“I borrowed one of your shirts and some underwear,” he said, taking a stool at the kitchen counter.
Helene, Stone’s housekeeper, looked at Lance closely. “You look younger today,” she said.
“Thank you, my dear,” Lance replied, “but that was my elder brother, yesterday.”
“Oh,” Helene said, setting eggs, bacon and a buttered English muffin before him.
“Do you eat this way every day?” Lance asked Stone, as he dug into the food. “Why don’t you weigh four hundred pounds?”
“Slim genes,” Stone said. “Feeling better?”
“Better but not less confused. Give me directions to Barton’s house.”
Stone complied. “Would your jackbooted thugs like some breakfast?”
“They’re very self-sufficient,” Lance replied. “I expect they’ve already eaten.”
“One of them pointed a machine gun at me last night. In my own home.”
“Sorry about that; my new rank requires a complement of security only slightly less unwieldy than that of the president. There’s nothing I can do about it.”
“He didn’t fire,” Stone said. “If I had been after you, you’d be dead now.”
“I’m my own last line of defense. Anyway, I told him not to shoot you, or he would have. Believe me.”
“If you say so. I don’t need a demonstration.”
Lance finished his breakfast and turned to his coffee. “That was excellent, my dear,” he said to Helene.
Helene turned red and batted her eyelashes.
“Barton spoke Greek to Helene,” Stone said. “Did you know he could do that?”
“Latin, too,” Lance said, “since prep school. Did Barton say anything about why he left the Marine Corps?” Lance asked.
“I’ve told you everything he said,” Stone replied.
“After I got this job I ordered his service record from the Pentagon, but they said it was sealed.”
“Did they say why?”
“They don’t know why; the management has changed since then. They just know it’s sealed.”
“The military mind at work.”
“Well, yes, I guess you could call it that. You were inside Barton’s house?”
“Yes. It’s very impressive.”
“Was there any sign of a woman?”
“There was no sign of anyone, but it was very neat, and I doubt that he does his own housework. There must be a woman, even if she’s hired.”
“Come on, Stone, you’re a better observer than that. Tell me something I can use.”
“Use for what?”
“For figuring out what’s going on with Barton.”
“The kitchen has all the latest stainless-steel stuff. He has a study that he imported from a country house in the north of England and reassembled.”
“You’re not being helpful.”
“Those were the only two rooms I was in. For all I know, he has a harem stashed upstairs, or a Boy Scout troop.”
“The harem would be more like him. Barton always liked women.”
“You make that sound like a bad thing.”
“He often made it a bad thing; it was his only weakness.”
“I don’t know what deductions you expect from me, Lance. He seems to have a lot of money. Did he inherit it?”
“I don’t know; I never saw my father’s will. The banker who was my trustee wouldn’t show it to me. I didn’t get control of my inheritance until I was thirty, and by then I hadn’t seen Barton for years. I don’t know what our father left him.”
“Was your father a wealthy man?”
“He seemed to be. God knows, he lived well. There was the house, I suppose, and there must have been some investments. I mean, he left me something. He was very clever about how he did it. His instructions to his executor, I was told, were to give me as much as I earned each year, so I was twice as well off as my peers. But you don’t earn all that much, working for the government.”
“Well, Barton must have had enough capital to get started in the antiques business. He couldn’t have made all that much in the military.”
“I suppose,” Lance sighed. He stood up. “Well, I’m off to Connecticut to confront my errant brother. I should be saving the world, but I’m going to Connecticut.”
“Lance, with a cell phone and an Internet connection, you ought to be able to save the world from anywhere, even Connecticut.”
Lance left.
Stone’s secretary, Joan Robertson, buzzed him in the kitchen.
Stone picked up the phone. “Good morning,” he said.
“Bob Cantor is on the phone with you. He wants to have lunch.”
“When?”
“Noon, at P. J. Clarke’s.”
“Okay.” Stone hung up. Bob Cantor was a retired cop who did P.I. work, especially the technical kind, for Stone. Bob had never wanted to have lunch before, Stone recalled. Why now?
P. J. Clarke’s was already crowded when Stone got there. Cantor waved him over to a table, and they shook hands.
“Drink?”
“I’ll have a beer with my bacon cheeseburger, medium,” Stone replied.
Cantor ordered for them.
“What’s up, Bob?” Stone asked.
“Barton Cabot,” Cantor replied.
It took a moment for the penny to drop. “You’ve talked with Dino.”
“Right.”
“How much did he tell you?”
“That somebody beat him up.”
“What’s your interest in Barton Cabot?”
“I served under him in ’Nam,” Cantor replied.
“I guess I knew you were in Vietnam.”
“I was a squad leader in his company, and later, I got a battlefield commission, after he made colonel and got a regiment, and I led a platoon. When my company commander was killed, the Colonel made me acting C.O. Is Colonel Cabot all right?”
“Far as I know,” Stone said. “His brother went up to Connecticut to see him this morning.”
“He has a brother?”
“Yep.”
“If Colonel Cabot needs anything, will you let me know?”
“Have you kept in touch with him over the years?”
“No. He dropped out of sight after he got home. I heard he’d resigned from the Corps. I just want to know that he’s okay. The man saved my life four or five times.”
“That’s a lot.”
“We got shot at a lot.”
“Bob, Cabot’s brother tells me he was in line to make general. Do you have any idea why he resigned from the Marine Corps?”
Cantor looked away. “Maybe,” he said.
9
Stone looked across the table at Cantor, who seemed to be hav- ing trouble establishing eye contact. “Bob, what do you mean by maybe?”
“You know what maybe means, Stone: It means ‘maybe so, maybe not.’ ”
“Is that why you invited me to lunch, Bob? So you could jerk me around?”
“Look, all I want to know is if the Colonel is all right.”
“I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours.”
A rather attractive woman at the next table looked at Stone, shocked.
“Just a figure of speech,” Stone said to her. “All zippers remain at high mast.”
She looked back at her salad, blushing.
Stone turned back to Cantor. “You first.”
“This goes no further?” Cantor asked.
“No further.”
“I don’t think he would want his brother to know.”
“I won’t tell him,” Stone said.
Their food arrived, and Cantor took the moment to fiddle with his napkin and sip his beer.
“Our food is getting cold, Bob,” Stone said.
“All right. Toward the end of our third tour together the Colonel came across something valuable, something that belonged to the South Vietnamese government.”
“What was it?” Stone asked, wondering if the South Vietnamese government had possessed an eighteenth-century mahogany secretary from Goddard-Townsend of Newport.
“Let’s just say it was a fairly liquid asset.”
“Stop being coy, Bob.”