“Would it surprise you to learn that Susan Bean remembered such an incident?”
“It certainly would. When was this supposed to have occurred?”
“Do you have any recollection of meeting a woman named Jean Martinelli at Elaine’s?”
“The name doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Ms. Martinelli also works for the District Attorney’s Office, and she was also an habitué of Elaine’s, often in the company of Susan Bean. She recalls meeting you there on several occasions. She recalls your leaving the restaurant in the company of Ms. Bean, and she recalls being told by Ms. Bean the following day that the two of you had gone to her apartment and had sex. Do you deny that this occurred?”
“I have no recollection of any of this,” Stone said. “How long ago was this supposed to have happened?”
“That’s not relevant,” Deacon said.
“Relevant to what?”
“Relevant to the murder of Susan Bean.”
“I should think it would be very relevant,” Stone replied.
“Let’s say that the incident in question occurred before the Van Fleet legal matter.”
“Then you’re talking of more than six years ago?”
“Approximately.”
“And how does this alleged incident relate to the murder of Susan Bean?”
“If it’s not relevant, Mr. Barrington, why have you been lying to us?”
“I haven’t lied to you,” Stone replied, with some heat. “You’ve made an allegation that I had some prior relationship with Susan Bean, however brief, some years ago. I’ve told you that I have no recollection of such a relationship, and that’s the truth.”
“When you began speaking with Ms. Bean in Martin Brougham’s library, you were renewing an old acquaintance, weren’t you, Mr. Barrington?”
“I had no reason to think so.”
“In fact, when you introduced yourself to Susan Bean, she told you that you had met before, didn’t she?”
“She did not. She indicated nothing of the sort.”
“Describe your conversation with her.”
Stone tried to remember. “She was reading something when I sat down; we talked about that, I think. We talked about her name, Bean, I remember. She told me that she had assisted Martin Brougham on the Dante trial, and I congratulated her on the verdict. That’s about all I recall.”
“And what did you talk about on the way to her apartment?”
“It was just idle conversation; it didn’t seem to have any particular point.”
“Did you talk about her work?”
“I suppose so, in passing.”
“Did she tell you anything about her work?”
“I remember getting the impression that she was thinking of leaving her job.”
“What did she say that gave you that impression?”
“I don’t remember, exactly; she seemed tired of the work, I thought. She didn’t seem elated about the Dante verdict.”
“You’re aware that she went to a party celebrating that verdict?”
“Yes.”
“And you say she wasn’t happy about the verdict?”
“I recall that, at the party, she was alone in another room, reading, rather than taking part in a celebration. And I didn’t say she was unhappy about the verdict, merely that she was not elated.”
“Something I don’t understand, Mr. Barrington.”
“What’s that?”
“Why would you want to murder a woman you say you hadn’t seen for more than five years?”
Stone sat up straight. “I did not murder Susan Bean, and I had no motive to do so.” He looked at Simmons, who was still taking notes. “Write that down, please.”
“I’m writing it down,” Simmons replied.
Stone stood up. “I think that will be all,” he said to Deacon.
“I’m sorry you’re reluctant to answer my questions, Mr. Barrington,” Deacon said.
“On the contrary,” Stone replied, “I want it noted for the record that I have answered all your questions. For further information about the events surrounding the death of Susan Bean, I refer you to the detective squad at the Nineteenth Precinct. I have given a full statement to them. As for any further questions to me, I refer you to my attorney, William Eggers, of Woodman and Weld. Good day.”
Deacon got to his feet. “Woodman and Weld? Very elegant firm. I don’t suppose they’re going to be pleased about being involved in this mess.”
“I said good day,” Stone replied, opening the door and letting them out. He had to resist the impulse to plant his foot in Thomas Deacon’s ass as he departed.
17
STONE LEFT HIS HOUSE AND WALKED UP the block to where an unmarked police car was parked. He got in. “Are Anderson and Kelly in another car around here?”
“Yeah,” the driver replied.
“Can you reach them without using the radio?”
“I can call them on their cell phone,” the cop said.
“Please.”
The cop dialed the number, then handed the phone to Stone.
“Anderson,” a voice said.
“Andy, it’s Stone. I’m in the other car now.”
“I saw you.”
“We’re going to drive away; after we’ve been gone two minutes, please ring my doorbell three times. Miss Buckminster will come out, and you can drive her to Elaine’s. You know where that is?”
“I used to drive Lieutenant Bacchetti,” Anderson replied.
“Make sure you’re not followed.”
“Right.”
Stone broke the connection, then handed the phone back to the cop. “All right, we’re headed for Second Avenue between Eighty-eighth and Eighty-ninth. Don’t go direct; I’ll watch our tail.”
“Right,” the cop said, putting the car into gear. “You want me to use the light?”
“Let’s be inconspicuous,” Stone said.
They drove down to Third Avenue and turned up-town, while Stone watched every car behind them. “Go over to Park, then back to Third,” he told the detective.
“Whatever you say,” the bored detective replied.
They spent half an hour reaching Elaine’s. Just before they arrived, Stone called Anderson again.
“Anderson.”
“Andy, when you’ve dropped off Miss Buckminster, please come into the restaurant and take up a position at the bar, near the window. You know what the perp looks like, don’t you?”
“I didn’t get much of a look at him last night,” Anderson replied, “but I’ve got the description.”
“Keep an eye peeled for him.”
“Will do.”
The car stopped. “You guys watch the block for a guy matching the description,” Stone said.
“Right,” the detectives replied.
Stone got out and went inside. He gave Elaine a kiss, then joined Dino at their usual table.
“Sarah coming?” Dino asked.
“She’ll be here in a minute; Anderson is bringing her. Anything happen today?”
“We checked with the Hamburg police for the whereabouts of Mitteldorfer’s nephew, Ernst Hausman. They checked his home address and the cigarette factory; he was at work today. Hasn’t had a day off in more than a month.”
“What about the check of Mitteldorfer’s old neighborhood? Turn up anything?”
“Half a dozen of the older residents remembered Mitteldorfer, but they didn’t know anything about relatives. As far as they knew, Herbie and his wife were childless.”
“Did they talk to Herbie’s correspondent? What was her name?”
“Eloise Enzberg. Yeah, this morning. Frightened her, it seems. She didn’t know anything; she just writes to Herbie once a week and visits him once a month. Takes him strudel.”
“How gemütlich.”
“If you say so. You know, Germantown isn’t what it used to be.”
“What is?”
“I mean, there’s not so many Germans anymore, just some old people. I guess their kids moved away. You remember the Gay Vienna restaurant?”
“Sure, the one with the kalbshax.”