Dirty Work

11

The cab took Stone to 1111 Fifth Avenue, near the Metropolitan Museum. Bill Eggers was waiting for him.

“Thank God you’re on time,” he said. “Now listen, when we get upstairs, I’ll do the talking. You just keep your mouth shut and nod a lot.”

“Whatever you say,” Stone said, grateful that he would not have to explain the events of the night before.

The elevator opened directly into the foyer of Elena Marks’s apartment. The foyer, Stone noted, was nearly as large as his bedroom. The floors were marble, and the walls were hung with good art. A flower arrangement the size of a big-screen TV rested on a Louis Quinze table. A man in a white jacket entered the foyer.

“Mr. Eggers? Mr. Barrington? Please follow me.” He led them through a living room the size of a basketball court and into a library with a double-height ceiling. A spiral staircase in a corner led to the upper level. Every book in sight was leather-bound and matched several other books. Elena Marks was nowhere to be seen.

“Please have a seat,” the butler said. “Mrs. Fortescue will be with you shortly. May I get you some refreshment?”

“No, thank you,” Eggers replied.

Stone wanted a beer; the cheeseburger still hadn’t gone all the way down. “First time I ever heard her referred to as Mrs. Fortescue,” he said.

“Well, she’s a widow now, isn’t she?” Eggers replied.

A section of the bookcases along one wall suddenly opened, and Elena Marks Fortescue entered the room. The bookcase/door closed silently behind her. She was a razor-thin woman with bright, blond hair, wearing a bright yellow, flowered dress, the sort of thing that would have been perfectly acceptable for a recent widow in, say, Palm Beach, Stone thought.

“Good afternoon, Elena,” Eggers said smoothly. “Thank you for seeing us.”

“Bill,” she said, nodding. Then she turned a withering gaze on Stone. “Mr. Barrington,” she said through clenched, beautifully capped teeth.

Stone tried smiling, but it didn’t work. “Good afternoon, Ms. Mar . . . ah, Mrs. Fortescue.”

She held her gaze a little longer, as if to punish him, before looking away.

Stone felt as if a hole had been burned through him.

“Sit,” Elena said. “Speak,” she said to Eggers. She appeared to be barely in control of her anger, but addressing them as dogs seemed to help.

“Elena,” Eggers said plaintively, “please let me express my condolences, along with those of everyone at Woodman and Weld.”

“Accepted,” Elena said, her face like marble.

Stone realized that she had had so many Botox injections that she was probably incapable of any expression, short of baring her teeth.

“What happened,” she said to Eggers, a command rather than a question.

“A terrible accident,” Eggers replied. “Our investigation has determined that the skylight above the apartment had been fatally weakened by dry rot.”

What investigation? Stone wondered. Nobody had asked him anything.

“And when Stone’s operative put a little of his weight on it, in order to be able to photograph the scene below, it gave way.”

“Who do we sue?” Elena asked.

That brought Eggers up short. “Ah, well, I, ah . . . Stone? You want to answer that one?”

Stone, who had thought he was to keep his mouth shut, wasn’t ready for the question. “Not really,” he said, tossing the ball back to Eggers.

“Do you mean to tell me,” Elena said, “that the people who are responsible for my husband’s death should go unpunished?”

Stone found his voice. “Mrs. Fortescue,” he said, “if I may be candid, you hired a man, through Bill and me, to climb onto the roof of a building and photograph your husband in compromising positions. The attorneys for the owner of the building would work hard to make a case that you, therefore, are responsible for your husband’s death, and they might very well win with such a defense. Even if you won, the resulting publicity would be devastating to your reputation.”

“Then perhaps I should sue you for hiring an incompetent,” Elena said.

Eggers made a small choking noise.

“That would have the same result,” Stone said. “At the moment, the story the press has is that a burglar or Peeping Tom fell through the skylight. It is being reported as nothing more than a freak accident, which, of course, it was. There has been no mention of the woman or the motives of the man who fell. To pursue this further would not result to the benefit of anyone involved.”

Elena attempted to frown and failed. “What about your Peeping Tom? It seems to me that he might have a lawsuit against you, and eventually, me.”

“You may rest assured that that will not happen,” Eggers said.

Stone hoped he was right. The idea of Herbie Fisher suing had not occurred to him, and he hoped to God it hadn’t occurred to Herbie.

“But I’m the injured party here,” Elena cried, banging her bony fist against the arm of the sofa. "Somebody has to pay for that injury!”

Eggers turned white and said nothing.

“Mrs. Fortescue,” Stone said, “may I be perfectly frank?”

“You’d fucking well better be,” Elena snarled. Her marble skin had turned bright pink.

“These events, as unfortunate for everyone as they are, have inadvertently accomplished something that could not have been foreseen.”

“And what is that?” Elena demanded.

“It’s an ill wind that blows nobody good,” Stone said, hoping that the cliché would find its mark.

It did not. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Elena cried, turning pinker.

“An act of God, for want of a better term, has rid you of a husband who was unfaithful to you, and whom you had already decided to be rid of, and it has done so in a way that avoids the inevitable, damaging publicity of divorcing him and enforcing your prenuptial agreement.” Stone paused for effect. “Not to mention the very considerable expense of so doing.”

There was a long silence, finally broken by Elena Marks Fortescue. “You have a point,” she said. Then she got up and left the room the way she had entered it.

Eggers had been holding his breath, and he let it out in a rush.

Back on the street, looking for a cab, Eggers turned to Stone. “What about the photographs?” he asked.

Stone handed him a set, and Eggers looked at them briefly.

“And the negatives?” he asked.

Stone handed over an envelope containing the four frames. “You think we’re out of the woods with Elena?” he asked.

“She didn’t fire us, did she?” Eggers said cheerfully, waving down a cab and getting in. “Let’s do lunch sometime.” He drove away.