Worst Fears Realized (23 page)
“Not really. I liked her a lot, though; she was a nice girl in a bad marriage.”
“Was she in love with you?”
“She was in love with the idea of getting out of
her marriage,” Palmer replied. “She knew I was married, but she knew mine was rocky, too, that I wanted out.”
“So she looked upon you as a way out?”
“Maybe, but I tried to discourage that. I knew that if I got a divorce, it was going to cost me most of what I had. I was right about that.”
“Did she talk about her marriage much?”
“Some; you know what women are like in those circumstances, don’t you?”
“Not really; tell me.”
“She’d complain about him, about how finicky he was about everything—their apartment, his clothes,
her
clothes. Apparently, he was very good with money, but she complained that she had no control over the money she’d brought to the marriage, which was considerable, I think. She was afraid that if she divorced him, she wouldn’t be able to get the money back, and it was all she had. Her parents were dead. That’s about all she ever told me about him.”
“Did she see a lawyer?”
“Yeah, just a day or so before she was killed.”
“Do you know his name?”
Palmer wrinkled his brow. “I used to know it; he was a well-known divorce lawyer at the time—even bigger, now. I see his name in the papers now and then.”
“It would help if you could remember it.”
Palmer looked at Stone. “Help who? What’s your interest in this?”
“Mitteldorfer disappeared after he got out of prison. I’m trying to find him.”
“Why?”
“I want to put him back in prison.”
“Goldsmith,” Palmer said.
“Bruce Goldsmith?”
“That’s the one. He’s a big-time divorce lawyer, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is.” Stone had gone to law school with him.
“Look, tell me what’s going on, will you?”
“It looks as though Mitteldorfer is taking revenge on people he thinks have wronged him.”
Palmer rested his face in his hands. “Oh, Jesus. I can’t get involved in this. Investors are hard enough to find; if my name turns up in the papers…”
“Mitteldorfer may already be responsible for the deaths of half a dozen people, including a police officer who happened to get in the way. He seems to be attacking people he thinks of as enemies and…people close to them. Did you see the story in the
Times
about the bombing at a gallery opening on Wednesday?”
“Oh, shit, yes. And I’ve got an opening tomorrow night.”
Stone wrote down Dino’s name and number on the back of his card and handed the paper to Palmer. “This is the detective in charge of the investigation; he was my partner in the murder investigation. I’d suggest that you get in touch with him, tell him about your past association with Mitteldorfer’s wife, and ask for his help.”
“But what if Mitteldorfer doesn’t know who I am?”
“Then you should have nothing to worry about.”
“But if he does…?”
“Then, in addition to calling Lieutenant Bacchetti, I’d hire some private security for your opening.”
“Oh, God.” Palmer moaned, resting his head on his arms.
“My number’s on the card, too; I’d appreciate a call if you think of anything else that might help me find Mitteldorfer. Good luck with your opening.”
Palmer said nothing. Stone left his office.
“Maybe you should be an actor,” the young woman at the reception desk said. “You’re good-looking enough.”
Stone smiled at her. “You, too,” he said.
S
TONE DROVE OUT OF THE GARAGE AND
called information for Bruce Goldsmith’s number, using the hands-free phone. He remembered that he and Goldsmith had once been rivals for a girl, and that Goldsmith had lost. He dialed the number.
“Goldsmith, Craven, and Moyle,” a woman said.
“Bruce Goldsmith, please. My name is Stone Barrington.”
“Are you a client, Mr. Barrington?”
“No. An old acquaintance. Tell Mr. Goldsmith that it’s important that I speak to him right away.”
“Just a moment.”
There was a very long delay, time enough for Stone to get onto the West Side Highway, before Goldsmith came on the line.
“Hello, Stone, what can I do for you?” he asked, sounding in a hurry.
Stone remembered that Bruce Goldsmith had
always been in a hurry. “Hello, Bruce; how have you been all these years?”
“I can’t complain. What can I do for you?”
“I can’t complain, either.”
“Stone, I don’t have much time; what is it?”
“You remember, about twelve years ago, a woman named Arlene Mitteldorfer came to see you about a divorce?”
There was a long silence.
“Bruce, you still there?”
“What’s this about, Stone?”
“I take it you remember her. You may also remember that she was murdered a day or two after you saw her.”
“How do you know about this?”
“I ask a lot of questions. What I want to know is, what did she say about her husband in that meeting?”
“I remember that you were the arresting officer. You know very well I can’t discuss that with you; the conversation was privileged; otherwise, I’d have called you at the time.”
“She’s been dead for twelve years, Bruce; privilege shouldn’t be a problem.”
“My notes from those days are in storage in Queens. It would take weeks to find them.”
“I don’t want your notes, Bruce; I just want to know what, you remember about that meeting. Mitteldorfer is out of prison, and I’m trying to find him. I’m hoping you can tell me something that might help.”
“I don’t remember much.”
“She was a beautiful woman, Bruce. I’m sure you remember the meeting very well.”
“I don’t see why I should violate a confidence to help you, Stone.”
“Let me give you a reason, Bruce: it appears that Herbert Mitteldorfer is going around New York City, killing people who have annoyed him in the past, and, sometimes, their friends. We’re at six bodies, and counting. If you gave her advice that might have been to his disadvantage, and I’m sure you did, then he might very well be annoyed with
you.
”
There was only a brief silence, and then Goldsmith was talking. “I took her to lunch; she was gorgeous, and I didn’t mind being seen with her. She told me her husband had appropriated the money her father had left her, and that she wanted to divorce him and get the money back. She wanted to know if that was possible, and I told her it certainly was. My recollection is that we were talking about something in the range of three or four million dollars, plus an apartment her father had given them when they got married. She was worried that he might become violent. I advised her to move out of the house immediately and file for divorce. I told her I could get her the apartment back very quickly, and she’d be able to move back in during the proceedings. She said she’d get back to me. I never heard from her again.”
“Did you sleep with her, Bruce?”
“That’s hardly relevant to this conversation.”
“It is, if she told her husband about it. Spouses tend to spit out these things in the middle of domestic quarrels.”
“Yeah, all right, I fucked her. We had lunch at a little hotel in the Sixties; I kept a room there, at the time.”
“Was there anything else she said about her marriage, anything at all?”
Goldsmith thought for a moment. “Yeah, there was: she said she thought her husband had another wife, that he was a bigamist.”
“Did she say who or where the other wife was?”
“No; we were…getting involved about that time, and we didn’t get back to that. I would have asked her, of course, if she had called me back.”
“Of course.”
“Stone?”
“Yeah?”
“Should I watch my back?”
“Bruce, if I were you, I’d leave town; that’s what I’m doing.”
“Hang on,” Goldsmith said. “Millie, tell Moyle that I’ll do the deposition in San Francisco, and get his plane ticket changed to my name. He’s on the two o’clock flight, isn’t he? I don’t care what he says, just do it.” He came back to Stone. “Thanks, pal, I appreciate the warning.”
“And I appreciate your recollections,” Stone said, feeling slightly soiled from having received them. He hung up and called Dino. He was headed north on the Saw Mill River Parkway.
“Bacchetti,” Dino said.
“It’s Stone. You may get a call from a guy named Palmer, who…”
“I just did.”
“So, you’re on top of that?”
“You bet I am. Anything else come up?”
“Yes. Arlene Mitteldorfer saw a divorce lawyer right before she was murdered. He told me that she
said she thought Herbie had another wife.”
“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.
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.”