Black Dog

Ten

Stone got back to his office and poured himself a Knob Creek, something he did not often do when alone in the afternoon. His breathing had returned to normal. Joan seemed to be elsewhere.

He sat down and his thoughts were irresistibly drawn to what might have happened on Annetta’s sofa if he had not managed to preserve his virtue. He was able to put her aside when he remembered that Joan had warned him that Annetta was sixty, not forty. He reflected that he had never had carnal relations with someone so much older than he, not that he was opposed to the idea, in principle. He had the very strong feeling that if he had followed her down the garden path that she would, after that, have had more influence on his actions than he wished her to have. There was a noise and he jumped, spilling some of his drink on his desk.

“I’m sorry to have startled you,” Joan said. “I was doing some filing in the back room and didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s quite all right.” Here she comes, he thought.

“So, how did you and Annetta get along?”

“Passably,” he said. “When I brought up the subject of Eddie Jr. she remembered that she had something else to do.”

“What was she wearing?” Joan asked.

“A tweed suit with... What kind of a question is that?”

“Street clothes or, ah, something more comfortable?”

“What are you getting at, Joan?”

“I’m just wondering what Aunt Annetta might have been getting at.”

“What?”

“She has a reputation for getting at things with dispatch.”

“I wasn’t there long enough to find out.”

“I read the files of the Charleses while you were gone.”

“And...?”

“And I found them illuminating, but not surprising.”

“Which parts did you find illuminating?”

“The parts about Edwin’s sources of income and Aunt Annetta’s, ah, career path. Nothing about Eddie Jr. would be illuminating or surprise me.”

“And you think Annetta’s ‘career path’ might have affected her behavior today?”

“I read somewhere once — maybe Kinsey — that the chief reason that prostitutes chose their trade was, not money, but because they enjoyed the sex.”

“I have little experience of prostitutes, so I can’t argue with that. But it sounds like something written by a man, not a woman.”

Joan laughed. “It does, doesn’t it?” The phone rang and she answered it. “Woodman & Weld, the Barrington Practice.” She listened for a moment, then held out the phone to Stone. “It’s Annetta’s butler. He wants to speak to you, and he sounds odd.”

“Odd how?”

“Ask him.”

“This is Stone Barrington. Yes, Geoffrey, what is it?” He listened for a moment. “Now calm down, Geoffrey. There are some things you have to do. Please listen to me. First of all, you must note the time, then call 911 and tell them you want to report a death. Then you must tell the staff to stay out of the upstairs sitting room, and neither you nor they must touch anything in the room. Do you understand?” He listened. “Please tell that to the police when they arrive. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He hung up and got into his jacket.

“That sounded alarming,” Joan said.

“It was alarming. Geoffrey says that a staff member found Annetta dead, apparently of a gunshot.”

“Damn it. Did the butler do it?”

“That remains to be seen.”

“You should call Dino,” Joan said.

“I’ll call him on the way. Get Fred saddled up.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Please note that the call came in about 3:40 pm.”

Stone hurried for the garage. As soon as they were on their way, Stone called Dino.

“Bacchetti.”

“It’s Stone. Do you remember Annetta Charles?”

“Yeah, she’s the widow of Edwin Charles, and she’s your new client.”

“Not anymore. I just had a call from her butler, saying that she’s dead, apparent gunshot wound.”

“Did you call 911?”

“I instructed him to. Will you see that a reliable detective gets assigned to this? One who won’t screw everything up?”

“I’m afraid you’ll catch whoever is hanging around the precinct. My own order.”

“Swell. Now I’ll have to deal with one of those sorry timeservers that are rife on your police force.”

“You? Why do you have to deal with anybody?”

“I may have been the last person to see her alive.”

“Really.”

“Except for her killer, of course.”

“Of course,” Dino said. “Good luck, pal.” He hung up.