“That’s impressive,” Stone said.
“Do you have a good security system at home?” Hackett asked.
“Yes, I have an ex-cop who does that work for me.”
“Good. Just remember, we’re here if you need us.”
Hackett continued through the morning, outlining to Stone the depth and breadth of his company, from the armored vehicle business to investigative services. “You may have noticed,” Hackett said, “we can find out just about anything about anybody. That is a particularly important service for corporate boards these days, as any hint of scandal in a potential executive’s life can turn up on the Internet at any moment.”
Finally, they broke for lunch, which was brought in on a rolling table.
“Everything all right for you at the Plaza?” Hackett asked.
“Just perfect,” Stone replied. “Thank you for the shelter.”
“Eduardo Bianchi is an old friend of mine,” Hackett said, “and it distresses me almost as much as Eduardo that his daughter is in such a state.”
Stone had been wondering how Hackett had known that he and Dolce had been briefly married, and now he knew.
“Did sight of my service record make any impression on Dame Felicity?” Hackett asked.
“I can’t comment,” Stone replied, “but it made an impression on me.”
AFTER LUNCH, STONE’S briefing session continued until mid-afternoon. Hackett showed him to the elevators. “I’ll have an assignment for you before long. In the meantime, the Mustang is there if you need it.”
Stone walked back to the Plaza, enjoying the afternoon. At the hotel there was a message from the Assistant District Attorney, Carla Rentz, and he returned the call.
“We’ve completed our investigation of Sheila Seidman’s death,” she said, “and I agree that there is insufficient evidence to prosecute Mr. Fisher.”
“Insufficient evidence?” Stone asked. “You mean no evidence at all, don’t you?”
“All right, all right, no evidence. Her prints, not his, were on the sliding door, and that did it for my investigators. Mr. Fisher is off the hook.”
“I’ll let him know,” Stone said. “Thanks for calling.”
“Would you like to have dinner sometime?” she asked.
Stone was stopped in his tracks for a moment. “I have a guest in town at the moment, but maybe in a week or two.”
They exchanged cell numbers.
44
The Plaza was boring. Felicity sent to her office for a computer system, and after it arrived at the hotel she was mostly fully occupied while Stone watched old movies on TV and talked to Joan on the phone.
“Herbie came by,” Joan said. “He was pitifully grateful to you for getting the murder charge dropped.”
Stone sighed. “Well, that’s what he pays me for. I thought he was a fool for giving me such a large retainer, but I’m beginning to suspect I’m going to earn every buck.”
“Nothing unfair about that,” Joan said.
“Seen anything of Dolce?” Stone asked.
“If I had, she’d be dead,” Joan replied. “I’ve been to the range a few times to practice my shooting.”
“Please do not shoot anybody,” Stone said, “not even Dolce.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a lot more trouble than not shooting anybody. Talk to you later.” Stone hung up.
Across the room Felicity was just finishing a call. “Well,” she said, hanging up, “we found Hackett’s old colonel just as you said, at his cottage in Sussex.”
“And…?”
“He remembers hosting Hackett at lunch one day and drinking a lot of port, but he doesn’t remember giving him the dossier; maintains he was too drunk.”
“He admitted being drunk at lunch, but wouldn’t admit giving Hackett his dossier?”
“My man believed him about being too drunk,” she said. “Looks like we’re at a dead end.”
“Are you convinced now that Hackett is not Whitestone?”
“Not entirely,” she said.
“I think it would be best if we both proceeded on the premise that Hackett is Hackett and Whitestone is dead,” Stone said.
“That would be convenient for you, wouldn’t it?” she said archly.
“It would be realistic for both of us,” Stone replied. “May I now be released from the bondage of your investigation?”
“Not quite,” she said. “I still expect you to report any new information that arises from your working relationship with Hackett.”
“That would be a conflict of interest,” Stone pointed out.
“Not when you took the work at my suggestion, so I could find out more.”
“You are a spider,” Stone said, “who toys with her victims mercilessly.”
“That’s an inappropriate metaphor,” she said. “I am simply tenacious where my work is concerned. The safety of my country depends on it.”
The phone rang, and Stone picked it up.
“It’s Jim Hackett.”
“Hello, Jim.”
“You’re in the clear; Dolce appears to have left town.”
“How could you know that?” Stone asked.
“We’ve been watching her bank accounts but, regrettably, not her bank. She went into the head office yesterday and cashed a check for half a million dollars. The manager knew her personally and said she arrived and was taken away in a chauffeured black car. Said she was taking a vacation. When our computer caught the transaction I spoke to the manager.”
“Why do you think she left town?”
“Because she bought one-way airline tickets to Hong Kong, Rome, Johannesburg and Dubai, using her credit card, and all those flights arrived before we learned about it. I had each of them investigated, and a woman answering her description was on each flight.”
“So she still could be in New York?”
“I think we’ve made things too hot for her here,” Hackett replied. “It seems more likely that she was actually on one of those flights; we just don’t know which one.”
“So you think it’s safe to return to my house?”
“I do. I’ll send a car for you.”
“Don’t bother; I’ll take a cab,” Stone replied. He thanked Hackett, hung up and reported the conversation to Felicity.
“All right,” she said. “If you think it’s safe, we’ll go. I’ll pack and send someone over for the computer.”
AN HOUR LATER Stone walked into his house. Everything seemed perfectly normal, and Joan was in her office. Felicity had taken another cab to her office.
“Did you have a nice vacation?” she asked.
“I suppose so,” Stone replied.
“Herbie came by again to thank you.”
“Don’t let him know I’m home, please. I don’t want to be thanked again.”
“Will you be home for a while now?”
“I believe so; it seems Dolce has left the country.” He told her about his conversation with Hackett.
“I don’t buy it,” Joan replied, “and I’m not letting down my guard.” She took the.45 from her drawer and placed it on her desk. The phone rang, and she picked it up. “It’s Felicity,” she said to Stone.
Stone went into his office and picked up the phone. “Well, hello, there. Long time no speak.”
“I’ve just had a call from London,” Felicity said. “My document-recovery people at Camberly have found James Hackett’s service record.”
“You mean he has two service records?”
“Since no soldier does, I very much doubt it.”
“What does it contain?”
“A solid mass of sodden pages, now one.”
“So it can’t be read?”
“No, it cannot, but there’s something else.”
“What’s that?”
“The photograph attached to the dossier is just barely legible, and it is not the one of the young James Hackett on the dossier he furnished.”
“So Hackett is Whitestone?”