Worst Fears Realized (33 page)
“I have the address,” she said. “I’ll bring groceries, you do the wine.”
“What time?”
“Give me an hour or so.”
“Take your time; I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know you’re not,” she said.
Stone returned a few phone calls, then went to the cellar and chose some wines. That done, he went upstairs and changed into comfortable clothing, switching on the bedroom TV. The story was all over the tube, with the photograph of Mitteldorfer and a modified sketch of the second Hausman. He hoped to God they would get some more calls from that. The phone rang.
“Hello?”
“It’s Dino; you’re back in your own house?”
“Yeah, I figure with Erwin dead and Mitteldorfer’s picture on TV, the bad guys are in disarray, so it’s safe here.”
“I’m glad to see you out of the witch’s bed and back into your own.”
“Dino, Dolce is on her way over here right now, and I want you to stop saying all these terrible things about her.”
“I haven’t said anything that wasn’t true.”
“I like her, Dino; I’ll grant you, she can be a little overbearing at times, but I like her. I like her father, too. You may as well know that it was he who found out about the doctored tape used in the Dante trial, so we both owe him.”
“I don’t
want
to owe him,” Dino said.
“Well, that’s tough; you do, anyway, and I, for one, am glad to have all the help he can give us. I want my life back, you know?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m trying to figure out whether to bring Mary Ann and Ben home.”
“Not yet; let’s be cautious for a few more days.
Maybe the TV news story will produce some calls.”
“By the way, we got the warrant on Deacon’s place; Andy’s going to execute it tomorrow morning, as soon as he’s out of his apartment.”
“What do you expect to find?”
“Probably nothing; the guy’s not stupid enough to take the knife home. But we’ve got to make the effort. The fact that he was around the corner when Susan was killed isn’t enough.”
“Why don’t you brace Mick Kelly, too?”
“Good idea; I’ll have him picked up at the same time as Deacon.”
“Tomorrow morning, call me on my cell phone if you find out anything; I’d like to have as much ammunition as possible when I testify.”
“Sure.”
“Oh, by the way, Johnny Donato was here this afternoon.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Dino said. “You see what happens when you ignore my advice?”
“Tell me what you know about the guy, Dino.”
“Well, he’s not just a soldier, but he’s not a capo, either, though the word is, he might be one of these days, if somebody doesn’t pop him.”
“Is he dangerous?”
“Who knows? He might call a hit on you, if he thought he could get away with it. In my judgment, he wouldn’t have the guts to do the job himself.”
“He showed me his gun, and I showed him mine.”
Dino laughed. “That’ll keep him off the block, anyway. Guys like Donato aren’t used to dealing with
people who are as well armed as they are. You ought to be grateful to the guy, Stone; he’s a buffer between you and Dolce. As long as he’s alive, she can’t do anything permanent.”
“What makes you think she’d want to do anything permanent with me?” Stone asked.
“I don’t know, Stone. Eduardo apparently thinks highly of you, and he doesn’t have a history of admiring Dolce’s boyfriends.”
“And where are you getting this?”
“From Mary Ann, where else?”
“Dino, you’re making way too much of all this.”
“Just make sure you don’t shoot Donato; it wouldn’t be in your best interests.”
“Goodbye, Dino,” Stone said, and hung up. A moment later, the front door buzzed. Stone picked up the phone. “Yes?”
“Your dinner has arrived,” Dolce said.
D
OLCE WALKED IN CARRYING TWO LARGE
bags filled with groceries. She pecked him on the lips, handed him the bags, then walked around the living room, assessing the place. “This is nice,” she said, finally. “A little gloomy, maybe; could use some color, but it has good bones.”
“Let me show you the kitchen,” Stone said, leading the way.
She liked the kitchen better. “A girl could do good work here,” she said. “You got all the right appliances; how’d you know about that?”
“I cook a little,” Stone replied, setting down the groceries. “Can I get you a drink?”
“A little Strega, maybe.”
“Ah, I don’t have any Strega, I’m afraid.”
“Stone, you’re seeing an Italian girl, now; stock up.”
“I do have some very good olive oil.”
“Never drink it; how about a good single-malt scotch? Is that whitebread enough for you?”
