Worst Fears Realized (24 page)

“I’m taking my clients,” Moyle said.

“The hell you are; read our contract. You walk out of here, you do it alone. If you try to take a single client with you, I’ll lock you up in a lawsuit that’ll set you back years, and you know I can do it. Now get out of my office.”

Moyle stalked out of the room, swearing.

“Anything else?” Millie asked.

“Yeah, what was that woman’s name—I did her divorce from the winery owner a couple of years ago? She took her maiden name back.”

“Madeleine Cochran.”

“Right. Get her on the phone for me.”

Millie went back to her desk; a moment later the phone in Goldsmith’s office buzzed. “She’s on the line,” Millie said.

Goldsmith picked up the phone. “Maddy? How the hell are you?”

“I’m all right, Bruce; what a surprise to hear from you.”

“Well, I haven’t been west for a while, but I’ve suddenly
gotten yanked into a deposition in San Francisco, and I’ll be there tonight. Why don’t you and I have dinner, and we’ll catch up.”

“Uh, Bruce, you’re still married, aren’t you?”

“Barely; I’m filing for divorce as soon as I get back. It’s been hell; I’ll tell you about it tonight.”

“I don’t want to poach another woman’s game, Bruce. I still feel guilty about that one time during my divorce.”

“I’m telling you, Maddy, it’s over, and I really, really need to see you.”

“Oh, all right; where and what time?”

“Seven-thirty at the Ritz-Carlton?”

“Which restaurant?”

“I’ll have a suite; we’ll order in.”

“You’re very naughty, Bruce.”

“Just ask at the desk; see you then, babe.” Goldsmith hung up, chuckling. “Millie, get me my wife.” A moment later, his phone buzzed. “Ellen? It’s me. Listen, we’ve just had a big blowup here; Les Moyle has just walked out of the firm, leaving me with a critical deposition to do.”

“Oh, Bruce, you’re not going to fink out on this dinner party tonight,” his wife said, horrified. “I arranged this for your benefit, not mine.”

“Sweetie, I know, and I’m really sorry, but Les has left me up the creek, with nobody else to handle this but me.”

“Surely, you can spare a couple of hours for your guests.”

“Sweetheart, by dinnertime, I’ll be in San Francisco.”

“Oh, Jesus; for how long?”

“At least a week, maybe more; this is a big one, major money.”

“Bruce, we’ve got the Willards coming to East-hampton this weekend! You’re supposed to be entertaining them.”

“Call them and explain, will you? I’ll be working straight through the weekend with the client; I’ve got a lot of catching up to do on this case. Damn Moyle for doing this to us!”

“Oh, God, how am I going to face these people tonight?”

“You’ll manage, sweetie; you’re the greatest hostess in New York, you know.”

“You will be back for the school play, won’t you? Helen is starring, and she’s so counting on you.”

“I’ll move heaven and earth, if I can. Listen, pack me a bag, will you? The works, dinner jacket, too.”

“
Dinner jacket
? I thought this was a deposition!”

“The client wants me to meet some important people next week. Could be great for business.”

“I hate you for this,” she said.

“Baby, I know how you feel, and I promise, I’ll make it up to you. How about Tuscany this summer? And listen, will you just leave my suitcases with the doorman? I’m rushing to the airport, and I don’t even have time to come upstairs.”

“Oh, all right!” She slammed down the phone.

Goldsmith buzzed his secretary. “Millie, call Pebble Beach and get me a two o’clock tee time tomorrow, and book me into the Inn, a nice suite, ocean view. Talk to the manager, if you have to; tell him
it’s for me. And call the car and tell Mike to be sure my clubs are in the trunk; if they’re not, tell Pebble Beach to keep a set of Callaways for me—the tungsten-titanium irons, nothing else.”

“I’ve got your deposition case packed. Anything else?”

“I think that’ll do it.” Goldsmith hung up and dialed his urologist’s number, then got his secretary on the line. “Hey, sweetheart, how are you?”

“Fine, Mr. Goldsmith.”

“Listen, big favor; my wife and I are off to San Francisco this afternoon, kind of a second honeymoon. Will you call the Ritz-Carlton out there, get the name of a drugstore, and phone in a Viagra prescription for me?”

“Sure, how many?”

