Distant Thunder

4

The following day, Stone freed his airplane from its bonds, and since he had only Holly and half the fuel aboard, he got it off the runway in an amazingly short distance and flew back to Teterboro, where he turned the aircraft over to the people in the Strategic Services hangar and Holly over to the Air Force One crew, for transfer to Washington, and he was met by his factotum, Fred, in the Bentley and driven home.

Stone was greeted by his secretary, Joan Robertson, as he walked into his office. “There’s little to warrant your attention,” she said, “since I have proceeded on the basis that you would not return until the snow flies. You may go back to Maine now, if you wish.”

“What a warm and cheerful welcome!” Stone said, scratching the ears of Bob, his Labrador retriever. “At least Bob is glad to see me.”

“Lance Cabot called a few minutes ago, to pass on the news that knowledge of Mr. Collins’s existence has still not been claimed by any person or organization. No need to return the call.”

“Just as well.”

“I, however, have a theory about the identity of Mr. Collins.”

“I don’t suppose I can avoid hearing it, so spit it out.”

“I believe Lance knows full well the particulars of the corpse and its history, but he, for purposes of his own, will not admit to any of it.”

“That’s a theory about Lance, not about Mr. Collins.”

“Take it as you will,” she said, and flounced out.

“Don’t flounce!” Stone shouted after her but didn’t get the favor of a response.

Joan buzzed him. “Dino on one.”

Stone picked up the phone. “I’m back,” he said.

“I figured that out,” Dino replied. “Dinner at P.J.’s at seven tomorrow night?”

“You’re on.” They both hung up. Joan buzzed immediately. “A Mrs. Collins to see you. She doesn’t have an appointment.”

“Any relation?”

“No idea.”

“Send her in.”

A tall, slender, and attractive woman in her thirties walked in and offered her hand. “I’m Vanessa Morgan,” she said.

“I’m sorry, I was told you were a Mrs. Collins.”

“I am the widow of John Collins, with whom I have heard you became acquainted after his death. We have been married for seven years, but since I long ago established myself in the fashion industry under my maiden name, I didn’t take his.”

“Please sit down, Ms. Morgan.”

She did so.

“How can I help you?”

“I wanted to hear directly from you what you know about John’s death.”

“Not much, I’m afraid. We had a terrible storm in Maine, during which your husband’s body was found aboard the island’s ferry. The weather prevented his removal to state police headquarters, so they prevailed upon me for the use of my garage, where the body was packed in ice until a helicopter could transport it. I’m afraid that is the limit of my knowledge, but I would like to ask you some questions, if I may.”

“All right.”

“How was your husband employed?”

“He was an officer of the Central Intelligence Agency, working in the directorate of operations, which is one of the reasons why we didn’t see much of each other.”

“What were the other reasons?”

“We just didn’t get on and didn’t enjoy each other’s company much. It was always a relief when he was called away.”

“Do you know when he first joined the Agency?”

“Two years before we were married. He was allowed to tell me only what I just told you.”

“Did he have any other family?”

“They are all dead.”

Stone wrote down a number and handed it to her. “You may call a Sergeant Young at this number to arrange disposition of the remains.”

“Disposition is all I require of them. He wanted to be cremated and scattered in the sea, if that matters. I plan to honor that.”

“Please tell Sergeant Young that.”

“All right.”

“Do you know who your husband’s immediate superior was at the Agency?”

“The only name he ever mentioned to me was Cabot. He didn’t mention a first name.”

“May I ask, how were you informed of your husband’s death?”

“A man came to my door yesterday, saying that he worked for John’s employer, then gave me the news and his condolences. He left an envelope with information on how to claim John’s insurance and pension.”

“And what was that gentleman’s name?”

“If he gave one, I didn’t get it.”

“Can you describe him?”

“About your height and weight; better dressed than I would have expected an Agency official to be. Quite handsome. Early forties, perhaps.”

“I suppose that could describe a lot of people.”

“I suppose it could, but for the handsome part.”

There was a silence, while each of them waited for the other to speak.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Stone asked, finally.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Is there?”

“May I ask, how did you come to seek me out?”

“Your card was in the envelope the gentleman from the Agency gave me. Do you know why?”

“I do some consulting work for them, and I was present in Maine at the time of... the event. I can’t think of any other reason.”

She gathered herself to leave.

“Ms. Morgan?”

“Yes?”

“In your conversation with the gentleman from the Agency, do you remember whether the words ‘in the line of duty’ were mentioned?”

“Yes, they were. Why?”

“If he died in the line of duty that might affect the amount of the insurance and pension payments. When you apply, you should mention that on the form.”

“A good point,” she said. “I thank you for your assistance. I hope, perhaps, to see you some other time, in more pleasant circumstances.” She laid a card on his desk, then turned and walked out.

Joan came in. “Who was that?” she asked.

“That was Mrs. Corpse,” Stone replied.