New York Dead (34 page)

Stone nodded. He watched as Harkness sat down and had a microphone clipped to his lapel. Hi Barker was flitting about, putting his guests at ease; Cary was given a folding chair just out of camera range. The whole group was no more than twelve feet from where Stone stood. “You’re sure they can’t see us?” he asked the director.

“Not a chance,” Jimmy replied. “I checked it out earlier.”

Two other people, a man and a young woman, came into the control room now and took seats on either side of Jimmy, paying no attention to Stone and Dino. “Ten minutes,” the woman said, looking up at a clock above the row of monitors.

Stone watched the monitors as cameras were pointed at Barker and Harkness. For a moment, a camera rested on Cary, sending Stone a pang of desire. She looked beautiful and serene in her mink coat.

“One minute,” the young woman said, jostling Stone from his reverie. He had been fantasizing about life after Barron Harkness.

“Ten seconds,” she said, then counted down from five. Jimmy pushed a button, and lively music filled the control room.

The man next to Jimmy leaned into a microphone. “From the executive studios of the Continental Network, high above Manhattan, we bring you the premiere of
The Hi Barker Show
.”

A camera moved in on Hi Barker. “Good evening,” he said amiably. “We’re off to a flying start with this new series. Our aim is to bring you guests who don’t often appear on programs like this one, and our guest tonight is one who, although he appears on television five nights a week, rarely talks about himself. I welcome my old friend, Barron Harkness. Good evening, Barron.”

“Good evening, Hi,” Harkness said, managing a smile. “I’m glad to be here…I think. It’s been a long time since I let myself in for the sort of grilling I ordinarily hand out to others, and I’m not sure I’m looking forward to the experience.”

Barker laughed. “You’re not trying to get my sympathy, are you, Barron? I think you know how to take care of yourself in a clinch.”

Smart, Stone thought. Set him up as somebody who can’t be sandbagged on television, then sandbag him. He watched as Barker skillfully put Harkness over the jumps, starting with his early career, and occasionally interjecting a sharp, almost rude question about the newsman’s behavior on some occasion. Harkness fenced well, and he was beginning to relax. Twenty-five minutes of the program passed in this vein, with Barker increasingly pressing Harkness for his personal views on politicians and events. Then Barker paused and sorted through his notes for a moment.

Now we begin, Stone thought. He leaned forward and grasped the railing in front of him.

“Barron,” Barker began, “I know you were as shocked as we all were at the disappearance and probable death of Sasha Nijinsky, who was to have been your co-anchor on the evening news.”

“Yes, I certainly was,” Harkness said, looking a little uncomfortable. He crossed his legs and tugged at the knot of his necktie. “A horrible and tragic event.”

“You were…elsewhere at the time all this happened, I believe.”

That’s right, Stone thought, let him set his own trap.

“Yes, I was. I had been reporting from the Middle East. Not for the first time, I might add—more like the twentieth—and I was returning to New York on a flight from Rome.”

“I see,” Barker said, looking regretful. “I’m extremely sorry to hear you say that, Barron; I had hoped for a little more candor on this subject.”

Harkness looked alarmed. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, as if he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Dino laughed aloud. “Sure, sure, Harkness; go ahead and paint yourself into the corner.”

Barker shook his head. “Barron, in light of information that has come into my possession, I should warn you now to abandon this pretense.”

“What pretense?” Harkness asked weakly. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Barron, I have it on the authority of an unimpeachable source that you were not on the flight from Rome that day, that your ticket was used by another person. Tell us, now, Barron, where were you when Sasha Nijinsky was thrown from her balcony?”

Harkness said nothing for a moment, clearly stunned; then his eyes narrowed and he sat up straight.

Stone was reminded of a contentious interview with Richard Nixon many years before, when Harkness had gotten angry with good effect. What was he up to?

