6 Stone Barrington Novels (173 page)

STONE WAS HAVING BREAKFAST
the following morning when Helene came into the kitchen.

“Good morning, Mr. Stone,” she said.

“Good morning, Helene.”

“That was a terrible business yesterday with that girl.”

“Yes, it was; I'm sorry you had to be involved.”

“She must have been very cold natured,” Helene said.

“How's that?”

“I mean, the house is heated pretty warm, and there was a down comforter on the bed.”

“I'm sorry, Helene, I don't understand.”

“So why would she want to use an electric blanket?”

“Helene, I don't own an electric blanket.”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “You told me to buy one last year, when you had a guest who was cold in that room, remember?”

That stopped Stone in his tracks. “Yes, I think I do, now that you mention it.”

“Well, she had it on, and it was turned all the way up. How do you think she could stand that?”

“I don't know,” Stone said, and his mind was racing. He reached for the phone to call Dino, then stopped. What was his obligation,
here? If the girl had been under an electric blanket after she was murdered, her body would have cooled more slowly, and the ME's estimate of time of death, which would have been based on liver temperature, could have been off by hours. Reporting this fact to the police could tend to incriminate both his client and himself. The phone rang, and Stone picked it up.

“Hello?”

“It's Dino.”

“Good morning.”

“Not really, not for you and your client, anyway.”

Stone's heart sank. “What do you mean?”

“The ME called this morning; when he gave us the time of death yesterday, he didn't know that the girl's body was under an electric blanket. Apparently, one of his techs moved the blanket and didn't remember to tell him until later.”

“Helene told me about the electric blanket just a minute ago. I was about to call you.”

“Yeah, sure you were. We got a whole new ball game here, you know.”

“Well, neither Billy Bob's story nor mine is going to change.”

“Actually, Billy Bob's ass is covered.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. One of my people just talked to Warren Buffett's office; they confirmed that Billy Bob was there in time for a two o'clock meeting yesterday and didn't leave until four. That gives him time to leave your house when he said he did, drive to Teterboro and fly to Omaha in time for his meeting.”

“Good for Billy Bob.”

“Unfortunately, while his ass is covered, yours is not.”

“Oh, come on, Dino.”

“I don't really think you killed the girl, Stone, not even accidentally, but the consensus around here is that you're looking like the
only suspect, and I can't squelch that. You know as well as I do that investigations follow the path of least resistance until some new fact stops them. Right now, the path to you is free and clear and well oiled. You better come up with some new facts.”

Stone was about to reply, when the phone made a noise that indicated someone was at the front door. “Hang on a minute, Dino.” He punched the hold button, then the button for the front door intercom. “Yes?”

“Mr. Barrington, it's Detectives Morton and Weiss; please open the door.”

“I'm buzzing you in,” Stone said. “I'm in the kitchen.” He pressed the button for the buzzer, then went back to Dino. “I'm back.”

“That was Morton and Weiss at your front door, wasn't it?”

“Yes. What do they want?”

Morton and Weiss appeared in the kitchen, and Morton held up a document. “We've got a warrant to search your house,” he said. There were four uniformed officers standing behind them.

“Anything in particular?” Stone asked.

“We'll need the combination to your safe,” Morton said.

“There are two of them; give me a second, and I'll open them for you.” He turned back to the phone. “I guess you know about this.”

“Yeah. Sorry I couldn't tell you sooner. Call me when they're done.”

“Right.” Stone hung up and pressed the intercom button for his secretary's office.

“Yes, Stone?” Joan said.

“The police are here to search the house; open your safe, but lock the filing cabinets containing clients' files.”

“Okay,” she said.

Stone turned back to the two detectives. “My secretary is opening the big safe in her office, but not the clients' files. Those are privileged, and your warrant doesn't cover them.”

“Let's get it done,” Morton said.

“Come upstairs, and I'll open my personal safe in my dressing room.” He led them up to his bedroom and opened the safe. “Help yourself,” he said, standing back.

Morton and Weiss shone a flashlight into the safe and began removing items, beginning with the handguns stored there.

“You have a permit to keep these weapons?” Morton asked. He held up Billy Bob's Colt sixgun.

Stone got out his wallet and handed them his permit. “The serial numbers are listed on the back of the license,” he said, hoping they wouldn't check and find out that the Colt wasn't on his license.

