Lucid Intervals (11 page)

“Is she something with the British UN delegation?”

“Something like that,” Stone replied.

“You’re not being very forthcoming, Stone. Ordinarily, I can’t shut you up.”

“Circumstances require me to be discreet,” Stone said.

“And who’s the heavy gent with the elegant wife?” Eggers asked.

“Lord and Lady Wight. You remember my painter friend, Sarah?”

“I remember you hustling us out of her gallery opening the night the place was bombed,” Eggers said.

“The Wights are Sarah’s parents.”

“Now that I think of it, he’s a big developer in the UK, isn’t he?”

“He was; then he wasn’t. Now he is again, I’m told.”

“Someone mentioned him as a possible client,” Eggers said.

“I’d be happy to introduce you,” Stone said. “Let’s wend our way over to the fireplace, where he’s warming his backside.”

And they did.

21

T
hey found Wight before the fireplace, momentarily alone.

“Lord Wight,” Stone said, “I’d like to introduce you to Mr. William Eggers.”

Wight nodded. “Howjado?”

“Bill is the managing partner of the law firm of Woodman and Weld. I’m of counsel to the firm.”

“Oh, yes,” Wight said, suddenly interested. “I believe someone in London mentioned your firm to me in a favorable light.”

“That’s very gratifying,” Eggers said.

“Perhaps we should have a chat in more businesslike surroundings.”

“If you’re going to be in New York a few days, why don’t you come up to our offices and have lunch with Stone and me?”

“I’d like that,” Wight said. “Are you available tomorrow?”

“I am,” Eggers replied, “and I’m sure Stone is, too.”

“Of course,” Stone said.

“We’re in the Seagram Building on Park Avenue,” Eggers said. “May we say twelve-thirty tomorrow?”

“Very good,” Wight replied. “I know the building, of course.”

The butler stood at the door. “The ambassador invites you to rejoin the ladies,” he said more quietly than usual.

As Stone was leaving the study, Smith materialized at his elbow. “A word?” he said.

Stone remained in the study with him while the others made their way out. “Certainly,” he replied.

“Are you aware of Lord Wight’s former relationship to Stanley Whitestone?”

“I’ve heard it mentioned,” Stone said. “Are you sure it’s former?”

“Lord Wight has been at some pains the past few years to make it seem so.”

“Perhaps all is not what it seems,” Stone pointed out.

“Should you discover that they are still … acquainted, you must be careful not to let Wight know that you know.”

“Why not?”

“Because Wight is also … acquainted with some dangerous people who would not like you or anyone else to know.”

“What do you mean by ‘dangerous’?” Stone asked.

“Wight is not entirely his own man,” Smith said, “and some of his associates have a way of making people who annoy them disappear.”

“I’ll certainly keep that in mind,” Stone said. “Now, shall we join the ladies?” And they did so.

THE EVENING WAS
over promptly at ten-thirty, and Stone was careful to say nothing of his impending meeting while they were in the car. They were let into the house by Jake Musket.

“Nothing to report,” Musket said, then saw them onto the elevator.

“Who was the man you introduced to Wight?” Felicity asked as they moved upward.

Smith had apparently had a word with her. “The managing partner at Woodman and Weld,” Stone replied. “Bill Eggers.”

“Why did you make the introduction?”

“Bill asked me to; he’s interested in Wight as a possible client.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” she asked.

“Bill does. He and I are having lunch with Wight tomorrow at the firm’s offices.”

“I don’t suppose you can get out of it.”

“Why should I want to do that?” Stone asked. “It might give me an opportunity to raise the subject of Stanley Whitestone again.”

“I believe Smith had a word with you.”

“He did. Told me that Wight has dangerous associates.”

They reached the bedroom, and Felicity turned so that Stone could unzip her dress. “Smith is right,” she said. “I shouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Neither would I,” Stone said, moving her hair aside and kissing the nape of her neck.

She stepped out of her dress and tossed it onto a chair.

Stone waited until after they had attended to each other’s desires before he spoke again. “Felicity, are you telling me all I need to know about Whitestone and Wight?”

“I’ve told you all I can,” she replied.