“Let me tell you something, Hi,” Harkness said, with tightly controlled ire. “I don’t know who has misinformed you, but I have made that particular flight from Rome six times in the past twelve months, and I’ve gotten to know some of the crew. When that airplane landed at Kennedy, I was sitting in the cockpit jump seat, watching the captain execute an instrument approach. His name is Bob Martinez, he’s a senior captain with the airline, and he will vouch for my presence in his cockpit during that flight.” Harkness took
a breath. “What’s more, I was traveling on that occasion in the company of Herman Bateman, the president of Continental Network News, and
he
will vouch for my presence on that flight. Now, do you have any other questions?”

Dino leaned forward and looked at Stone. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Shhh,” Stone said. He took a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to the director. “Please get this to Hi at once.”

Jimmy nodded and handed it to the young woman. “Just walk out on camera, and hand it to him.”

The woman left as Hi Barker continued his questioning.

“Yes, I do have another question, Barron,” Barker said, not intimidated. “A police source has informed me that when detectives went through Sasha Nijinsky’s financial records, it was discovered that a sum of two million dollars was missing from her funds. Another source has now told me that Sasha had transferred those funds to you for investment, and that they have not been seen since, that you have been unable to return these funds. Would you care to comment on that?”

“I certainly would,” Harkness said, not missing a beat. “It is true that Sasha asked me to invest such a sum for her; she had considerable faith in my financial judgment. In January of last year, she gave me a cashier’s check for two million dollars made payable to an offshore bank with which I sometimes invest. In the autumn of last year, she asked me to withdraw her cash in the investment, so that she could purchase a cooperative apartment. I did, in fact, receive into my account on the day Sasha disappeared the full amount of her investment, plus a considerable profit. The following day, not knowing of Sasha’s whereabouts or condition, I personally delivered a cashier’s check in the amount of two million, four hundred and thirty-nine thousand dollars to Mr. Frank Woodman, Sasha’s personal attorney.”

Before Harkness had finished speaking, Stone was dialing Frank Woodman’s home number.

“Hello?”

“Frank, it’s Stone; I must be brief—are you watching
The Hi Barker Show
, by any chance?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

“Is what Harkness just said true? Did he deliver those funds to you?”

“Yes, he did. They were disbursed as a part of Sasha’s estate.”

“Thanks.” He hung up and watched as the young woman walked onto the set and handed Barker the unfolded sheet of paper. Last chance.

Barker read the paper, and his eyebrows shot up. “Barron,” he said, “I have just received a news bulletin, and I wonder if you would like to modify any of your statements in the light of this.” He read from the paper. “The New York City Police Department has just announced that Sasha Nijinsky has been found in a downtown Manhattan loft, alive and well.’ That’s all it says. What is your response?”

Barron Harkness smiled. “Why, that’s wonderful news! Is there anything about where she’s been?”

“No, but clearly Sasha will now be able to identify the person who threw her from that balcony to the street.”

Stone missed Harkness’s response to this, because his attention had been caught by a movement near the set. Cary Hilliard had stood up. Her eyes as wide as those of a frightened deer, she stood still for a moment, then walked quickly across the set, directly in front of the cameras. Barker and Harkness, distracted by the movement, both turned and watched her. The director pushed a button, and the show’s theme music came up again.

The announcer spoke up. “This has been the first
Hi Barker Show.
Tune in next Sunday night when Hi’s guest will be…”

Stone burst out of the control room and ran for the elevators. Cary was banging on the button as he approached, and, when she saw him, she bolted.

“Cary!” he shouted down the length of the hallway. “Stop! Wait!”

She ducked down another corridor, out of his sight. He followed and was met with an expanse of closed doors. He began trying them.

A dozen doors down the hall, one was unlocked. He opened it and heard the clang of footsteps on fire stairs. He stopped for a moment and leaned against the wall. The memory of another set of steel stairs in another building flooded back to him. Now he knew whose footsteps those had been.

He started down, only to realize that the sound of footsteps was coming from above. He reversed his direction and followed the sound.

One floor up, the exit door stood open, and he found himself on a gravel roof. A gust of wind nearly knocked him off his feet. He grabbed at a ventilator pipe and held on. The view was all the more spectacular because there was nothing between him and the lights of the city but blustery air. Twenty feet away, only the modern building’s low railing separated him from the lights. He looked around and saw a flash of mink coat disappear behind an air-conditioning unit. He followed.