“And you have a license because you're a retired cop?”

“That's right. Retired cops are entitled to them, just as you will be when you retire.”

“I've got cash here,” Weiss said, rummaging in the safe.

“I keep some cash in there,” Stone said. “Never more than a few thousand dollars.”

Weiss was holding a stack of hundred-dollar bills in his rubber-gloved fingers, dropping them into a plastic envelope. “I've got what looks like about five, six thousand dollars, in hundreds.”

“That's what Barnstormer said he gave the girl, isn't it?”

“A coincidence,” Stone said. “There are a lot of fifties, twenties and tens in there, too. I cashed a check for ten thousand dollars a couple of weeks ago; there's at least eight of it in that safe.” He took his personal checkbook from his desk and handed it to Morton.

Morton looked through the register. “Yeah, here it is. Only problem is, it's the last check you wrote.”

“That's why I got the cash—so I wouldn't have to write checks.”

“Still, you could have dated it earlier, couldn't you?”

“Check with my bank; I'll call them for you, if you like.”

“After we've run the bills for prints,” Morton said. “Let's go see the downstairs safe.”

Stone led them downstairs and showed them the safe in Joan's office. “Help yourself. This is my secretary, Joan Robertson, Detectives Morton and Weiss. Oh, Joan cashed the ten-thousand-dollar check for me; she can confirm the date.”

Joan did so, and Morton handed Stone back his checkbook.

“We've got cash in here, too,” Weiss said.

“There are times when we have a fair amount of cash in the safe,” Joan said. “Occasionally, a client prefers to pay in cash.”

“And it's always reported as income,” Stone said.

“I can confirm that,” Joan said. “I get the tax stuff together for the accountant.”

“We're not the IRS.” Weiss bagged the hundreds in the safe and wrote out a receipt.

TWO HOURS LATER,
when the police had gone, Stone called Dino. “Your guys are done,” he said.

“I heard. I heard they found about six grand in hundreds in your upstairs safe, too.”

“And they won't find Billy Bob's fingerprints on them,” Stone said, “and not the girl's either.”

“I hope you're right,” Dino said.

“No, you don't; you're enjoying this.”

“Dinner tonight? We never got around to it last night.”

“See you at nine.”

STONE AND DINO
arrived at Elaine's simultaneously, Stone in a cab and Dino in his umarked police car with driver. They walked in, and the first thing Stone saw was Billy Bob, sitting at Stone's regular table.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath.

“You mean you're not thrilled to see your client?” Dino asked.

“Shut up.”

“Hey, y'all,” Billy Bob said, delighted to see them. “Well, I'm glad I don't have to eat by myself. Y'all have a drink.”

“So, Billy Bob,” Dino said, “did your lawyer tell you you've been eliminated as a suspect in the girl's murder? We checked with Buffett's office, and they confirmed that you were in Omaha.”

“Naw, Stone didn't mention that,” Billy Bob said, looking askance at Stone.

“First time I've seen you,” Stone said.

“Stone isn't off the hook, though,” Dino said. “In fact, he's our prime suspect.”

“Now why would ol' Stone want to kill Tiffany? You wouldn't do that, would you, Stone?”

Stone sipped his bourbon and ignored the question.

“Well, what we look for in a suspect,” Dino said, “is motive, means and opportunity. Stone had the means—his hands—and the
opportunity—he was alone in the house with the girl all day—and as for motive, well, two out of three is often enough for a jury.”

Stone ended his silence. “Dino forgot to mention that he needs physical evidence or an eyewitness,” Stone said. “And, of course, he has neither.”

“No, no physical evidence, though we did find his fingerprints on her throat.”

“I felt her throat for a pulse,” Stone said to Billy Bob.

“And the DNA from the sperm inside her,” Dino added.

“Whose DNA?” Stone asked.

“His,” Dino said, pointing at Billy Bob.

“He told you he had sex with her before leaving for Omaha,” Stone pointed out.

“And that room was completely wiped clean of prints,” Dino said.

“And why would either Billy Bob or I bother to do that? It's my house—perfectly normal for my prints to be found there, and Billy Bob was a guest, living in that room. Normal for his prints to be there, too. Would I bother to do that in my own house?”

“Right,” Billy Bob said.

