Worst Fears Realized (19 page)

“I don’t know, but both Dino and I have the very strong feeling that it is him. I didn’t tell you this, but a friend of Mitteldorfer, a woman who corresponded with him in prison, was murdered a couple of days ago.”

“So, he would get out of prison and, right away, murder a woman who would write to him? Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know, but it’s one more coincidence, isn’t it?”

She was quiet for a minute. “Stone, is there any reason in the world why the two of us couldn’t go to England tomorrow? I mean, after the opening tonight, my obligations to the Bergman Gallery are finished; there’s nothing to keep me here. How about you?”

“I don’t like to run off and leave Dino with this thing hanging over him.”

“What thing? Nothing has happened for a while, now. Take some time off.”

Stone thought about it. “Open the glove compartment; there’s an address book inside.”

She did as he asked.

“Look up the number for the American Express Platinum Travel Service. Call them on the car phone; book us two first-class seats to London tomorrow morning.”

She grabbed the phone. “You bet I will!”

Stone felt as if a burden had been lifted from him. She was right; he needed to get away. He found a garage on Broadway, and they walked around the corner to the ABC Furniture store. During the next two hours, they bought a bed, sheets and towels, a sofa, two chairs, some rugs, lamps, a dining table, and occasional furniture. Stone had everything shipped to Connecticut for delivery after the closing on the house, with a note for the driver to call at the Klemm
Real Estate office for the key. Then they found a housewares store and bought pots and pans, silverware, a coffeepot, dishes, glasses, and everything else they could think of.

When they went back to the garage for the car, Stone noticed a black van parked across the street. It was not the same one that had been outside his house.

“You’re getting black-van fever, aren’t you?” Sarah asked, as they drove away.

“I’m not making them up, am I?”

“Just don’t make too much of them. The world is full of black vans.”

“You’re right,” Stone said, taking a deep breath and letting it out. “Tomorrow we’re out of this city, and when we come back we’ll have a house and a lot of furnishings waiting for us in Connecticut. I’d better call Bob Eggers and arrange to have the closing papers for the house sent to England. Where will we be?”

“Probably at my parents’ country house, in Hampshire, but they have a town house, too. I’ll call them when we get home and find out where to send the papers.”

Stone drove home, happily thinking of his first trip abroad, but his eyes constantly flicked to the rearview mirror.

32

S
TONE AND SARAH WERE DRESSING FOR
her opening. “I spoke to Mother this afternoon,” Sarah said, “and she suggested we come straight to the country house. I think that’s best, don’t you? We can just relax and do some sailing.”

“Sounds good to me,” Stone replied, pulling his black bow tie snug. He slipped into his dinner jacket. “What sort of sailing?”

“The house is on the Solent, the strip of water that separates the Isle of Wight from the rest of England. Daddy keeps a cruising boat nearby, in the Beaulieu River. Do you sail?”

“I did some sailing as a kid, at a summer house on Martha’s Vineyard, belonging to the parents of a friend. I’ve chartered in the Caribbean, too, but the last time, I didn’t get much sailing done.”

“This is going to be wonderful, Stone,” she said, turning so he could zip up her dress. “I haven’t been
home for three years, and I do so love it in Hampshire. I’m happiest on the water, I think.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“How do I look?” she asked, turning for inspection.

“You look absolutely beautiful,” he replied. “The dress is spectacular, too.”

“And you, sir, look like a prince,” she said, straightening his tie. “I’ve never seen you in a dinner jacket, you know.”

“I didn’t even own a dinner jacket before you went to Italy.”

“You should wear it all the time; it makes you even more handsome.”

Stone took her arm and guided her downstairs. “We’re being driven this evening,” he said.

“You’ve hired a chauffeur?”

“Sort of a chauffeur; he’s an ex-cop named Bob Berman, who does various investigative jobs for me now and then.”

“I suppose he’ll be armed,” she said with a trace of disgust.

“I think that’s best.”

“What other measures have you taken?”

“Anderson and Kelly will be in a car in the street; Bob will watch the back door, where we’ll enter the gallery, and Dino will be inside with us.”

