Paris Match (17 page)

“What a wonderful invitation. I’ll call the Hay-Adams and book a suite.”

“The town will be sold out that night—you’re staying with us. How’s the Lincoln Bedroom?”

“If you’re sure Abe won’t mind.”

“Believe me, he won’t. Is Holly there?”

“She’s at the Agency station at the embassy, if you want to reach her.”

“No, just tell her I send my love.”

“Will do.”

“I’ll let you go. Your interview must be soon.”

“Momentarily.”

“Until election night,” Kate said, then hung up.

Stone glanced at his watch, then found the room service menu and ordered a sumptuous dinner for two. Then the doorbell rang.

He answered it to find the Washington bureau chief for the
New York Times
, clad in a clinging black dress that revealed an enticing amount of décolletage.

“Good evening, Mr. Barrington,” she said.

He ushered her in. “Good evening, Ms. Fontana, and I hope that will be the last time we use that form of address.”

“Agreed.”

“May I get you something to drink? I have a very nice bottle of Krug on ice.”

“That would be perfect.” She strolled around the suite’s living room and had a peek into the bedroom while he opened the bottle. “This is very impressive,” she said. “Do you live this well in all hotels?”

“Just Arringtons,” he replied, handing her a fizzing flute.

“That’s right, you have a business connection, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“I’m afraid I won’t be here for the grand opening. I have to fly back to New York tomorrow morning.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, then breathed a sigh of relief that she and Holly wouldn’t be in the same room for the event. “Please have a seat.”

She arranged herself becomingly on the sofa and took a sip of her Krug. “Very nice,” she said. “I’ll enjoy it more after our interview. Why don’t we get that out of the way?”

“As you wish.”

She removed a small recording device and set it on the sofa table behind them, equidistant from their lips. “Now, background?”

“Born and raised in Greenwich Village, attended P.S. Six, NYU, and NYU Law School.”

“How did you get sidetracked into the NYPD?”

“As part of a law school program I rode with a squad car for a few days, and the bug bit. I took the exam, passed, and entered the Academy right after graduation.”

“Without taking the bar?”

“After my ride with the NYPD I couldn’t imagine ever practicing law. I thought I would be a career police officer.”

“And that’s where you met our beloved police commissioner?”

“We both made detective in the same class and our captain put us together. We were partners until I left the force ten years later.”

“I haven’t been able to get the straight story on why you left the NYPD. The official word was a knee injury?”

“That was a convenience for the department. I had made an irritant of myself on a case Dino and I were working, and
when I opposed my superiors’ views, it became clear I had no future in the department. A police doctor made it official, and I was unceremoniously retired.”

“With a seventy-five percent pension, tax-free?”

“That is the reward for being invalided out for a line-of-duty injury. Mine was a gunshot to the knee, from which I had pretty well recovered.”

“So you were at loose ends, then?”

“I was doing a renovation job on the town house a great-aunt, my grandmother’s sister, had willed to me, so that kept me busy, but I was getting deeper into debt, and my pension wasn’t enough. Then I ran into an old classmate from law school…”

“That would be William Eggers, managing partner of Woodman & Weld?”

“Correct. Bill suggested that if I would take a cram course for the bar and pass, then he could find some work for me. I did, and I became ‘of counsel’ to Woodman & Weld.”

“What does that mean?”

“Let’s go off the record here. In my case, it meant that I was assigned the cases that Woodman & Weld didn’t want to deal with and wanted to go away.”

“Such as?”

“Such as a client’s son who was accused of date rape, a client’s wife who while driving intoxicated struck another car and injured someone, or, perhaps hiring a private investigator to help on a difficult divorce. I stress that all these cases are hypothetical.”

“I see, and that’s how you got something of a reputation as a fixer?”

“All lawyers are fixers—some do it in court, some at the negotiation table, some in other ways.”

“And how did you come to have such a reputation with women?”

“I beg your pardon? What kind of reputation are we talking about?”

“A swordsman’s reputation, to put it politely. My researcher was able to connect you to more than a dozen women, among them Ann Keaton, a deputy campaign manager for Kate Lee.”

“I’ve spent most of my adult life as a single man,” Stone said, “and I have never had any inclination toward celibacy.”

She smiled. “An excellent answer. May we talk about how you became a father?”

“Not on the record. My son doesn’t need to be reading about that. Perhaps later, off the record and when your recorder isn’t operating.”

The doorbell rang. “That must be our dinner. I took the liberty of ordering for you.”

“Thank you. We can finish our discussion later.”

Stone let the waiter in, who set the table and lit the candles.

“Come,” Stone said, taking her hand. “Don’t let it get cold.”

“Nothing will get cold,” she said, “I assure you.”

  
  
39

T
hey began with fresh foie gras, then transitioned to a duck, and another bottle of the Krug was uncorked along the way. Dessert was crème brûlée, and then they were on espresso, which they had on the sofa.

They went back on the record.

“How did you become involved with the Arrington hotels?”

“I had married, and, as I’m sure your researcher has noted, my wife was murdered by a former lover. She was the widow of the actor Vance Calder, and inherited his estate, which included a large plot of land in Bel-Air, Los Angeles. The site seemed ideal for a fine hotel, a corporation was formed and funded, and we opened last year. Then Marcel duBois, whose name I’m sure you know…”

“France’s Warren Buffett?”

“I’ve heard him described as such. Marcel contacted me, looking to buy the Bel-Air property, but instead, we went into business together. He already owned the Paris property, which underwent a complete renovation, the result of which you’ve seen tonight. I came over for the opening.”

“My sources tell me that your life has been in danger while you’re in Paris.”

“I’m afraid I can’t discuss that for fear of making things worse.”

“All right. How did you and Will and Kate Lee become friends?”

