Dirt

by Stuart Woods

  “No, he hasn’t,” she said. “What’s this about, Stone?”

  “As you are aware, I saw Dick Hickock’s girlfriend, Tiffany, this morning. She called me because somebody was following her, somebody who, as it turns out, answers to this guy’s description. She showed me this ad.”

  “She said Jonathan was following her?”

  “No, she was emphatic that the guy was not the man in the photograph, he just looked very much like him.”

  “Well, he doesn’t have a brother.”

  “Okay, that answers my question. Shall we drop it?”

  “I’m sorry I got so angry; I didn’t understand.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “Stone, do you want to know about Jonathan?”

  “Is there any reason why I should know about him?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Then I couldn’t care less. You, I care about; him, pfffft!”

  She smiled. “That’s the kind of talk I like to hear.”

  A waiter handed them menus. “I recommend the Caesar salad and the osso bucco,” Stone said.

  “Sold; I’d like some wine, too.”

  Stone turned to the waiter. “I’ll have the same as the lady, and bring us a bottle of the Dry Creek Merlot and two straws.”

  Stone let them into the house and followed Arrington up the stairs. Halfway up she began undressing, dropping a trail of garments behind her, which Stone gathered up. “You want to shock my housekeeper? She’s a very proper Greek lady.”

  “I’m sure it won’t be the first evidence she’s seen of a woman in the house,” Arrington replied, lobbing her bra over her shoulder.

  “She doesn’t come in until ten A.M.”

  “That may not be long enough.” She stepped out of her panties and kicked them backward.

  Stone followed a very beautiful backside up the stairs and into his bedroom.

  “I’m finished with my clothes,” she said, “let’s start on yours.” She began working on his buttons.

  A moment later they were in bed, leaving a large pile of clothing at the foot.

  “Do you know,” Stone said, kissing her, “this is the first time I’ve kissed you?”

  “I never kiss until the third date,” she said. “And I never make love until…

  Stone slid easily into her.

  “…now,” she breathed.

  Sunlight streamed into the rear windows of the house and across the bed. They lay in each other’s arms, sweating, breathing hard.

  “I thought that went very well,” Arrington panted.

  “All three times?” Stone asked.

  “Don’t brag. Oh, all right, all three times.” She kissed him noisily on the ear. “I’m hungry; it’s your turn to make breakfast.”

  “Eh?” he shouted, cupping a hand behind his ringing ear.

  She got out of bed and headed for the kitchenette in the hall. “And turn on the Today show,” she called.

  “Television? In the morning?”

  “I never miss it.”

  “The honeymoon’s over,” he grumbled, fumbling in a drawer for the remote control.

  She came back with juice, muffins, and coffee.

  “How’d you know what I wanted?” he asked.

  “Easy. That’s all there is in your kitchenette.”

  “Would you like me to lay in a stock of whatever you eat for breakfast?”

  “This will do nicely,” she said, “as long as I can keep having you as well.”

  Stone ate his muffin and gazed at the TV. “I don’t think I can make love to Bryant Gumbel,” he said. “But I might be able to manage something to Katie Couric.”

  “I told you to stop bragging,” she giggled. “Now eat your muffin.”

  “This muffin is not all I’m going to eat,” he replied.

  “You never told me you were a sex maniac,” she said. “But it’s a nice surprise.”

  The phone rang. Stone unconsciously reached for it. “Hello?”

  “My name’s Bob,” a man’s voice said. “Dino said to call.”

  “Right. I’ve got some work for you.”

  “He gave me a couple addresses.”

  “Why don’t you start here, and I’ll brief you on the others.”

  “Okay, half an hour?”

  Stone looked at Arrington, sitting cross-legged, naked, in his bed. “Make it an hour,” he said.

  Bob Cantor had been in the house for two hours when he came down to Stone’s office.

  “Come in, and have a seat.”

  He closed the door behind him.

  “Well?”

  “Somebody’s very interested in you,” Cantor said.

  Stone sat up. “How interested?”

  “The whole house; top to bottom. Phone lines, too, but not the offices.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “I don’t think He needs to use a wire.”

  “Bedroom?”

  “Yep.”

  “Shit.”

  “You want me to yank everything?”

  Stone thought for a moment. “Can you disable it in a way that will make them think it’s just broken?”

  Cantor nodded. “I can create enough static to make them think it’s their fault.”

  “Good, do that.”

  “Okay.”

  “How long?”

  “Half an hour.”

  Shortly, Cantor was back. “It’s done. You may hear some static on the phone lines, but it’ll be manageable. I left the fax machine alone; static there would give you garbled transmissions.”

  “Fine.” Stone handed him a sheet of paper and two envelopes. “These are the other two addresses, and I’ve written a letter to each woman, telling them what you’re going to do.”

  “If I find something, you want me to do the same thing to it? I mean, whoever’s bugging you might think something’s up if all three systems go down.”

  “Good point. Do the same work on Ms. Dart’s offices and apartment, but leave the Potts place up and running. Then call me.”

  “One thing,” Cantor said.

  “What’s that?”

  “You got a very nice burglar alarm system in the house; you ever use it?”