“I really think all this is unnecessary, Stone.”

“You won’t have to think about it anymore after tonight.”

“Good.”

They arrived in the garage, and Stone introduced
Sarah to Bob Berman, a short, well-built man in his late forties. They got into the backseat, and Bob took the wheel and backed out of the garage.

“Bob, I’ve built in some extra time; take a circuitous route, so the cops behind us can be sure we’re not being tailed.”

“Right, Stone,” Berman said. “Are you packing?”

“Ah, no,” Stone replied.

“Whatever you say.”

They drove back and forth across town, working their way slowly uptown. Half an hour passed before they arrived at the rear door of the gallery, precisely on time. Berman got out of the car, walked a few steps away, and checked up and down the block. He came back to the car and opened the door.

“Looks okay,” he said to Stone.

Stone hustled Sarah across the sidewalk and through the door, which Edgar Bergman was holding open. Berman removed a traffic cone from a reserved space, parked the car, and took up his position at the rear door of the gallery.

“Anything unusual happen today?” Stone asked Bergman.

Bergman shook his head. “No, except we got a lot of acceptances after the
Times
piece appeared.”

“Did you know them all?”

“Most of them were people to whom invitations had been sent; a few were other dealers. I suppose half a dozen of them were people I didn’t know or had never heard of.”

“We’ll want to pay particular attention to those, as they enter.”

“I’ll speak to the receptionist,” Bergman replied.

They entered the gallery, which was empty of guests, so far. “Everything looks wonderful, Sarah,” Stone said. “Will you excuse me for just a moment? I’d like to talk with Edgar and his receptionist.”

They walked to the desk at the front door, and Stone was introduced to the young woman who sat behind it and to Bergman’s wife.

“Here’s how I plan to work it,” Bergman said. “My wife and I will be near the door, greeting the guests as they enter. If someone comes in whom I don’t know, I’ll simply turn and look at you and nod. Is that all right?”

“That’s very good,” Stone said. “I won’t be far away.”

“This is already nerve-wracking,” Bergman said.

“I’m sure everything will be all right; there are two policemen in the street and my man at the back door.” Stone looked toward the display of paintings, walked over, and examined one he particularly liked. He came back to Bergman. “How much is number thirty-six?” he asked.

Bergman consulted the catalogue. “That’s six thousand dollars; it’s one of the smaller pieces.”

“Please mark it sold,” Stone said, handing a credit card to the receptionist.

“I’d be delighted.”

“Which two did Mr. Bianchi buy?”

“Why, number…” Bergman looked startled. “How did you know that? The transaction was done under the strictest confidence. He would be very upset if he thought I had told anyone.”

“It was just a guess; I had dinner with him last night, and he mentioned Sarah’s work.”

“I see,” Bergman said, looking relieved. “He bought numbers six—over there by the flowers—and number fourteen, the big one in the center of the north wall.”

“He has a keen eye,” Stone said, looking at the paintings.

“Yes, he does, and I hope you’ll hold that transaction in the strictest confidence. He’s been a good customer for a long time, and I have no wish to alienate him.”

“Of course,” Stone replied. He looked up and saw Dino coming through the door in a tuxedo. “Don’t you look dapper?” he said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dino replied. “I talked to Anderson and Kelly outside. Is anybody on the back door?”

“Bob Berman; he’s driving us.”

“Okay”

Stone explained the procedure for identifying guests the Bergmans didn’t know.

“I guess we’ve got it covered,” Dino said. “You nervous?”

“Yes.”

“So am I; I wish this weren’t happening. That piece in the
Times
worries me.”

“Me, too. We’ve done everything we can; let’s try to relax and enjoy the party.”

“You relax,” Dino said. “I’ll be nervous.”

Guests began to arrive, first in a trickle, then in large numbers. Stone watched the Bergmans as the people came in and, occasionally, he got a nod from
Edgar or his wife. Dino did everything but search the strangers, but everybody behaved well.

At the peak of the party, Stone turned to Dino. “You got it covered here? I want to take a look outside.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Stone slipped outside and looked up and down the street. Everything seemed normal. He could see Anderson and Kelly sitting in their car, parked across the street. Then he noticed the van.

