Doug Allyn - v108 n03-04_1996-09-10

Easton rose from behind his desk as Leopold was ushered into the office. “Good morning, Captain. Lieutenant Trent phoned to say you’d be stopping by. What in God’s name happened at the courthouse? How could they let that man escape?”

“We’re looking into it,” Leopold assured him. “Lieutenant Trent handled the previous case and she filled me in on the circumstances. If you intend to spend the day here at the office I can have a uniformed patrolman on duty outside.”

“You think he’s coming here?”

“I have no idea. Obviously it would be better if you laid low for a few days. It may not even take that long. We hope to have him back in custody by this afternoon.”

Rich Easton seemed to ponder Leopold’s advice. “You may be right. I’ll phone my wife.” He dialed a number while Leopold glanced around the office. After a moment he spoke into the phone. “Honey, there’s a little problem. Nothing serious, but I think I’ll drive down to the beach house for the rest of the day. Want to meet me there? Fine — about an hour.”

Leopold waited till he’d hung up and then asked, “Is the beach house a safe place?”

“Well, it’s safe mainly because it’s on the Sound and I don’t think he’d look for me there.”

“Does Stone know about it?”

Easton thought about that. “Yes, he was there once. Belinda and I had a clambake two years ago for some of my clients. I remember Stone’s being there because he tripped and fell off the dock. I had to give him some of my clothes to wear the rest of the day while his dried.”

“Was he angry about that?”

“No, no. We were good friends until his investments started going bad. Then he accused me of mismanaging his account. The final straw was a large investment I’d made for him in an upstate winery. The business collapsed utterly and he lost over a hundred thousand. I tried to tell him that these things happened occasionally, that it was no one’s fault. That’s when he came after me with the gun and killed poor Earl.”

There was something a bit too slick about Rich Easton, and Leopold could understand why an unlucky investor might boil over with rage at him, especially on being told that “these things happened.” It didn’t excuse the killing of Earl Frank, but the jury must have felt it made Casper Stone’s actions understandable. The question was whether that same rage existed today.

“If he knows about the beach house it may not be the best place to go,” Leopold cautioned.

“I have a licensed revolver. If he shows up I’ll be ready for him.”

“All right,” Leopold said with some reluctance. “Give me the address and I’ll have a patrol car keep an eye on it.”

He left Easton’s office and went back to his car. On a hunch he decided to drive by the consultant’s city home. It was on the north side, in one of the more fashionable areas, and he was pleased to see a police car parked just down the street, obviously on the lookout for Casper Stone. A well-dressed, middle-aged woman was unloading groceries from a minivan in the driveway and he pulled in behind her. She glanced up from her task, startled, and watched as he approached.

“I’m Captain Leopold,” he said, showing his badge and identification. “Are you—?”

“Belinda Easton. My husband phoned me about the escape, just after I’d heard it on the news. Is there any sign of Stone yet?” She was a handsome woman who’d made no attempt to hide the few extra pounds and gray hairs that middle age brought.

“Not yet, but we’ll get him. I just wanted to make sure you’re all right. Do you think the beach house will be safe?”

“Beach house?” She looked at him blankly. “I rarely go there. The summer sun is bad for my skin.”

“I must have misunderstood your husband. I thought he said he’d be going to his beach house.”

She picked up the last bag of groceries from the backseat of the minivan. “Rich often takes a ride down there by himself, just to check the place out. I was up for the weekend earlier this month.”

“We’ll keep a patrol car here all night, unless Stone’s apprehended in the meantime. If you hear any odd sounds, dial 911.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

He left her and got back into his unmarked car, wondering who was meeting Rich Easton at his beach house.

Molly was already home when Leopold pulled in the driveway later that afternoon. There was a car he didn’t recognize parked on the street and he prepared himself for the unknown visitor. It was Tom Griswald, Molly’s young associate and Casper Stone’s attorney of record. Griswald was not yet thirty, only a few years out of law school, but he’d done well on a couple of high-profile cases. One of his triumphs, of course, had been getting Stone off with a manslaughter conviction and a four-to-eight-year sentence.

“I’m glad you’re home,” Molly said, greeting him with a light kiss on the cheek, apparently for Griswald’s benefit. “Tom and I were just talking over Casper Stone’s escape.”

Leopold shook hands with the young attorney. “Did you see your client this morning?”

Tom Griswald nodded. “I brought him a suit of clothes to wear in court. When I came back to discuss the case he was gone.” His rumpled blond hair and a deep cleft in his chin made him seem attractively boyish. Leopold decided it probably didn’t hurt him these days when juries often had a majority of women serving.

“Apparently he escaped through a maintenance tunnel that led to a storage closet,” Leopold said. “Once he was there, wearing a suit and tie like everyone else, it was easy for him to mingle with the crowd and leave the building.” He smiled and added, “Anyone who noticed him probably took him for a lawyer.”

Griswald flushed a bit and Molly hastened to assure him it was just Leopold’s idea of a joke. “Why don’t you stay for dinner?”

“Sorry, I can’t. Big date tonight. Thanks for the offer, though.” He stood up. “Good seeing you again, Captain. I shouldn’t say this, but I hope you get my client back behind bars in a hurry.”

“I hope so too.”

When they were alone Molly said, “He’s got a great future with the firm, but he’s still young. He came here to ask me what he should do about Stone. He remembered that I dropped him as a client after he jumped bail and wondered if he should do the same.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That it was his decision. The man is certainly going to need a lawyer when he’s back behind bars.”

“You knew Stone. You talked to him immediately after the shooting in Easton’s office. How did he seem to you? Is this thing an obsession with him, Molly?”

“You mean, is he likely to have another try at Rich Easton? I’d say yes.” She studied him, then asked, “You really like being back on the job, don’t you? Even though it’s just till Fletcher recovers?”

“I love it, Molly. It’s like a new life and I guess that’s what everyone wants at some time or another.”

Later that night, when they’d been in bed about an hour, the phone rang. It was Connie, talking fast. “There’s a fire at Easton’s beach house. A neighbor phoned it in. I’m on my way there now.”

“And I’m right behind you.”

He could see the blaze lighting the night sky as soon as he turned onto Shoreline Drive. Fire engines from the city and suburbs were on the scene, and though it was well after midnight dozens of neighbors had come out in their nightclothes to watch the flames as they sputtered and died. He spotted Connie Trent at once, arguing with a white-coated fire marshal who was trying to hold her back from the smoking water-soaked embers.

“What is it, Connie?”

“The firemen saw two bodies. I’m trying to get in for a look.”