Strategic Moves

EIGHTEEN

Stone was having a sandwich at his desk when Adele Lansdown called.

“How are you?” she asked.

“I’m very well, thanks; haven’t changed since this morning.”

“I know it’s short notice, but I wonder if you could come to dinner at my house this evening?”

“Sure, I’d like that.”

“Some old friends from out of town are here, and I’ve invited my nephew David and his girlfriend, too.”

“What time?”

“Seven-thirty, and don’t dress up; no necktie required.”

“All right.”

“There’s something you should know that might affect you. I’ll tell you about it when we’re alone.”

“Sounds mysterious. I’ll see you then,” Stone replied, and hung up.

Stone, who was, by habit, compulsively on time, forced himself not to leave his house until seven-thirty, so that he could be fashionably late. He hailed a taxi on Third Avenue, and what with traffic, he got out of the cab and crossed Park Avenue, then presented himself at the downstairs desk at seven forty-five, entering the building just ahead of a handsome couple who had gotten out of a cab. As it turned out, they were also expected at Adele’s.

Stone gave his name to the doorman, who called upstairs, then turned and introduced himself to the couple.

“We’re Ben and Ann Wharton,” the man said, and they all shook hands.

The man in charge of the desk hung up the telephone, then dialed the number again. “I’m not getting a reply from Mrs. Lansdown,” he said. “You say she was expecting you?”

“Yes,” Stone replied, and the Whartons said so, as well.

The man hung up the phone again, and it rang immediately. “There she is,” he said, picking up the phone. “Front desk.” His face drained of color. “Right away,” he said. He hung up and dialed four digits. “Emergency at seventy-one East Seventy-first Street,” he said. “We need an ambulance and the police immediately. A woman is dead and another injured. Please hurry.” He answered a couple of questions and then hung up and faced Stone and the Whartons.

“What’s wrong?” Stone asked.

“Mrs. Lansdown’s cook called down and said . . .”

“Come on, man,” Stone said, “spit it out.”

“. . . said that Mrs. Lansdown has been killed.”

Stone took out his phone and speed-dialed Dino’s cell number.

“Bacchetti.”

“It’s Stone. I’m at seven-forty Park, and a woman named Adele Lansdown is dead. The doorman at the building called it in. I think you ought to come, too.”

“Be right there,” Dino said, and hung up.

The Whartons were staring at him.

“I’m a retired police officer,” Stone said. “I called the lieutenant in charge of the precinct detective squad and asked him to come.”

“What should we do?” Ben asked.

“We should all stay right here and wait for the police to arrive.”

“This is terrible,” Ann Wharton said. “Can’t we just go back to our hotel?”

“No, you must stay and give the police a statement,” Stone said.

“Do you mean we’re suspects?”

“No, certainly not. I saw you get out of a taxi as I was crossing Park Avenue, and we entered the building at the same time, so we can vouch for each other.”

A tall, willowy young woman walked into the building and up to the desk. “Mrs. Lansdown, please,” she said to the doorman. “My name is Mia Meadow.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Meadow,” the man said, “you’ll have to wait here with these people.”

Stone introduced himself and the Whartons to the woman. “I’m afraid something is wrong upstairs. We’re waiting for the police.”

“Wrong?” she asked.

Stone was about to explain when a tall, handsome young man arrived and kissed the woman on the cheek. He looked like a young Jack Gunn, so Stone assumed he was the son. “David Gunn?”

“Yes?”

“I’m Stone Barrington, a friend of Adele’s, and this is Ben and Ann Wharton. Apparently, something is wrong in Adele’s apartment, and we’re waiting for the police.” As if on cue, the noise of an ambulance and a police cruiser could be heard approaching the building.

“Wrong? What do you mean?”

Stone explained what had happened, and as he finished the lobby became suddenly crowded with uniformed and plainclothes police officers and a pair of EMTs with a gurney. Dino was right behind them.

Stone introduced Dino to the dinner guests. “I’m glad to meet you all, and I’m sorry about the circumstances,” Dino said.

“Can you tell us what’s happened?” David Gunn asked.

“I will shortly,” he said. “You folks please have a seat over there,” he said, pointing at a seating area. “Don’t leave until a detective has taken your statements. Stone, you come with me.”

Stone excused himself from the group and followed Dino to an elevator, right behind the EMTs and two detectives. As the elevator went up, Dino introduced the two detectives as Salero and Bartkowski.

Dino led the way out of the elevator, with Stone hot behind. A woman in a white chef’s outfit was standing at an open doorway, holding a towel to the back of her head. “This way,” she called out, stepping back to let them in. “Mrs. Lansdown is in the dining room, to your right.”

An EMT stayed with her, checking her injuries, and Dino, Stone, and the detectives walked into the dining room. Adele Lansdown was lying on the floor beside an overturned chair and some scattered tableware. The detective Salero knelt beside her and held three fingers to her neck.

“No pulse,” he said. He lifted her head and looked under it. “At least one to the side of the head.”

“All right,” Dino said, “everybody in the living room, except you,” he said, pointing to the EMT. “Pronounce her and note the time. Salero, you go downstairs and get separate statements from the other dinner guests. But before you do that, call the ME.”

They went back into the living room, where the EMT was applying a bandage to the back of the cook’s head. “She needs to get checked out at the hospital,” he said. “We’ll put her in our ambulance.”

Bartkowski sat in the chair next to the injured woman. “Can you answer a couple of questions?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Your name?”

“Betty Hardesty. I’m Mrs. Lansdown’s chef.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“I was standing at the stove, cooking dinner, and then, next thing I knew, I woke up on the floor with my head hurting. I got to my feet and called out to Mrs. Lansdown, and when she didn’t answer, I went to look for her and found her on the dining room floor. I called downstairs, and then I went to the door to wait for somebody to come. Will somebody turn the stove off, please?”

“Stone,” Dino said, “will you do that?”

Stone walked past Adele’s corpse and into the kitchen, where something in a copper skillet was sizzling. He shut down the large Viking range and looked around. There was a door at the rear of the kitchen, closed. He opened it and found a back hall with a staircase and an elevator, then he returned to the living room.

The two EMTs were helping the chef onto a gurney.

“Bartkowski,” Dino said, “go downstairs and help Salero with the dinner guests’ statements. I’ll hold down the fort here until the ME arrives. When you’re done downstairs, if nobody sounds like a suspect, send them all home and come back up here.”

Stone took Dino to the kitchen and showed him the service entrance.

Dino checked the door. “Unlocked,” he said. “Anybody could have walked in.”

“Whoever walked in was pretty businesslike,” Stone said. “Took out the chef, then Adele.”

The ME arrived and started his work.