Стюарт Вудс - Contraband

“I was not privy to his tax returns. He once told me that he was scrupulous about these things, but then he told me a lot of things that weren’t true.”

“Did you and Mr. Hedger share an accountant?”

“You mean in a threesome?”

“Robbie...”

“We both employed the same accountant shortly after we were married. I retained him afterward, but I don’t know if Mr. Hedger did.”

“Mr. Hedger maintained a luxurious apartment in an exclusive co-op building, one that requires shareholders to pay for their apartments in cash, without financing. Where did Mr. Hedger get the funds to pay for that residence?”

“I suppose from the same source as the cash, but I was unaware that he owned that residence until yesterday.”

“Where did you think he resided?”

“With whoever his current inamorata was, I supposed.”

“What weapon did you use to kill Mr. Hedger and Ms. Parkinson?”

“Fuck you!” Robbie shouted.

“That was a trick question,” Herbie said, “and you fell for it. Answer the question.”

Robbie composed herself yet again. “I played no part in their deaths.”

“Did you hire someone to kill them?”

“Asked and answered, I believe the term is.”

“Don’t say that, just repeat your answer.”

“I played no part in their deaths.”

“Good. What was your relationship with Estelle Parkinson?”

“We were good friends — warm and affectionate friends.”

“Did you have a sexual relationship?”

“What have you heard?” Robbie asked, alarmed.

“Please answer the question.”

“We both preferred men.”

“Does that mean that, when suitable male company was unavailable, the two of you had sex?”

“No.”

“Did you harbor any ill will toward Ms. Parkinson?”

“I did not.”

“Did you know she had slept with your husband during your marriage?”

“Dozens did. I took no offense, being aware of his attractiveness to women.”

“When the police searched your home, did they find a Smith & Wesson snub-nosed .38 pistol?”

“They found a pistol belonging to Mr. Hedger. I’ve no idea of its specifications.”

“Are you aware that four of the six bullets in the gun had been fired?”

“Yes, since they were fired at me.” She pointed to a corner of the room. “Right over there.”

“How long ago?”

“The last time Mr. Hedger asked me for money and was refused.”

“When was that?”

“About six months after we were married.”

“Did Mr. Hedger receive other valuable considerations from you?”

“Yes, I designed and made a wardrobe for him,” Robbie said. “You look to be about a forty-two regular; if so, you may have them as part of your fee.”

Herbie did not respond to that, but tossed his legal pad into his briefcase and snapped it shut. “All right, you’ve learned how to answer questions. I’m going to have this list typed up and send you a copy. I suggest you commit it to memory, so that the next time you are asked these questions — and you will be asked them, perhaps repeatedly — you will not contradict yourself.”

“Thank you very much,” Robbie said, rising in dismissal. “Stone, may I speak to you privately?” she asked.

Stone rose in unison with Herbie. “I’m sorry, I’m late for another appointment,” he said, then he got out of there.

Stone and Dino sat dismembering roast chicken at Rotisserie Georgette. A jazz group played in a far corner.

“Dino,” Stone said, “have you got any other suspects in the Hedger murders?”

“Apart from Robbie? No.”

“What about Randy’s partners in the smuggling operation?”

“I have no idea who they are. Anyway, maybe he was in it alone.”

“Somebody takes care of the airplane. Somebody runs the yacht and whatever vessel they used to pick up the cargo. Somebody delivered the cash to Randy’s building.”

“Yeah, and somebody else flew the airplane, and we know who that is.”

“We do, but we don’t know if he knows who the next link in the chain is. He never sees anybody.”

“According to him,” Dino pointed out.

“Maybe he might respond to a good old Nineteenth Precinct grilling, with or without the phone book and the rubber hose.”

“That’s your cute way of suggesting a trip to Key West so you can get laid.”

“There’s something in it for you, too,” Stone said.

“Oh, you mean I get to fuck Max?”

“I certainly do not mean that. I mean that you get a crack at cracking a big smuggling operation.”

“That’s the Coast Guard’s job,” Dino said.

“Yeah, but the murder at this end is your job. You could consult with and advise the Coast Guard.”

“But I don’t get to fuck Max?”

“Not unless you can woo her away from me and persuade her that you’re a good idea.”

“Mmmmm,” Dino said.

“Tell you what: Viv gets in tonight. Let’s take her with us. That would solve the problem, wouldn’t it?”

“Check!” Dino called to a passing waiter.

They managed to get wheels up at ten AM the following morning and were in Key West by noon. Raul had brought the car and Sara had lunch waiting for them at the house.

“Have you called Max?” Dino asked over chicken sandwiches.

“Not until a little later, when she finishes her shift.” Stone’s phone vibrated. “Hello there.”

“I take it you’re in,” she said.

“Eating a chicken sandwich at home,” he replied.

“Well, get hungry again. You’re all having dinner at my house. Six-thirty for drinks, followed by much food.”

“You’re on.”

“Take a nap this afternoon,” she said. “You’re going to need your energy.”

“Duly noted,” he replied.

They started with vodka gimlets, made to Stone’s recipe, then moved on to conch chowder, then to fresh yellowtail snapper, and finished with key lime pie.

Back in Max’s somewhat redecorated living room, Stone and Dino loosened their belts a notch, and Dino got down to business. “Can you rope in this Dixie guy, so I can have a chat with him?”

“Sure. You want it informal, like at his apartment, or you want him in the KWPD tank, which is less hospitable?”

“Let’s make him as uncomfortable as possible. Oh, and I’d like a New York City phone book and a four-foot length of rubber hose on the table in the tank.”

“Dino...” Max said.

“Oh, not to use on him, just to let him think about it.”

“First of all,” Max said, “why would anybody in Key West, let alone the police department, have a New York City phone book? I don’t think a Key West phone book would impress him, since it’s about the thickness of your average issue of People . And nobody has manufactured rubber hose for decades. The lightweight plastic stuff they sell now wouldn’t terrify him, either.”

“Can you get your hands on a baseball bat?” Dino asked.

“Put it out of your mind. Also, we haven’t seen Dixie or his airplane for a few days now.”

“Maybe it’s being serviced,” Stone said. “Airplanes need work now and then, especially if you’re flying them out to sea.”

“Then I suggest,” Dino said, “that we throw a net out for Dixie, and when the airplane is back and he gets a call, let’s find a way to track his flight.”

“How would we do that?”

“With an electronic tracking system,” Dino replied. “If your department doesn’t stock that equipment, I’ll get something sent down from the big city.”

“I’ll check into it, but I can tell you: if we do have it, it’s likely to be rusty and working only intermittently.”