New York Dead (28 page)

“What am I going to hear?” he asked.

She ignored his question; her brow was furrowed. “There’s something I never told you,” she said. “I should have told you a long time ago.” She seemed to be wrestling with whether to tell him now.

“What is it?”

She looked at the floor. “Barron wasn’t on that airplane from Rome.”

Stone stared at her. “But Dino saw him…”

She looked up at him, then slipped through the door. “Dino didn’t do his job,” she said, then closed the door behind her, leaving him alone in the room.

Stone went to the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face, his mind racing. Then he rejoined the crowd and found Dino, who was making his way out of the party with Mary Ann. He could see the car outside, festooned with tin cans and old shoes.

“Dino, when you went to the airport to meet Barron Hark-ness’s plane, did you actually see him get off?”

“Stone, c’mon, okay?” He kissed an old lady on the lips.

Stone managed to stay alongside him. “You didn’t actually
see
him, did you?”

“I checked the manifest, all right? Hey, Cheech, how you doin’?”

Stone bodily prevented a fat woman from squeezing between them. “Dino, you didn’t
see
him.”

“Stone, I’m leaving on my honeymoon; gimme a major fucking break, will you?”

Stone stopped moving, and the crowd surged past him. He watched Dino carried along by the crowd to the car, then he was driving away, waving.

Chapter

43

L
ate in the evening, as Stone was drifting off to sleep, the telephone rang. He fumbled for it. “Hello?”

“Mr. Barrington?” The voice was vaguely familiar.

“Yes?”

“This is Herbert Van Fleet.”

Stone looked at the clock. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath. “What is it?”

“I know I must have awakened you. I’m very sorry.”

“What do you want, Mr. Van Fleet?”

“I want to retain you.”

“Retain me?”

“I understand that you are practicing law now.”

“Yes, that’s right, but why do we need to talk about this at eleven o’clock on a Sunday night? Can you call my office number tomorrow morning?”

“I’m afraid it’s more urgent than that. I’ve been arrested.”

Stone sighed and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “What were you arrested for, Mr. Van Fleet?”

“Please call me Herb.”

Annoyed. “What were you arrested for,
Herb?
”

“They’re calling it attempted rape. They want to arraign me in a couple of hours, in night court.”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m in a place called the Tombs. They let me make this one call.”

“You’re going to need to raise bail, Herb. Can you lay your hands on some money?”

“How much money?”

“I should think that, with no previous arrests, the judge might want as much as twenty-five thousand dollars in cash, or you can put up ten percent and some property to a bail bondsman. You won’t get the ten percent back.”

“I’ve got about forty thousand dollars in a money market account,” Van Fleet said.

“That should do it,” Stone said. “All right, Herb, I’ll represent you at the arraignment. My fee for that will be a thousand dollars. If you want me to represent you after that, we can talk about a further retainer.”

“All right, that’s acceptable.”

“I’ll meet you at night court.” Stone hung up, oddly elated. Herbert Van Fleet was a strange person, but this was the first time somebody had asked Stone to represent him, his first client outside Woodman & Weld. It promised to be a fairly lucrative representation too. He began to get dressed.

Night court was a zoo. Every prostitute, vagrant, and petty criminal arrested during the past few hours would be arraigned there, and the crowd was colorful and noisy. From
the back of the huge courtroom, Stone could barely hear the judge, who was shouting.

Stone counted. Standing before the bench, looking at the floor and shifting their weight from one foot to the other, were twenty-four Chinese men, all neatly dressed in business suits. He took a seat down front and listened, curious. The men had been gambling in the basement of a restaurant in Chinatown, only a few blocks away, and an old lady next door had turned them in. Their Anglo lawyer, in unctuous tones, was explaining to the somewhat amused judge that his clients were all respected members of the community, businessmen out for an evening of diversion. They were not criminals, not really, and were very sorry to have disturbed the old woman’s sleep. The judge released the men on their own recognizance.

Stone got up, introduced himself to the bailiff at the door to the holding cells, and, shortly, Herbert Van Fleet appeared, in handcuffs. Stone sat him down in one of the little rooms set aside for consultation with attorneys. “All right, Herb, tell me exactly what happened.”