It wasn’t black; instead, it was an anonymous gray, with no markings. He looked into the front seat; there was a map of the city on the passenger seat, but nothing else in sight. There were no side windows, and the small windows in the rear door had been soaped over. Stone stepped back and made a note of the license number, then walked across the street and rapped on the window of the police car. Kelly rolled down the window a couple of inches.

“Yeah?”

Stone tore off the sheet from his notebook and handed it through the window. “Run this plate,” he said.

“What’s it from?”

“The gray van in front of the gallery.”

“That was there when we got here,” Kelly said. “I don’t see a problem.”

“Just run the plate, Kelly.”

Anderson took the slip of paper from Kelly and got on the radio. A minute later, he got out of the car and spoke to Stone across the car’s roof. “The plate belongs to a 1996 Buick Century, stolen in Queens this afternoon.”

“Call the bomb squad,” Stone said, and started across the street. The light changed, and a raft of traffic forced him back. Impatient, he dodged through the stream of cars and walked quickly into the gallery. Bergman and his wife had abandoned their post by the door, and the receptionist was dealing with payment for pictures. “Excuse me,” Stone said to the receptionist, “we’re going to have to move you.”

“I don’t understand,” the young woman said, looking around for her boss. “Mr. Bergman didn’t say anything…”

“Just do it,” Stone said, with urgency in his voice. He spotted Dino and waved him over.

“What’s up?”

“There’s a van with a stolen plate parked directly in front of the gallery; we’re going to have to get these people out the back door right now.”

Dino nodded. “Let’s do it quietly.” He walked over to a group of people and spoke to them, pointing the way to the rear of the gallery.

Stone was about to join him, when he saw that the receptionist and her customers were still at their business. Stone took the man by the elbow. “Sir, I’m sorry to disturb you, but everyone is going to have to leave the gallery through the rear door. Would you and your wife please walk back that way.” He could hear sirens coming up Madison Avenue.

“I don’t understand,” the man said, annoyed at being interrupted. “I wouldn’t want somebody else to get my picture.”

“Please don’t worry about that; this is just a security precaution.”

The man reluctantly took his wife’s arm and steered her toward the rear of the room.

Bergman walked up, looking panicky. “What’s going on?”

“A suspicious van outside; please help Dino get all these people out the back door.”

“Right in the middle of an opening? Are you crazy?”

“Mr. Bergman, this is very serious. Don’t waste another second, and get this woman out of here,” he said, indicating the receptionist. Bergman did as he was asked.

Sarah came over, “Stone, what’s happening?”

“Possibility of a bomb outside,” he whispered. “A crew is on the way to deal with it, now let me get you out of here.” He started to move away from the front of the gallery, then, as an afterthought, he went back to the front window and drew the heavy wool curtains. “Let’s go,” he said to Sarah, taking her arm.

At that moment there was a huge noise, and the front-window curtains billowed as the plate glass behind them exploded inward.

33

S
TONE WAS THROWN THROUGH THE AIR,
taking Sarah with him, landing hard on the gallery’s marble floor. He lay, dazed, on top of her, and then he realized she was struggling to get out from under him. He rolled over. “Are you all right?” he asked, groggily.

Sarah said nothing, but scrambled up and began running toward the back of the gallery, screaming.

Stone got unsteadily to his feet as Dino arrived and slipped an arm around him. He looked back at the window: the window frame was empty, and fragments of broken glass were everywhere. The heavy wool curtains had disappeared, leaving only fragments clinging to the rod. Outside, where the van had once been, there was only a shallow crater in the asphalt. The cars on either side of the crater were on fire. The noise was incredible. Men and women were screaming inside the gallery and fighting to get out the
rear door, as the approaching sirens got louder and louder.

Dino got out a handkerchief and held it to the back of Stone’s head. “You’re bleeding, pal; hold this against your head.”

“I’m okay, Dino; find Sarah for me, will you? And get her to my car; it’s the safest place right now.”

“Okay, but don’t go out front; there might be somebody out there to take a shot at you.”