“We’re doing it in my study instead,” he said, leading the way and seating her on the sofa before the fireplace, which was ablaze. “Drink?”
“What’s the house specialty?”
“A vodka gimlet.”
“I’ll take a chance.”
Stone went to the little freezer in the bar and poured two vodka gimlets into champagne glasses, then handed her one. “Cheers.”
She sipped, then put a hand to her breast. “Oh, that’s breathtaking!”
“I’m glad you think so.” He sat down beside her. “How was your day?”
“Interesting. I made my first court appearance for Woodside & Weems. Nothing big. I hope we don’t talk about work,” she said. “It gets boring fast.”
“Agreed, no work.”
“And your day?”
“I’ve promised not to talk about work,” Stone said, “and today was work.”
“What shall we talk about then?” she asked.
“You choose. I’ll cooperate.”
“All right, give me your sixty-seconds biography.”
“Okay,” Stone said, taking a deep breath. “Born, Greenwich Village, P.S. Six, NYU prelaw, followed by NYU Law, took a ride with a couple of cops on duty, liked it, applied for the police academy. Fourteen years on the street, ten as a detective. Took a bullet in the knee, invalided out of the NYPD. How much time do I have left?”
“Enough, go ahead.”
“Inherited this house from a great-aunt, got into debt renovating it. Then a friend at Woodman & Weld offered me a job, if I took the bar exam cram course. Then I passed the exam. Lived happily ever after, so far. Your turn.”
“Born in Delano, Georgia, a small town, public schools, University of Georgia, UGA law school. Came to New York and worked as a public defender because there wasn’t any other work. Got good at it. Then got an offer from Woodside & Weems a few weeks ago. I had whipped one of theirs in court, and they were impressed.”
“Great,” Stone said. “Now what shall we talk about?”
“I’m drawing a blank. I guess we’re going to have to talk about work.”
“Okay, what would you like to know?”
“What do you work on at Woodman & Weld?”
“I started with the cases the firm didn’t want to be seen to be handling — you know, client’s wife has a DUI, client’s son accused of date rape at college, like that. Eventually, I began to make some rain, and they took me seriously. Now I’m a senior partner, handling a number of big accounts.”
“Such as?”
“Strategic Services, a big security firm. Steele Insurance Group, self-explanatory. Centurion Pictures, in L.A. I serve on those three boards, as well. What has Woodside & Weems put you to work on?”
“Cases like the ones you started out with, the ones they don’t want to know about. They didn’t have anybody with much criminal practice, so that was my first assignment.”
“What was your court appearance about?”
“Bailing out a client, or rather, somebody they hope will become a client.”
“Who was that?”
“Can’t talk about it.”
“As you wish. Did he make bail?”
“He did, to the ADA’s surprise. The judge wanted two million, cash, and my client had it. Shocked the whole courtroom.”
Stone frowned. “What was the charge?”
“Murder one.”
Stone’s jaw dropped. “And you got bail for that? How’d you do it?”
“I made the judge an offer he apparently couldn’t refuse. He was too stunned to turn me down, and the ADA was speechless.”
“How’d you come up with that number?”
“I thought that two mil had a nice ring to it. The judge thought so, too, I guess.”
“Congratulations,” Stone said. He was trying to decide what to say next when dinner was served, and he decided to talk about it later.
Twenty-Six
They dined on pâté Diana and moussaka, Greek dishes that Helene’s mother had taught her, and apple tart for dessert. They moved to the sofa for coffee and cognac, and Stone thought they might as well get work out of the way as a subject.
“How did you come to have Edwin Charles Jr. as a client?”
“I thought that might come up.”
“Care to answer the question?”
“I think I told you I had met him.”
“Yes. Is that when he hired you?”
“No, someone else you don’t know told him that I had joined Woodside & Weems, and he got somebody to call me. The firm was fine with me representing him. And they’ve promised that if I do a good job, they might broaden my role at the firm.”
“Let me hazard a guess: the firm knew that his stepmother, Annetta Charles, had dispensed with their services, and were replaced by Woodman & Weld, under my supervision.”
“I believe that came up,” she said.
“And someone suggested to you that, if you do a good job handling Junior, then they might take a step toward regaining his legal representation.”
“That might have been mentioned, in passing.”
“I’ll bet. Well, you should know that I not only represent the estates of Edwin Sr. and Annetta, but that I am their executor, as well. Which means that, in order for Woodside & Weems to pry their way back into that particular piece of business, they would have to do such a convincing job, because, as executor, I would have to fire myself from the legal representation.”
“I don’t think it was put to me quite that way.”
“I think I can promise you that will not happen.”
“I understand.”
“Good. Now there’s no further reason for us to discuss work, is there? At least, until Eddie Jr. goes to trial.”
“I suppose not.”
“Good,” Stone said. “Now, can I interest you in a more carnal subject?” He rubbed a knuckle lightly over a nipple and got a positive response.
“Oooh,” she said. “That is an unfair tactic.”
“I want you to know that both my nipples are available to you. Fair enough?”
She pinched one of his lightly. “Is this one fully operational?” she asked.
“They both are, and at your disposal.”
“Well, then,” she said.
There was a pause in the action while Fred took away their dishes, then an enthusiastic resumption. They could not bring themselves to leave the sofa, but their clothing did.
Much later, Bridget sat up. “I have an early meeting tomorrow morning,” she said. “I should go.”
“I wouldn’t eject you into the storm,” Stone said. “Just listen to that rain. We could move to the master suite, where I possess an alarm clock.”
“I guess that will have to do. Anyway, I have a change of clothes in my bag.”
“Clever girl,” Stone said, picking up the bag and leading her upstairs, where the action resumed.
The next morning, Stone found Joan waiting in his office when he came downstairs. “Good morning,” he said.
“Maybe not,” Joan replied. “Eddie Jr. is out on bail.”
“I heard.”
“And he’s waiting outside to see you.”
“Kindly throw him out into the street.”
“I heard that,” a voice said. Stone looked up to find Eddie Jr. standing in the doorway.
“Oh, good. Then Joan won’t have to explain it to you.”
“I’m here about my trust.”
That was legitimate business, Stone supposed. “Go ahead.”
“Why is it I can get two million dollars from my trust as bail, but I can’t get a hundred thousand for clothes and other necessities.”
“Because the two million is in the hands of the court, not yours, and you can’t spend it. By the way, have you read the conditions of your bail?”
“They’re in my pocket.”
“Yes, but have you read them?”