Lucid Intervals

43

Stone walked up to Dino’s office and was waved in and introduced to an attractive young woman who was sitting in one of Dino’s chairs.

“This is Carla Rentz,” Dino said. “She’s prosecuting your client, Mr. Fisher.”

Stone sat down and tried to look puzzled. “Prosecuting him? For what?”

“For murder,” the young woman replied.

“On what evidence?” Stone asked.

“Mr. Fisher was the only one present when she was thrown off the roof,” she said.

“Excuse me,” Stone said. “What evidence do you have that she was thrown off the roof?”

“Well, she’s dead.”

“Have you considered suicide?”

“Why should I consider suicide?”

“Because it’s one of two possibilities,” Stone said. “Either she was thrown off the roof, or she jumped.”

“What is her motive for suicide?”

“What is Mr. Fisher’s motive for murder?”

“I’m sure that will emerge.”

“Well, if a motive emerges, you may have cause to arrest Mr. Fisher but not now. Tell you what. Send a couple of Lieutenant Bacchetti’s detectives over to a restaurant called Sette Mezzo, on Lexington near Seventy-sixth. Mr. Fisher and Ms. Seidman had dinner there last night. Ask the headwaiter and their waiter what their demeanor was during dinner there. You’ll be told that they were very happy, enjoying each other’s company. You see, he was in love with her, and they planned to marry.”

“If they were so happy, why would Ms. Seidman commit suicide?”

“Anger is a motive for suicide; people kill themselves all the time, because they think it will hurt the people they’re mad at.”

“You say he was in love with her. Was she in love with him?”

“In my opinion, no,” Stone replied. “Ms. Seidman was a working prostitute who had serviced Mr. Fisher on a number of occasions, and when Mr. Fisher won a large sum in the New York State Lottery, her interest in him became more… acute, shall we say. And so did the interest of her employer.”

“You still haven’t given me a motive for suicide,” Ms. Rentz said. “Why was she angry?”

“She was angry because Mr. Fisher had asked her to sign a prenuptial agreement. She didn’t want to go back to her pimp and tell him that, so she was between a rock and a hard place. I had already spoken to her earlier about a prenup, and she became angry at the mention of it. She was uncontrollably angry before she jumped.”

“We didn’t find a prenup in the apartment,” she said.

“That’s because I hadn’t given it to Mr. Fisher yet. He asked her to go and see me about it.”

“Without her own attorney?”

“I would have insisted on that,” Stone said.

“Why didn’t you give Mr. Fisher the prenup earlier?”

“Because I’ve been out of town for a few days, in Maine. I just got back today. My secretary will be happy to give you a copy of the prenup I had prepared.” He gave her the address and Joan’s name.

“When the detectives arrived, Mr. Fisher feigned not to know that Ms. Seidman had… met her death. How could he have missed that?”

“Because he was sitting on the toilet, reading a magazine, when she jumped. When he was finished there, he got dressed and went to look for her, but she was gone. He thought she had gone shopping, because that’s what she usually did.”

“How can he prove that?” she asked.

“Mr. Fisher will agree to a colonoscopy,” Stone replied.

Dino burst out laughing.

“From speaking to Mr. Fisher a few minutes ago, I have reason to believe that your detectives, if they bother to check, will find that Ms. Seidman’s fingerprints will be on the sliding glass door to the terrace but not Mr. Fisher’s, because he didn’t touch it after the maid came and cleaned it yesterday.”

“We’ll look into that,” Ms. Rentz said.

“You may look into anything you like, and my client and I will cooperate with your investigation, but the fact remains that you don’t have enough evidence to arraign him, let alone convict him, and the other available evidence will support my client. For that reason, I’d like him released immediately.”

“Mr. Barrington has a point,” Dino said. “We can always arrest him later if new evidence comes up.”

Ms. Rentz looked at the floor, then at the ceiling. “All right,” she said to Dino, “spring Mr. Fisher.” She stood up and grabbed her briefcase. “But this isn’t over.”

Stone stood and offered his hand. “Let us know whatever else you need from us.”

She shook his hand and left.

“Nice work,” Dino said.