  “When I go away.”

  “Start using it all the time. I mean, now that the wire on your place isn’t working right, they might come back to fix it.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Stone said.

  Chapter 29

  Amanda got to Stone first. “What the hell is going on?” she demanded. “This man of yours says there are bugs all over my offices.”

  “What’s going on, Amanda, is that there are bugs all over your offices. That’s where your leak is, or at least part of it.”

  “Well, I told him to yank them all out.”

  Stone groaned. “I told him to create static, but leave them in place. Now whoever planted the bugs is going to know you know.”

  “That’s just fine with me,” she said. “I want the bastard to know.”

  “Amanda, you got the surveillance reports on your people, the ones I sent you?”

  “Yes, and they both look innocent enough to me.”

  “To me, too; that leaves Martha.”

  “Stone, I’ve told you, it couldn’t be Martha.”

  “We’re running out of suspects; there’s only the maid and Martha. I want your permission to check out both of them. Oh, and the chauffeur, too.”

  “I hate paying for work that I know will turn up nothing.”

  “That’s understandable, but anytime you investigate a group of people, you have to investigate them all. That’s the only way it will work. So, have I your permission to investigate these three people?”

  “Oh, all right, but for God’s sake, don’t let any of them know. It would be so embarrassing for me if they found out.”

  “Not as embarrassing as what DIRT is publishing.”

  “You have a point. Do it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Her voice changed, be
came lower. “I thought you were going to call me for a get-together.”

  Better bite the bullet, Stone thought. “I’m sorry, Amanda, but I have to be frank with you. I’m seeing somebody, and she’s taking all my… attention.”

  “Shit,” Amanda said, and hung up.

  Tiffany was next.

  “I’m calling from a pay phone,” she said.

  “Good girl.”

  “That Bob says that somebody can hear every word that’s spoken in my apartment or on my phone, and that he’s not fixing it.”

  “If we fix it, Tiff, whoever is listening will know that you know.”

  “Stone, you told me to find a boyfriend, so I did. Now when I bring him home, somebody’s going to hear us in bed.”

  “You’re an actress; think of it as a performance.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “I hadn’t thought of that,” she said finally. “Come to think of it, that could be a turn-on.”

  “Whatever works for you, Tiff.”

  “I wish there was a way I could turn the bug off for a few minutes at a time, though.”

  “Does the boyfriend have a home?”

  “Yeah, but it’s way down in the Village.”

  “The Village is charming; a great place to make love.”

  “Mmmmm,” she said.

  “And Tiff, for God’s sake, stay away from Dick – no hotels of anything; it’s for his own good, tell him that.”

  “He has been insistent.”

  “How did you communicate?”

  “Pay phone at both ends.”

  “Do this: Tell him no contact for two weeks.” Stone had no idea where he’d be on this investigation in two weeks, but what the hell?

  “Okay.”

  “See you, Tiff.”

  “Bye.”

  Bob Cantor called next.

  “Boy, that Tiffany is something!” he said.

  “Down, Bob. Her boyfriend could buy and sell you, and he would.”

  “Too bad. Oh, Amanda Dart made me rip out everything.”

  “She told me. I’ll just have to live with it. You ever do any surveillance work?”

  “Once in a while.”

  “I’ve got two people need checking out; got a pencil?”

  “Shoot.”

  Stone gave him the names and addresses of the maid and chauffeur. He would check out Martha himself. “I need this soonest,” he told Cantor.

  “Gotcha. Oh, Stone, I almost forgot; I might know who did the wiring job on you and the other two.”

  “Yeah? Who?”

  “Maybe a guy who occasionally hangs out at a bar I go to.”

  “What makes you think you know?”

  “He has a signature; it’s the way he wraps a wire around a terminal – he makes a kind of knot. Somebody told me about it. You want me to add this to my list?”

  “You do that; I’d like very much to know who he’s working for.”

  “You got it.”

  Stone had a thought. “Bob, will you wire a place for me? Phone, too?”

  “You bet; but it’s more expensive if I have to break in and work under pressure.”

  “Her name is Martha McMahon; she works all day, five days a week; she lives in a small elevator building, no doorman.” Stone gave him the address.

  “You want to listen live, or have it taped?”

  “I don’t have time to listen live. Can you tape it from a remote location, so you don’t have to be there?”

  “Sure.”

  “Do it. Make her first on your list.”

  “You got it.”

  Stone hung up. It bothered him that he himself was the subject of surveillance. He was going to have to start watching himself. He went into his study, unlocked a cabinet, and took out a Remington riot gun with an eighteen-and-a-half-inch barrel. It was standard police issue; he had bought it at a departmental surplus equipment sale years before. He ignored the double-ought buckshot shells in the cabinet and chose number nine birdshot; he wasn’t out to blow a yawning hole in anybody. He inserted four shells into the gun, pumped a round into the chamber, then added one more shell and flipped on the safety. Then he walked upstairs to his bedroom and put the weapon on a small shelf he had built under the bed.

