Stone sat down at the table; he had never seen a setup quite like this. Masi left him there and closed the door behind him.
Stone took the moment to check his e-mail; there was one from Dino. “Dinner with girls, Rotisserie Georgette, 7:30?”
“Done,” Stone said. He forwarded the message to Morgan, who responded quickly.
“I’ll meet you there. Looking forward.”
Then the doors to the adjoining rooms opened simultaneously, and the interviewers and their subjects entered and took seats. Masi and Halstead spoke together: “I’m required to read you your rights. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to represent you at no cost to you. If you choose to speak to me, your answers may be used as evidence against you in a court of law. Do you wish an attorney?”
“No,” Pio said.
“Not at this time,” Ann replied.
Masi and Halstead produced documents for their signatures. “This document says that you have been read your rights and have declined to have an attorney present during your questioning. If you agree, please sign and date.”
Both of them signed.
“Now, Mr. Farina,” Halstead said, “on a previous occasion you spoke to my colleague Lieutenant Masi, did you not?”
“I did.”
Masi began: “Ms. Kusch, do you recall speaking to me two days ago at an art gallery?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“Do you recall being asked about your whereabouts on the date of the death of Mark Tillman?”
“I do.”
“And what was your response?”
“I told you that I had had lunch in Washington, Connecticut, with my mother.”
“At the Mayflower Inn?”
“Yes.”
“The headwaiter there, who was acquainted with both you and your late mother, denies that you were present in his dining room on that date. He recalls because the restaurant was very crowded that day, and he was turning people away. His reservation book does not contain either of your names.”
“I suppose we must have had lunch in the bar that day,” she said. “They don’t require reservations there.”
“They do on weekends,” Masi said. “Why did you lie to me?”
Halstead stared into Pio’s eyes. “Do you recall telling Lieutenant Masi that you have no experience mountain or rock climbing?”
Pio blinked. “I’m not sure I recall being asked that,” he said.
“It was only two days ago, Mr. Farina.”
“I still don’t remember.”
“Do you recall telling my colleague that you are afraid of heights?”
“I may have said something like that, jokingly.”
“In fact, Mr. Farina, at your prep school in New Hampshire you were a member of the climbing club for four years and captain for two, were you not?”
“Um...”
“So it says in your school yearbook.”
“Then that must be the case.”
“Tell me, what do members of the climbing club climb? Stairs? Trees?”
“Mountains and rocks,” Pio replied.
“Ms. Kusch,” Masi said, “did you spend that particular day with your boyfriend, Pio Farina?”
“I may have, I’m not sure.”
“Do you recall watching a football game together on TV? Georgia versus Alabama?”
“Oh, yes, I believe I did watch that game with him.”
“Who won?”
“Ah, I’m not sure. Georgia, I think.”
“Alabama won by three points.”
“If you say so. I’m not very interested in football. In fact, I was probably reading a book while the game was on.”
“What book?”
“I don’t remember. I’m usually reading a book, and it was more than a year ago.”
“Mr. Farina, where were you on the date of the death of Mark Tillman?”
“I was at home, watching a football game.”
“Were you alone?”
“Yes.”
The door opened and Halstead walked in, handed Masi a note, and left.
Masi unfolded the note. “Ah, Mr. Farina has said that you were not present when he watched the Georgia — Alabama game, that you were out of town.”
“Well, he’s wrong.”
“Just as you were wrong about being in Connecticut?”
“I believe we had lunch at my mother’s house, since the restaurant was fully booked.”
“What did you have for lunch?”
“Tuna fish sandwiches.”
“I was wrong,” Pio said. “I remember now that Ann was there.”
“Watching the football game?”
“Yes.”
“Is Ann very interested in football?”
“Yes, very. She enjoys it.”
Art Masi entered the room, handed Halstead a note, and left.
Halstead read the note. “Ann Kusch says that she doesn’t like football and read a book during the game. I’m sorry, didn’t she say she was in Connecticut?”
“She was somewhere,” Pio replied. “I just assumed it was Connecticut.”
“So you were alone?”
“Yes.”
“Entirely? Did anyone else visit you?” Halstead asked.
“No.”
“So no one can corroborate your contention that you watched a football game on that date?”
“My father may have dropped in for a drink. He does that sometimes, unannounced.”
Halstead wrote something on a pad. “Your father’s phone number?”
“Why do you want it?”
“To ask him his whereabouts on that day.”
“He doesn’t have a very good memory, he’s getting on in years.”
Halstead consulted her notes. “I see that your father is sixty years old and in excellent health,” she said.
“I think I’d like to speak to an attorney,” Pio said.
“Ms. KUSCH,” Masi said, “it seems that since your mother is now deceased, there is no one who can confirm your whereabouts on the day Mark Tillman died.”
“I’d like a lawyer,” she said.
“Of course you would,” Masi replied, closing his notebook.
23
Stone waited while Farina and Kusch vacated their interrogation rooms, then Art Masi came for him. “Did you hear everything?”
“Yes. I’m glad I’m not representing them.”
“If you were, they’d have done better,” Art said.
“If I were, I would have been there, and they would have declined to answer questions.”
Art laughed. “Typical lawyer.”
“I suppose so,” Stone said, looking at his watch. “I’d better get back to my office. I have an appointment.” They shook hands, and Stone departed.
Stone had been back in his office for, perhaps, half an hour when Joan buzzed him. “An Ann Kusch on one. She says you know her.”
“I do,” Stone said, picking up the phone. “Ann?”
“Yes, Stone, thank you for remembering me.”
“How could I forget? I own your ax.”
“That’s right, you do.”
“How can I help you?”
“Pio and I are outside in the car. May we come and see you?”
“Of course, come right in.” He hung up and buzzed Joan. “Two people are arriving. Please show them in.”
A moment later, the two walked into Stone’s office. He directed them to the sofa, where he thought they might feel more comfortable. They declined refreshments.
“Now, how can I help?”
Ann did the talking: “The police seem to have somehow gotten the idea that we had something to do with the death of Mark Tillman and/or the theft of his van Gogh.”
Stone held up a hand. “Before we continue, I’m obliged to declare an interest in that case. I represent the Steele Group, who insured the van Gogh and whose desire is to recover the painting. Does that trouble you in any way?”