“Yes, sir?”
“Hold all my calls, especially any from Lance Cabot or Hugh English.”
“Okay, who’s Hugh English?”
“That’s need-to-know information.” He hung up.
20
When Stone got to his desk he found a phone message from Sergeant Young of the Maine State Police. He called back.
“Sergeant Young.”
“Good morning. It’s Stone Barrington, returning your call.”
“Oh, yes, Stone, thank you for calling.”
“What’s up?”
“I’ve had reports that someone calling himself John Collins has been seen on Islesboro.”
“Yes, Mr. Collins seems pretty active for a dead man,” Stone replied.
“I thought that, too. Have you heard anything about this?”
“I’ve heard from two people who ought to know that they’ve received phone calls from him and were convinced that the caller was real.”
“Real what?”
“Real alive.”
“And the real John Collins?”
“Yes.”
“Have you spoken to this man?”
“No, but if he should call me, I have no means of contradicting him. We never met, until he was dead.”
“Was one of these persons you talked to Lance Cabot?”
“I’m afraid I can’t confirm or deny that, but the other person was Collins’s widow, so to speak.”
“And she was convinced he was the real McCoy?”
“No, just the real John Collins. Both the people who heard from him say that he had information known only to the person who called.”
“I see,” Young said, though he clearly did not.
“Have you heard from someone claiming to be Collins?” Stone asked.
“Not yet, but the way things are going, I wouldn’t be surprised if I did.”
“If it’s any help, his description of his... Well, of the attack on him, matched the bruises on your ME’s report. How many people, to your knowledge, have seen the ME’s report?”
“I don’t know,” Young said. “Half a dozen had cause to see it, I suppose, but after it was filed, it became a public record, and anyone could have seen it.”
“You might ask the person in charge of records how many people have asked for it, and their names.”
“Mmmm, yes.” Young didn’t sound very interested in knowing.
“Let’s put it this way: Who would have something to gain by reading the report?”
“How about whoever is pretending to be John Collins?”
“I’ll buy that, but tell me: Why is that person so good at pretending to be Collins that he is able to fool his boss and his wife?”
“I think I’m just going to have to accept that it’s the real Collins, until somebody proves me wrong.”
“I think that’s a sensible approach to the problem,” Stone said. “If he contacts you, try to arrange a meeting and photograph him and/or get his fingerprints on something.”
“I don’t think I could recognize him if I met him,” Young said. “After all, the only time I’ve seen him was after he was dead.”
“Do you have a record of any of his IDs?”
“No, they were either taken by the Agency or missing.”
“Do you have any reason to believe that Collins has committed a crime in your jurisdiction?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure that pretending to be dead is a crime in Maine.”
“It would be if it was for a nefarious purpose,” Stone said.
“Nefarious. I like that word.”
“Yes, it covers a multitude of sins, doesn’t it.”
“I wonder if Collins had any money; somebody might want that.”
“He had some pay and a pension coming from the Agency.” Stone didn’t mention the million six in the Cayman bank account. After all, that was confidential information.
“You wouldn’t think a man would pretend to be dead in order to collect his own pension, would you?”
“I wouldn’t, but who knows?”
“Stone, will you call if you get any other information I can use?”
“Information that he’s dead or not dead?”
“Either. I don’t really care which.” Young hung up.
21
The following morning Stone got a call from Vanessa.
“Stone, if John is to remain legally dead, do I need an accountant?”
“I was under the impression that you already had one. But I’ll be happy to recommend someone. You’ll need an accountant to close out the estate and file a final tax return. Call Bertrand James.” He gave her the number. “He’ll tell you what has to be done. One thing he could do for you is to write, on your behalf, to all of John’s creditors and instruct them to send final bills, then close his accounts. Do you have a death certificate?”
“Yes.”
“Then give that to Bert and he can send copies to the creditors. By the way, you’ll have to decide what you’re going to do about the Cayman account. If you’re going to declare it, tell Bert.”
“And if not, don’t?”
“Sorry, I couldn’t hear that. Bye.”
“I’ll call him right now.” She hung up.
Dino called. “You heard anything from the late John Collins?”
“Nope, not a word. Vanessa is instructing an accountant now on closing the estate.”
“That’s always fun.”
“It is, if you discover unexpected riches; it’s not, if you discover unexpected debts.”
“Dinner tonight?”
“Sure. Clarke’s at seven?”
“Done.” They both hung up.
Late in the afternoon, Sergeant Young of the Maine State Police called.
“Good afternoon,” Stone said.
“I’ve thought a lot about our conversation, and I’ve decided that the Collins case will be a lot less trouble if I assume he’s alive.”
“If you say so. By the way, who was the man who was shot on the ferry?”
“The murder victim?”
“Right. If Collins is alive, who’s the victim?”
“I guess I’ll have to investigate that.”
“Where are you going to start? I mean, you don’t have the corpse, so you can’t pull prints or a DNA sample. Do you still have his clothes?”
“I guess those would be with the ME.”
“He might have printed the corpse, too, or kept a tissue sample for DNA. I should think that would be standard practice.”
“I’ll give him a call now,” Young said, then hung up.
Stone was on his first drink at the bar when his phone rang. “Hello?”
“Mr. Barrington?”
“Yes?”
“This is John Collins, how are you?”
“Ah, the mysterious Mr. Collins! A better question to ask might be: How are you? You certainly don’t sound dead.”
Collins chuckled. “I’m relieved to hear that.”
“Where are you?” Stone asked. “Can you join me for dinner at P. J. Clarke’s?”
“I’m in the city, but I have another commitment. Vanessa suggested we meet, though. How about tomorrow night?”
“Fine. Do you know Patroon?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s meet there at seven o’clock. I’ll book.”
“See you then,” Collins said, then hung up before Stone could ask any further questions.
Dino pulled up a stool, and the bartender set a Scotch before him. “Sorry I’m late.”
“If you had been here a few minutes earlier, you could have witnessed a phone conversation between the spirit of John Collins and me.”
“He called?”
“Yes, and we have a dinner date tomorrow evening at Patroon. Would you like to join us?”
“You mean you want a witness.”
“Well, yes. And a fingerprint and a DNA sample.”
“If you get all that and have me as a witness, then the mystery ends?”