Dirt

Chapter 39

The following morning, Stone and Arrington lay in his bed, watching the Today show and eating breakfast.

“I checked out Dryer,” Stone said. “He’s bolted from his apartment.”

“I hope he’s bolted from the planet,” Arrington said.

“Do you mind telling me a little more about him?” He was treading carefully; he knew this was a sensitive subject.

“What do you want to know?”

“How’d you meet him?”

“At somebody’s house in East Hampton, in August.”

“Whose house?”

“A photographer’s.”

“A friend of Dryer’s?”

“No, Jonathan didn’t know the host; he came with somebody else, I think. I can’t remember who.”

“How many times did you see him after that?”

“Two or three times a week, I guess; we both had a lot else going on.”

“What did Dryer have going on?”

“I assume he was hustling for some sort of living, although he always seemed to have money.”

“When you went out somewhere, how did Dryer pay?”

“On the occasions when I didn’t pay, he always paid in cash.”

“Never with a credit card or check?”

“No, always cash. I asked him once why he always carried so much cash, and he said he played poker a couple of times a week and always won.”

“Did he say who he played with?”

“No.”

“Did you ever know, specifically, what he was doing on any night when he wasn’t seeing you?”

She sipped her orange juice and shook her head. “Never; I always had the feeling that he had at least one other complete life going, maybe more than one.”

“Did you ever see him with other people, or always alone?”

“Usually just the two of us, but I took him to a few parties.”

“Did he know people at these parties?”

“Never; I was always introducing him to people I knew.”

“Were you ever in the apartment on East Ninety-first?”

“A couple of times. More often we were at my place.”

“Can you describe the furnishings of the apartment for me?”

She frowned. “I guess you’d say it was the typical single-guy place, but of a younger guy than Jonathan.”

“How so?”

“Well, the furnishings were inexpensive, off-the-shelf things, the sort of stuff you could pick up at the Door Store or Crate and Barrel. There were posters, but no pictures – original art, I mean. There was a cheap stereo and a small TV and a computer; he had sort of a home office. Nothing to speak of in the kitchen, just the bare minimum of plates and glasses and pots and pans. Nothing much ever in the fridge, except breakfast stuff and beer. Jonathan said he was thirty-four, and usually a guy of that age would have accumulated a few more permanent possessions.”

“What about clothes?”

“Lots of clothes; he was always shopping. Most of his stuff seemed quite new.”

“Jewelry?”

“Watches; he had three or four.”

“Do you remember what kind?”

“A couple of Rolexes and one or two dressier things. One from Tiffany’s, I remember.”

“Did you ever know him to leave town for any reason?”

“No, except for the time in East Hampton. He never said anything about traveling.”

“Did he ever tell you anything about where he was from, or his family?”

“I asked him once where he was from; he said nowhere, really, that his family moved around a lot. Something he said – I can’t remember exactly what – led me to believe that his father might have been in the military.”

“Which branch?”

“I don’t know; I’m not really sure of the military thing; it was just an impression. He also gave me the feeling that he and his family didn’t talk. Believe me, he’s the perfect candidate for black sheep.”

“Any brothers or sisters?”

“Not that he mentioned.”

“What about school or college?”

“He said he went to a small Eastern college; I asked him which one, but he said I would have never heard of it.”

“Do you know if he ever lived in other cities?”

“Washington. He said he was there for several years.”

“Did he say what he did there?”

“Something about selling some kind of equipment to the government. I don’t know what.”

“Did he have any hangouts in the city? Bars? Restaurants?”

“We always went to restaurants, and do you know, I don’t think we ever went to the same one twice. He liked to order elaborate meals, liked expensive wines.”

“Any bar hangouts?”

“Not when he was with me, but he gave you the impression of knowing every place in town. He liked to stay up very late, later than I did, anyway. I had the feeling that when he left me he usually went someplace else, but I never knew where.”

“When you were at his place did he ever get phone calls?”

“Often.”

“Did you ever know from who?”

“No, but most of them were probably women. He never called anybody by name on the phone. I only ever saw him make one phone call – it was long distance, but I don’t know to whom. Is this helping at all?”

“You’ve told me a lot, but nothing that would help me find him.”

“Now that he’s gone, why would you want to find him?”

“It’s possible that he might be involved in this DIRT business. Would that surprise you?”

“Nothing about Jonathan would surprise me. If you told me he was a Russian spy I wouldn’t be bowled over.”

“Anything else you can remember about him?”

“He wasn’t the kind to be very forthcoming; if anything, he always seemed to have something to hide.”

The phone rang, and Stone picked it up.

“Hi, it’s Cantor.”

“Hi.”

“I checked out things at the Spirit cologne office. Turns out Dryer wasn’t hired through a modeling agency. A girl who works there met him at a party and thought he looked right; she got her boss to hire him as a one-shot thing.”

“Can you find out how they paid him? I’d love to have a Social Security number.”

“He insisted on cash. The phone number she had for him was the East Ninety-first apartment.”

“Does she know anybody else who knows him”

“Not a soul; it’s a dead end.”

“What’s happening on your tape stakeout?”

“What’s happening is, she comes home at night, fixes dinner, and cries. He hasn’t called again.”

“Sounds like she’s been dumped; you can pull the plug on that one.”

“Will do. What else can I do for you?”

“Why don’t you drop by here in, say, an hour; we’ll see where we are.”

“See you then.”

Stone hung up.

“We’ve only got an hour?” she asked with mock sadness.

“Let’s use it well,” he replied, rolling toward her. Then the phone rang again.

“Hello?”

“It’s Dino. I want you to come over here and go over some stuff with me.”

“When?”

“This morning.”

“Around eleven?”

“That’s good; you can buy me lunch.”

“Can I bring Cantor?”

“Why not? Maybe he’ll have some sort of a take on this.”

“On what?”

“I’ll tell you when you get here.” Dino hung up.

Stone hung up and rolled toward Arrington again. “Sorry about that,” he said.

“Don’t let it happen again,” she said.

He reached over and took the phone off the hook.

“Good boy,” she said, reaching for him.