“I’ve got a Laphroaig,” Stone said, looking through the kitchen liquor cabinet, “or a Glenlivet, or a Dalwhinney.”
“The Laphroaig, please; no ice, just a little cold water.”
Stone did as she asked.
She sipped the drink, then came into his arms. “Very good,” she said, kissing him. “When do I see the bedroom?”
“First food, then love,” Stone said, wondering why he had said “love” instead of “sex.”
“Fair enough,” she said, grabbing an apron from a hook and starting to unpack groceries. “By the way, you haven’t heard anything from a Johnny Donato, have you?”
“Why do you ask?”
“He’s been bothering me, but I think he’s too smart to bother you. He’s my husband.”
“He bothered me this afternoon,” Stone said. “He came to the house.”
Dolce closed her eyes and clenched her teeth. She turned and looked at Stone, contrite. “I’ll see that it doesn’t happen again,” she said.
“Don’t worry about it,” Stone said. “I think I scared him off with talk of the cops and the feds. I think he probably feels that he’s out of his depth.”
Dolce put some water on to boil and began chopping garlic. “Johnny has always been out of his depth,” she said, “on this side of the East River. He’s a Brooklyn boy, and he should never leave.”
“He is handsome,” Stone said. “I can see how your ad might have been turned at nineteen.”
“Trouble is, Johnny is
still
nineteen.” She began chopping prosciutto. “He does crazy things, then wants to be forgiven. He’s kind of a split personality—one moment, a sweet little boy, the next, a screaming maniac.”
“How long did you actually live with him?”
“Less than a month. On our last day together, I hit him in the head with a cast-iron skillet and left him on the kitchen floor for dead. He had a harder head than I thought.”
“Remind me never to make you angry,” Stone said.
Dolce looked at him sweetly. “Never make me angry,” she said. “Consider yourself reminded.”
Stone opened a bottle of white wine and poured himself a glass, sniffing it first.
“Can I try it?” she asked.
He handed her the glass.
She swirled it, sniffed it, tasted it. “It’s lovely; is it Italian?”
“It’s a Mondavi Reserve Chardonnay ’94. Not everything good is Italian.”
“Mondavi is an Italian name,” she said smugly. “By the way, speaking of Italians, Papa would like you to come to dinner in Brooklyn tomorrow night.”
“I’d love to. Who else is coming?”
“Mary Ann will be there; I’m not sure about Dino. Pick me up at the house at six?”
“Sure.”
“What is this grand-jury thing tomorrow? What are you testifying to?”
“I’m testifying that I didn’t murder a young woman.”
“Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, good.”
They dined on fettucini with a sauce of prosciutto, peas, and cream. Stone liked her cooking, and he was liking her more and more. There were times when she seemed steely hard, but here, in his kitchen, she was soft and funny and lovely. And God, could she cook!
“Would you like some of Aunt Rosaria’s cheesecake?” she asked when they were finished with their pasta.
“Yes, if you could call for an ambulance first,” Stone replied. “What with the pasta sauce and the dessert, I might as well just take the cholesterol straight into a vein.”
After dinner he led her upstairs. She gave the bedroom the same inspection she had given the living room. “It’s very masculine,” she said.
“A person of the masculine persuasion lives here,” Stone reminded her.
“I
am
aware of that,” she said, unbuckling his belt and letting his trousers drop to the floor.
“I don’t appear to be wearing any pants,” he said.
She pulled his shorts down to his ankles, and he stepped out of them. “Just the way I like you,” she replied.
“I don’t think I’m going to have any, ah, problems tonight,” he said, unbuttoning her blouse and kissing her breasts.
“I know,” she said.
T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING, STONE MET
Bill Eggers on the courthouse steps, and together they walked to the corridor outside the grand-jury room. “We’ll ambush Marty Brougham here,” Eggers said. They took a seat on a bench in the hallway.
“You’re sure this is the best way to do this?” Stone asked.
“He wouldn’t take my phone call yesterday,” Eggers replied, “so, as far as I’m concerned, it’s the only way.”
“Whatever you say.”
“I had lunch with Eduardo Bianchi yesterday,” Eggers said, “and he asked a lot of questions about you.”
“Oh? What kind of questions?”
“The kind that might be construed as coming from a prospective father-in-law,” Eggers said.
Stone didn’t reply to that, but he felt a little queasy.
