by Stuart Woods
“Before her?”
“During her.”
“Herbie was a bigamist?”
“Could be. I don’t know if the marriage records were computerized that long ago, but it might be worth doing a search; I’d sure like to talk to the other Mrs. Mitteldorfer. Maybe she’s hiding him.”
“I’m on it,” Dino said.
“I’m on the way to Connecticut, now; let me give you the numbers up there; they’ll be working later today.” Stone gave him the numbers and his new car-phone number. “I’ll be in the car for another hour and a half if you need to reach me.”
Stone continued up the Saw Mill, through a bright, spring day, with new, green leaves on the trees. It was a winding road and fun to drive on.
He called his own number and tapped in the code for the answering machine. The mechanical voice said, You have two messages. One:
“Hi, it’s Dolce. The Carlyle said you’d checked out. I don’t know if you have any plans for the weekend; if not, call me, and we’ll do something interesting.”
Two:
“Stone, it’s Vance Calder; I hope you’re well. Arrington and I are in the East this weekend, and we’d like you to join us for dinner, if you’re free. We’d both love to see you, and, of course, you haven’t seen the baby yet, and we’d like you to. Please call me.” He left a number.
Stone found the breath momentarily sucked out of him. He had known that this would happen, eventually, but he hadn’t expected them to turn up in town this soon. He wasn’t sure he could handle this, and he was going to be in the country, anyway, so he had an excuse not to see them. He dialed the number.
Transferring your call, a recorded voice said. There were some beeps, then the phone rang. A woman, not Arrington, answered.
“Hello?”
“May I speak to Vance Calder, please?”
“Who’s calling?”
“My name is Stone Barrington; I’m returning his call.”
“Just a moment.”
A few seconds later, Vance came on the phone. “Stone, how are you?” he asked, sounding enthusiastic.
Stone tried to match his tone. “I’m very well, Vance; how are you and Arrington and the baby?”
“We’re just wonderful, all of us. Do you think we might get together for dinner this weekend?”
“I’d love to, Vance, I really would, but as we speak, I’m on my way to the country.”
“Where in the country?”
“I’ve bought a little house in Washington, Connecticut.”
“Well, there’s a coincidence; we’re at my place in Roxbury right now, and that’s the village next door to Washington.”
Stone hadn’t been aware that Vance had a place in Connecticut. “Gosh, Vance, I’m just moving in today, and…”
“Well, then, by tomorrow night, you’re going to need a break and a hot dinner. Give me your new address, and I’ll send my car for you.”
“I can drive over, I guess. Give me some directions.” He juggled his notebook while driving and wrote down the address.
“About seven, then?”
“All right, about seven.”
“It’ll be very casual, and by all means, bring somebody, if you’d like.”
“Thanks, Vance; see you then.” He hung up. Well, all tight, he thought; we’re all civilized people; we can get through this. Then it occurred to him that he’d rather not get through it alone. He dialed Dolce’s office number and was put through to her immediately.
“Hello, there,” she purred.
“Hi, I got your message.”
“Any plans for the weekend?”
“Actually, yes, but why don’t you join me? I would have asked you this morning, but you had gone when I woke up.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“I’ve just bought a place in Connecticut, and I’m moving in this afternoon. By tomorrow night I should have been able to make some sense of it, so why don’t you drive up tomorrow? Oh, there’s dinner with a movie star, tomorrow night, too.”
“Which movie star?”
“That’ll be a surprise. Get a pencil, and I’ll give you some very precise directions.”
She wrote them down. “How long will it take me?”
“Under two hours, from midtown.”
“I should be able to leave here by two.”
“See you around four, then.” They hung up.
Suddenly, he felt very much better about the following evening.
40
B RUCE GOLDSMITH STARTED PACKING HIS briefcase. “Millie, get in here!” he shouted. His secretary came in with a pad. “Where was Moyle staying?”
“At the Ritz-Carlton; he’s got a club-level room reserved.”
