“Hi there, where were you seated?”
“In plain view of you, and I read lips.”
“I’m sorry, but lip-reading is not admissible evidence in a court of law, unless the witness is a deaf-mute.”
“You made that up!”
“Are you absolutely sure? I refer you to the criminal code.”
“I’ll bet there’s a copy in the library here,” she said.
“The previous owner would have had little use for it.”
“You have an answer for everything, don’t you!”
“Would you hire an attorney who didn’t?”
Twenty-Nine
Stone also danced with Joan, who was more fleet of foot than he had suspected, and with the mayor’s wife, who liked dancing closer than Stone was comfortable with, in the circumstances.
He caught up with Bridget, who had been dancing with the mayor.
“The mayor doesn’t like Eddie Jr., either. I think he pretended to just to annoy his wife.”
“I wouldn’t want her annoyed with me.”
“You danced with her, didn’t you?”
“Yes, and my crotch got a workout I hadn’t expected.”
“Maybe you should have found a pile of coats on a bed somewhere and taken advantage.”
“Funny, she suggested that, too. Is that something you have in mind?”
“Yes, but on your bed and without the coats.”
“I like the idea. Remind me later.” He squeezed her hand. “Oh, shit.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I just spotted Eddie Jr. on the other side of the room.” They strolled over to where one of the mayor’s security detail was standing, ogling the female dancers.
“You removed Eddie Charles Jr. from the party, did you not?”
“I did, Mr. Barrington.”
“Where did you dispose of the body?”
“Broadly speaking, in the gutter.”
“He has arisen from the gutter and is groping an unsuspecting female guest across the room, due south.”
“I’m on it,” the man said.
Stone held on to his sleeve for a moment. “Not too gently, but don’t leave any marks. It might help if his tuxedo were too soiled for him to rejoin the party. It’s still raining, so that shouldn’t be too difficult.”
“Got it,” the man said, then hurried away. Stone watched as Junior disappeared down a hallway, between two large men.
“Is that settled?” Bridget asked
“It is, short of an early death.” He found a sofa and a couple of brandies and sat her down. “Are you beginning to understand that Eddie Jr. would be an undesirable client for Woodside & Weems?”
“I am receiving that signal,” she said.
“Do you think you might be able to explain that convincingly to your managing partner?”
“What words should I choose?”
“The phrase ‘ticking time bomb’ comes to mind,” Stone said. “And you might mention that he is the only suspect in the murder of his stepmother.”
“My problem is that I will have failed to use him to make rain. Warning them off isn’t all that rewarding.”
“To have saved your firm from a debacle ought to add some luster to your reputation. Don’t worry, Eddie will prove your case. It’s only a matter of time.”
“I hope he hurries up,” Bridget replied.
The cop reappeared at Stone’s elbow. “Mission accomplished, I believe. It’s storming out there, and the subject didn’t have a raincoat or an umbrella, and he’s missing a shoe. And, in the words of the immortal Johnny Mercer, ‘no cabs to be had out there.’ ”
Stone tucked two hundreds into the cop’s jacket pocket. “You fellas have a few on me,” he said.
“At an appropriate moment,” the cop replied.
“Have we tripped the light fantastic enough?” Stone asked Bridget.
“I certainly have.”
“Then let’s get out of here.”
They took the elevator down to the garage where Fred and the Bentley were waiting and headed down Fifth Avenue. They had just turned the corner when Bridget tugged at Stone’s sleeve. “Look,” she said, nodding toward the sidewalk.
Stone looked. Standing in the gutter was Junior, looking very much like a drowned rat, his thumb out to passing cars. “I don’t think that even the kindest-hearted person would want someone that wet in his automobile,” he said.
“Oh, it’s not that long a walk to the Athletic Club.”
“A lot farther to the Yale Club,” Stone said.
Thirty
When Stone got to his office the following morning, Joan was waiting for him. “Wonderful party last night,” he said. “I never knew you were such a hostess.”
“Thank you. I’ve had too few opportunities to show it,” she replied. “My mother taught me well.”
“I’ll look forward to the next one. What’s on this morning?”
“Do you know a Judge Fitzroy Barron?” she asked.
“Everybody knows him,” Stone said, “though we’ve not met.”
“Yes, you have. You shook his hand at the party last night.”
“Oh God, and I didn’t even recognize him?”
“He recognized you. He’d like you to come to see him at ten o’clock this morning. At 740 Park Avenue.”
Stone looked at his watch. “Half an hour. Tell Fred to saddle the Bentley, while I change into a better suit.”
Stone walked into the lobby of the fabled building, widely thought to be the finest residence in the city. He gave his name to the desk man and took the elevator upstairs. He was greeted by a butleresque figure in a black suit. “Mr. Barrington, please follow me.” The man led him through two other rooms into a library that would have been at home in the depths of Harvard. The judge rose to greet him from a wing chair before the fire. “Mr. Barrington,” he said, offering his hand.
“Judge Barron. I’m sorry I didn’t get to spend more time with you last evening.”
“That’s all right. You seemed to be every woman’s favorite dance partner, so how could I impose? Please have a seat. Coffee, or something stronger?”
“Strong coffee would suit me fine,” Stone said, taking a chair. The butler must have anticipated him, for he appeared at Stone’s elbow with a silver tray bearing a fine china cup of coffee. “Thank you, Judge.”
“I’d like it if you’d call me Fitz,” the elder man said. “There’s too much formality in my life.”
“Thank you, Fitz. And I’m Stone.”
“I’ve followed your career with interest since you joined Woodman & Weld,” he said.
Stone gulped.
“Oh, I know about all those cases nobody over there wants to talk about. We all handled a few of those in our extreme youth.”
Stone couldn’t imagine one of America’s most distinguished jurists handling those cases. Barron had retired from the Supreme Court at seventy-five, on principle, and he still seemed a vigorous man.
“Last night,” the judge said, “I couldn’t help noticing your handling of Edwin Charles Jr.”
“I’m sorry you noticed, sir,” Stone said. “It took me a couple of tries to get it right.”
“Well, you didn’t actually kill him,” Barron replied, “and I imagine that required great restraint.”
Stone chuckled. “Not that it didn’t cross my mind.”
“I sympathize. I’d like to shoot him between the eyes myself.”
“Your numbers are legion, Fitz,” he said, forcing himself to use that name.
“Is it true that you represent him?”
“It is not, sir. I am merely the appointed trustee of a trust set up for him by his stepmother, Annetta.”
“Ah, Annetta,” Barron said with a little smile. “We all remember her well.”
Stone was afraid he knew what that meant. “So I hear. She asked me to draw up her will and to be the executor of hers and her husband’s estates.”