Van Fleet sighed. “I was at the Tribeca Grill, having a drink, and I got to talking to this girl. I offered her a ride home—she said she lived in the West Village—and, on the way, we were getting sort of friendly, and—”

“Exactly what do you mean by ‘getting sort of friendly’?”

“We were holding hands, and she was sitting close to me. We stopped at a traffic light on Sixth Avenue, and we kissed.”

“Did you put your hands between her legs or on her breasts?”

“Yes, on her breasts, and she seemed to like that. It was when I put my hand down the front of her dress that she became difficult.”

“Difficult?”

“She started screaming at me. I didn’t realize how drunk
she was until that moment. She started to get out of the van, and I tried to persuade her to calm down, and then she started screaming for help.”

“Were you fighting?”

“I had hold of her wrists and was talking to her, trying to get her to calm down, when a police car pulled up alongside us at the light, and she jumped out of the van and started screaming hysterically about how I had tried to rape her.”

“Did you ever get your hand on her breast—inside her dress, I mean?”

“Yes, but just for a minute.”

“Herbert, is that all that happened? Is there any more? I have to know if I’m going to be able to give you a proper defense.”

“I swear to you, that was all there was to it. If the police car hadn’t just happened to show up, it would have been all over in a minute. She would either have calmed down, or she would have gotten out of the van. This whole thing about attempted rape is completely crazy. Oh, I forgot, the policemen gave me a breath test—made me blow up one of those balloons.”

“Did they indicate what the results were?”

“No, I asked them, but they didn’t answer.”

“Did they give the girl the same test?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t see them do that. They put me in the back of the police car while they were talking to her and calming her down.”

“All right, you go with the officer back to the holding cell, and, when they bring you before the bench, I’ll be waiting for you.”

Van Fleet stuck out his hand. “Thank you for coming, Stone; I really appreciate this. I didn’t want to get my mother involved, you know?”

“I know, Herb. Maybe we can deal with this without her knowing about it; we’ll see.”

*  *  *

When the charges were read against Herbert Van Fleet, Stone pointed out to the judge that Van Fleet had no record of arrests or of criminal activity, that he was gainfully employed in a supervisory position, and that he was a responsible member of the community. He mentioned also that the woman making the complaint was unharmed, unless she had a hangover, and that there were no witnesses to support her complaint. He asked that Van Fleet be released on his own recognizance. The judge thought for about three seconds, then set bail at ten thousand dollars and ordered the release of Van Fleet’s vehicle. An hour later, Stone and Van Fleet met in front of the courthouse, and Van Fleet thanked him profusely.

“What happens next?” Van Fleet asked.

“If you want me to represent you, what I’ll do first is to try to prevent the case going to trial. The district attorney might offer us a deal, but I don’t think we’d take it. If what you’ve told me is the truth, and there were no witnesses to any of this, then it’s your word against the girl’s. In fact, it sounds to me as though the police officers should have dealt with this on the spot, just put the girl in a cab and sent her home, then lectured you and let you go.”

“I’d like you to represent me,” Van Fleet said.

“All right; my fee will be ten thousand dollars, including tonight’s court appearance—that’s if I can negotiate this without a trial. If we have to go to trial, I’ll represent you on the basis of two hundred dollars an hour, with a guaranteed minimum of twenty-five thousand dollars, which will include any previous pretrial negotiations. And my fee will be payable in advance, as is customary with criminal cases.”

Van Fleet thought for a moment.

“Of course, I’m sure you can find another lawyer who will do it for less, and you’re free to retain anyone you wish.
At the moment, all you owe me is a thousand dollars.” Stone watched the man think. He didn’t mention that he knew of the altercation outside Elaine’s some months before, and he thought that Van Fleet might be guiltier than he was admitting.

“All right, that’s acceptable,” Van Fleet said finally. “I’ll give you a check for ten thousand dollars right now.”

