“Mr. Barrington?”
The voice spun him around. The doorman emerged from where he had been crouched between two parked cars. “Mr. Barrington, this is awful.”
“What happened?” Stone demanded.
“I let a man with a parcel to deliver into the lobby. He went to the front desk and, without a word, shot the police officer, then he held the gun to Dan’s head, and I saw Dan pick up the telephone. I ran outside, and then I heard a second shot.”
“Then what happened?”
“About a minute passed, and I heard more shots; then the man I had let in burst out of the building, ran across the street, and vaulted over the wall into the park. A few seconds later, the police officer who was running the elevator came out, looking up and down the street. I yelled that the man had gone into the park, and the officer went after him. Then I saw the red light start flashing in that car, there, and another man, I suppose a police officer, got out of the car and ran after the other two.”
“Do you know if the man in the car called for help?” Stone asked.
“No, I don’t know.”
Stone went to the police car, found the microphone, and punched the switch. “Dispatch?”
“Dispatch; who’s calling?”
“My name is Barrington, I’m a retired police officer.” He gave the address. “There’s an officer down here, along with a civilian, both dead. Two other officers have pursued the perp into Central Park. Stand by.” He turned to the doorman. “What did the man you let into the building look like?”
“He was small, and he was wearing a parka with the hood up. I didn’t get all that good a look at him.”
Stone turned back to the microphone. “The perpetrator is a white male, small of stature, wearing a parka with the hood up, and is armed and dangerous. One of the two officers in pursuit is wearing an elevator operator’s uniform, and the other is in plain clothes. You want to get major backup into the park between Seventy-second and Seventy-ninth Streets and get a patrol car to the building. Also, find Lieutenant Dino Bacchetti of the Nineteenth Precinct and tell him to get over here fast.”
“Where will you be?”
“I’ll secure the lobby of the building and wait there.”
“Got it; over and out.”
Stone put down the microphone. “Come with me,” he said. “You and I will wait in the lobby for the police to arrive.”
“Yes, sir,” the doorman said.
They went back into the building, and Stone went to the elevator. “I wonder why the killer didn’t take the elevator upstairs,” he said.
The doorman looked into the car. “It’s locked,” he said, “and the police officer must have the key.”
“Is there another key?” Stone asked.
“In the top drawer of the desk,” the doorman said, pointing. He clearly had no wish to go over there.
Stone retrieved the key and put it into his pocket. He could hear sirens approaching from a distance. He picked up the house phone, consulted a list of occupants, and called Sarah’s apartment. The phone rang and rang, but there was no answer.
14
STONE HUNG UP, CHECKED THE NUMBER, then dialed again. Still no answer. He looked up to see uniforms piling out of two police cars outside and running toward the front door with weapons drawn. He realized that they probably wouldn’t know him and that to them, he was a civilian with a weapon. He put his pistol down on the desktop, moved away from the desk, dug out his ID, and held it out in front of him with one hand, while holding the other hand in the air. “I’m on the job!” he shouted, because he knew that would stop a nervous cop from shooting him. They stopped running.
“What’s going on here?” a sergeant asked.
“I’m a retired police officer,” Stone said. “That’s my weapon on the desk. There’s an officer and another man on the floor behind the desk, both shot, both dead. This man is the building’s doorman.”
The sergeant lowered his weapon. “Your name’s Barrington, isn’t it? You were in the Nineteenth with Bacchetti?”
“That’s right.”
The sergeant looked behind the desk. “Jesus Christ!” he said. “Who shot these two men?”
“The doorman here saw the perp run out of the building, across the street, and over the wall into the park. Detectives Anderson and Kelly pursued him. I called it in from Kelly’s car; I asked for backup in the park between Seventy-second and Seventy-ninth. I also asked the dispatcher to find Bacchetti and tell him to come here.”
“So there’s nothing for us to do but wait for the medical examiner?”
“That’s right, except I’d like for two men to come upstairs with me. I was having dinner on the sixteenth floor when this happened, and I asked a young lady to stay there, but she’s not answering the phone.”
The sergeant turned to his men. “Garcia, you come with me; the rest of you stay here and secure this scene.”
“Can I pick up my weapon?” Stone asked, pointing.
“Sure,” the sergeant said.
Stone turned to the doorman. “Is there a passkey for sixteen?”
“In the key safe on the wall behind the desk,” the man said, pointing.
Stone went behind the desk, stepped over the bodies, located the passkey, grabbed his pistol, and headed for the elevator, digging for the key. He unlocked it and pressed the button for sixteen.
“My name’s McElhenny,” the sergeant said.
“I remember you,” Stone replied. “You were a rookie when I left the force; you’ve moved up.”
“What the hell is going on here, Mr. Barrington?” the sergeant asked.
“Somebody’s dogging Bacchetti and me; he followed me here tonight, and Anderson and Kelly were laying for him. It didn’t work.”
“Is this the perp who tried to harm Bacchetti’s wife?”
“The same.” The elevator stopped, and the men stepped into the private foyer of the apartment.
“Wow,” McElhenny said softly, looking around him.
“Inside there should be one woman; she was upstairs when I left. There are also two servants, a man and a woman, who live in, but I don’t know where their quarters are. I suggest the two of you search this floor, and I’ll check upstairs. Follow me upstairs when you’re sure there’s nobody down here.”
“Right,” the sergeant said.
Stone inserted the passkey into the lock and swung the door slowly open. He walked through the gallery as quietly as possible, but the three sets of shoes made noise on the marble floor. In the living room, Stone pointed to the two men, then around the apartment; he pointed to himself, then at the stairs.
The two cops started their search, weapons drawn.
Stone flipped off the safety on his pistol and started quickly and quietly up the carpeted stairs. The door to Sarah’s room stood open. He stuck his head around the doorjamb and quickly withdrew it. He had seen only the bed, which was now turned down. He stepped into the doorway in a crouch, the pistol held out before him. He took two steps into the room, and from his left came a piercing scream.
Stone swung the pistol around and found it pointed directly at Sarah Buckminster, who was entirely naked.
“Stone! What the hell are you doing?”
Stone pointed the pistol at the floor. “Are you alone? Is anybody in the house?”
“Of course, I’m alone; did you think I’d brought in another man as soon as you left?”
Stone took a deep breath and let it out. He put the pistol back on safety.
“What is going on?” she demanded.
“Why didn’t you answer the house phone?” he asked.
“Because I was in the shower,” she said. “I was a little sweaty from cooking, and I wanted to be fresh.”
Stone put his arms around her and held her for a moment. “I’m sorry I frightened you. You’d better get dressed and come downstairs,” he said. “The police are here.” He left her to get dressed. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, the two cops were emerging from different rooms.
“All clear down here,” the sergeant said. “Did you find anything?”