“He wanted to know about your upbringing and education; how you’re doing financially; what your prospects are.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“The truth, of course. He’s not the sort of man you lie to.”
“And how did he react?”
“It’s funny, but I’ve known Eduardo for a while, and I’ve never heard him express a favorable opinion of anyone until yesterday. Of course, he’s a very reserved man, and polite, and I’ve rarely heard him express an unfavorable opinion, either, but I have to say, I was surprised.”
“That someone would have a favorable opinion of me?”
Eggers laughed. “Not someone; Eduardo. He’s not easy to impress.”
Stone was about to inquire further about this conversation when a hubbub arose down the hallway, and he looked around to see Martin Brougham walking slowly down the hallway, surrounded by half a dozen reporters. As he approached, Eggers stood up; Stone remained seated.
“Good morning, Marty,” Eggers boomed, apparently oblivious to the press. He stuck out his hand, and Brougham was forced to shake it.
“Morning, Bill; if you’ll excuse me…”
“Marty, I heard that you were interested in subpoenaing Stone Barrington, so I’ve saved you the trouble and brought Stone down here for you to
question before the grand jury,” He beckoned to Stone.
Stone stood up and offered his hand to Brougham. When the man took it, Stone hung on. “Good morning, Mr. Brougham,” he said, loudly enough for microphones to pick up. “I’ve come down here voluntarily to answer any questions you may have about my relationship with Susan Bean and my actions on the night she was murdered. Do you think you could take me first this morning?”
Brougham was flustered but tried not to show it. “I’ll, uh, see what I can do, Mr. Barrington,” he said. “And I appreciate your volunteering to testify.”
“I absolutely
insist
on testifying,” Stone said, still hanging on to the man’s hand. “You’ll remember that I told you some time ago that I’d be glad to cooperate in any way I can.”
“Yes, Yes,” Brougham said, wresting his hand from Stone’s grasp. “If you’ll just have a seat, Mr. Barrington, I’ll try to get to you soon.”
Eggers spoke up again. “Marty, could I speak to you privately for a moment? I have some information that might bear on this case, and I’d like to convey it to you before you convene the grand jury.”
“Sorry, Bill, I don’t have time right now; maybe later today.” He turned and started into the jury room.
“I did try to reach you by phone yesterday,” Eggers called after him. The door closed behind Brougham.
The reporters crowded around Eggers. “What information do you have for the DA, Mr. Eggers?” one of them asked.
“I think I’d better convey it to Mr. Brougham before I discuss it with you,” Eggers said to the man. “Please excuse me.” He sat down next to Stone. “He’s going to have to call you to testify, now,” he whispered. “If he doesn’t, the press will practically assassinate him.”
Stone sat quietly and waited. Other witnesses for the grand jury filed into the hallway and took seats. Stone exchanged greetings with a uniformed sergeant from the Nineteenth Precinct, Tim Ryan, whom he had known for years. As they were chatting, Stone’s cell phone rang. “Excuse me, Tim,” he said to the cop. He walked to the end of the corridor and took out the phone. “Hello?”
“It’s Dino.”
Stone could hear him grinning. “What’s up?”
“We went into Tom Deacon’s apartment an hour ago, and guess what we found?”
“The murder weapon, I hope.”
“We weren’t quite
that
lucky, but we did find Susan Bean’s diary.”
“Oh,
that’s
good!” Stone said. “Have you read it?”
“You bet I have; it’s telegraphic, but it lays out her knowledge of the doctored tapes in the Dante trial.”
“Does the diary implicate-Brougham?”
“Not directly, but it’s hard to see how, if Bean knew about the tape, Marty didn’t. Anyway, it’s a first-rate motive for Deacon; the very fact that he had possession of the diary is incriminating. It makes him our number one suspect and Mick Kelly an accessory after the fact. At the very least, I can get Kelly bounced
from the force for not reporting Deacon’s presence near the scene of the murder.”
“Have you picked up Deacon?”
“Not yet, but we’re looking for him; Kelly, too. I haven’t put out an APB yet; I don’t want to spook either of them.”
“That’s great news, Dino, and it comes at a very good time for me.”
“Have you testified, yet?”
“I’m waiting to go in, now.”
“Give Brougham hell for me.”