  Remembering that he had not relocked the cabinet, he went back downstairs to the study, key in hand. For a moment, he gazed at the nine-millimeter automatic, hanging inside in its shoulder holster, then decided against it and locked the cabinet. No need for that yet.

  Chapter 30

  Stone stood half a block from Amanda’s building and waited for Martha to some out. Martha knew him by sight, and he would have to be careful.

  It was nearly six when she left the building, and she walked with great purpose down Lexington Avenue, went into a Gristedes market, stayed twenty minutes, and left with nothing in her hands. Probably having her groceries delivered. She walked on downtown, did some window shopping, and then did something Stone thought odd: She went into an expensive cosmetics shop and spent nearly forty minutes there, allowing a salesgirl to make her up, then leaving with a loaded shopping bag. This seemed strange, because Martha, on the occasions when he had seen her, had never worn makeup at all. There was a new man in her life, Stone figured.

  She continued downtown until she reached her building and went inside. Stone intended to wait until she emerged again. If she was still all made up she might have a date later. Then he saw a van parked a few yards down the street from her building; it was gray and had a telephone company logo on the sides. What surprised him was that Bob Cantor was behind the wheel, wearing a hard hat. Stone approached and knocked on a window.

  Cantor jumped, then grinned and let Stone in. “Just in time,” he whispered, “she’s on the phone with a guy.” He flipped a switch, and the call was played over a speaker.

  “…really sorry, but I’ve got this meeting,” a man’s voice was saying.

  “Aw…” Martha responded, “and I just made myself look so pretty for you.”

  “I’ll miss that, baby, but there’s nothing I can do.”

  “Tomorrow, then?”

  “I’ll have to call you; it’s a rough week.”

  “Oh, all right,” she said, the disappointment heavy in her voice. The call ended.

  “How much did I miss?” Stone asked.

  “Nothing important.”

  “Did she make the call?”

  “No, he called her.”

  “Shit. If she makes any calls, can you extract the numbers from the keypad beeps?”

  “Sure.”

  “What about Caller ID? Can you pick up her incoming calls?”

  “Nope; that has to be done centrally, at the exchange. Nothing I can do about it.”

  “What did you find inside her apartment?”

  “Nice place; not large, but good furniture – antiques, nice upholstered pieces, a baby grand piano, out of tune. Her clothes are pretty dull, but there was a new black dress in a Saks bag that looked more elegant than her other stuff. I found some credit card bills; she’s got a balance on her Visa of six thousand and change, pretty high for a secretary, but she pays on time.”

  “She makes good money, so the Visa balance isn’t out of line,” Stone said. “What else? Any photographs of men?”

  “Nope, only one photograph; looks like her parents. She reads a lot, almost all hardbacks; there are a lot of bookcases in the place. She buys expensive-looking sheets and towels, there are a couple of good oriental carpets in the place. All in all, a fairly high-end joint, especially for a single woman.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I saved the best for last; her apartment’s already wired, and by the same guy who did your job.”

  “Jesus, that’s four residences they’ve gone after; these people must have some money behind them.”

  “Either that, or one of them knows his way around electronic surveillance. The equipment isn’t very exotic or very expensive, but whoever did it knew what he was doing.”
>
  Music suddenly came from the speaker in the van.

  “Sounds like WQXR, the classical radio station,” Cantor said. “Interesting lady; pity she’s not more of a looker.”

  “Where are you going to park the recorder?” Stone asked.

  “Right here; I’m in a legal parking spot, and I don’t have to move the van until tomorrow morning, when the alternate side parking rules change. I’ll just leave it until then.”

  “Good. No point in surveilling when she’s at work, either. Just check her between quitting time and bedtime; let’s see if the guy really calls back or if he’s just handing her a line.”

  “Okay. How long do you want me to keep the recorder going?”

  “The rest of the week, if you can check out the other two names I gave you while the recorder listens.”

  “Sure thing. Tell me, did you set your alarm when you left the house?”

  “Damn it, I forgot.”

  “They’ll come back, I promise you.”

  “How will I know if they do?”

  “You won’t, unless you know exactly what to look for.”

  Stone opened the door of the van. “I think I’d better get home.”

  The phone was ringing when he opened the front door.

  “Hi,” Arrington said. “How about tonight?”

  “I’ve got to do something tonight,” he said. “and I’m afraid you can’t help.”

  “I can be very helpful,” she said.

  “I know, but this one I need to do alone. How about tomorrow?”

  “You’re on; see you later.” She hung up.

  Stone walked around the house and took a good look at things; nothing seemed to have been disturbed in his absence. He switched on the living room lights and left the house by the front door, careful to set the alarm this time, then walked around to the other side of the block and rang the bell of a neighbor of his acquaintance.

  “Hi,” he said to the woman. “I’ve forgotten my front door key; could I go out the back door of your house? I’ve got a kitchen door key hidden.”

  “Sure,” the woman said, then let him into and out the rear of her house.

  It was dark now, but the lights in the common garden had not yet come on. Stone stood very still for ten minutes, sweeping the entire garden, looking for any sign of movement. There was none. He walked slowly toward the back door of his own house, as if out for an evening stroll, then stopped again at his back gate. Still no movement in the garden.