“Change it to a suite, a big one; the client can afford it, and have a car meet me at the airport—a Mercedes, not a Lincoln.”
“Right,” she said, making notes rapidly.
Goldsmith’s partner, Lester Moyle, walked into the office. “What the hell is going on?” he asked.
“I’m taking the San Francisco deposition,” Goldsmith said.
“The hell you are; that’s my client.”
“And who gave her to you?”
“Listen, Bruce, I don’t know what’s going on, here, but this is very high-handed, and I’m not going to put up with it.”
“Les, shut up and give Millie your notes; I don’t give a shit whether you like it or not; I’m doing the deposition.”
“That tears it for me, Bruce,” Moyle said. “I’m sick of your prima donna act. You want to buy me out of the firm?”
“That’s fine by me, you little prick,” Goldsmith rejoined. “You know the formula by heart, I expect; figure out what your share is worth and draw up the agreement. Fax it to me in San Francisco, and I’ll sign.”
“I’m taking my clients,” Moyle said.
“The hell you are; read our contract. You walk out of here, you do it alone. If you try to take a single client with you, I’ll lock you up in a lawsuit that’ll set you back years, and you know I can do it. Now get out of my office.”
Moyle stalked out of the room, swearing.
“Anything else?” Millie asked.
“Yeah, what was that woman’s name—I did her divorce from the winery owner a couple of years ago? She took her maiden name back.”
“Madeleine Cochran.”
“Right. Get her on the phone for me.”
Millie went back to her desk; a moment later the phone in Goldsmith’s office buzzed. “She’s on the line,” Millie said.
Goldsmith picked up the phone. “Maddy? How the hell are you?”
“I’m all right, Bruce; what a surprise to hear from you.”
“Well, I haven’t been west for a while, but I’ve suddenly gotten yanked into a deposition in San Francisco, and I’ll be there tonight. Why don’t you and I have dinner, and we’ll catch up.”
“Uh, Bruce, you’re still married, aren’t you?”
“Barely; I’m filing for divorce as soon as I get back. It’s been hell; I’ll tell you about it tonight.”
“I don’t want to poach another woman’s game, Bruce. I still feel guilty about that one time during my divorce.”
“I’m telling you, Maddy, it’s over, and I really, really need to see you.”
“Oh, all right; where and what time?”
“Seven-thirty at the Ritz-Carlton?”
“Which restaurant?”
“I’ll have a suite; we’ll order in.”
“You’re very naughty, Bruce.”
“Just ask at the desk; see you then, babe.” Goldsmith hung up, chuckling. “Millie, get me my wife.” A moment later, his phone buzzed. “Ellen? It’s me. Listen, we’ve just had a big blowup here; Les Moyle has just walked out of the firm, leaving me with a critical deposition to do.”
“Oh, Bruce, you’re not going to fink out on this dinner party tonight,” his wife said, horrified. “I arranged this for your benefit, not mine.”
“Sweetie, I know, and I’m really sorry, but Les has left me up the creek, with nobody else to handle this but me.”
“Surely, you can spare a couple of hours for your guests.”
“Sweetheart, by dinnertime, I’ll be in San Francisco.”
“Oh, Jesus; for how long?”
“At least a week, maybe more; this is a big one, major money.”
“Bruce, we’ve got the Willards coming to East-hampton this weekend! You’re supposed to be entertaining them.”
“Call them and explain, will you? I’ll be working straight through the weekend with the client; I’ve got a lot of catching up to do on this case. Damn Moyle for doing this to us!”
“Oh, God, how am I going to face these people tonight?”
“You’ll manage, sweetie; you’re the greatest hostess in New York, you know.”
“You will be back for the school play, won’t you? Helen is starring, and she’s so counting on you.”
“I’ll move heaven and earth, if I can. Listen, pack me a bag, will you? The works, dinner jacket, too.”
“Dinner jacket? I thought this was a deposition!”
