“Let’s start with Mr. St. Clair. Where did you meet him?”
“About a mile from here in that direction,” he said, pointing toward the water. “He was aboard his yacht with some people, and he called and invited me and a friend to dinner. I accepted.”
“Who was your friend?”
“Irrelevant. Next question?”
“Did you also meet Nelson Knott on Mr. St. Clair’s yacht?”
“Yes, but not until the following day. I spent one night aboard the yacht and then, at my request, was put ashore.”
“Did you know at that time that Mr. Knott was going to run for President?”
“He alluded to the possibility, and he seemed very interested in extracting campaign donations from two other guests aboard.”
“And who were they?”
“You’d have to ask them.”
Tina was looking a bit frustrated now. “All right, let’s turn to this strong box thing.”
“It’s called a strong case.”
“What is it?”
“A sort of large, very secure briefcase.”
“And it passed through your hands on its way to Mr. St. Clair?”
“It spent a night or two in my safe, then my client removed it to his home.”
“Then how did it get to Mr. St. Clair?”
“Two gentlemen visited my client’s home, pointed a gun at him, and demanded he give them the strong case or be shot. He complied.”
“And did he explain that it had to be opened in a certain way or it would explode?”
“If he knew that, he was not given an opportunity to explain it. The two men left hurriedly.”
“And where did the case go then?”
“Eventually, to Mr. St. Clair, it would seem. I don’t know how many stops it made along the way.”
“And Mr. St. Clair tried to open the strong case, then it exploded?”
“I believe that was the testimony of a witness who was with him at the time.”
“And that would be Mr. Erik Macher?”
“According to the New York Times,” he said. “That is my source of information. Didn’t you read it?”
“Well, yes. Why did the strong case explode?”
“If you read the Times, you know what I know.”
“Who owned the strong case?”
“I don’t know.”
“But it was in your client’s possession?”
“For a brief time. Two attempts were made to steal it, the last successful.”
“And who was your client?”
“I’m sorry, that’s privileged information.”
“You’re not being very helpful, Mr. Barrington.”
Stone smiled slightly. “I’m not trying to be.”
“Don’t you think the viewing public is entitled to know everything about this event?”
“I’m not at all sure that they are,” Stone replied. “It might be best if you consulted the authority investigating the event, instead of me. I’m just a bystander.”
“But you’re a witness.”
“That is incorrect. I was not present when these events occurred.”
“Are you aware that Nelson Knott took his own life?”
“Again, I read it in the Times. I wasn’t a witness to that, either.”
“All right, one last question.”
“Promise?”
“Yes. What was in the strong case?”
“It was never opened in my presence.”
“Is it true that there was nothing inside?”
“No. All indications point to a bomb inside.”
“Well, we know that, don’t we?”
“Then why are you asking me?”
“Thank you, Mr. Barrington. Now back to the studio. And... cut.” She stood up. “Well, that was exasperating.”
“Is it usually satisfying to chase people all around the northeastern United States and ask them questions to which they don’t have the answers?”
“Could I have a glass of water, please?”
Stone went to the bar, retrieved a bottle of water, and handed it to her. “Good day,” he said.
“May I sit down and drink it?”
“Certainly, but not in my house. Kindly go away.”
She gathered up her belongings, including her headset, and bustled out of the house, followed by her technician.
Dino came down the stairs. “I heard all that from up there,” he said.
“Good. I’m glad I don’t have to re-create the event for you.”
“Why are all these people wanting to interview you?”
“Beats me. I guess they can’t think of anybody else to interview.”
The doorbell rang again, and Stone got up. “Do you have your gun with you, Dino?”
“It’s upstairs. Why?”
“If it’s that young woman again, I’d like you to shoot her.” He opened the door and found Ed Rawls standing there.
5
Rawls stepped inside; he seemed a little out of breath.
“Sorry if I’m early,” he said. “I walked over here, and it took less time than I thought.”
“That’s fine, Ed. Come in. You know Dino.”
“Hi, Ed.”
“Evening.” He accepted a large Talisker from Stone. “Have you heard the news?”
“What news?”
“Of course you haven’t. What am I thinking?”
“Hard to tell, Ed. Spit it out.”
“Oh. You remember one Erik Macher?”
“I do.”
“I’ve had news that he has taken over Christian St. Clair’s holdings, personal and business — everything except what St. Clair left his wife.”
“How could he do that?”
“He met with the board and, with the support of the corporate counsel, Thomas Berenson, who drew the will and had it witnessed, he got himself appointed CEO, with power to replace board members at will, and he is heir to St. Clair’s personal property that wasn’t left to his wife, including the yacht.”
Stone poured drinks for himself and Dino while he thought about that, then he sat down. “I know a little about Tommy Berenson’s reputation, and it isn’t all good. If I were a board member, I’d put that will through the wringer.”
“And you’d be fired and replaced in the blink of an eye. Anyway, with Tommy Berenson backing him, he’s in an impossibly strong position.”
“Well,” Stone said, “I’m glad I don’t own stock in any of St. Clair’s ventures.”
“Not even the yacht?”
“Well, there is that,” Stone admitted.
“Anyway, none of St. Clair’s businesses are publicly owned. He started with a large fortune from his father and built his empire out of profits.”
“How do you know so much about St. Clair?”
“When I was in prison it was sort of my hobby to follow the careers and lives of a number of people,” Ed said. “St. Clair was one of them, and apart from the Internet, I had my own sources with good information to impart.”
“You must be the most successful prisoner in the history of the federal system,” Stone observed.
“Don’t you believe it. I was just looking for information, while others were establishing fortunes and others were conducting criminal enterprises.”
“Was prison security that loose, that these things could go on?”
“You have to remember that the Atlanta Federal Prison was closed, then later reopened in a small way, to contain special prisoners, and employing a very small staff. None of the inmates had histories of violence — they were mostly white-collar thieves and a few other, special cons, like me, who were put there to keep prisoners in other jails from killing them. A few people had cell phones and laptops, though they weren’t used openly, but communication with the outside was fairly easy.”
“I must remember, if I ever commit a crime, to get sent to Atlanta,” Stone said.
“I’ll note that preference in your file,” Dino said.