“Oh, a couple of dozen ought to do it—ho, ho, ho! Ask them to deliver them to my suite.”

“I’ll take care of it; you and Mrs. Goldsmith have a wonderful time.”

“Don’t you worry, with your help we will. See ya.” Goldsmith closed his briefcase, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the door. “Is Mike downstairs with the car?”

“Yes, and your golf clubs are in the trunk.”

“Okay, I’m going to be gone a week, maybe two; cancel anything that can wait or that I can’t handle with a phone and a fax machine, and get Craven to take care of the rest. Tell him about Moyle’s leaving, and by the way, as soon as Les goes to lunch, clean out any files in his desk and briefcase, padlock his filing cabinets, and put his Rolodex in my safe, got it?”
Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed his deposition case and left the office.

“Got it, you complete and total shit,” Millie muttered under her breath.

Goldsmith rode down in the elevator, feeling nothing but elation. In one fell swoop, he had rid himself of a law partner who had always put too much emphasis on ethics, gotten out of a boring dinner party and an awful weekend, built a two-week vacation for himself in his favorite city and at Pebble Beach, and lined up a spectacular piece of ass that he had never had enough of. He felt
very
pleased with himself.

Mike was waiting at the curb with the rear door of the BMW 750i already open. Goldsmith handed him the two briefcases to be put into the trunk and slid into the rear seat. Mike closed the door after him and walked to the rear of the car.

Goldsmith looked to his right and saw a black Lincoln Town Car standing shockingly close—no more than an inch from his new BMW. He punched the window button and screamed at the driver of the Lincoln, whose face was only inches from his. “God-damnit! You put one fucking scratch on this car, and I’ll have your ass in court!”

The driver turned calmly toward him and raised something that looked, from Goldsmith’s perspective, like a short length of black pipe. He didn’t even have time to flinch; the
pfffft!
noise was the last thing he heard.

41

S
TONE DROPPED BY THE KLEMM REAL
Estate Office in Washington Depot, which was the business district, a mile from Washington Green, and picked up the keys to his new house.

Carolyn Klemm greeted him with enthusiasm and presented him with a cold bottle of good champagne and a list of tradesmen, repairmen, gardeners, and other necessary help for any homeowner.

He stopped at the Washington Market and picked up some groceries for the weekend, then at the local liquor shop, where he bought a mixed case of wines, half a dozen bottles of spirits, and some mixers. Finally, very excited, he drove up the hill, turned left at the church, and, a couple of hundred yards later, rolled past the fringe of evergreen trees and into his own driveway. It was the first house he had ever bought.

He got out of the car, unlocked the front door, and walked inside. The place was cavernously empty and
spotlessly clean. He unloaded his groceries and booze, put the perishables and white wines into the fridge, then carried his suitcases upstairs and unpacked, placing his things in the smaller of the two master closets, both of which contained drawers and shelves.

He walked back downstairs to find the UPS deliveryman on his doorstep, and the man trundled half a dozen large boxes into the kitchen, got a signature, and left. Stone began unpacking the dishes, pots and pans, and other housewares he and Sarah had bought, but before he got very far, the ABC Furniture van arrived, and most of the next hour was spent distributing furniture around the house. When the deliverymen had left, he went back to work in the kitchen, and in another hour he had it organized.

He was upstairs putting the new sheets on his new bed when the phone man arrived. Stone put him to work, then went back to his own tasks. He had just finished putting the bedroom and bath in order when the phone man pronounced himself finished. Stone tried the various extensions around the house, heard a dial tone at each, thanked the man, and signed off on the installation. He did some straightening of the new furniture, lamented the lack of pictures and other ornaments in the place, then treated himself to a beer. He had just sat down when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“It’s Dino; I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“The phone just got turned on; what’s up?”

“You said you spoke to Arlene Mitteldorfer’s divorce lawyer earlier today?”

“That’s right.”

“Was his name Bruce Goldsmith?”

“Yes, and what do you mean, ‘was’?”

“He got popped at lunchtime, less than an hour after you and I spoke.”

“How did it happen?”

“He was leaving his office for a trip to San Francisco. He got into his car, a black Town Car pulled alongside, and somebody put one round into his head at point-blank range. No noise, probably a silencer. Got the backseat of a nice, new BMW all messy.”