He came around the unit, and she stood perhaps thirty feet from him, her feet spread in something like a fighting stance, leaning against the wind. She was no more than six feet from the low railing. Stone began walking toward her.

“Stop, Stone,” she said. “Stop right there, or I’ll jump.”

He stopped, but he had already covered twenty feet; only ten separated them.

“You made me believe you were protecting him, but all along you were protecting yourself, weren’t you? Right from
the very beginning,” he shouted over the wind.

“No,” she said.

“You wanted to be with me so you would know what I knew about Sasha’s case, that’s all.”

“No, Stone,” she said. “I loved you from the start. I love you now, believe me. Get me out of this, and I’m yours. Barron can go to hell. Just get me out of this, and I’ll make your life wonderful. Really, I will.”

“You were sleeping with Sasha, weren’t you?”

“Yes, but it meant nothing. It was just another erotic experience, don’t you see?”

It was coming together for him now. “You were fucking Sasha, and so was Harkness. Harkness wanted her, not you, didn’t he?”

“We were all fucking each other, sometimes all at once,” she said. “She wanted him—not because she loved him, but because she could destroy him if she was married to him. She only wanted to cut off his balls, and then the evening news would have been all hers.”

“And you, what did you want?” He edged a little closer.

She backed up a couple of steps. The edge was nearer now. The wind was gusting, and she leaned into it for a moment. “Well, you were useless, weren’t you?” She spat. “You wouldn’t free yourself of that dead-end job, so that you could get ahead. Barron was simply the best alternative. I didn’t love him, though; I loved you. Why do you think I kept seeing you?”

“You didn’t love me any more than you loved Barron or Sasha, Cary.” He stepped closer; he could grab her now. He put a foot forward but kept his weight on the rear one. He reached out and snaked a hand around her waist.

There was a howl from behind him, and the wind struck his back. Involuntarily, his weight shifted onto the forward foot, and then to the toe. He let go of Cary. Slowly waving his arms for balance, he fell toward her, still pushed by the
wind. Cary stepped instinctively back from him, and her calf struck the railing. In desperation, she reached out and grabbed at his coat lapel. Then they both toppled over the railing, out into the night. Sixty-five stories of thin air welcomed them.

Stone stopped short; something had his ankle. He ignored it, watched Cary slip from him and fall, facing him, revealed by flashes from lighted windows, all the way down until she struck the top of what looked like a Yellow cab.

Chunks of gravel were spilling from the top of the building now, falling past Stone to the street. Whoever had him was slipping over the side with him. He’ll let go, Stone thought, and I’ll join her. Then he stopped moving.

There was a chorus of grunts and muffled shouts from above, and, inch by inch, he was hauled back to the top of the building, scraping his shin quite badly. When he was back on top, lying with his cheek pressed gratefully to the gravel, he could see Dino hanging on to his ankle, and Barron Harkness and Hi Barker hanging on to Dino. They let go of each other reluctantly.

Stone crawled over to a ventilator and sat down with his back to it. “Thanks, Dino,” he was finally able to say. “You did it again.”

“And it’s the first time you ever thanked me for it,” Dino puffed.

“I don’t believe any of this,” Hi Barker said to nobody in particular. “But it’s going to make one hell of a story.”

Only Barron Harkness seemed to give a thought to Cary. “She’s gone,” he said absently. “My wife is gone.”

Dino was the first to answer him. “Get used to it, pal.” He snorted. “She’s New York Dead.”

Chapter

52

S
tone sat with his client and watched the jury file back into the courtroom. He had a sinking feeling about this. He didn’t like his client much, and he wasn’t sure the man was innocent. He was afraid the jury didn’t share his indecision.

“Has the jury reached a verdict?” Judge O’Neal asked.

Stone thought she was looking particularly attractive today, as much as she could in judicial robes.

The foreman stood. “We have, Your Honor,” he replied. “The foreman will hand the verdict to the clerk.”