“I was able to be helpful to them on a couple of occasions, and we got along very well. They stayed at the Bel-Air Arrington during the convention last summer.”

“And I hear that you were involved in the nominating process?”

“Only in a peripheral way.”

“More than one of my sources tell me that you and Ed Eagle were instrumental in Kate’s winning the nomination.”

“That is a great exaggeration. Please see that I don’t get any credit for it in your article.”

“As you wish.” She switched off her recorder. “And now I must go. I have a nine o’clock flight in the morning, and I have to get up very early to make it.” She stood.

Stone stood with her and walked her to the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you,” he said.

“I come to New York now and then, for work. Perhaps I’ll see you there.” She handed him her business card.

“I’ll look forward to it,” Stone replied, and gave her his own card.

She slipped out the door and was gone.

—

HE SLEPT
until late morning, then had lunch in the suite, then he turned to his e-mail. He found Carla’s column among his e-mails, and she had treated him kindly. He scanned the other messages and found one labeled “Axelrod.” He opened it and read:

This will be my last blog. I am deeply humiliated by the furor caused by my column about Katharine Lee
,
and as a result
,
I have decided to discontinue my blog and end my life. One parting note
:
I
’
ve done some digging into
the origins of the story
:
my source
,
as it turns out
,
is a lover of Gordon Glenn
,
a highly placed member of Henry
“
Honk
”
Carson
’
s campaign
,
whose marriage is ending. I think you may draw your own conclusions.

Howard Axelrod

—

STONE’S
cell phone began ringing. “Hello?”

“It’s Ann. Have you heard?”

“Heard what?”

She read him the Axelrod blog. “It made the
Times
this morning. Can you believe it?”

“I suppose I have to believe it.”

“Gordon Glenn’s life will be hell for a few days,” she said, “and he deserves it. It’s only six
A.M.
here, but I expect that by nine there’ll be a statement from Honk, deploring Glenn’s actions and accepting his resignation.”

“Have you talked to Kate? Does she know about it?”

“She doesn’t get up until seven, and by then it will be all over the morning TV shows, and I’ll be releasing a statement saying that she will have no further comment.”

“You think this is the end of it, then?”

“How could it not be?”

“You think Axelrod will really kill himself?”

“I think he meant that he was ending Axelrod’s life, not his own.”

“That makes a lot of sense.”

“By the way, Carla Fontana’s column about you in the same edition was highly favorable.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“I’ve gotta run, but I wanted you to know about the column. I wish I knew who Axelrod was.”

Stone hung up. He thought he knew.

  
  
40

S
hortly after he had received Carla’s and Axelrod’s columns, Stone’s cell phone rang. “Hello?”

“It’s Rick.”

“Where the hell have you been? You missed a good dinner with Lance.”

“In Berlin, talking to people at our station.”

“Lance hasn’t said a word about the newly wrecked van.”

“He’s too happy with the story in the French papers to think about anything else.”

“Has anyone heard anything from Jacques Chance?”

“He’s gone to ground. My journalist friends tell me they haven’t been able to get any comment from him, his sister, his father, or the police.”

“I can understand why,” Stone said. “What do you think of Lance’s theory that Jacques is behind the attempts on me?”

“I think it’s insane, but probably true.”

“Do you think his being exposed will put a stop to the attempts on me?”

“Don’t count on it—the people he was acting for are still there and in business. Have you made any arrangements for getting out of town after the shindig at l’Arrington?”

“Not yet, but I will. Will you give Holly a message for me?”

“She’s right here—deliver it yourself.”

“Good morning,” she said.

“Afternoon.”

“If you say so.”

“I just wanted to tell you, the coast is clear.”

“When did it clear?”

“Not too late last night,” he lied. “She had an early flight to New York.”

“Have you heard about the Howard Axelrod blog?”

“Yes, somebody in New York read it to me.”

“And Fontana’s column?”

“I hear it’s favorable.”

“You must have been a good interview.”

“I did my best.”

“And your best, as we all know, is pretty good.”

“Aren’t you kind. Will you be back this evening?”

“I’ll be there around five. Dinner?”

“Sure. You want to go out?”

“Not really.”

“We’ll dine in, then.”

“See ya.” She hung up.

Stone called Mike Freeman at his Paris office.

“Afternoon, Stone. How are you keeping?”

“Fairly busy. You must be, too.”

“Yeah, the security arrangements for the l’Arrington opening had to be rethought, in light of all the vehicles you’ve been losing.”

“Yeah, well…”

“I can just see Lance explaining it to the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence.”

“Let’s hope that’s not necessary. Surely the Senate doesn’t want to hear about every fender bender in the CIA budget.”

“I’m sure that’s the position he’ll take, should it come up. Are you going to need a ride back to New York?”

“I’d like that very much, and Lance would like it, too. He’s advised me to decamp.”

“I have to be back in New York for a big meeting the day after the opening, so we’re planning wheels up afterward, at one
A.M
. That do you?”

“That do me fine, thanks. Is there room for Holly, should she want to decamp, too?”

“Sure. Leave your packed bags in your suite, and someone will collect them and put them on the airplane. You may want a bag in the cabin so that you can change out of your evening clothes.”

“We’ll mark one for that.”

“If you see Lance, tell him there’s room for him, too.”

“I’ll do that.”

“Stone, it’s important for my security arrangements that neither you nor Marcel step outside the hotel at any time that evening, not even the courtyard where the cars arrive.”

“I will cooperate.”

“Something else: Marcel had sent invitations to the Chance family, and they R.S.V.P.’d this morning: the old man won’t be there, but Jacques and Mirabelle accepted.”

“You astonish me.”

“It astonished me, too. Part of my rethinking of the security arrangements is concerned with protecting you from Jacques.”

“Do your arrangements involve a metal detector?”