“You don’t think Herbie tossed her, do you?”

“Nah, but it’s good to see you break a sweat.”

THE FOLLOWING MORNING Stone was at Strategic Services promptly at eight and was shown into Hackett’s large corner office, where the man was polishing off a full Scottish breakfast. He sent the tray away and pressed a button on his phone. “Mike, join us, will you?” He hung up. “You remember Mike Freeman, Stone; we played tennis?”

“Of course.”

Freeman entered through a door between his office and Hackett’s and shook Stone’s hand, and the three men moved to a seating area by the window.

“Stone, we want to give you something of an overview of Strategic Services,” Hackett said. “Mike is my right-hand guy, and he’s here to tell you anything I forget.”

“Shoot,” Stone said.

“We’re best known for providing corporate security,” Hackett said. “We have a dozen offices around the world, and if we get a call from a client telling us he’s paying a visit to, say, Hong Kong, our people and vehicles are at the bottom of his jet stair when he arrives to greet him and take care of him while he’s there. That service is a big revenue producer for us, and we’ve never lost an executive yet, not to a kidnapping or a roadside bomb. Sometimes, though, an executive is kidnapped while not in our custody, and in that case we handle negotiations for his release.”

Freeman spoke up. “Or, if necessary, send in an extraction team. We employ large numbers of former Special Forces and Navy SEAL personnel, who are very good at that.”

Stone couldn’t place Freeman’s accent, and he must have been looking at him oddly.

“I’m Canadian,” Freeman said, smiling. “Montreal, so my English sometimes has a French inflection. You’re not the first to wonder.”

“Also,” Hackett continued, “we provide armed guards to government agencies both at home and abroad. The State Department is an especially good client.”

“Do you provide meals and domestic services for the armed forces as well?” Stone asked.

“No, I have no interest in the catering business, even on that scale. We’re strictly security. We also have a division that installs security systems in corporate and government offices, the most sophisticated systems in the world. The new HD cameras are just wonderful. We can now use facial recognition software on the images we get from a camera no bigger than a golf ball.”

“That’s impressive,” Stone said.

“Do you have a good security system at home?” Hackett asked.

“Yes, I have an ex-cop who does that work for me.”

“Good. Just remember, we’re here if you need us.”

Hackett continued through the morning, outlining to Stone the depth and breadth of his company, from the armored vehicle business to investigative services. “You may have noticed,” Hackett said, “we can find out just about anything about anybody. That is a particularly important service for corporate boards these days, as any hint of scandal in a potential executive’s life can turn up on the Internet at any moment.”

Finally, they broke for lunch, which was brought in on a rolling table.

“Everything all right for you at the Plaza?” Hackett asked.

“Just perfect,” Stone replied. “Thank you for the shelter.”

“Eduardo Bianchi is an old friend of mine,” Hackett said, “and it distresses me almost as much as Eduardo that his daughter is in such a state.”

Stone had been wondering how Hackett had known that he and Dolce had been briefly married, and now he knew.

“Did sight of my service record make any impression on Dame Felicity?” Hackett asked.

“I can’t comment,” Stone replied, “but it made an impression on me.”

AFTER LUNCH, STONE’S briefing session continued until mid-afternoon. Hackett showed him to the elevators. “I’ll have an assignment for you before long. In the meantime, the Mustang is there if you need it.”

Stone walked back to the Plaza, enjoying the afternoon. At the hotel there was a message from the Assistant District Attorney, Carla Rentz, and he returned the call.

“We’ve completed our investigation of Sheila Seidman’s death,” she said, “and I agree that there is insufficient evidence to prosecute Mr. Fisher.”

“Insufficient evidence?” Stone asked. “You mean no evidence at all, don’t you?”

“All right, all right, no evidence. Her prints, not his, were on the sliding door, and that did it for my investigators. Mr. Fisher is off the hook.”

“I’ll let him know,” Stone said. “Thanks for calling.”

“Would you like to have dinner sometime?” she asked.

Stone was stopped in his tracks for a moment. “I have a guest in town at the moment, but maybe in a week or two.”

They exchanged cell numbers.