“The client wants me to meet some important people next week. Could be great for business.”
“I hate you for this,” she said.
“Baby, I know how you feel, and I promise, I’ll make it up to you. How about Tuscany this summer? And listen, will you just leave my suitcases with the doorman? I’m rushing to the airport, and I don’t even have time to come upstairs.”
“Oh, all right!” She slammed down the phone.
Goldsmith buzzed his secretary. “Millie, call Pebble Beach and get me a two o’clock tee time tomorrow, and book me into the Inn, a nice suite, ocean view. Talk to the manager, if you have to; tell him it’s for me. And call the car and tell Mike to be sure my clubs are in the trunk; if they’re not, tell Pebble Beach to keep a set of Callaways for me—the tungsten-titanium irons, nothing else.”
“I’ve got your deposition case packed. Anything else?”
“I think that’ll do it.” Goldsmith hung up and dialed his urologist’s number, then got his secretary on the line. “Hey, sweetheart, how are you?”
“Fine, Mr. Goldsmith.”
“Listen, big favor; my wife and I are off to San Francisco this afternoon, kind of a second honeymoon. Will you call the Ritz-Carlton out there, get the name of a drugstore, and phone in a Viagra prescription for me?”
“Sure, how many?”
“Oh, a couple of dozen ought to do it—ho, ho, ho! Ask them to deliver them to my suite.”
“I’ll take care of it; you and Mrs. Goldsmith have a wonderful time.”
“Don’t you worry, with your help we will. See ya.” Goldsmith closed his briefcase, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the door. “Is Mike downstairs with the car?”
“Yes, and your golf clubs are in the trunk.”
“Okay, I’m going to be gone a week, maybe two; cancel anything that can wait or that I can’t handle with a phone and a fax machine, and get Craven to take care of the rest. Tell him about Moyle’s leaving, and by the way, as soon as Les goes to lunch, clean out any files in his desk and briefcase, padlock his filing cabinets, and put his Rolodex in my safe, got it?” Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed his deposition case and left the office.
“Got it, you complete and total shit,” Millie muttered under her breath.
Goldsmith rode down in the elevator, feeling nothing but elation. In one fell swoop, he had rid himself of a law partner who had always put too much emphasis on ethics, gotten out of a boring dinner party and an awful weekend, built a two-week vacation for himself in his favorite city and at Pebble Beach, and lined up a spectacular piece of ass that he had never had enough of. He felt very pleased with himself.
Mike was waiting at the curb with the rear door of the BMW 750i already open. Goldsmith handed him the two briefcases to be put into the trunk and slid into the rear seat. Mike closed the door after him and walked to the rear of the car.
Goldsmith looked to his right and saw a black Lincoln Town Car standing shockingly close—no more than an inch from his new BMW. He punched the window button and screamed at the driver of the Lincoln, whose face was only inches from his. “God-damnit! You put one fucking scratch on this car, and I’ll have your ass in court!”
The driver turned calmly toward him and raised something that looked, from Goldsmith’s perspective, like a short length of black pipe. He didn’t even have time to flinch; the pfffft! noise was the last thing he heard.
41
S TONE DROPPED BY THE KLEMM REAL Estate Office in Washington Depot, which was the business district, a mile from Washington Green, and picked up the keys to his new house.
Carolyn Klemm greeted him with enthusiasm and presented him with a cold bottle of good champagne and a list of tradesmen, repairmen, gardeners, and other necessary help for any homeowner.
He stopped at the Washington Market and picked up some groceries for the weekend, then at the local liquor shop, where he bought a mixed case of wines, half a dozen bottles of spirits, and some mixers. Finally, very excited, he drove up the hill, turned left at the church, and, a couple of hundred yards later, rolled past the fringe of evergreen trees and into his own driveway. It was the first house he had ever bought.
He got out of the car, unlocked the front door, and walked inside. The place was cavernously empty and spotlessly clean. He unloaded his groceries and booze, put the perishables and white wines into the fridge, then carried his suitcases upstairs and unpacked, placing his things in the smaller of the two master closets, both of which contained drawers and shelves.
