“Indeed, it was. Henry motored down to the Swiss border, changing clothes along the way, and passed himself off as an American diplomat, which wasn’t difficult, since he had a diplomatic passport, among several pieces of identification, all of them in different names.”
“How’d he get the car into Switzerland?”
“Oh, he had a nicely forged bill of sale for it, on Goering’s personal letterhead. Anyway, he looked up his pal Allen Dulles, who was OSS station chief in Bern, and moved into his place for a few days, while he got things squared away. He sold several loose stones from Frau Goering’s collection, bought a lakeside villa, and with Allen’s help, secured a Swiss passport and opened an account in a rather elegant private bank, where he deposited his cash and put the jewelry box in the vault. Word was, that he put Harvey through Yale with the proceeds from that box.
“He worked for Allen until Dulles was sent to Berlin, then discharged himself from the OSS and lived the life of Riley in Bern, until Dulles summoned him home to help out at the Agency in 1950, after Beetle Smith took over as director.”
“All right, then, if Harvey didn’t murder Carrie, who did?”
“Someone else, I expect. That’s for you and that county sheriff in New Mexico to figure out.”
“Lance, tell Harvey for me that the necklace his grandfather lifted from Goering’s house is being sold at Sotheby’s next month, for the benefit of the Holocaust Museum in Washington, and there’s not a goddamned thing he can do about it, and to stop calling me.”
“I’ll pass that on, dear boy,” Lance drawled, then excused himself and left, taking Stone’s Times with him.
45
Stone called Dino.
“Bacchetti.”
“I understand you and Lance Cabot are in bed together these days.”
“Don’t tell Viv, she’ll be jealous.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that Harvey Biggers was no longer a suspect? You’re keeping secrets from me?”
“Jesus, Stone, we’re not married. Didn’t you know that?”
“Don’t evade the issue.”
“What’s the issue?”
“I’ve been running around thinking I have to capture Harvey Biggers if I get a chance.”
“Well, I’m happy to tell you that you don’t have to do that anymore.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“How long has what been going on?”
“You and Lance and Harvey Biggers.”
“We’re not having a threesome.”
“How long?”
“I don’t remember, exactly.”
“Now you’re being evasive.”
“I’m a public official, I have a constitutional right to be evasive.”
“Okay — now who’s the chief suspect in Carrie Fiske’s murder?”
“I’m told there was a couple in Santa Fe who might have been involved, but I don’t know their names yet.”
“Hang on a minute.” Stone rummaged around his desk until he found the piece of paper Nicky Chalmers had given him. “How about Derek and Alicia Bedford?”
“Who’s that?”
“The couple who were in Santa Fe when Carrie was murdered.”
“How do we know we’re talking about the same couple?”
“Well, at least I’ve got names — what have you got?”
“Just Harvey’s contention that he saw this couple in the plaza. Who are Derek and Alicia Bedford?”
“They’re a couple I met at Carrie’s house in East Hampton.”
“And why do you think they may have murdered Carrie?”
“Why does Harvey think so?”
“He thinks they’re sneaky people.”
“Sneaky? Is that a motive for murder these days?”
“Harvey thinks so. He thinks they murdered her to get that necklace you’re selling at Sotheby’s.”
“How did you know it’s being sold at Sotheby’s?”
“I read it an hour ago on Page Six of the Post, not that I read Page Six of the Post.”
“You know you do.”
“I saw it by accident, as I was turning to the sports pages.”
“Well, Jamie Niven is moving faster than I thought.”
“Sotheby’s is good at publicity for their sales. Hang on a second, I want to run these two names you gave me.”
“I’m hanging.” He could hear keyboard clicks from the other end.
“Okay, I ran them — they don’t exist.”
“What do you mean they don’t exist? I met them.”
“Well, they don’t exist under those names.”
“I’ve got a phone number for them.”
“Give it to me.”
Stone read it out.
“That’s a throwaway phone,” Dino said.
“Well, maybe they haven’t thrown it away, yet.”
“You want me to call them?”
“If they’re suspects, I want you to catch them. Do a search on the phone.”
“Hang on.”
“Hanging.”
More clicking of keys. “I got a ping at what seems to be the Carlyle Hotel.”
“Go get ’em.”
“I’ll send somebody over there and see if we can find them. They might be just having lunch.”
“If so, interrupt them. I’ll get my sheriff buddy in Rio Arriba County to check out the hotels in Santa Fe.”
“Lots of hotels in Santa Fe.”
“All right, then the ones near the plaza.”
“Okay, you do your thing, and I’ll do mine.”
“Oh, Dino?”
“Yeah?”
“How do I get in touch with Harvey?”
“He’s back at his apartment. I’ll give you the number.” He did. “Why do you want to get in touch with him? I thought you never wanted to speak to him again.”
“Who knows? I may want to apologize to him for thinking he was a murderer, when he’s only a CIA agent.”
“Lance told you that?”
“He did. Harvey is a career man, joined right out of Yale.”
“I thought that was a secret.”
“Well, he told you, didn’t he?” Stone hung up.
46
Stone Googled the Rio Arriba County Sheriff’s Office and called the number.
“Sheriff’s Office.”
“May I speak to Sheriff Martinez, please?”
“Who’s calling?”
“Stone Barrington.”
“One moment.” A pause, then, “Mr. Barrington?”
“Yes, how are you, Sheriff?”
“Call me Ray.”
“And I’m Stone.”
“I’m real good. You?”
“Good. Tell me, have you made any progress on the Carrie Fiske murder?”
“Well, that’s a real embarrassing question, and I’m afraid the answer is embarrassing, too. It’s no. I got a call from somebody in Washington, D.C., alibiing that fella, what’s his name, Biggert?”
“Biggers, Harvey.”
“That’s the one. Well, I got this call saying that Biggers was in New York at the time of the murder, and the guy wrote me a letter, too. First time I ever got a letter from the CIA. I had it framed.”
“No other suspects, then?”
“Nope, not a single one.”
“I’ve got two for you.”
“I’m real glad to hear that. Who are they?”
“A couple, Derek and Alicia Bedford.” He spelled the names.
“They live around here?”
“No, and where they live is something of a mystery. Their names might be bogus, too. I think they might have been in a Santa Fe hotel the night before the murder, though.”
“Which one?”
“I don’t know — possibly the Inn of the Anasazi. If not, then maybe one of the ones around the plaza. Could one of your people check that out?”
“I’ll put a deputy on it right away. We can do that on the phone. What do you want me to do if I find them?”