Dino rang. “I called early this morning but got no answer. I assumed you were fucking somebody and couldn’t talk.”
“I wish that were true, but it is not.”
“Then where were you?”
“In East Hampton, or on the way back by helicopter.”
“Why didn’t I know you were going to East Hampton?”
“Because I didn’t know myself until around one am. Also, because, contrary to your belief, I do not tell you my every move.”
“Wrong. I don’t ask, but eventually you tell me everything. All I want to know now is why you were in East Hampton.”
“I was answering a homicide call.”
“Are you acting under the delusion that you are still a policeman and working in the East Hampton jurisdiction?”
“Joan and a friend of hers were staying at the house she inherited from Annetta Charles, and she shot and killed an intruder.”
“And she called you, instead of 911?”
“She called 911, then me. Mike Freeman loaned me a chopper. And, on arrival, I ascertained that the corpse was, indeed, dead. Then I listened to the police question the two women, and the chopper brought me back.”
“What was the outcome of all this action?”
“I suggested to the two cops attending that this was a routine B and E, and that Joan shot the man in self-defense. They did not disagree, so I got the hell out of there before they started to ask me any questions.”
“What were you afraid they would ask you?”
“They asked if I recognized the corpse.”
“And you said, ‘No’?”
“Yes.”
“And that was not true?”
“No. Sort of. He looked a little like a guy who came to my house a few nights before, rang the bell, and asked for Eddie Jr. I could see him on my security system. It could have been the same guy. I told him to go away.”
“You were fucking somebody at the time, weren’t you?”
“Not yet.”
“So I’m supposed to get you out of this?”
“Out of what?” Stone asked.
“Out of lying to the cops during a murder investigation.”
“I didn’t lie to them. I don’t know if it was the same guy who came to my door.”
“You want me to tell them that?”
“I don’t want you to tell them anything.”
“You want me to conceal evidence in a homicide investigation?”
“Why confuse the East Hampton cops?”
“What about the ballistics report? You want me to lose that or sit on it?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the East Hampton cop who was sitting on my doorstep when I got to my office this morning, with a S&W snub-nosed .38 in a plastic bag.”
“I gave him my card and asked him to send me a copy of the ballistics report. I didn’t mention your name.”
“He came to us because his other choice was the state crime lab, which might take a month to produce a ballistics report for a small-town cop shop.”
“Did you run it?”
“I did.”
“And what did you tell the nice young cop from East Hampton?”
“Well, I learned two things from the report, but I only told him one of those.”
“Which thing did you tell him?”
“I told him that the slug found in the wall was fired from the .38 in the plastic bag. That pleased him.”
“And what was the thing you didn’t tell him?”
“That the .38 in his plastic bag also fired the two slugs that our ME dug out of Annetta Charles’s head.”
Stone was stunned. “Holy shit.”
“Well, yeah. When we ran the ballistics test, an alarm bell in our system went off, telling us that the weapon had been used in a previous crime.”
“But you didn’t tell the East Hampton cop that?”
“Manhattan is not his jurisdiction, and Annetta is not his case. I figured he didn’t need to know. I mean, he didn’t even notice that three slugs had been fired from the gun. They dug one out of the woodwork in the Further Lane house, and that’s what we tested.”
“How could they miss the other two empty casings in the cylinder?”
“Go figure. Dinner tonight? Clarke’s at seven?”
“Yeah.” They both hung up.
Forty
Late in the day, Stone got a call. “Stone Barrington.”
“Mr. Barrington, is it?”
“How’d you guess?”
“Well...”
“Is this Sergeant Powell from East Hampton?”
“Yes, it is. I’m surprised that you answered your own phone.”
“My secretary is in East Hampton for a few days.”
“Oh. And I thought you were just good friends.”
“That, too. What can I do for you, Sergeant?”
“I wonder if I could ask your assistance?”
“In what?”
“In retrieving our pistol from the NYPD.”
“Your pistol? How is it yours?”
“It was used in a crime in our jurisdiction.”
“No, it was not. It was fired in your jurisdiction, and the person doing the firing is dead. And Ms. Robertson is not a criminal.”
“I’m sorry, I misspoke.”
“Did you send the pistol to the NYPD?”
“I hand delivered it,” Powell said, “along with a written request for a ballistics report.”
“And did they tell you when they’d be finished with it?”
“Yes, they said by the end of the week.”
“I suggest that you call them at the end of the week.”
“Well, yes, but I need it before then to make a presentation to our chief.”
“Sergeant, I’m curious as to why you called me instead of the NYPD.”
“Ms. Robertson tells me you are close to the commissioner, and that you might speak to him on my behalf.”
“As it happens, I’m dining with him this evening, but once again, I don’t understand your proprietary attitude toward the pistol. Did it ever occur to you that the NYPD might have a prior claim?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, Sergeant Powell, if you had thoroughly examined the pistol, you would have learned that the cylinder contained three empty shell casings.”
“How could you know that?”
“Because a machine at the NYPD let it be known that the weapon had been used in the commission of a prior crime — to wit, a murder — in the jurisdiction of Manhattan. So the NYPD is unlikely to surrender the pistol to you. The only crime the pistol committed in East Hampton was to fire a round into the woodwork of the Further Lane house.” Stone thought he heard a gulp at the other end of the line.
“Then what should I do?”
“I would, if I were you, put the ballistics report into the case file, and if you make a presentation to your chief, tell him that the only crime committed in Further Lane was breaking and entering, that the perpetrator is dead, and that the NYPD has, quite properly, retained possession of the pistol. You might also tell him why.”
There was a stunned silence at the other end of the line. “I don’t think I can do that,” he said finally.
“I don’t think you have another choice,” Stone said. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“You could speak to the commissioner on my behalf.”
“If I did that, the only thing I would get from him would be a lecture on the facts of the case, the very one I have just given you.”
“I’m sorry to have troubled you, Mr. Barrington,” he said.
“Apology accepted. Good day.” Stone hung up.
Stone arrived at P. J. Clarke’s just as Dino’s official SUV pulled up. They walked into the bar together, where their drinks were already being poured.