Strategic Moves

THIRTY-SIX

The subject somehow got changed, and eight o’clock was approaching, so they were on their first course at the Park Avenue Café before they came back to Willa’s work.

“Aren’t you curious about which of your clients I’m considering prosecuting?” she asked. “Want to guess?”

“Willa,” Stone said, “so many of my clients are teetering on the brink of prosecution that it could be an injustice to even mention a name.”

Willa laughed, a healthy sound. “All right, it’s Herbert Fisher.”

Dino began laughing.

“What’s funny?” Willa asked.

“Herbie is always on the brink of prosecution,” Dino said, “often for something he didn’t do.”

“You’re acquainted with Mr. Fisher?”

“Yes, he’s been in my holding tank a few times.”

“An habitual criminal, then?”

Stone spoke up. “An innocent man who seems to have a gift for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. However, he was married a short time ago, and the experience seems to be lending stability to his existence. Which of the patently false charges against Herbie are you considering pursuing?”

“How about murder?” she asked.

“In what degree?”

“Has he committed more than one murder?”

“Herbie has never committed a murder, although he was once required to defend his life against Dattila the Hun, whom the press liked to describe as ‘a Mafia kingpin.’ ”

“Oh, yes, I heard about that. He walked.”

“It was, as I pointed out, self-defense.”

“I think he got very lucky,” Willa said.

“Good luck is not something that haunts Herbie’s life,” Stone replied.

“Really? I think he’s very lucky to be walking our streets at this moment. If not for the actions of an inexperienced prosecutor, he would be held without bail as we speak.”

“Wait a minute,” Dino said, “are you talking about the death of his girlfriend, who fell or jumped from Herbie’s penthouse terrace a while back?”

“No, I’m talking about the girlfriend who received, at the very least, a helping hand from Mr. Fisher.”

“Well,” Dino said, “I happened to be in charge of that investigation, and also present at a conference between your prosecutor and Herbie’s attorney—Mr. Barrington here—and I thought, given the feather-light weight of the evidence, your prosecutor made a good call.”

“Thank you, Dino,” Stone said. He turned to Willa. “I was able to demonstrate, through fingerprint evidence, that the young woman in question, Sheila, opened the terrace door without assistance and disappeared over the parapet while Mr. Fisher was spending half an hour or so with a magazine, at stool.”

“And how were you able to prove that?” Willa asked.

“I offered to deliver Mr. Fisher for a colonoscopy, but your prosecutor declined.”

Willa burst out laughing. “That’s preposterous!”

“Not so much as the allegation against my client.”

“He’s right, Willa,” Dino said. “Listen, I like nailing murderers, but believe me, Herbie is not a murderer.”

“Look, Willa,” Stone said, “if you want to charge Herbie, you go right ahead, but believe me, that decision would turn out to be a major embarrassment for your office, and I know you wouldn’t want that.”

“I might enjoy the trial,” she said.

“So would I,” Stone replied, “because I would be very well paid, and I would win. I don’t think you would find a lot of pleasure in that.”

“You let Mr. Fisher know that my office is keeping an eye on him, and that if he makes a wrong move I will fall on him from a great height.”

“Lieutenant Bacchetti,” Stone said, “will you please note the prejudice toward my client in the deputy district attorney’s words, as well as the threat.”

Dino took his notebook from his pocket and scribbled something in it. “Duly noted,” he said.

“Willa,” Doris said, speaking for the first time, “you’re outnumbered; give up.”

Willa raised her hands. “Okay, okay. However, I am still considering a charge against Mr. Barrington himself.”

“Oh?” Stone asked, laughing. “And what would the charge be?”

“Defacing city property,” Willa said, “to wit, our conference table.”

Stone frowned. “Uh-oh,” he said.

“What?” Doris asked. “Tell me.”

“It was at an office Christmas party a while back,” Willa said. “Or so the story goes. It seems that Mr. Barrington and a highly thought of prosecutor were interrupted by other parties while locked in what might politely be described as sexual congress, on our office’s conference table. I’m told the image of the prosecutor’s bare ass remained imprinted on the table amid a circle of lighted candles, until the cleaners returned after the holiday.”

Doris turned toward Stone. “Well, Mr. Barrington?”

“On advice of counsel,” Stone said, “I must respectfully decline to answer, based on my rights under the Fifth Amendment of the Constitution of the United States of America.”

Everybody laughed.

“So it’s true!” Willa said.

“You may not infer guilt from my refusal to answer,” Stone said.

More laughter. Diners nearby were beginning to take note.

“I can see that I’m going to have to get the details from the prosecutor herself,” Willa said.

“I wouldn’t advise that,” Stone said, “as she is well known for her right cross, and if that isn’t enough, she has four large Irish brothers who are police officers and who take offense at the slightest untoward reference to their sibling.”

Willa threw up her hands. “I give up. The threat of violence will prevent me from ever learning what really happened.”

“It appears you already know,” Dino said.

“Thanks so much, Dino,” Stone said. “Remind me never to call you as a character witness.”

Stone and Willa parted company with Dino and Doris outside the restaurant.

“May I take you home?” Stone asked.

Willa laughed. “I believe there may be a double entendre couched in your question.”

“Then take your pick,” Stone replied.