“Dino,” Stone said, “has it occurred to you that the murderer took his time? He wasn't in a rush, what with wiping down the room and putting an electric blanket over the body.”

“That's kinda weird, ain't it?” Billy Bob asked. “Why would somebody want to keep her warm?”

“To screw up our estimate of when she was murdered,” Dino said. “For instance, if you had killed her before you left for Omaha that morning, the blanket would have made it seem that she died much later, because the body wouldn't have cooled as quickly. What have you got to say about that, Billy Bob?”

“Don't answer that,” Stone said.

“Oh, we're completely off the record here,” Dino said, smiling.

“Don't say a word, Billy Bob.”

Billy Bob was looking worried, now.

“So, Dino, what's the ME's new stab at time of death, now that he knows about the electric blanket?”

“Earlier than before,” Dino said.

“Earlier? That's it? No ballpark?”

“Turns out the ME has never had a case where somebody tried to keep a body warm with an electric blanket,” Dino said. “He's working on it, though, doing some tests.”

“What kind of tests?” Stone asked. “Is he going to strangle somebody, then put a blanket over the body and take its temperature every ten minutes?”

“Something like that,” Dino said, “except for the strangling part. He'll nail it down; don't worry.” Dino excused himself and went into the men's room.

“Billy Bob,” Stone said, “the police turned up at my house this morning with a search warrant, and they found your gun in my safe.”

Billy Bob grinned. “Good thing I didn't
shoot
that girl.”

“Don't even joke about it,” Stone said, “and be careful what you say around Dino. Don't forget, he's the police.”

“But Dino's your buddy, right?”

“Right, but he's still a cop. He's not going to let either of us off the hook, unless he has to, and if the medical examiner comes up with a supportable estimate of time of death that includes the time before you left for Omaha, then Dino is going to come calling on you. And by the way, the next time you leave town, come get that cannon of yours. My secretary will give it to you. It's a good thing Dino's detectives didn't check the serial number against my license, or we'd have both been in trouble.”

Dino came back from the men's room and began rummaging in his overcoat pockets. He came up with a clear plastic bag full of hundred-dollar bills and tossed it on the table. “Almost forgot,” he
said. “You can have your money back. We didn't find Billy Bob's or the girl's prints on any of it.”

Before Stone could remove the money, Elaine came and sat down. “Hey,” she said, “you're getting to be a pretty good tipper.”

Stone stuffed the money into his own overcoat. “I've always been a good tipper,” he said, “but not
that
good.”

“Strangled anybody else lately?” she asked Stone.

“Stop it, you're worse than Dino.”

“I think a woman did it,” Elaine said.

“How come?” Dino asked.

“Stands to reason, doesn't it? Some woman Stone dumped probably did it.”

Dino nodded. “Women are born killers, like cats. Who've you dumped lately, Stone?”

“I haven't dumped anybody; I
get
dumped, not the other way around.”

“That's true,” Dino said, nodding vigorously. “Stone gets dumped a lot.”

“Well, not a
lot,
” Stone said, “but once in a while.”

“More than that,” Dino said.

“Just once in a while.”

“Okay, who're you seeing at the moment?”

“The U.S. Attorney,” Elaine said, “but she hasn't had time to dump him, yet.”

“Why don't you two just get dumping off your minds?” Stone asked.

“What's-her-name dumped him,” Dino said. “You know, the one that married the billionaire from Palm Beach.”

“Right,” Elaine said. “And there was Arrington, she dumped him. You know, Dino, Stone
does
get dumped a lot.

“Let's order dinner,” Stone said, picking up a menu.

“About time,” Elaine said, getting up and wandering over to another table.

AFTER DINNER,
Billy Bob grabbed the check, tossed a wad of two-dollar bills on the table and stood up. “Y'all got to excuse me,” he said. “Got a late date.” He put on his coat and left.

“More two-dollar bills,” Dino said, poking at them with a finger. “Where does he get them?”

“I have no idea,” Stone said, “but there never seems to be a shortage.” He took a bill from the pile, stuck it in his pocket and replaced it with a pair of ones. “Souvenir,” he said.

“Oh,” Dino said, digging into his coat pocket. “I meant to give Billy Bob back Warren Buffett's card.” He handed it to Stone. “You can give it to him next time you consult with him.”

Stone glanced at the card and put it in his pocket. “Will do.”