He walked back downstairs to find the UPS deliveryman on his doorstep, and the man trundled half a dozen large boxes into the kitchen, got a signature, and left. Stone began unpacking the dishes, pots and pans, and other housewares he and Sarah had bought, but before he got very far, the ABC Furniture van arrived, and most of the next hour was spent distributing furniture around the house. When the deliverymen had left, he went back to work in the kitchen, and in another hour he had it organized.
He was upstairs putting the new sheets on his new bed when the phone man arrived. Stone put him to work, then went back to his own tasks. He had just finished putting the bedroom and bath in order when the phone man pronounced himself finished. Stone tried the various extensions around the house, heard a dial tone at each, thanked the man, and signed off on the installation. He did some straightening of the new furniture, lamented the lack of pictures and other ornaments in the place, then treated himself to a beer. He had just sat down when the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“It’s Dino; I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“The phone just got turned on; what’s up?”
“You said you spoke to Arlene Mitteldorfer’s divorce lawyer earlier today?”
“That’s right.”
“Was his name Bruce Goldsmith?”
“Yes, and what do you mean, ‘was’?”
“He got popped at lunchtime, less than an hour after you and I spoke.”
“How did it happen?”
“He was leaving his office for a trip to San Francisco. He got into his car, a black Town Car pulled alongside, and somebody put one round into his head at point-blank range. No noise, probably a silencer. Got the backseat of a nice, new BMW all messy.”
“Jesus; I warned him to get out of town; I guess he didn’t go fast enough.”
“I guess not.”
“Don’t tell anybody where I am, okay, Dino?”
“Who else knows?”
“Just a girl, who’s coming up tomorrow, Bill Eggers, and Vance Calder and Arrington.”
“They’re in town?”
“No, they’re up here; Vance has a house less than five miles from mine. I’m having dinner with them tomorrow night.”
Dino gave a long chuckle. “She can’t stay away from you, can she?”
“Nothing like that; V
ance wants us all to be friends. Come to think of it, she said something to that effect in the last conversation I had with her, last year.”
“You’re a braver man than I am, Stone, going to their house all by yourself.”
“I’m not going by myself; I’ll be well armed with a beautiful woman.”
“Anybody I know?”
“Nah; a new lady.” He half expected Dino to call him on the lie.
“This is all too civilized for me,” Dino said.
“What are you doing about Palmer’s opening on tomorrow night?”
“Maximum effort; the department finally believes me about this business.”
“It’s about time. Have you put out an APB on Mitteldorfer?”
“I’m not at that point, yet; we don’t really have any hard evidence on him, nothing to tie him to these crimes but our suppositions and a lot of bodies.”
“I think you ought to get his most recent prison photograph into the Sunday papers, along with the artist’s drawing of the hit man. You can say that Mitteldorfer may be in danger, and you want to talk with him. At least, that’ll get his face out there, and you might get a tip from a citizen.”
“Good idea; I don’t think I’ll ask the brass; I know a guy at the Times. How’s the house?”
“The stuff Sarah and I bought all arrived, and I’ve spent the afternoon making it habitable. Still needs a lot of pictures and lamps and other things.”
“Have a good weekend; when you coming back?”
“I don’t know; I may not come back at all; at least, not until Mitteldorfer has popped you, and I have to look for him, myself.”
“Don’t hold your breath, kid; he’s not going to get a crack at Dino. The department has lent me a special car, not unlike your own.”
“A Mercedes?”
“No, just a Crown Victoria that could take a hit from a tank. They’ve been using it to transport VIPs to and from the UN.”
“That’s good news.”
“You bet it is. I gotta go.”
“Keep me posted.”
Dino hung up, and so did Stone. Immediately, the phone rang again.
“Hello?”
“Stone? It’s Carolyn Klemm; how are you coming with the house?”