Foul Play

Thirty-Four

Stone checked his iPhone contacts and touched the number.

A woman answered. “East River House,” she said.

“May I please speak to Mr. Solomon Fink?” Oh, God, he thought, what if he’s dead?

“He should just be finishing dinner,” she said. “Let me see if I can connect you with the library. He usually has coffee and brandy in there. Please hold.”

Alive! And drinking coffee and brandy! “I’ll hold.”

He held, and a deep voice said, “This is Solomon Fink.”

“Sol, this is Stone Barrington. How are you?”

“Stone! It’s good to hear from you. Are you in New York?”

“No, I’m in another location, one I can’t disclose for business reasons.”

“No need for me to know, is there?”

“I suppose not. I have a question for you, Sol.”

“Shoot!”

“Do you recall installing an Excelsior at Troutman Industries, a factory in Lenox, Massachusets, in...”

“June of 1939,” Sol said. “Of course. I installed that one of your friend Bianchi’s on that same trip, then I managed to forget to go back to Germany.”

“That’s the one. Do you recall if you taped the combination somewhere in the room where the safe was when you were done?”

“That was my normal practice, but I can’t say for certain if I did so on that occasion. Do you want to open it?”

“Yes. Two of Mr. Troutman’s descendants are my clients.”

“Do they have the combination?”

“Mr. Rod Troutman memorized it, but isn’t sure if he can recall it on demand.”

“Then I’ll have to make another trip to Massachusetts, I suppose.”

“Do you feel up to the trip, Sol?”

“I do. How long a drive is it?”

“Oh, we’ll fly you up in a private jet.”

“Wonderful! I’ve never flown in a private jet.”

“You’ll enjoy the experience.”

“When?”

“I’ll need to talk to the Troutmans and make some arrangements. May I phone you back in a day or two?”

“Of course. This is a good time of day.”

“I’ll speak to you then,” Stone said, and they both hung up. Stone went back to the dining room. “Good news: Solomon Fink is alive and well and says he’ll come to Massachusetts to open the safe, if necessary.”

“I may be able to remember the combination,” Rod said, “but did you ask if he had concealed it somewhere?”

“I did, but he’s not sure. And, Rod, unless you’re certain you have the right combination, you shouldn’t try to open it. If you enter the wrong combination too many times, the beast will lock you out. Then there’s nobody in the world to open it but Solomon Fink.”

“Perhaps we should invite him for a visit, then.”

“I have already done so, and he has accepted. My concern now is access to the safe. You say you have all the keys?”

“I do.”

“Then we will have to find a way to get past whatever security arrangements the new owners have made.”

“I still have friends there,” Shep said. “I can find out what they’ve done.”

“We’ll need passcodes, too, and the knowledge of security guards, if any, on the grounds and in the building.”

“I’ll make a couple of phone calls,” Shep said.

“I’ll do it,” Rod interjected.

“You can’t call anybody, Dad. You’re dead, remember?”

“Ah, yes. Slipped my mind.”

“Rod,” Stone said, “why don’t you write down the combination that’s in your head. It may come in useful.”

“Of course,” Rod said. He was handed a pad and pen.

“Write it down three times, Dad,” Shep said.

Rod grasped the pen, wrote it down, ripped off a page and wrote it a second and third time.

Shep looked at the three pages. “That’s great, Dad, thanks.” He put the sheets in his pocket.

They were served coffee and brandy in the library.

“Shep,” Stone said, “you look concerned.”

“I think you’d better get Mr. Fink up to Lenox as soon as you can. When do you want to go into the factory?”

“Are your employees churchgoing people?” Stone asked.

“Most of them. Why do you ask?”

“How about Sunday morning?”

“Perfect. The heathens will be on the golf course.”

“Good. Would you still definitely like to bring up Sol Fink?”

“Yes. Because Dad wrote down three different combinations.”

“Oh.”