Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Stone, I love you.”
“Arrington, some part of me will always love you.”
“Then why can’t we be together?”
“We both made choices that we’re going to have to learn to live with.”
“I was living with them until I saw you last night,” Arrington said. “Really, I was.”
“Then you can do it again.” Stone stood up and pulled her to her feet. “You have to go home, now.” He walked her slowly toward the door, his arm around her. She was still crying. On the way to the door, Stone grabbed a handful of tissues from a box on an end table.
At the open door, she turned and faced him. “Don’t send me away; please don’t do that.”
“You have to go,” he said.
“You don’t really want me to go.” She sobbed.
He dabbed at her eyes with the tissues. “What I want doesn’t matter anymore.”
She took the tissues and blew her nose loudly. “Kiss me goodbye?”
He took her face in his hands and kissed her lips lightly. “Goodbye, sweet girl,” he said.
She turned and ran for the Range Rover parked in his drive. In a moment, she had driven away.
Stone walked back into the house and closed the door, trying hard to swallow the lump in his throat. Then he heard a car door slam outside. Oh, God, he thought, she’s come back, and I won’t be able to send her away again.
He went and opened the front door, ready to take her in his arms. Vance Calder stood on the little porch. “Hello, Stone,” he said.
“Hello, Vance,” Stone said weakly. “Will you come in?”
“No,” Vance replied. “I just want to know if I have anything to worry about from you.”
Stone shook his head. “No, Vance, you don’t.”
Vance took a deep breath. “Thank you for that,” he said.
“Just try to find a way to make her happy.”
Vance nodded, squeezed Stone’s shoulder, went back to his car, and drove away.
Stone went back inside, hoping that every Sunday morning in Connecticut was not going to be as hard as this one.
49
STONE LOCKED UP THE HOUSE, GOT INTO his car, and drove away. He wasn’t sure he’d done the right thing about Arrington, and it was killing him. He kept thinking about what it would be like to have her back again; then he would think about her son and his father and come back to the same place. When he had reached Pleasantville, he called Dino.
“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Stone.”
“Where are you?”
“On the Saw Mill River Parkway. Can you meet me at P.J. Clarke’s in an hour?”
“What’s up?”
“I’ve got a lead.”
“From where?”
“Don’t ask, just be there, and for Christ’s sake, be sure you aren’t followed.”
“Awright in an hour at Clarke’s.”
He was in Yonkers when the car phone rang. “Hello?”
“Stone, it’s Bill Eggers.”
“Hi, Bill.”
“We have to talk, and we can’t do it on a car phone.”
“What’s up?”
“Let’s meet somewhere; when are you due back in the city?”
“I’m meeting Dino at Clarke’s in half an hour; you want to join me?”
“That’s fine; this concerns him, too. I’ll see you in half an hour.” He hung up.
Stone punched the phone off. Now what?
Back in the city, he found a parking spot near Clarke’s, then went inside. Dino was already halfway through a scotch.
“Hey,” Dino said.
“How was your weekend?”
“Lousy; how was yours?”
“Don’t ask,” Stone replied.
“What’s this about a lead?”
Stone took the paper from his pocket. “I’ve got two names that Mitteldorfer was friendly with in Sing Sing.” He handed it to Dino. “They’re both on parole, and they’ve got the same Manhattan parole officer. Tomorrow morning, will you give him a call and find out where they are? I’d like to talk to them with you.”
“You bet your ass,” Dino said. “It’s about time we got somewhere with this.”
“Here comes Bill Eggers,” Stone said, nodding at the door. “He wants to talk to us about something; I don’t know what.”
Bill greeted the two men. “It’s running onto dinnertime,” he said. “Why don’t we get a table?”
“Sure,” Stone said.
They sat down and ordered steaks, home fries, and beer.
“So, what’s up, Bill? You sounded depressed on the phone.”
“I am,” Bill said. “I got a call this afternoon from a friend in the DA’s office; Marty Brougham is taking the Susan Bean murder to a grand jury this week.”
“Then he must have a suspect,” Stone said.
“He does. You. You’re going to be subpoenaed.”
“First I’ve heard about this,” Dino said, “and the case is in my office. I smell something funny.”
“Look,” Stone said, “I don’t mind being subpoenaed; I’ll testify to what I know without a subpoena. In fact, I’ve already told Brougham I’d do so.”
“Stone, you’re a target; I can’t let you testify before a grand jury.”
“So, I should take the Fifth? How would that look?”
“It’s how this is going to look that bothers me,” Bill said.
“Sorry,” Dino said, “I’m confused. I’m pretty well versed on this case, having arrived half an hour after the murder and having heard Stone give a statement to two of my detectives. What does Marty know that I don’t know? Stone, is there something you haven’t told me?”
“Absolutely not,” Stone said. “I’m not holding anything back.”
“Then he must have a witness,” Bill said. “Otherwise, why would you be a target of the investigation?”
“A witness to what?” Stone said.
“Look,” Dino said, “I’m happy to go down to the grand jury and tell them that my squad conducted a thorough investigation and that we cleared Stone.”
“Then Marty will ask you about your relationship with Stone, and he’ll discredit your testimony, because you’re former partners and close friends. Anyway, he’s not going to call you, because you wouldn’t help his case.”
“This just doesn’t add up,” Stone said. “Marty must know that he can’t get an indictment of me.”
“A good prosecutor can get anything he wants from a grand jury,” Bill said.
“But he couldn’t get a conviction, so why get an indictment?”
“There are two things here,” Bill said. “One, he could have a witness to cast doubt on your story, or even to claim you murdered the girl.”
“Then that would either be a perjurer or a frame-up,” Dino said. “Or both.”
“Right,” Bill said. “The other thing is, suppose he thinks this case isn’t going to be solved, so he wants to feed somebody to the press as the murderer. The day after your testimony, I can see a headline in the News that you’re the chief suspect, but that they don’t have enough evidence to indict you, yet.”
“Oh, shit,” Dino said.
“Well, Dino,” Bill said, “at least you’re getting the picture.”
“But that won’t wash,” Stone said.
“It’ll wash with enough people to ruin you in this town,” Dino said.
“And,” Eggers chipped in, “it would end your usefulness to Woodman and Weld. The firm couldn’t be seen to employ – even on an occasional basis – the chief suspect in a gaudy murder.”
Dino put down his glass. “You’d be the new O.J.”
Stone sat and thought about this, ignoring his steak. “Martin Brougham doesn’t strike me as that malicious,” he said. “So who is?”
Dino’s eyebrow’s went up. “I smell Tom Deacon.”
“Who’s Tom Deacon?” Bill asked.
“He runs the DA’s investigative division, under Marty, and he doesn’t like Stone and me.”
“Oh.”
“Something else,” Dino said. “Marty wants to be the next DA. He might like a flashy case to help imprint himself on the voters’ frontal lobes.”