“I can’t very well show up at the parole hearing and beg the board to deny.”
“Why not?”
“Because it would further humiliate my father to oppose him in a case that has already caused him such pain. He loved his clubs, and he is quite old now and has already had one stroke.”
“So, you’d like me to appear and plead the case against parole?”
“If you would be so kind; I would be very grateful.”
“And have you been able to come up with any convincing evidence for me to present?”
“I fear I have not.”
“Let me guess: the twins have been ideal prisoners and they charmed all they have met.”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“So, I’m supposed to appear at the hearing and tell the board that, contrary to all the available evidence, they are very bad boys, not to mention evil little shits, and they should throw away the key.”
“Sort of,” Keegan admitted.
“And, of course, the twins will have a parade of other witnesses — guards, nurses, fellow prisoners, and, let’s not forget, the prison doctor, who will all swear to their cuddliness.”
“You make it sound hopeless,” Keegan said, his shoulders slumping into his damp suit.
“I don’t make it sound hopeless,” Stone said. “It is hopeless.”
“Will you, at least, come up to Maine for the hearing and share my bench with me, holding a briefcase? That would make it appear that I’m not alone in all this.”
“Jack,” Stone said, not unkindly. “Apart from your father, do you have any family?”
Keegan shook his head. “My wife and I were childless, and she died last year.”
“Well, my advice to you is to pack up your shingle and your bags and retire to some remote place in a distant land, but not without a shotgun handy, because your appearance before the parole board, no matter how ineffective, is not going to win the affections of the Stone twins, and they will not have short memories.”
Keegan sighed. “I had hoped to avoid retirement.”
“Why avoid it? Many men of your age retire every day, sitting under a palm tree and drinking piña coladas.”
“My problem is, I love the law, love practicing it every day.”
“Do you play golf?”
“Sadly, no.”
“Time to take it up,” Stone said brightly. He rose. “I wish I could help, Jack. I really do, but I have no argument to make that would not just make things worse for both of us.”
“I understand,” Keegan said, standing and offering his hand. “Thank you for hearing me out.”
“One thing might help,” Stone said.
“What’s that?”
“Don’t appear. I think we both understand that your absence would not make a difference in the outcome, and the twins will be grateful, not vengeful, whenever they hear the Keegan name, as long as it’s your father they’re thinking of.”
“You have a point,” Keegan said.
“Check into a good hotel, see a show or two, get drunk, and be in another state when the board meets.”
Joan helped him into his soggy rainwear and put him out onto the street with a cheery wave.
3
Stone didn’t have to look up the number. He dialed the Dark Harbor Shop, in the village of the same name, on Islesboro, Maine.
“This is Billy.” Billy Hotchkiss was the cousin of Stone’s Maine property manager, Seth Hotchkiss, the owner of the Dark Harbor Shop, and the fount of all knowledge about the island and its inhabitants. He was also, among other things, the only real estate broker on the island.
“Billy, it’s Stone Barrington. How are you?”
“Well, Stone,” Billy said, “after your most recent visit, if gun brass was gold, I’d be sitting under a palm tree somewhere, sipping piña coladas. But never mind; picking it up gives the kids something to do with their afternoons.”
“I’m sorry about the shootout, Billy. Please tell everybody that. But I was on the wrong end of it, and it was coming fast.”
“That part we got. Listen, I’m glad you called, I’ve got some news. Mr. Greco and his family have decided the island isn’t right for them, and they’re putting the Stone house back on the market. I’ve already got an offer, it fell into my hands not ten minutes ago,” Billy said. “It’s from a shelter corporation, since the bidders don’t want people to know who they are.”
Stone took Billy’s meaning.
“But you and I know who they are, don’t we, Billy?”
“Well, I know who they are. I’m not so sure about you.”
“Let me put it this way, Billy: How much would I have to offer to make the present owner forget he had another offer?”
“You should’ve asked me what the offer was. I’d have told you that.”
“How much was the offer, Billy?”
“Three million dollars, with the house, the boathouse, the new guesthouse, and six point two acres of prime waterfront. I’m sure the owner would like to get a little something out of it for his trouble.”
“Would three and a half million get it off the market?”
“Well, I’m just guessing here, but you’re fucking right it would.”
“Well, then, you fax me a legal definition of the property and all the usual stuff, and I’ll fax you a signed offer before noon — all cash, condition as is, closing Friday at noon. I’ll wire you three hundred and fifty grand of earnest money. And you and the wife can dine out grandly this evening on your commission.”
“I’ll call up Mr. Greco, and get his verbal approval, before I put us to all that trouble.”
“All right. You can tell him I’m the buyer, if you like, but not why I’m buying.”
“Well, you haven’t told me why you’re buying, have you?” Billy said.
“No. But we both know, don’t we?”
“You can assume that.”
“Let’s get it done before that corporate buyer hears about it, shall we?”
“All right by me.”
“Call me if there are any problems. But let’s not have any problems, okay?”
“Avoiding problems is my life’s work,” Billy said, and they both hung up.
Stone buzzed Joan.
“Yes, sir?”
“In about a minute, you’re going to get a fax about a house in Dark Harbor from Billy Hotchkiss. When it comes in, transfer the relevant information on it to a boilerplate offer, and print it out for my signature and your notarizing. Also, wire transfer three hundred and fifty grand to Billy’s real estate office account as earnest money. Got that?”
“Yes, but let me be sure I’ve got it right: you’re buying yet another property. This one in a place where you already own a house?”
“That is correct, and I don’t have time to explain why. We just need to get that offer into Billy’s hands fast. And call Charley Fox at Triangle Investments and tell him to find another three million somewhere in my checking account, because we’re closing before noon on Friday. Oh, and I’ll need a cashier’s check for the three million in Billy’s hands on Thursday, and make my attorney of record Herbie Fisher. And print me a power of attorney for Ed Rawls to act for me at the closing, and send that to Billy, too.”
“Mine is not to reason why,” Joan muttered on her way out.
“Keep thinking that!” Stone shouted after her.
Stone called his old NYPD partner, Dino Bacchetti, now New York City’s police commissioner.
“Bacchetti.”
“We need to have dinner tonight,” Stone said, “because my news won’t wait any longer than that.”
“Here’s an idea,” Dino said. “Let’s have dinner. Viv is out of town, of course.”
“Seven at Patroon.”