A Safe House

29

Stone read the papers over breakfast. The International New York Times had the most concise report:

Jenna came downstairs slowly and, over breakfast, was shown the Times. “Well,” she said, “I’m glad they got in ‘thief and a murderer.’ ”

“It’s the least he deserved,” Stone said. “How are you feeling?”

“Sad about Jamie,” she said, “but happy to be alive.”

“The Gulfstream is picking us up at Rockland. We’ll leave for the airfield here in half an hour. Are you all packed?”

“Yes, I’m all set,” she said.

“You’ll be safe at my house in New York,” Stone said. “You can make plans from there.”

She held up a strand of hair. “I’ve got to shorten this, to look more like Jamie. I’ll need different makeup, too.”

“I have someone who will come to the house for that.”

“How long before I can shop openly in New York?”

“A few days, I think.”

“I miss shopping.”

After they landed back home in New York, Stone was in his office with Jenna when Joan buzzed. “Two gentlemen from the FBI to see you.”

“Send them to the study. Jenna, you stay here. We’ll call you if they want to talk to you.” He went upstairs to meet them. Stone introduced himself.

“Actually, we’re here to see Ms. Jacoby,” one of them said.

“On what business? I’m her attorney.”

“You’re aware, then, that killing a federal employee is a federal crime?”

“Yes, but...”

“Ms. Jacoby was carried on the books of Senator Slade’s Senate office as an assistant press secretary.”

“I’m not aware. Why don’t we ask her?” He called Joan and asked her to bring “Jamie” upstairs.

Jenna shook the men’s hands and sat down.

“Our condolences on the death of Jenna,” one of them said.

“Thank you.”

“Ms. Jacoby, are you aware that your sister was listed on Senator Slade’s staff list as an assistant press secretary?”

“No, I was not, but it would be just like Wallace to list her as such, then pocket her salary.”

“Nevertheless, she qualifies as a federal employee, making her murder a federal crime.”

“I’m delighted to hear it,” Jenna said. “I’m sure you have much greater resources at hand than the Maine police.”

“You were the last person she talked with at any length,” the agent said. “Can you tell us what you talked about?”

“Wallace and his attempts on her life, mostly. Also, about Harley Quince.”

“Who is that?” the agent asked, taking notes.

“He is, to put it bluntly, an assassin and enforcer for Wallace Slade.”

“We’ll look into him.”

“We know him to have been on the island for several days,” Stone said. “He tried to shoot Jenna in my living room, but his rifle bullet ran into armored glass.” He explained why the windows were armored.

“Do you know his whereabouts now?”

“Well, his work is done, so I expect he will have left the island.”

“For where?”

“For wherever Wallace Slade is,” Jenna said. “They’re never far apart.”

“On the day of Jenna’s murder,” the agent said, “Senator Slade was in Texas, filming a campaign commercial and attending a black-tie fundraiser that evening.”

“He would arrange to be elsewhere, wouldn’t he?” Stone asked. “You can place Harley Quince at a Rockland Harbor Hotel, possibly under the name of Horace Quinn, which is the name he gave the emergency room where he was treated for a bullet wound in the leg. I would call that an identifying mark.”

“Who gave him a bullet wound?”

“We had security for the house, and his fire was returned.” Stone told them about the boat, Patsy, and everything else he knew.

“During all this time, did you talk to anyone in law enforcement?”

Stone gave him the name of Sergeant Young of the Maine police. “Oh, and the police commissioner of New York City, who was my houseguest in Maine.”

“That’s pretty good law enforcement.”

They started to ask more questions, but Stone held up a hand. “Jamie, will you excuse us for a little while?”

“Of course,” she said, and left the room.

“Mr. Barrington,” an agent said, “we’re here to talk to Ms. Jacoby, not you.”

“Well, I’m all you’re going to get,” Stone said, “and I’ll tell you why.”