“He said something about having friends in Los Angeles, but he didn’t mention any names.”
“Who are his friends in New York?”
“I don’t know; I never met any of them. We spent all our time… alone.”
“What else can you tell me about him, Martha?”
“I don’t know anything else, Amanda, believe me. I’ve told you everything.” She began to cry again.
“There, there, darling,” Amanda said, rising to her feet and looking around. They were alone in the dense forest. “Come over here; you haven’t seen the best part of the view.”
“What?”
“Come over here, dear,” Amanda said, holding out a hand.
Martha took her hand and struggled to her feet. They walked a few yards farther along through the fallen leaves. A distant roar filtered through the trees, like the sound of heavy traffic.
Amanda led her along, thinking about the humiliation this little bitch had caused her, and after all she had done to make her life comfortable and secure. “Just a little farther, dear,” Amanda said soothingly, her brain on fire with anger.
“What’s that noise?” Martha asked. “It sounds like…”
“It’s the Shepaug River, dear,” Amanda replied as she took hold of Martha’s wrist with her other hand. “Just ahead is where it goes over the rapids.” Amanda took a step, turned, and with both hands swung Martha ahead of her, just as the ground fell away. Martha teetered on one foot on the brink of the rock, and for a moment it appeared that she would recover her balance. Then, without a sound, she went backward over the edge and, looking wide-eyed back toward Amanda, fell ninety feet onto the river-washed boulders below.
Amanda watched for a moment as Martha’s limp form traveled through the rocks and downstream, out of sight in the rushing waters. Then she returned to where she’d spread the tablecloth, sat down, poured herself the last of the wine, and sipped it. When she was again completely composed, she took her portable cellular phone from her pocket and punched in a number.
Chapter 43
Stone and Arrington were having brunch at the Brasserie, which had become a weekend hangout for them. Stone had his notebook out and was writing as quickly as Arrington could talk.
“So that’s five parties I took Jonathan to, one of them a dinner party,” she was saying.
Stone checked his notes against the list of burglaries. “He hit all five, plus three more – Berman, Charleson, and White.”
“They were all at one or more of the parties I took him to.”
“Plus your apartment and my house.”
“Ten burglaries in all?”
“That we know about. Jonathan has been a busy fellow.”
“What about women?”
“Beg pardon?”
“How many other women was he seeing when he was seeing me?”
“Two that I know of. His landlord said there were a lot of women coming to his apartment.”
“Figures,” she said. “I can really pick ’em, can’t I?”
“Your record is improving.”
She reached across and squeezed his hand. “It certainly is,” she said.
Stone’s pocket telephone rang. He dug it out and pressed a button. “Yes?”
“Stone, it’s Amanda.” Her voice was shaky.
“Hi, are you all right?”
“I’m afraid something awful has happened.”
“Tell me.”
“I’m up at the Connecticut house. Martha and I went for a walk and a picnic, and I’m afraid she strayed too close to a bluff called Steep Rock.”
“Go on.”
“She fell, and I couldn’t stop her.”
“Is she badly hurt?”
“It was a long fall, and there were rocks at the bottom.”
“I see,” he said. “Where are you now?”
“I’m still at Steep Rock; this happened only a moment ago.”
“Have you called the police?”
“No; I wanted to talk to you first. After all, you’re my lawyer.”
Stone noted the emphasis on those words. “Amanda, I want you to call nine-one-one right this minute and report what happened.”
“All right. Can you come up here?”
“I’ll have to rent a car, so it’s going to take at least two and a half, three hours.”
“All right.”
“After you’ve talked to the police, ask them to take you back to your house; I’ll meet you there. If anything else comes up, call me on this number.”
“All right. Good-bye.”
Stone hung up. “Jesus Christ,” he said.
“What’s happened to her?” Arrington asked.
“Not to her, to her secretary, Martha. She’s had what sounds like a fatal accident.” Stone began to wonder if “accident” was accurate.
“You’re going to Connecticut, then?”
“Right now; I’ve got to rent a car first.”
“I’ve got a car; I’ll drive you.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to drive you.”
“Then let’s go.” He waved for the check, paid the bill, and they took a cab uptown to Arrington’s garage. Twenty minutes later they were in Arrington’s Jeep Grand Cherokee, on their way.
When they arrived at Amanda’s country house, a state police car was parked out front, and two uniformed troopers were leaving.
Stone got out of the car and handed them his card. “I’m Stone Barrington; I’m Mrs. Dart’s attorney.”
“I’m Captain Quentin,” one of them said. “This is Sergeant Travis.”
Stone shook their hands. “Can you tell me what’s happened?”
“Mrs. Dart said she phoned you.”
“That’s right, but she was pretty shaken up, and I’d like to know what you’ve learned.”
“The two women went for a walk up to Steep Rock, took a picnic lunch. According to Mrs. Dart they had lunch, drank a bottle of wine between the two of them. Miss McMahon got up to stretch her legs, wandered too close to the edge of the bluff, and fell.”
“Is she dead?”
“Yes. Her body finished up a couple of miles downriver, at a weir. It’s being taken to the state morgue in Hartford for an autopsy, but I don’t think there’s much doubt about the cause of death. For now we’re calling it an alcohol-related accident.”
“Is it absolutely necessary to report alcohol-related on this? Mrs. Dart is a very well-known person, and her reputation might suffer. From what you’ve told me she has no culpability; it was an accident, after all.”
“I can leave it out of my initial written report, but the final determination will be made by the medical examiner. It will depend on the blood alcohol level.”
“Thank you, I appreciate that,” Stone said. He shook the men’s hands. “Is there any reason why Mrs. Dart can’t return to New York when she’s ready?”
“None at all; we have her phone number in the city if we need to get in touch with her.”
“If you need to speak with her, I’d appreciate it if you’d call me,” Stone said.
“Sure. Good afternoon.”
The two men left, and Stone opened the front door. “Amanda?” he called out.
“I’m in the kitchen,” she called back.
They left their coats in a hall closet and went to the kitchen, where Amanda was washing and putting away dishes, apparently from the picnic. She showed only a trace of surprise at seeing Arrington.
“You remember Arrington,” Stone said. “We were having lunch when you called, and she offered to drive me up here.”
Amanda shook her hand. “How very kind of you, Arrington.”
“How are you feeling?” Stone asked.
“Still shocked, and very sad, of course. Would either of you like a drink? I’m having one.”
Everybody took a drink into the living room.
“I talked with the troopers as they were leaving,” Stone said. “It doesn’t sound as though there’s going to be any kind of problem. What might get into the papers is that the accident was alcohol-related. They’ve agreed not to report it that way, but the medical examiner in Hartford will have the final say, and we can’t influence him.”