anybody, so the doorman took us up. We found Fisher unconscious on the sofa with his fly undone and his penis out. I couldn’t wake him, so we called an ambulance.”
“Did you talk to the girl?”
“Yes, that’s how I got into this. She was in the ER at Lenox Hill, complaining of being raped, but the doctor thought she might be lying.”
“What’s her name?”
“Carson Cullers. Lives a few blocks up Park.”
Stone nodded. “Getting any prints?” he asked the tech.
“Two sets on the glass,” he said.
Stone turned back to DeCarlo. “Fisher has an arrest record, so you can pull his prints. Might be a good idea to see if the girl’s prints are on file. It would save you a trip to her place.”
The tech opened a laptop and went to work feeding the prints through a scanner. “Okay, I’ve got hits on both,” he said. “They match the ones on the snifter, and they’re both on the martini glass, too.”