Insatiable Appetites

29

Stone tidied his desk, then walked into Joan’s office. “Did the congressman come back?”

“Is that what he is? No, he didn’t.”

Stone looked at his watch. “He said he’d be back inside an hour. It’s been nearly two.”

“What can I tell you?”

“Well, show him to the suite when he returns. I’m going upstairs for a while, then to dinner with Dino at Clarke’s.” Stone went up to his study, poured himself a drink, and settled in to watch the news. The anchorwoman finished a report, then turned to another camera. “This just in: there’s been a hit-and-run at the corner of Park Avenue and Fifty-seventh Street, and a man is dead. Don Kerr is at the scene.”

The live shot came up. “Deborah, the ambulance has just taken the man’s body away, and an officer told me that there was identification in his pockets, but they’re not releasing the name pending notification of next of kin. I have with me a gentleman who saw it happen.” He stuck the microphone in a man’s face.

“Yeah, I saw it. The guy was jaywalking, but there was no excuse to hit him. It could have been avoided.”

“What kind of car was it?”

“It was black — an SUV, I think.”

“Did you see the license plate?”

“Just a glimpse. It wasn’t a New York plate.”

“Have the police interviewed you?”

“Yeah, I talked to two detectives.”

Kerr turned back to the camera. “That’s it, Deborah, until we get an ID on the victim.”

Stone tuned out what Deborah was saying now. He had an awful feeling that he didn’t want to give in to. He called Dino.

“Hey,” Dino said.

“Hey. Do you keep track of hit-and-runs?”

“Not personally, but we get a lot of them.”

“There was one this afternoon at Fifty-seventh and Park, and the TV said he had ID on him. Can you find out his name?”

“Call you right back.”

Stone switched to MSNBC and the Chris Matthews show, then he tugged at his drink and worried. Ten minutes passed, and the phone rang.

“Yes?”

“The guy’s ID says he was a U.S. congressman named Evan Hills.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Did you know him?”

“Barely.”

“Dinner tonight? I’m batching it.”

“Clarke’s at seven-thirty?”

“You’re on.” Dino hung up.

Stone called Carla Fontana. “I’ve got bad news,” he said to her.

“What?”

“Evan Hills is dead.”

“Oh, God.”

“Hit-and-run at Park and Fifty-seventh Street.”

“In New York?”

“Right. He came to see me earlier this afternoon.”

“What sort of frame of mind was he in?”

“Despondent, I’d say.”

“I think he was getting shaky.”

“He told me he wanted out, and he didn’t mean the story.”

“Are you saying he was suicidal?”

“I think maybe so. I offered him an apartment in the house I own next door, and he accepted. He was going back to his hotel to get his luggage. The local news said he was jaywalking, but a witness said the accident was avoidable. It was a black SUV with an out-of-state tag. His identity hasn’t been made public yet. I found out from a friend at the NYPD.”

“You think he was murdered?”

“I think he was afraid he was going to be murdered, but it’s a toss-up. It could have been just an accident. We get a lot of hit-and-runs in the city.”

“Well, at least we have his statement.”

“You may have more than that.”

“What do you mean?”

“He told me he had a recording of the meeting, and that the voices were clearly distinguishable.”

“Did you hear it?”

“No. He may not have had it on him.”

“Can your friend at the NYPD find out if the police found it?”

“Maybe. I’ll call him.”

“I’ll call our New York city desk and get them on it.”

He looked at his watch. “I’ve got a dinner date with my friend. I’ll let you know what he says.” He hung up, got his coat, and headed for P.J. Clarke’s.