“Yes, I did. Evan used my shop for meetings with the reporter from the Times. I got a copy of the paper last night and read the piece.”
“I’ve been a Republican all my life, and I was absolutely appalled at what I read. My party has returned to being what it was when Teddy Roosevelt was president, and it makes me very sad.”
“Evan was outraged,” Bruce said, “and frightened of what the reaction would be if those in his party found out where the story originated.”
“Do you think Evan’s death was... not an accident?” Hills asked.
“I think it’s possible. Certainly Evan felt endangered. Stone Barrington had offered him a guest apartment in his home, and Evan had accepted. He was on his way to his hotel to collect his things when he was struck by the car.”
“If it turns out that Evan was murdered for political reasons, I shall reconsider what to do with the residue of my estate. I think I would use it to help oust from office those who were responsible.”
“I can understand your feelings.”
Hills consulted a gold pocket watch. “Well, let’s not keep the bishop waiting,” he said. “We’ll take my car, and of course, I would be pleased if you would stay the night.”
“Thank you. I’d be happy to.”
Hills’s car was a Rolls-Royce from the sixties, apparently little used, as it was in showroom condition. The cemetery was only a few minutes’ drive from the house, and as they approached the entrance they saw a large van with an antenna on top parked at the front gate. A reporter with a microphone was saying something into a camera, and there were other reporters and photographers there, too.
“Don’t slow down,” Hills said to Manolo. “Just plow through.” As they passed through the gates, the reporters nearly threw themselves in front of the car, and they shouted questions as it passed. Hills sat back in his seat. “Mr. Barrington warned me this might happen,” he said, “but I didn’t believe him. You’ve met this Barrington. What do you make of him?”
“I was impressed with him, and so was Evan, enough so to make him his executor. He chose Barrington to tell his story to because he’s known to be a friend of the president and his wife, the president-elect. I think he chose well.”
The car pulled up behind a police car that was apparently guarding the grave site. A robed bishop stood, waiting for them. Hills greeted the man and had a brief conversation with him, then introduced Bruce. The funeral director appeared and led them to the graveside.
A mahogany casket rested on an apparatus over the grave, covered by a blanket of yellow roses that Bruce had sent.
The service was brief; the bishop spoke for less than five minutes, and Hills indicated that he had nothing to say. Neither did Bruce. It was all over very quickly.
The media still swarmed around the gate, but they got no joy from the people in the Rolls. Soon they pulled into the hidden driveway.
“Bruce, if I may call you that...”
“Certainly.”
“And please call me Elton.”
“Of course.”
“Bruce, I wonder if, while you’re here, you would take a walk around the house and look at my furniture and art. It has not been appraised for many years.”
“I’d be delighted. And if you can endure my company for a few days, I’d be very pleased to do a proper inventory and photograph each piece. A proper appraisal will require some research, but I’m sure your insurers would like to have that, as well as your attorneys.”
“What a good idea!” Hills said, smiling for the first time that day. “Come inside, and I’ll show you around.”
“All I need is a legal pad,” Bruce said. “My telephone contains a good camera.”
“A phone with a camera? Extraordinary!”
“It’s an extraordinary world these days, Elton,” Bruce said. “You should see a bit more of it.”
The two men went into the house together, arm in arm.
41
Stone and Dino had dinner at the Writing Room, and halfway through their drinks, Stone finally brought himself to speak about what was on his mind.
“I’ve got some news you should know,” he said. “I’ve been asked not to tell you, but I have to.”
“Shoot,” Dino said.
“When Dolce was first sent to the nunnery in Sicily, she was treated by a priest who was also a psychiatrist, and they began to have an affair, which the mother superior put an end to. The priest’s name was Frank Donovan.”
“I’m not as surprised as you may think,” Dino said. “Donovan’s body parts were found in an area no more than a mile out in Jamaica Bay, pretty much in line with a tidal creek that runs up to the Bianchi property, where there’s a dock and a boat that Eduardo used to take rides in.”
“I don’t see how Dolce could have done this alone,” Stone said.
“Neither do I. I think I detect the fine Sicilian hand of Pietro in this. There have been rumors about him for decades, and he is devoted to the family. All Dolce would have had to do was ask.”
“Is there anything substantial to tie her to Donovan’s death?”
“Donovan arrived at JFK Airport three days before he reported in at the archdiocese, and there’s no way we can find out whether he stayed at the Opus Dei guesthouse without a search warrant, and the DA is not going to ask a judge for that, based solely on what we suspect.”
“You suspect that Donovan was staying with Dolce?”
“The staff in her building clammed up, but one of the younger doormen is on a suspended sentence for assault in a barroom fight, and we were able to lean on him. He ID’d Donovan, said he saw him on the street outside her building, but he wasn’t dressed as a priest, and the guy couldn’t connect him to Dolce.”
“Any security camera shots?”
“Only in the elevator, and a man in a hat would be unidentifiable, because the camera was set high. It’s winter, men are wearing hats.”
“Have you questioned Pietro?”
“He would go all omertà on us, so there’s no point. If we pulled him in, that would alert Dolce that we’re on to her. I’d rather let her think she’s safe.”
“Good call,” Stone said.
“So we have to wait until she gets mad at somebody else.”
“Don’t point that thing at me!” Stone said. “You’re not using me as bait.”
“Why, that never crossed my mind,” Dino said, smiling. “But since you bring it up, it’s not a bad idea.”
“It’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard,” Stone said. “You know, I have that house in Paris, now, and I’ll move into it if I have to.”
“Come on, Stone, wouldn’t you like to screw her just one more time? With her head on a pillow, I’ll bet she’d spill everything.”
“When my time comes, I want to die in bed, but not her bed.”
“She’s living out there alone, now, working in an old stone barn on the property, not far from the creek.”
“The farther from me, the better.”
“Don’t you have any more work to do on the estate?”
“The will has been probated. It’s out of my hands, thank God. How about this? Dolce did some renovation work on that barn. You find out who did the job and interview all the workmen. Maybe somebody saw something.”
“That’s not the worst idea you ever had,” Dino said. “In fact, Mary Ann and I were out there for lunch a decade ago, and there was a painting crew working on the house. If I think about it long enough, I’ll remember the name on the truck. Eduardo was the kind of man who’d stick with the same people if he liked their work.”