“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.”
“That all makes sense,” Bill said. “You think this Deacon guy is just trying to make himself look good?”
“I think that fits right in with his character,” Dino replied. “He knows a few reporters; he could make himself look good and Stone look bad. It would be easy.”
Stone spoke up. “I’ve already told him that if he did something like that, I’d sue him for libel.”
“It could come to that,” Bill said. “How much faith do you think Brougham has in Tom Deacon?”
“A lot,” Dino said. “If he’s willing to put Stone through this on Deacon’s say-so.”
“We need other witnesses besides you, Dino, witnesses from the NYPD. Are you the actual investigating officer on the Susan Bean Murder?”
“No,” Stone answered for him. “That would be Andy Anderson and Michael Kelly.”
Dino shook his head slowly “No, not Kelly; not anymore.”
“What, did you kick him out of the precinct?” Stone asked.
“No, he left voluntarily.”
“Congratulations,” Stone said. “I don’t expect you’ll miss the little prick.”
“He went to work for the investigative division of the DA’s office,” Dino said. “Starting tomorrow morning.”
“So,” Bill said, “we could have one of the investigative officers on the case testifying against Stone?”
“What could he possibly say?” Stone asked. “Anyway, Dino and Andy Anderson could refute any lies.”
“I don’t like any of this,” Eggers said, “so what I’m going to try to do is to nip it in the bud.”
“How?” Stone asked.
“I’m going to go see Marty Brougham tonight, at home, if he’s in, and try to straighten this out. Can either of you think of anything else that might help me do that?”
Stone sipped his beer thoughtfully. “There was something that Susan Bean said to me. I didn’t give it much thought at the time.”
“What did she say?” Eggers asked.
“We were walking up Madison Avenue, just chatting, and I congratulated her on her team’s getting a conviction in the Dante case.”
“Is that the Mafia guy?”
“Right. She didn’t seem all that thrilled to have won it, which surprised me; I would have thought she’d have been walking on air.”
“What, exactly, did she say about it?”
“She said she was happy to have won, but she didn’t like the way they’d won it.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Eggers mulled this over. “So there might have been some sort of prosecutorial misconduct during the trial?”
“That could be what she meant.”
“You have any idea what kind of misconduct?”
“No, but the very mention of it to Brougham might have some sort of effect.”
“Maybe so,” Eggers said. “It might give him pause about a subpoena if he thought you might testify about something like that. It’s not much, but it might help as a bargaining chip.”
“I wish I had more to tell you,” Stone said. He turned to Dino. “There are cops on the DA’s investigative staff, aren’t there?”
“Sure; Deacon is a cop.”
“You know anybody in Internal Affairs that you might interest in an investigation of the evidence in the Dante case?”
“I know some guys, but they would be reluctant to open that can of worms, especially after a successful conviction of a guy the department has been after for years.”
“Do you know somebody in IA who hates Tom Deacon?”
“Now that might be a possibility; lots of people do. I’ll give it a shot.”
Eggers looked at his watch. “I’m going over to Marty Brougham’s house now; you guys can fight over the check.” He tossed his napkin on the table and stood up. “Stone, you might lay low for a day or two, until I’ve had a shot at sorting this out.”
“Sure. I’ll be at…”
Eggers cut him off. “I don’t want to know where you are, if they ask me. Just call me in the morning, and if I’m not available, keep checking in. Don’t leave a number”
“Okay.”
Eggers shook both their hands and left.
Stone tossed a credit card on the table and waved for a waiter.
“So, where are you off to?” Dino asked.
“You don’t want to know that. If you need me, try my car phone or my cell phone.”
“I’ll let you know if I have any luck with Internal Affairs,” Dino said.
Stone signed the check, said good night, and got into his car. He’d had another thought on how to learn more about the Dante trial.
50
STONE TURNED INTO DOLCE’S BLOCK IN the East Sixties and punched her phone number into his car phone. As the number rang, he squeezed past an elderly Mercedes 600 limousine that was double-parked in the street.
“Hello?”
“It’s Stone; I’m in the block.”
“I’ll open the garage door; park next to my car and take the elevator to the second floor. And leave your luggage in the car,” she said.
It sounded as though he would not be staying the night. Stone ended the call and looked for her house number. It turned out to belong to a large, handsome redbrick town house. He drove down a short ramp and through the open garage door; it closed behind him. He parked next to the Ferrari and took the elevator to the second floor. The door opened into a hallway; Dolce was waiting for him.
“This way,” she said, beckoning him into a large study. Stone walked into the room and found Eduardo Bianchi sitting in a chair beside the fireplace. He got up to greet Stone.
“How good to see you again,” Bianchi said, offering his hand and indicating that Stone should sit opposite him.
Stone sat down, and Dolce brought him a drink, then perched on an ottoman.
“I understand you have bought a country house,” Bianchi said.
“That’s right; in Connecticut.”
“It’s a very good idea. One needs to get away from this city from time to time.”
“Yes,” Stone replied. He wondered if the man knew that his daughter had spent the night with him in that country house.
“I understand, too, that you are acquainted with my friends Lou Regenstein and Vance Calder.”
He knew. “Yes, that’s right. I spent some time in Los Angeles last year, and Vance arranged for me to fly out there with Lou on his studio’s airplane.”
Bianchi nodded. “I think that airplane is a dreadful extravagance, but Lou says he couldn’t hold up his head in Hollywood if he didn’t have it. I suppose such things mean something in that place.” He spread his hands. “What would I know about it?”
Stone didn’t buy that.
“Has the information Dolce obtained for you been of any help?”
“I won’t know until tomorrow,” Stone said, “but I’m very grateful for any leads in finding Mitteldorfer.”
“If there is anything else I can do to help, please let me know.”
“Actually, there may be,” Stone said.
“Tell me.”
“You may recall that the district attorney recently got a conviction of a man named Dante.”
“Salvatore Dante? I’ve heard the name, I believe.”
Stone thought he caught a hint of irony in the statement. “A prosecutor, Susan Bean, who worked on the trial was murdered, and before her death she hinted to me that there may have been some irregularity in the way Dante was prosecuted, possibly some prosecutorial misconduct.”