He emptied his pockets into the tray, put his umbrella on the conveyer belt into the X-ray machine, and passed through the metal detector. Beep. He took off his belt; the large silver buckle must have set it off. Beep.
“Take off your shoes,” the uniformed woman said. “Sometimes it picks up the nails in the heels.”
Stone took off his shoes, put them on the conveyer belt, and stepped through the metal detector again. No beep.
The guard at the X-ray machine pushed his shoes toward him with the back of his hand. “You always wear two different shoes?” he asked.
Stone stared at his shoes. The man was right: one black and one brown. “Only when it’s raining,” he said.
He got his shoes back on over socks that were wet from treading in the pool of water that other people had left behind and went upstairs in the elevator. He found the office and presented himself to a receptionist who reported his presence.
“You may go in,” she said.
Stone opened one of the double doors that led into a large corner office, furnished in the federal government’s best taste plus a few personal touches from Tiffany. She sat with her long legs propped on her huge desk, reading glasses poised on her nose, a thick document in her lap.
“You’re ten minutes early,” she said.
Stone looked at his wrist, but there was nothing there. “I seem to have forgotten to wear a watch.”
She peered at him over her glasses.
“What?”
“The phrase ‘death warmed over’ comes to mind.”
Tiffany got up and led him to a sofa at the other end of the room. “Let’s sit here for our meeting.” She sat down, crossed her legs, and leaned into him.
The phone on the coffee table buzzed. Saved, Stone thought. He got up and moved to a chair beside the sofa.
“Send them in,” Tiffany said into the phone.
The door opened and Brian Doyle entered, accompanied by Mitzi and the loyal Tom.
Tiffany got up and greeted them. “I suppose you all know Stone,” she said.
“Yeah, sure,” Doyle replied, and Mitzi gave Stone a big smile. They sat down and looked at each other.
“I think we should wait for the commissioner to arrive before we start,” she said.
There was a knock at the door, and a secretary opened it and stepped back. “The commissioner,” she said.
The commissioner, a fireplug of a man, marched into the office and took a seat at the end of the sofa nearest Stone. He looked at Stone’s feet.
“ Barrington,” he said, “do you always wear two different shoes?”
45
STONE LOOKED AT THE COMMISSIONER. “Only when it rains.”
The commissioner didn’t laugh, which was like him.
“Let’s get this show on the road,” he said to Stone.
Stone blinked. “It’s not my show.”
“Commissioner,” Tiffany said smoothly, “we’re here to coordinate the investigations into Derek Sharpe and Sig Larsen.”
“Who’s Larsen?” the commissioner asked, frowning.
“Short for Sigmund, presumably. He’s the man who’s running some sort of Ponzi scheme.”
“Be nice to catch one of these guys before he steals everybody’s money,” the commissioner said.
A secretary came into the room with a tray of Danish pastries and set them on the coffee table in front of Stone, who became ravenous at the sight of them. Desperately in need of something to get his blood sugar up, he grabbed a cheese Danish and took a big bite of it.
“ Barrington,” the commissioner said, “as I understand it, you initiated these investigations, so give us a rundown.”
Stone, whose mouth had been dry to begin with, chewed faster and tried to swallow some of the cream cheese. He looked desperately for coffee, but none had been brought. He made a shrugging motion to gain time.
“ Barrington, are you hearing me?”
Stone nodded and chewed faster. “It’s like this,” he managed to say, then chewed and swallowed some more. The secretary returned with a coffee jug and cups, and Stone poured himself some. He scalded his tongue taking a big swallow, but most of the Danish went down with it. “It began as a private thing,” he said. “A client of the law firm to which I am of counsel asked me to investigate Derek Sharpe, fearing for his daughter’s trust fund, which she was about to come into.”
Brian Doyle interrupted him. “That’s when we got involved,” Brian said.
Stone fought back. “Yes, that’s when I called Lieutenant Doyle and suggested he might be interested in Sharpe. I don’t believe he had heard of him until then.”
Doyle turned red. “Sharpe was already on my radar, but we hadn’t yet had cause to move.” He explained in some detail the involvement of Mitzi and Tom, leaving out Stone whenever possible.
Stone used the opportunity to take a smaller bite of the Danish, which helped cool his tongue. “Then Sig Larsen entered the picture,” he said. “I can understand why Lieutenant Doyle wasn’t interested in him, and I wasn’t surprised to hear that the U.S. Attorney became involved.”
“And that’s why we’re here,” the commissioner said. “To coordinate the two investigations.”
“Actually,” Tiffany said, “I don’t want to assign investigative personnel to this matter at this point. Lieutenant Doyle seems to have the situation well in hand.”
“Thank you, Ms. Baldwin,” Doyle said.
“Then there’s nothing to coordinate?” the commissioner asked.
“All we need is your go-ahead to proceed, sir,” Doyle said.
“I would have given that on the phone,” the commissioner said, rising to his feet and snagging a Danish. He wrapped it in a napkin and put it in his jacket pocket. “Good day to you all,” he said, and marched toward the door. But before reaching it he stopped and said, “ Barrington, step outside with me.”
Stone reluctantly set down his Danish and followed. The sugar was making its way to his brain now, and he was thinking more clearly. He followed the commissioner out of the office and through the reception area into the hallway outside.
“Listen,” the commissioner said to Stone. “Has Doyle really got this thing in hand?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know,” Stone said truthfully. “So far, I’ve been used as a beard for Detective Reynolds for the most part.”
“Not a bad place to be,” the commissioner said with a little smirk.
“She’s a very competent detective,” Stone said, not wishing to mention her other area of expertise.
“I’m going uptown,” the commissioner said. “Can I give you a lift?”
“Thank you, sir, yes,” Stone said. A detective came out of the office with Stone’s coat and umbrella. They took the elevator to the basement garage and got into the commissioner’s black Lincoln, which followed a black SUV and led another, and shortly they were motoring through driving rain. Stone kept quiet, knowing that the commissioner didn’t like small talk.
“How come you never made detective first grade?” the commissioner asked suddenly.
Stone was surprised he knew that. “I was due for promotion at the time I was retired for medical reasons,” Stone said.
“Bullet to the knee, wasn’t it?”
“That and a lot of precinct politics,” Stone said. “I disagreed with the direction an investigation was taking, and somebody wanted me out. The knee was an excuse.”
“Ah, yes, the Nijinsky investigation. I heard some stuff about it at the time,” the commissioner said. “I was captain of the First Precinct, and shortly after that I got moved up the ladder. I reread the file when Doyle wanted you reactivated. I know how to read between the lines. If it’s any consolation, I added an addendum, correcting the impression your captain left in it.”
“Thank you, sir,” Stone said, surprised. “That was very kind of you.”