“Thanks so much. I don’t know what they would think of that at Teterboro — I’d never live it down.”
“My reasoning was that we’d attract less attention without it, and thus be more secure. We don’t have to use an Air Force call sign, either, and you will have noticed that the ‘football’ no longer travels with me.”
Stone had seen enough movies to know that the “football” was the briefcase containing the nuclear launch codes, carried by a military officer, who followed the president everywhere. Stone thought Will seemed as delighted as a child on his first flight, and he was enchanted with the glass cockpit.
“Do you know this is the first time in nine years I’ve flown in any airplane smaller than Air Force One?”
“Welcome back to general aviation. Maybe you can start flying your own airplane again soon.”
“Not going to happen,” Will said. “Maybe after Kate’s time is up I can get something like this, if I’m not too old to fly.”
Stone showed Will how to set up the instrument approach to runway six at Teterboro, and they were cleared directly to the initial approach fix. He pointed to the little red airplane representing them that appeared on the screen, overlaid on the approach plate.
“Now that is fantastic!” Will said.
They touched down smoothly and taxied to Jet Aviation, where they were given the plum parking spot, next to the lounge. It wouldn’t have mattered, though, because there was another three-car convoy waiting for them, and Stone’s Bentley was right behind it. Five minutes later Will shook Stone’s hand and thanked him again for the flight, then they were on their way back to the city. At the appropriate moment, Fred peeled away from the convoy for Turtle Bay, while the first gentleman continued uptown to the Carlyle. Fred left Stone at the house, then continued uptown to deliver Viv to her Strategic Services office, while Dino got into his waiting police SUV and headed downtown to One Police Plaza and his office. Stone went into his office via the street door.
“Welcome back,” Joan said as he looked in on her. “How was it?”
“I’ve just had the best transportation experience of my life,” Stone said. “I wish Will Lee could fly with me all the time.” He gave her a blow-by-blow, then went into his office. There was a note from his younger law partner, Herbie Fisher, inviting him to lunch at the Four Seasons. Stone looked at his messages, found nothing very important, grabbed his coat, and left the office, telling Joan to call Herbie and tell him he was on his way.
The Four Seasons Grill had begun to empty, as it was nearly two o’clock, but Herbie was there, nibbling on a crust of bread. “I ordered you the Dover sole,” he said as they shook hands.
“How’ve you been, Herb?” Stone asked. “I watched as much of your murder trial as I could. You did a great job.”
“Yeah,” Herbie replied, “and I feel a little guilty about that.”
“You think you got a guilty client off?”
Herbie shrugged. He was not about to admit to that. “Let’s just say that if she’d had any other attorney, she’d be upstate in the women’s correctional facility.”
“That’s modest of you.”
“It’s the truth.”
“What do you think of Greta Frank?”
“Greta Frank Lewin,” Herbie corrected. “She is a piece of work: cold, calculating, always composed. She insisted on testifying, and the DA couldn’t lay a glove on her. She had the jury with her the whole way. She’d make a great trial attorney.”
“Her sister, Pat, flew back from Wichita with me. She’s a very experienced pilot, and my insurance company wanted someone like her aboard the first time I flew the airplane. We’ve become, ah, friendly.”
“Does she look anything like Greta?”
“Something like her, only younger and more beautiful.”
“And a pilot, too? You should marry her.”
“My experience with marriage has been less than satisfactory,” Stone said.
Herbie laughed. Lunch came and they caught up as they ate.
“Did I mention that I’m single again?” Herbie asked when they were on coffee.
“I thought that was permanent,” Stone said.
“She took a hike. It’s probably just as well — what with our two schedules, we hardly saw each other.”
“It happens,” Stone said.
“Yeah, I guess it does. Her absence sort of opens things up, though. I’ve had a couple of dates.”
“Take my advice and stay single for a while, then find somebody who doesn’t have a schedule as busy as yours, and you’ll have more fun.”
“We’ll see how it goes,” Herbie said.
“It always goes,” Stone replied.
11
Stone went back to his office and called Pat Frank.
“Pat Frank,” she said.
“Is that the business or the woman?” Stone asked.
“Both,” she replied. “Are you back?”
“Yep.”
“Come over tonight and I’ll cook dinner for you.”
“Who’ll be cooking? The business or the woman?”
“The cook.”
“What time?”
“Seven?”
“I’ll bring the wine — red or white?”
“Red.”
“See you at seven.”
Stone passed the remainder of the day with mundane chores. Then, at a quarter to seven he went down to the wine cellar and chose a bottle of Romanée-Conti Richebourg, from 1978. He lit a candle and decanted it, then rinsed the bottle of the lees, poured the wine back into it, and recorked it. He blew out the candle, locked the cellar, and left the house to find a cab.
At ten minutes past the hour he walked into a town house on East Sixty-third Street and rang the bell marked “Frank.” The buzzer opened the door, and down the hall Pat stood in her open doorway.
She gave him a wet kiss and brought him inside. He had been expecting a single-girl walk-up, and what he found himself in was a large duplex garden apartment that was beautifully furnished, except that there were no pictures on the walls. Something from the kitchen smelled good. “Whatever I’m smelling, it will go well with this,” he said, handing her the bottle of Richebourg.
She looked at it and smiled. “Where on earth did you come by this?” she asked.
“A French friend gave me some cases of wines, and that was in one of them. I decanted and rebottled it, so it wouldn’t get shaken up in the cab.”
“You have good friends,” she said.
“One of them lives across the street from you,” he said.
“Dino?”
“Yep.” He looked around. “This is a beautiful place. Why no pictures?”
“Greta took those with her. Her first husband bought it as a pied-à-terre. They lived on the North Shore of Long Island, at Oyster Bay, but they spent a couple of nights a week in town. Her second husband has an even nicer pied-à-terre, so she rented this place until I could collect myself and get to New York.”
“And you’re going to buy it from her?”
“After I’ve saved some money.” The doorbell rang.
“That’s Greta now,” she said. “She and her husband are stopping by for a drink on the way to the theater.”
Ah, Stone thought, I get to meet the socialite murderess.
Greta Frank turned out to be totally disarming. She was cheerful, witty, and seemed delighted to meet Stone. “The first customer,” she said. “I’m pleased to meet any customer of Pat’s.” She introduced her husband, who was handsome, ten years older than she, and very well-tailored. His name was Greg Lewin. They shook hands.
“I hear you’re with Woodman & Weld,” he said to Stone.
“I am.”
“I do some business with Bill Eggers from time to time.”
“I’m glad to hear it, we need all the business we can get.”
“And you’re on the board of Strategic Services.” The man had done his homework. “I worked on their initial public offering, a while back.”