Stuart Woods - Worst Fears Realized

“No, not yet,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “There’ll be nothing left for you.”

“I want a lot left for me,” she whispered, kissing him and pulling him on top of her. Stone tried to restore some calm to his body while kissing her breasts, but soon it was obvious that he could wait no longer. They came together, noisily, in less than a minute, then collapsed facing each other. She snuggled into his arms, mixing her sweat with his.

“You are so American,” she said.

“How so?”

“You’re noisy, like me. Englishmen never talk in bed, never say anything sexy.”

“Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am?”

“Just wham, bam.”

Stone laughed. “What about Italian men?”

“Very automotive,” she said. “There’s an old joke that an Italian man uses a sports car as an extension of his penis, whereas an Englishman uses it as a substitute.”

“It sounds as though your best interests lie in the United States,” he said. “I don’t even own a car.”

“That explains a lot.” She laughed.

“Though I’ve been meaning to buy one. I do have a garage, after all.”

“It would be a pity to have an empty garage,” she said. She took him in her hand and began kneading gently. “Perhaps I’d better have one last go at you before you start dissipating your energies in fast driving.”

“I’m older than I used to be, you know. It might not work again quite so quickly.”

“Oh, I think it will.” She squeezed. “See? It’s responding very nicely.”

“I believe you’re right,” Stone said, breathing harder.

She rolled on top of him. “I’ll drive,” she said.

Stone regained consciousness with the doorbell ringing in his ears. He rolled over and glanced at the bedside clock: 7:15. He punched the intercom button on the phone. “Yes?” he grumbled.

“This is Detective Thomas Deacon of the Manhattan District Attorney’s Office,” a deep voice said.

That had a familiar ring, Stone thought. It took him a moment to remember that Dino had pointed the man out at the party at Martin Brougham’s house. He’d disliked him on sight.

“I want to talk to you,” Deacon said.

“Did you ever hear of business hours?” Stone asked.

“Most people are up by this time.”

“Come back after nine o’clock,” Stone said. He looked over at the sleeping Sarah, lying naked, her breasts exposed. “Make that after ten o’clock.” He punched off the intercom.

The doorbell sounded again.

“ What? ” Stone growled.

“I want to talk to you right now, Barrington.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Stone said, switching off the intercom. He rolled over, gathered Sarah in his arms, and fell asleep again.

Next, it was the phone, and this time it was after nine.

“Hello?”

“It’s Dino.”

“Hi. Any luck catching our perp last night?”

“None,” Dino said. “My people scoured the park half the night; he must have found some hole to crawl into. They’re still watching all the exits; he might try to walk out this morning.”

“Did you find out what happened to Andy Anderson last night?”

“He had locked the elevator and gone to the staff john. When he heard the shots he got himself together as quickly as he could and went into the lobby with his weapon drawn. There was an exchange of shots; Andy thought he might have nicked the guy, but he was out of the building and into the traffic and over the wall, and Andy couldn’t fire again for fear of hitting somebody else. My guess is that Kelly was cooping in the car and was slow to react, then didn’t call for backup. Good thing you thought of that.”

“I hope this experience has rattled the perp,” Stone said. “Maybe he’ll think twice before trying it again.”

“Especially if Andy put a bullet in him; that’s twice he’d have been shot, after Mary Ann fired at him. It’s a shame nobody got him in the center of the chest.”

“You remember that guy Deacon you pointed out to me at Martin Brougham’s house?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, he rang my doorbell at the crack of dawn this morning.”

“What did he want?”

“I don’t know; I told him to get stuffed.”

“Must be something about the Susan Bean killing.”

“If so, he’s a little slow on the uptake, isn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

“Has he called you?”

“No.”

“I think I’ll just refer him to the precinct.”

“No need to piss him off unnecessarily, Stone.”

“Why not? He’s pissed me off. You and I never pounded on people’s doors at seven o’clock in the morning, did we?”

“Not unless we were arresting them. He’ll probably come back with a SWAT team. By the way, Martin Brougham is the new chief deputy DA.”

“I hadn’t heard.”

“It’s being announced this afternoon. Rumor is, the old man is going to retire and is giving Brougham a head start on the election.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Stone said. “Only death will get the old man out of office. Maybe not even that.”

“You want some dinner tonight?”

“Let me call you later in the day. Do you still have people on me?”

“I’ve got two cars on your block right now; one of them doesn’t look like a cop car,” Dino said. “If you’re followed, that one will follow the follower.”

“Thanks, Dino,” Stone said. “I appreciate that. I don’t want to get Sarah hurt. Can you have one of them stick with her for a few days?”

“Sure. After all, he seems to be going after people close to us, not you and me. I’ll have Anderson and Kelly stick with her.”

“Thanks.”

“I gotta go. Call me later about dinner.”

“Will do.” Stone got up and dragged himself into a shower, while Sarah slept on. He shaved, got dressed, and went down to the kitchen. He made himself some coffee, toasted a bagel, and opened the Times. It was too soon for them to report the events of the night before, but there were accurate, if incomplete articles on the killings of Susan Bean and his neighbor, Miranda Hirsch. There were obituaries on both, as well.

The doorbell rang, and Stone punched the intercom. “Yes?”

“This is Thomas Deacon. Is it late enough for you now?”

“Walk around the railing to my office entrance,” Stone said. “I’ll meet you there.” He hung up, grabbed his coffee, and headed downstairs, wondering what the hell the man wanted.

STONE LET DEACON AND ANOTHER MAN IN through the street-level entrance, led them to his office, and pointed at two chairs. “Okay,” he said, sitting down. “What do you want?”

“This is Detective Simmons,” Deacon said. “We’re investigating the murder of Susan Bean.”

“I believe that’s being handled at the Nineteenth Precinct,” Stone said.

“Our investigation supersedes theirs,” Deacon replied.

“Lieutenant Bacchetti will be very surprised to hear that.”

“I don’t much care what surprises Bacchetti,” Deacon said. “I have some questions for you, and you’d better give me straight answers.”

“Listen, Deacon,” Stone said. “If you want my cooperation, you’re going about it in the wrong way. First, you wake me up at the crack of dawn, then you come into my house and encroach on a police investigation while behaving like the Gestapo. If you want to talk to me about anything, you’d better start acquiring some social graces.”

The two men stared at each other across the desk for a long moment. Finally, Deacon spoke.

“Mr. Barrington, I apologize for our intrusion at such an early hour this morning. An important official in the District Attorney’s Office has been murdered, and we would be very grateful if you would answer some questions for us in order to give us a clearer idea of what happened that evening.”