“Jesus; I warned him to get out of town; I guess he didn’t go fast enough.”

“I guess not.”

“Don’t tell anybody where I am, okay, Dino?”

“Who else knows?”

“Just a girl, who’s coming up tomorrow, Bill Eggers, and Vance Calder and Arrington.”

“They’re in town?”

“No, they’re up here; Vance has a house less than five miles from mine. I’m having dinner with them tomorrow night.”

Dino gave a long chuckle. “She can’t stay away from you, can she?”

“Nothing like that; Vance wants us all to be friends. Come to think of it, she said something to that effect in the last conversation I had with her, last year.”

“You’re a braver man than I am, Stone, going to their house all by yourself.”

“I’m not going by myself; I’ll be well armed with a beautiful woman.”

“Anybody I know?”

“Nah; a new lady.” He half expected Dino to call him on the lie.

“This is all too civilized for me,” Dino said.

“What are you doing about Palmer’s opening on tomorrow night?”

“Maximum effort; the department finally believes me about this business.”

“It’s about time. Have you put out an APB on Mitteldorfer?”

“I’m not at that point, yet; we don’t really have any hard evidence on him, nothing to tie him to these crimes but our suppositions and a lot of bodies.”

“I think you ought to get his most recent prison photograph into the Sunday papers, along with the artist’s drawing of the hit man. You can say that Mitteldorfer may be in danger, and you want to talk with him. At least, that’ll get his face out there, and you might get a tip from a citizen.”

“Good idea; I don’t think I’ll ask the brass; I know a guy at the
Times.
How’s the house?”

“The stuff Sarah and I bought all arrived, and I’ve spent the afternoon making it habitable. Still needs a lot of pictures and lamps and other things.”

“Have a good weekend; when you coming back?”

“I don’t know; I may not come back at all; at least, not until Mitteldorfer has popped you, and I have to look for him, myself.”

“Don’t hold your breath, kid; he’s not going to get a crack at Dino. The department has lent me a special car, not unlike your own.”

“A Mercedes?”

“No, just a Crown Victoria that could take a hit from a tank. They’ve been using it to transport VIPs to and from the UN.”

“That’s good news.”

“You bet it is. I gotta go.”

“Keep me posted.”

Dino hung up, and so did Stone. Immediately, the phone rang again.

“Hello?”

“Stone? It’s Carolyn Klemm; how are you coming with the house?”

“It’s in pretty good shape for the first day, I think.”

“My husband, David, and I are going to grab a bite at our local joint, the George Washington Tavern; why don’t you join us? It’s real casual, and a lot of the weekend crowd will be there.”

“Thanks, I think I’d like that,” Stone replied.

“Want us to pick you up?”

“Just give me directions; I’ll meet you.”

“Go back down the hill to the Depot, cross the river, then a right at the intersection, and you’ll see it on your right. About seven?”

“See you there.” Stone hung up, relieved not to have to spend his first evening in Connecticut alone.

Pity about Bruce Goldsmith
, he thought.
But not much of a Pity.

42

S
TONE ARRIVED AT THE RESTAURANT AND
found the parking lot nearly full. He found a spot and went inside. Carolyn Klemm spotted him from a seat near the fireplace and waved him over.

“This is my husband, David,” she said.

Stone shook David Klemm’s hand.

“Welcome to Washington,” David said. “You’re going to love it.”

They ordered drinks and got a menu. Stone was facing the restaurant’s entrance, and he looked up to see Captain Warkowski, from Sing Sing, enter the room, in company with a middle-aged woman. Warkowski saw him and nodded; Stone nodded back. The couple were taken to a booth in the back room.

“Somebody you know?” Carolyn asked.

“Not very well; I met him in passing, once.”

“A local?”

“No, he’s from New York State, I think; that’s where I met him, anyway.”

“We saw the story, in the
Times
about the bombing of Sarah’s opening—a terrible business,” Carolyn said. “Is she all right?”

“Yes, she is.”

“When can we expect to see her here?”

“Sarah’s gone back to England; she’s planning to live there.”

“Oh, I’m sorry; somehow I thought you would be sharing the cottage.”

“That was the plan, but the incident at the gallery changed her mind, I think.”