“That may not be all I need to know,” he said.

“Go to sleep,” she commanded.

STONE GOT TO
the offices of Woodman & Weld a few minutes early and found Eggers alone in his office. He sat down. “What do you know about Lord Wight?” he asked.

“We have a London office, as you know,” Eggers said. “It’s in a building that Wight’s company built and manages.”

“So he’s your landlord, and that’s it?”

“A solicitor I know in London tells me that Wight is a large consumer of legal services,” Eggers said.

“Given his past, do you want to be seen to represent him?”

Eggers shrugged. “His reputation in this country is better than in his own, and I happen to know that he has acquired two building sites in midtown. He also owns a building on East Fifty-seventh Street that houses Strategic Services.”

Stone knew that Strategic Services was one of the two or three largest private security companies in the United States. “Have you had any dealings with them?” he asked.

“I’ve played tennis with Jim Hackett a couple of times at the Racquet Club,” Eggers replied, referring to the owner of the company. “We had a drink afterward last week, and I think he might be a good source of referrals.”

“He sounds worth cultivating,” Stone said. “I don’t know much about his background.”

“He’s ex-Paratroop Regiment.”

“He’s British?”

“Scottish, but you wouldn’t know it to talk to him,” Eggers said. “He came to this country twenty-five years ago, and he’s very much assimilated.”

“He has a lot of ex-special ops people on staff, doesn’t he?”

“That’s the rumor,” Eggers said. “And from both sides of the Atlantic. His corporate protection people are mostly former U.S. Secret Service.”

“I don’t know a lot about his company,” Stone said, “but I have the impression that they have been mixed up in some unsavory things, for their clients.”

“I’ve never heard of any evidence to support that,” Eggers said, “but any outfit that’s as secretive as Strategic Services is bound to generate rumors. They never speak to the press, never comment on their work or so much as acknowledge the name of a client.”

“I can see how that might perk up some ears,” Stone said.

Eggers’s phone buzzed, and he picked it up. “Yes? Please send him to my dining room.” He hung up. “Our possible future client has arrived,” he said.

22

L
unch was served in Eggers’s private dining room, off his office. The room was paneled in walnut, and the bookcases were filled with his collection of old law books, bound in leather. A fire burned cheerily in the hearth, giving off the lovely scent of piñon wood that Eggers had shipped in from Santa Fe.

By the time the soup course plates were being taken away, Stone was bored rigid. The talk was of London clubs that Eggers and Wight belonged to. Stone noticed that the Royal Yacht Squadron, of which Eggers was a foreign member, was not mentioned, and he assumed that Wight had been blackballed by that club. By the time the main course of lamb chops was served, all the talk was of real estate. Stone was having trouble keeping awake and had no opportunity to raise the subject of Stanley Whitestone. Then his cell phone vibrated on his belt.

Stone stepped away from the table and answered it.

“It’s Joan,” she said. “Herbie Fisher just called, and he’s in some sort of trouble. He’s in the tank at the Nineteenth Precinct.”

“I’ll go right over,” Stone said, grateful for the interruption. “Excuse me, Bill, Lord Wight,” he said to the two men, “one of my clients has an emergency, so I’ll have to leave you.”

Wight stood up and shook his hand. “I’ll speak to Sarah later today, Barrington,” he said, “and I’ll give her your regards.”

“Please do,” Stone said.

“I’ll call you later,” Eggers said.

Stone got out of there. It was a beautiful day, and he decided to walk up to the Nineteenth, which was in the East Sixties. Herbie would appreciate his presence there more if he had to stew awhile.

Stone knew the desk sergeant from the old days, when they had both been patrolmen. “Hey, Mac,” he said.

“Hiya, Stone. How’s it going?”

“Not too bad,” Stone replied. “I believe you’re hosting a client of mine, one Herbert Fisher. What’s the beef?”

Mac consulted a large ledger. “Disorderly conduct,” he said.

“How disorderly?”

Mac hit a few computer keys and read aloud from the arrest report. “Subject was a passenger in a limousine stopped for a traffic violation. While I spoke with the driver, subject got out of the car and began to berate me for stopping his car. I told subject to quiet himself and return to the rear seat, but he refused and assaulted me. I placed subject in handcuffs and transported him to the Nineteenth Precinct.”