Stone nodded and watched while Van Fleet wrote the check. They shook hands. “I’ll call you as soon as I find out which assistant DA your case has been assigned to, and after I’ve had a chance to talk to him.”

“Good night, then, and thank you again for coming down here and getting me out.”

Stone watched the man walk to his van and drive away, then he caught a cab uptown.

Later in the week, Stone visited the offices of the district attorney and found the assistant DA assigned to Van Fleet’s case. She was a rather plain young woman named Mendel. She offered him the other chair in her tiny cubicle, then flipped quickly through the file.

“Your client is a potentially dangerous man, Mr. Barrington,” she said. “If the police had not arrived on the scene, chances are this young woman would have been raped.”

“Come on, at a traffic light?” Stone said derisively. “This was nothing more than a quick grope, and the girl encouraged it.”

She glanced at the file again. “Your client had been drinking.”

“But he wasn’t even over the limit for driving, was he?” Stone asked, taking a stab. “And what was the girl’s blood-alcohol content?”

Mendel snapped the file shut. “I can’t discuss that.”

“Come on, Ms. Mendel, the police didn’t even test her, did they? How is that going to look in court?”

“I might be able to reduce to simple battery,” she said. “Your client, as a first offender, wouldn’t do any time. I’d recommend counseling and community service.”

“How long have you been on the job?” Stone asked.

“That’s not relevant to this discussion,” she replied primly.

“As little time as that, huh?” She had probably been a member of the bar longer than he had, but she didn’t know that. “Look, if this went to trial, I’d blow you right out of the water. In fact, I could insist on going down the hall to the chief prosecutor right now and get this one tossed, but that would embarrass you and take up my time. Please don’t think I’m patronizing you, but I want to give you some advice. The traffic is too heavy in this office to give your time to anything but cases you have a real chance of winning. This one is a nonstarter, and we both know it. Why don’t you just drop charges now—you have that authority—and let’s save ourselves for something worth going to trial on?” He smiled.

“Oh, shit, all right,” she said, tossing the file on her desk. “But I’m going to take it out of your ass when I do get you into court.” She smiled seductively.

Stone thanked her and fled the premises. Back in his new office, with Helen typing in the reception room, he called Van Fleet and gave him the news.

“Oh, thank you so very much,” Van Fleet breathed into the phone. “I can’t tell you what a load off my mind this is.”

“Glad to be of help, Herb,” Stone said, “but let me give you some advice. Stop picking up girls in bars. This was a close call, and, if you keep it up, you’re going to get in trouble. I don’t want to see that happen.”

“Don’t worry, Stone,” Van Fleet said. “You won’t have to defend me again.”

Stone hung up and reflected on what an easy ten thousand dollars he had made.

Helen came into his office. “A Ms. Hilliard called while you were on the phone. She dictated this message to me.”

Stone read the message:

Please meet me in the lobby of the Algonquin Hotel at four o’clock this afternoon. Don’t disappoint me.

Stone felt an involuntary stirring in his crotch. The hell with her, he thought; he wouldn’t do it.

Chapter

44

S
tone arrived at the Algonquin at four on the dot. The Japanese had bought the hotel, as they had seemed to buy nearly everything else, and had restored the lobby. It was beautiful, he thought, gazing at the polished oak paneling and the new fabrics. He looked around for Cary; she had not yet arrived. He snagged the headwaiter and was given a table. He ordered a drink and waited.

Five minutes later, a bellman walked among the tables calling, “Mr. Barrington, message for Mr. Barrington!”

Stone accepted an envelope and tipped the man. It was a hotel envelope, and inside was a plastic card with a lot of holes punched in it. A number had been written on it with a marking pen. He paid for his drink and walked to the elevator. Sweat was beginning to seep from his armpits and crotch, and he was breathing a little faster than he normally did.

The room was at the end of the hall. He inserted the card in a slot, there was an audible click, and the door opened into a nicely furnished sitting room. The door to the bedroom was closed, and he opened it, letting a shaft of light into the darkened room. He closed the door behind him and took off his overcoat. There was a slit of light from under the bathroom door and the sound of water running. Breathing harder now, Stone began ridding himself of his clothes.