“A friend, sort of; sometimes. He’s mostly on the coast; sometimes he calls me when he’s in town and he needs a date.”
“It never occurred to me that Vance Calder would ever need a date.”
“Well, he does, and he doesn’t like bimbos. Vance is a very bright man, as anyone who has ever negotiated a contract with him can tell you, and he likes bright company. That’s not so easy to come by, even for him.”
“Is he gay?”
“Not so’s a girl would notice,” she said. “I’ve never known a more attentive man. There are rumors, but there are always rumors about people in his position, even when they’ve been married and divorced a couple of times, as he has.”
“I hope I’m not being inattentive. May I have Your number again? I’d like to call it often.”
She fished a card from her bag and handed it to him. “See that you do.”
He put the card into his jacket pocket.
“What is it with this DIRT thing?” she asked.
“Where’d you hear about it?”
“Vance had a copy in his pocket on Saturday night, the one about Amanda’s little hotel rendezvous.”
“Oh, that one.”
“She hired you to run it down, then, like the sheet says?”
“I couldn’t confirm that, even if she had.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re not a blabbermouth.”
“By the way, did you know that you made the latest edition of DIRT?”
Her eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”
He produced last night’s fax and handed it to her. She read it with bated breath.
“Jesus, that was fast, wasn’t it?”
“It was.”
“At least it didn’t mention my name.”
“I wonder why,” he said.
“Why do you think?” she asked.
“I don’t know. It would seem that the publisher’s information was good enough to do so, if he wanted to, but he didn’t. He did pay you the compliment of calling you bright, though.”
“How would he know?”
“Maybe the publisher is somebody who knows you. Did you tell anybody you were going to the dinner party?”
“No; Vance only called me on Friday, and he didn’t say who’d be there, except for Amanda.”
“What did you think of Amanda?”
“I think she’s predatory,” Arrington said.
Stone’s ears were burning, and he hoped she didn’t notice. “I don’t really know her well enough to confirm that,” he lied.
“Trust me; a girl knows about these things.”
“I think I do trust you. Why do you think that is?”
She smiled. “Because you have good judgment.”
As they left the restaurant, she immediately flagged down a cab.
“I was hoping we could spend the day together,” Stone said.
“Sorry, I’ve got plans. I’d like to see you soon, though; will you call me?”
“I certainly will.”
She pecked him on the cheek, got into the cab, and rode away.
Stone walked slowly home, facing a Sunday alone with the papers and 60 Minutes. Well, he thought, it wouldn’t be the first.
Chapter 19
First thing Monday morning, Arnie Millman eased himself carefully into a chair in Stone’s office. “Hemorrhoids,” he said without being asked.
“It’s all those years sitting on your ass at the Nineteenth Precinct,” Stone said. “What’ve you got for me?”
“The girl, Helen, first,” Arnie said. “She’s seeing a guy; he’s an advertising art director at Young and Rubicam.”
“How do they spend their time together?”
“Screwing, mostly; the relationship is only a couple of weeks old, but neither one is seeing anybody else. They go out, they grab a pizza, they go home, usually his, and they screw. Noisily.”
“Any connections to the publishing or entertainment industries?”
“Not that I could see. His accounts are an airline and a hand lotion; neither one is good for much show biz contact, far as I can see.”
“Still, advertising people mix with actors and other people who cross over into entertainment.”
“Not this one, apparently.”
“Okay, what about Barry?”
“Barry is a different story; Barry mixes with anybody he thinks is cute. I saw him buy a gross of condoms at his neighborhood drugstore – they had ordered them for him. He hangs out at a bar in the East Village called the Leather Room, and he takes home somebody different just about every night. These boys are all over the place – actors, dancers, directors – he seems to prefer those in the business.”
“Did you pick up on any pillow talk?”
“I put a cup mike on his bedroom window, and I heard it all, and I mean all, believe me. Something I don’t understand about these people, these pansies: How come they can do it every night, two or three times a night? I could never do that, even when I was his age.”
“The younger generation seems to be in better shape.”
“Tell me about it.”
“And you can’t call them ‘pansies’ anymore, Arnie; too many people find that offensive.”
“Tell me about it,” Arnie replied.
Stone changed the subject. “Is Barry chatty about his work?”
“The CIA should be so tight-lipped. The boy tells his new friends who he works for – that always gets a reaction – but he doesn’t blab about what he does for her, or about her. Strikes me as intensely loyal to his boss.”
“I’m disappointed,” Stone said. “He seemed the likely one to me, and the multiple relationships would underscore that. But if you feel strongly…”
“I kid you not, Stone, the guy’s a regular monument to discretion.” Arnie shifted painfully in his seat. “What about the other one?”
“What?”
“You said there was a third employee.”
“Yeah, but she doesn’t look promising.” Stone sighed, wrote down Martha’s name and address, and handed it to Arnie. “About five-five, a hundred and fifty, pale red hair, not pretty.”
Arnie read it and looked up. “You want me to check her out?”
Stone thought about it for a minute. “My client feels strongly that she’s not the leak, and I have to agree with her.”
“Can’t hurt to check,” Arnie replied.
“I guess not. Maybe I’ll take a took at her later, if I don’t come up with anything else.”
Arnie shoved the address back across the desk. “This is something to do with this DIRT business, isn’t it? And so I guess I know who your client is.”
“Arnie, you really get around, don’t you?” Stone asked, surprised. “How’d you come by this?”
Arnie shrugged. “Friend of mine is on the features desk at the Post. They been handing the sheet around the newsroom.”
“You got any theories?”
“Sounds like somebody tight with one of the people getting burned, maybe with more than one of them. I think you should check out Martha there.” He pointed at the piece of paper on Stone’s desk. “You can never tell what motivates a person.”
Stone nodded. “You’ve got a point; maybe I will.”
His secretary buzzed. “Richard Hickock on line one. You in?”
“I’m in,” Stone replied. “See you soon, Arnie; give my girl your bill on the way out, and she’ll write you a check.” He picked up the phone as he watched the retired detective trudge out. “Dick?”
“Okay, I talked with Amanda,” Hickock said, not bothering with a greeting.
“She told me.”
“What have you learned so far?”
“Not much; I’m checking out a few leads.”
“Any of them lead to me?”
“Not so far. Tell me, who else knows about Tiffany Potts?”
“Not a goddamned soul, that’s who.”
“Not your secretary?”
“No. We don’t communicate through her.”
“How do you communicate?”
“Cellular phones, and she has a beeper.”
“Cellular can be leaky, Dick. All somebody needs is a scanner.”
“We never use names. If somebody was listening, they wouldn’t know who was talking. We also keep it very brief.”