“The tests were done, Dino; she wouldn’t lie about that.”
“Nah; women never lie.”
“I’m at peace with that part of it, at least. If the child had been mine, she’d have come back to me. That was our agreement. Why are you digging through all this?”
Dino shrugged. “I figured it might do you good to talk about it.”
“Well, now that you mention it, I do feel a little better having articulated the situation.”
“You sound like a fucking shrink.” Dino abruptly changed the subject. “I’m going to put a watch on you,” he said.
“I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“Sure it is. This guy followed you the night Susan Bean was killed, you know.”
“You have a point there.”
“It bothers me that he could recognize Mary Ann on the street.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“It means he’s been doing his homework, checking out our lives.”
“That’s pretty scary.”
“And for God knows how long. He may have plans for other people we know. You been seeing any girls at all?”
“No, nobody.”
“That’s not like you, Stone.”
“It’s just as well, though, isn’t it? At least I don’t have to call up women and tell them there’s a lunatic on the loose.”
“He is a lunatic, isn’t he?”
“This is hardly a sane thing to do, even if it is revenge.”
“Has it occurred to you that one victim didn’t even know you? That she just had the misfortune to live within sight of your house?”
“It has. Did anything come of checking out the residents of the buildings on my side of the block?”
Dino shook his head. “Nothing; all solid citizens.”
“He had to have seen her through her rear window,” Stone said. “She wasn’t chosen at random.”
“He wanted you to watch,” Dino said. “Maybe me, too.”
“It was the single worst thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I know how you feel.”
Dino picked up the phone at his side and pressed a speed-dial button. “This is Bacchetti; let me speak to Anderson. Andy? Tomorrow I want you to dig out the case file on a Herbert Mitteldorfer; killed his wife twelve, thirteen years ago. I want you to go back to the neighborhood where he used to live – in the old Germantown area, I think – the East Eighties. Talk to his neighbors, the shopkeepers, anybody who remembers him. See if any of them knows whether he had any family in this country, particularly a son or a nephew; find out who his friends were, and check with them. I want to know about everybody he knew. Check his former workplace, too. There’s a woman called Eloise Enzberg who worked or maybe still works there. Talk to her nicely, and maybe she’ll spill something. She’s been writing to Mitteldorfer at Sing Sing. Also, call the warden’s office and get a list of Mitteldorfer’s visitors for the past two years. Report back to me as you find out things; I want to know it all. Hang on.” Dino covered the receiver. “Can you think of anything else?” he asked Stone.
Stone furrowed his brow. “Have them find out who Mitteldorfer was friends with at Sing Sing and whether any of them has gotten out recently.”
“Good idea.” Dino gave the instruction to Anderson, then hung up. “I don’t know of anything else we can do, do you?”
Stone shook his head. “Not apart from being very, very careful.”
10
STONE WAS AWAKENED FROM A SOUND sleep by the doorbell. He rolled over, glancing at the clock – 9:00 A.M. He picked up the phone and punched the intercom button. “Yes?”
“Mr. Barrington?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Joan Robertson, from Woodman and Weld. Bill Eggers sent me over to do some secretarial work for you.”
“Oh, yes, I’ll buzz you in. Wander around until you find the kitchen, and make yourself a cup of coffee. I’ll be down in twenty minutes.” He pressed the button that opened the front door.
He struggled out of bed, shaved, showered, and dressed, then ran down the stairs and into the kitchen. A woman with streaked blonde hair, trim, in her forties, sat at the kitchen table, drinking coffee.
“Good morning,” she said. “Join me? I made a pot.”
He shook her hand. “Thanks, I will,” Stone said. He got a cup and sat down. “You look a lot like… what’s her name? The actress?”
“June Allyson?”
“That’s the one.”
“I get that all the time.”
“You even have that husky voice. Is she your mother?”
“Not unless my parents have been lying to me for the past forty-five years.”
“Did Bob tell you anything about what I need?”
“He said you needed a secretary, maybe for a few weeks. He also said that you should not get to like me too much, because he has no intention of letting you steal me.”
Stone laughed. The phone rang, and he went to the wall set and picked it up. “Hello?”
“Stone? It’s Sarah Buckminster.”
The English accent rang like a bell, and parts of Stone were ringing, too.
“You’re obviously an impostor,” he said. “The real Sarah Buckminster is in Tuscany, probably treading grapes for the new Chianti.”
“She was until yesterday.” Sarah laughed.
“Are you really back?”
“I am.”
“God, it’s been, what…”
“Six and a half years. How the hell are you?”
“I’m extremely well.”
“So am I. Buy me lunch?”
“You bet. The Four Seasons at one? We’ll celebrate.”
“We certainly will. See you then.”
“Bye.” Stone hung up and came back to the table. “Sorry about that,” he said to Joan. “An old friend has turned up unexpectedly.”
“You certainly sounded happy to hear from her,” Joan said.
“It showed, huh? I guess I am very happy to hear from her. Now, I was telling you about-” The doorbell rang. “Excuse me again.” He picked up the phone. “Yes?” He heard footsteps going down the front steps. “Hello?” He hung up and turned back to Joan. “Let me see who that is.”
He walked through the living room to the front door. Nobody there. He looked up and down the street but saw no one who looked interested in his house. He closed the door and turned to go back to the kitchen. On the floor of the entrance hall was a small, yellow envelope. Somebody had apparently put it through the mail slot. He picked it up. A Western Union telegram. He walked back into the kitchen, tossed it onto the table, sat down, and picked up his coffee, which was getting cold. “A telegram,” he said, picking up the envelope.
“That’s odd,” Joan replied.
“How so?” he asked, opening the envelope.
“There are no telegrams anymore. I mean, you can send a mailgram, I think, but I thought fax machines put telegrams out of business a long time ago.”
Stone unfolded the single sheet of yellow paper. It was an old-fashioned telegram, with strips of message glued to the paper. It read:
SORRY I MISSED LAST NIGHT. IT WON’T HAPPEN AGAIN.
BY THE WAY, DID YOU KNOW THE POLICE ARE WATCHING YOUR HOUSE?
YOUR WORST NIGHTMARE
Stone stared at the message, rereading it.
“Mr. Barrington,” Joan said. “Are you all right? You’ve turned pale.”
Stone realized that he felt pale. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Is it bad news?”
“I’m afraid so,” he said. “Will you wait right here, Joan? Whatever you do, don’t leave the house or go near the front door.”
“All right,” she said, looking at him curiously.
Stone went to his study and called Dino on his private line.
“Bacchetti.”
“Dino, it’s Stone.”
“Morning. You feeling better?”
“I was until a minute ago.”
Dino’s voice changed. “What’s happened?”
“I’ve had a message from our perp.” Stone read the telegram. “It was pushed through the mail slot five minutes ago.”
“Hang on,” Dino said, putting him on hold.
Stone waited, feeling a little sick at the thought of what he might have gotten Joan Robertson into.