“You know what kind of assault?” Stone asked.

“I talked to the officer when he brought Fisher in. I believe it was repeated jabs to the chest with a forefinger.”

“Trot him out, will you, Mac?”

“Two minutes,” the cop replied. “Number two’s available.” Stone went to interview room number two, sat down and waited. A moment later, Herbie, in restraints, was escorted into the part of the room on the other side of the thick plate-glass partition. One of his hands was uncuffed so that he could use the telephone. He picked it up.

“Stone,” he said, “a cop tried to beat me up.”

“Save it, Herbie,” Stone replied. “I’ve heard all about it, and the incident could get you up to a year at Riker’s but probably more like thirty days.”

“What?”

“I said, ‘Save it,’ Herbie. Now if you’ll behave yourself for half an hour I’ll try to get you out of here.” Stone pressed a button, and the escorting officer returned. “We’re done,” he said to the man. Herbie was escorted back to the tank, still protesting.

Stone left the interview room and walked upstairs to the detective squad room. Dino was sitting in his glass-enclosed office at the far end of the room, and he waved Stone in and pointed at a chair. He finished his conversation and hung up. “So,” he said, what brings you out of your cozy East Side town house and into this temple of justice?”

“Herbie,” Stone replied.

Dino rolled his eyes. “What now?”

“He had an argument with a cop during a traffic stop, and the guy ran him in for disorderly conduct; he’s in the tank. I’ll buy the next two dinners at Elaine’s if you’ll get him released and make the report go away.”

“Are you attempting to bribe an officer of the law?” Dino asked sternly.

“Yes,” Stone replied.

“The next five dinners,” Dino said.

“Four, and that’s my best offer. Herbie can rot.”

“Done.” Dino made the call. “You can meet him downstairs. See you tonight?”

“Yeah, and thanks.”

“I’m ordering the good wines,” Dino said.

“Don’t press your luck, pal,” Stone replied and went back downstairs.

HERBIE WAS LED
from the cells and into the public area, rubbing his wrists. “I want to sue them,” he said.

Stone took him by the arm and marched him into the street. “Sue who?” he asked.

“All of them, the whole precinct.”

“For what?”

“Disrespect,” Herbie said.

“That’s not grounds for a lawsuit, Herbie, especially since you’ve been a guest here before. They tend to remember those things.”

The Maybach glided to a halt next to where they were standing, and the chauffeur got out and opened the rear door.

“I think I found the right penthouse,” Herbie said. “It’s on Park Avenue, up in the nineties.”

Stone thought that was probably far enough from his house. “Sounds great, Herbie.”

“You want to come and take a look?”

“Can’t do it today; I had to leave an important meeting to uncan you.”

“I’m going to pick up Sheila and take one more look,” Herbie said.

“I’m sure Sheila will give you sage real estate advice,” Stone said, “but if I were you, I wouldn’t ask her opinion on decor.”

“Why not?”

“I think Sheila’s tastes might run more to the Bronx than to Park Avenue.”

“There you go again, misjudging people,” Herbie said. “Sheila is from Queens.”

“Of course she is,” Stone said.

“By the way, I’ve got a witness to an assault on me that was instigated by the Wilds,” Herbie said.

“Who’s the witness?”

“Sheila.”

“Herbie, Sheila probably works for someone close to the Wilds.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because she’s a hooker, and the Wilds are probably her pimp’s loan shark and bookie, respectively.”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” Herbie said.

“Go buy your apartment,” Stone said. “If you like, I’ll do the closing.”

“Closing?”

“That’s where you and the seller meet, he gives you documents transferring the apartment to you and you give him money. I should think that an Internet attorney like yourself would know that.”

“I knew that,” Herbie said. He got into the Maybach and was driven away.

Stone hailed a cab.

23

J
oan was on the phone as Stone walked into his offices. “Bill Eggers for you on one,” she said.

Stone walked back to his office, sat down and picked up the phone. “Hey, Bill.”

“What do you mean walking out on us that way?” Eggers demanded.