Hedger left the restaurant alone, weaving a little, and started up the mews toward Berkeley Square. He walked right past Cricket, no more than six feet away.
Cricket stepped from the shadows, reached out, cupped a hand over Hedger’s mouth, and ran the slim blade into his back, thrusting upward. Hedger’s knees gave way, and when Cricket released him, he collapsed onto the wet cobblestones.
Cricket looked up and down the mews again; empty. He rolled Hedger over, switched on a tiny flashlight, and shone it into Hedger’s face. He was still alive. “This is for Bobby Jones,” Cricket said. He placed the knife point on Hedger’s chest, over the heart, shoved it through the flesh, twisted it ninety degrees, and pulled it out, wiping the blade on Hedger’s fine Savile Row jacket. Hedger coughed up some blood, then was still.
Cricket walked up the mews into Berkeley Square, then around the square and into the warren of streets that was Mayfair. He waited until he reached Park Lane before hailing a taxi.
The telephone was ringing as Stone let himself into the house.
“Hello?”
“It’s Sarah,” she said. “I’m at Monica’s gallery; Erica is here, and she’s very upset.”
“Bring her here for the night,” Stone replied. “Don’t take her back to the Farm Street house for any reason.”
“What’s going on?” Sarah asked.
“I don’t want to tell you on the phone,” Stone said. “Get here as soon as you can; I’ll wait up for you.”
The two women arrived in a rush, carrying Erica’s luggage.
“I moved out of the house,” Erica said. “It seemed very strange with Lance not there, and I was hearing clicking noises on the phone.”
“You did the right thing,” Stone replied. “I think you should fly back to New York tomorrow.”
“It seems the only thing to do,” Erica said.
“Stone, what is going on?” Sarah demanded.
“Lance has been involved in some sort of smuggling, I think, and they’re looking for him.”
“Who’s looking for him?”
“Just about everybody.”
“Good God.”
“I’m going home tomorrow, too,” he said. “Dino, will you call British Airways and book the three of us on the Concorde?” He still had some of Stan Hedger’s money.
Dino went into the kitchen to use the phone.
“Why don’t you get Erica to bed?” Stone asked Sarah. “I’m pretty bushed myself.”
By the time Sarah crawled into bed with him, he was out.
Chapter 59
STONE AND DINO WERE HAVING BREAKFAST when the doorbell rang. Stone answered it, to find Detective Inspector Evelyn Throckmorton standing there with another officer, looking grim.
“Good morning,” Stone said.
“No, it isn’t,” Throckmorton replied, brushing past him and walking into the drawing room. “Come in here and sit down.”
“I was about to call you; how on earth did you find me here?” Stone asked.
“I had Miss Burroughs followed,” Throckmorton replied, “and my people weren’t the only ones doing so. Where is she?”
“Upstairs, asleep,” Stone replied.
“No, I’m not,” Erica said from the doorway.
Stone introduced her to the two men.
“I have only a few questions for you, Miss Burroughs,” Throckmorton said, and he proceeded to ask them. Ten minutes of grilling her produced nothing, and he told her she could go.
“Get some breakfast,” Stone said to her. “I’ll be a few minutes.”
“Well, Barrington,” Throckmorton said, “you’ve certainly managed to mix in a number of things, haven’t you?”
“I suppose I have,” Stone replied.
“How about Stanford Hedger’s death; did you mix in that?”
Stone had no trouble looking surprised. “He’s dead?”
“Knifed outside a Mayfair restaurant late last evening.”
“I saw him at Heathrow earlier in the evening,” Stone said, “and he was perfectly fine.”
“He was looking for Lance Cabot?”
“Yes.”
“And so were you, I suppose.”
“No.”
“Look, I know very well that you’re up to your ears in the Eastover matter, and I’m not in the least convinced that you had nothing to do with Hedger’s death.”
“May I speak to you alone for a moment?” Stone asked.
Throckmorton motioned for the detective to leave them.
“I think we both have a pretty good idea who might have dispatched Hedger, don’t we?” Stone asked when they were alone.
Throckmorton sighed. “Yes, I suppose I do. He had all the skills; he was ex–Special Air Services, you know.”
“I didn’t know, but I’m not surprised. I don’t suppose there’s anything but suspicion to link him to Hedger’s death?”
“He has half a dozen witnesses, all retired policemen, who swear he was in a card game at the time.”
“Then I suppose you’ll have to leave it.”
“I wish I could; the Americans are very upset.”
“Then let them solve it; they don’t seem to have any compunctions about operating on your soil.”
“No, they don’t, do they?”
Stone didn’t say anything for a moment. “May I have my passport back, please?”