Sex, Lies & Serious Money

38

Stone called Mike Freeman at Strategic Services the following morning. “I’m afraid I need some security cameras,” he said, then told him of the previous evening’s intruder.

“I suggested that a long time ago, but you had Bob Cantor install a system anyway. Not that Bob doesn’t do good work, but you probably got all cheap on him.”

Stone ignored that. “I want them cleverly concealed,” he said.

“Hang on.” There was a click, and Stone was in the hold void, listening to, of all things, country music.

Mike came back. “I’ll have somebody over there in an hour to do an assessment.”

“Great. Since when did you start listening to country music?”

“I don’t.”

“Well, your customers do, while on hold.”

“Are you serious? Maybe it’s your own phone system.”

“Mine is mostly Mozart, occasionally some Oscar Peterson.”

“I’ll look into it,” Mike said, then hung up.

An hour later, Joan buzzed him. “Mike Freeman’s security person is here.”

“Okay, send him in.”

“Take a deep breath,” Joan said, then hung up.

There was a rap at his door, which was ajar, and a blond head appeared, followed by a tall, willowy body in a tight black business suit. “Mr. Barrington?”

Stone stood. “Stone. Please come in.”

They shook hands. “My name is Heavenly Peace,” she said. He motioned her to a chair, and she crossed her legs fetchingly.

“I’m sorry,” Stone said, “I feel as though I’ve just stepped into a Bond film.”

“That’s very good. Amazingly, I haven’t heard that one.”

“May I ask, how did you come by your name?”

“My father’s surname was Peace, and my mother was a religious fanatic.”

“You must get asked about that a lot.”

“Every day of my life — often, several times a day.”

“Ever get tired of it?”

“A very long time ago.”

“Still, you haven’t changed it.”

“Well, nobody has ever forgotten it. And everyone wants my business card.”

“That’s handy.”

“I’ve always found it so.” She recrossed her legs. “Now, what may I do to improve your day?”

Stone searched for a quip, then gave up. “Security cameras.”

“Ah. For what purpose — home movies? Narcissism? Pornography, perhaps?”

“Security.”

She smiled, revealing very white teeth against her fire-engine-red lipstick. “I’m sorry, my attention wandered for a moment. And how do you envision using these cameras?”

“Well, if I should come home and find my front door ajar and hear someone in this office, as I did last night, I would like to have images of that person or persons to remember him or her by.”

“Do you wish this person or persons to know that they are being photographed?”

“I do not. And I would like for the cameras to have the highest resolution available and to operate well in low lighting conditions. So often when I see security recordings, the people in them tend to be unidentifiable.”

“I know exactly what you mean. Do you presently have a security system of any sort?”

“I have one that does just about everything but employ cameras. It is my fond hope that you can install a camera system that is compatible with my present installation, rather than ripping it all out and starting over.”

She stood. “Let’s see what we can do. Where shall we start?”

“Well, since we’re already in my office, what about right here?”

“May I borrow a legal pad?” she asked. “I left my handbag in the car.”

Stone stood, produced one, and offered her a pen.

“You may remain seated,” she said, “while I do a little survey.”

Stone sat down.

She paced the room in every direction, taking notes all the while and occasionally adding a diagram. “Now,” she said, “we will presume that you want the exterior door covered, along with the elevator and— What is that door?” She pointed.

“It leads to the garage.”

“Ah.” She made a note. “Now, shall we drift upward?”

Stone pressed the button for the elevator and allowed her to precede him into the car, while appreciating the view from that angle. They emerged in the entrance hall, where she began by inspecting the front door lock. “We’ll want to replace that,” she said. “Apparently it was picked last night. The Israelis make something more formidable.” She made a note, then proceeded into the living room, making a diagram and marking camera locations on it. “Why do I feel there is a study?”

“Because you are gifted that way,” Stone replied, pointing.

She reached for the doorknob. “May I?”

“You may.” She opened the door and entered. “Such a nice room,” she said, “and so you.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, if you would escort me to the top floor of the house, I think we can skip what’s in between and save you some money, which Mike Freeman says is dear to your heart.”

“Mike exaggerates.” He led her back to the elevator and out onto the fourth-floor landing and into the master suite.

“Another very nice room. And is that a dumbwaiter?” She pointed.

“It is. Does it concern you?”

“Makes a nice ride up for a burglar, doesn’t it?”

“Touché.”

She opened a door. “Dressing room?” Then quickly closed it. “A lady’s.”

“From time to time.”

“I don’t think you’d look well in a thong.”

“That one is mine. Do you think it’s a target for a burglar?”

“Own any watches or other jewelry?”

“Touché again.”

She finished the room. “What’s on the ground floor rear?”

“The kitchen — opens to a common garden.”

“Better have a look.”

After her look at the rear of the house, she handed him a card. “Before you ask.”

“When will I hear from you?”

“Normally, that’s my line, but figure a couple of days to see a plan and some equipment. If you want to see an example of our work, visit Laurence Hayward’s apartment.”

“Good idea. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

“I’m glad,” she said, then departed.

Stone mopped his brow; that had been a near thing.