“Did you photograph her face?”
“I’m not sure. It all started happening very fast,” Herbie said.
“Then what happened?”
“The guy was just lying there, like he was done and had fallen asleep, the way you do, you know? And the girl started backing away from the table.”
“Yes, then what happened?”
“Then the skylight caved in and I started falling into the room.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t remember.”
“What do you mean, you don’t remember?”
“Well, I must have been out for a little while, and when I came to, I was lying on top of this guy, and he was dead.”
“Wait a minute,” Stone said. “How do you know he was dead?”
“Because he was just kind of staring up with these dead eyes. He wasn’t blinking or anything.”
“What did you do then?”
“Well, I got to my feet and brushed glass and stuff off me and kind of walked around to see if anything was broken. Anything of mine, I mean.”
“But you were all right?”
“Yeah, but the guy was dead. I think I might have broken his leg, though.”
“When you fell on him?”
“Yeah. I fell on his legs.”
“That shouldn’t have killed him.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I didn’t kill the guy; I couldn’t have.”
“What happened then?”
“I heard all these guys coming,” Herbie said. “It sounded like a lot of them coming up the stairs.”
“They didn’t use the elevator?”
“No.”
“What happened next?”
“I figured it was the cops, so I looked around for someplace to hide my camera, and I saw this wood box by the fireplace. So I went over and opened it and took out a log, and I put my camera inside and put the log back on top of it. I was looking for another way out of the room when the door opened and all these guys came in.”
“Were they cops?”
“I guess so.”
“Were they in uniform?”
“No. They looked like detectives, in plain clothes.”
“And what did they do?”
“A couple of them grabbed me and threw me up against the wall, and a couple more went over to see about the naked guy on the table. I heard one of them say his leg was broken, and another one said he was dead.”
“And then what happened?”
“Then they left.”
“They left? You mean they left the apartment and left you alone there?”
“Yeah. One of them said, ‘You stay put.’ So I did.”
“And then what?”
“I tried to find another way out of the apartment, except by the door, but there wasn’t one. So I sat down on a chair and looked at the dead guy for a minute. Then the cops arrived. This time they had uniforms. And guns. And they arrested me and took me to a police station, where they put me in a van with some really badass guys and brought me here.”
“So the detectives just walked out, and a few minutes later the cops came?”
“Yeah, except I’m not so sure they were detectives.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, when they were talking to each other, they had funny accents.”
“What kind of accents?”
“The kind you hear on PBS, on that show Mystery.”
“You mean English accents?”
“Yeah, like that. Like English cops.”
Stone was stumped. “Now listen: I’m going to get you a lawyer and arrange bail. If your lawyer asks about your relationship with me, you tell him I’m a friend of your uncle Bob, who’s out of town, and when you thought you needed a lawyer, you called me. Got that?”
“Yeah.”
“And you say nothing about our meeting yesterday. If he wants to know what you were doing on that roof, tell him you’re a freelance photographer, and you were trying to take a picture you could sell to the tabloids. Nobody hired you. Got that?”
“Yeah.”
“When bail is set and you get out, go home and get some sleep. I’m going to be looking into this, and I’ll call you when I find out something.”
“Okay.”
“Herbie, have you ever been arrested?”
“No, not until tonight.”
“Never? Drunk driving? Burglary? Disturbing the peace? Anything? They’ll find out if you have been, and it will make a difference.”
“Never. I’m clean.”
“Do you have a job?”
“Yeah, I run a one-hour photo processing machine at a drugstore in Brooklyn.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-two.”
“Do you live with anybody?”
“I got a little place near the drugstore.”
“Tell all this to your lawyer.”
“What’s his name?”
“I haven’t picked him out yet. I’m going to go and do that now.”
“When will I get out of here?”
“When they call your case. It could be two or three hours, there’s no way to tell right now. Your lawyer may be able to find out.” Stone pressed the button to call the guard. “Now go back to your cell and keep your mouth shut. Don’t talk to anybody about why you’re here, and don’t form any friendships with your cellmates. Any one of them will sell you out for a pack of cigarettes.”
“Okay.”
The guard came and took Herbie away, and Stone went upstairs to the courtroom.
7
Stone walked into the courtroom and looked around. He saw Carpenter sitting in the second row, apparently rapt, and he kept looking until he found his man, waiting with a prisoner in an orange jumpsuit who was about to be arraigned.
Tony Levy was short, stocky, and crafty. He earned his living as a lawyer by hanging around the courts, picking up cases on the fly. Stone had met him half a dozen times in the courthouse, and he was perfect for tonight’s purpose. He reached across the railing and tapped Levy on the shoulder.
“Hey, Stone,” Levy said, smiling and offering his hand. “I haven’t seen you down here for a while.”
“I try to stay uptown,” Stone said. “I’ve got a case for you. Can you talk?”
Levy turned back to his client, who was sporting a full set of restraints. “Don’t go anywhere for a minute,” he said, then he waved Stone to the side of the courtroom and led him through a door into a small conference room. “What’s up?” he asked.
“Nephew of a friend of mine—you know Bob Cantor?”
“Ex-cop? Yeah, I had him on the witness stand a few times.”
“His nephew, name of Herbert Fisher, is downstairs awaiting arraignment on charges of man two, B and E, and attempted burglary.”
“Nice,” Levy said.
“He was apparently taking some bedroom shots for a divorce case, and he fell through a skylight and onto a guy who was getting a very thorough massage from a young lady.”
“Jesus!”
“Right. Trouble is, when Herbie came to, the guy was dead.”
“And that’s the man two?”
“Right, and it sounds wrong because Herbie fell on his legs. The cops came and took him away. I can work on reducing the charges later, but right now I just want him bailed. I’ll call Irving Newman and arrange that, so his man in the court will be ready for you.”
“Okay.”
“Herbie is twenty-two, no priors, has a job and an apartment. I figure twenty-five grand for bail, but I’ll be prepared for more, if necessary.”
“Okay, seems straightforward. A grand will buy me.”
“I’ll send you cash by messenger tomorrow,” Stone said. “I don’t want my name on any paper connected with this. In fact, I don’t want to be associated with it in any way. Understand?”
“I read you loud and clear, Stone. I guess the partners at Woodman and Weld would frown on Herbie’s sort of activity.”