Stuart Woods - Worst Fears Realized

Everyone looked at him.

“That was the precinct,” Dino said. “We had a suspect, but his alibi is holding.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” Brougham said. “Who is it?”

“A guy named Mitteldorfer; Stone and I nailed him twelve years ago for the murder of his wife.”

“What made you suspect him?”

“Stone and I saw the murder of the woman who lived behind his house. The perp looked the way Mitteldorfer looked twelve years ago. But he doesn’t look that way anymore.”

“Peculiar,” Brougham said.

“We thought so, too. We’ve been looking for a relative who might have been involved, but there isn’t anybody – not so far, anyway. The precinct was just confirming the questioning of some peripheral people. Mitteldorfer appears to be clean.”

“Is he out of prison?”

“No, but he’s up for parole soon.”

“You want me to toss a grenade into his hearing?”

Dino shook his head. “I don’t like the guy, but I don’t have a thing on him. If he gets out and then we get some evidence, it’ll be simple enough to get his parole revoked.”

Brougham put down his fork. “You think he might get out, then start killing again?”

Dino shrugged. “No way to predict that. He adds up as a one-time perp – killed his wife in the heat of the moment when he found out she was running around on him. She seems to have been his only enemy.”

“Except you and Stone,” Brougham said.

STONE WAS DRESSING THE FOLLOWING morning when Sarah stuck her head out of the bathroom. “Why don’t you take me to the country this weekend?”

“What country?” Stone asked.

“Any country,” she replied. “You forget that I’m English – an English rose, as it were.” She batted her eyes. “And I need frequent communing with trees and grass to keep my corpuscles together. A nice country inn does wonders for them, too.”

“I’ll rent a car.”

“Stone, you told me you just got this big fee, right.”

“Yes.”

“ Buy a car.”

Stone shrugged. “Okay.”

“A nice one, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What a good boy are you.”

“I am, am I not?”

“Didn’t I just say so?”

She came out of the bathroom naked, and Stone stopped dressing, ogling her shamelessly.

“None of that, now,” she said. “I’ve got to get to the gallery to start hanging pictures, and your two very nice policemen are waiting in the garage. Well, one nice policeman.”

Stone started dressing again. “Yeah, Kelly’s not exactly good company, is he?”

“He’s a proper little shit,” she replied, slipping into jeans and a sweater, no bra.

“You want me to ask Dino for another cop?”

“Don’t make waves,” she said. “Dino’s already doing us a very big favor. I can live with Kelly.”

Stone put his arms around her. “You can live with me,” he said.

She grabbed his wrists and held his arms at his sides. “We’ll talk about that when I don’t have to live with you anymore,” she said, “and on some nice, neutral ground, that doesn’t have a bed so close at hand.”

“Okay,” he replied, stealing a kiss.

“Go buy a car,” she said.

Stone got out of the police car on Park Avenue in front of the Mercedes-Benz dealership, but not before looking up and down the street once more. “I’ll be a while,” he said to the two cops up front.

“Yessir,” one of them replied, saluting smartly. “We’re at your disposal.”

“Krakauer,” Stone said, “I’ll dispose of you at the earliest possible moment.” He turned and walked into the showroom. Half a dozen cars were on display: a new SLK, the little sports car with the retractable hard top – cute, but tiny. There was an S600 sedan – big, powerful, and extremely expensive, maybe too much of all those things. And sitting in a prime spot, an E320, the middle Mercedes, in a nice, tan metallic color.

A man materialized at his elbow. “May I show you something?” he asked.

“I’m interested in the V8 version of that one,” Stone said, pointing at the E320.

“The E430? Wonderful automobile. I can get you one in about four months, if you’d like to order now.”

“I was thinking about this afternoon.”

“Can’t be done, I’m afraid. The demand has just been too great.”

Stone was annoyed. He’d rented an E430 in Los Angeles a few months before and loved it. He strolled toward the big V12 sedan. “How much?”

“A hundred and thirty-seven thousand, plus various taxes.”

Stone held up a hand. “Stop. Don’t tell me what the taxes are.”

“You’re very wise,” the man replied. “I can get you an S500, the V8 version of this one, almost immediately.”

“How long is ‘almost immediately’?”

“I’ve got one coming in in about two weeks.”

“You really know how to take the pleasure out of impulse buying,” Stone said.

“I’m sorry, but we’re dealing with a lot of demand and not enough cars.”

Stone looked out the side window of the showroom. A car-carrier truck had pulled up and unloaded something black. Now a double door had been opened, and four men were pushing a car onto the sales floor. “What is that ?” he asked.

“Ah, now there’s something special,” the salesman said. “It’s called the E55; it’s an E430 that has been specially modified by AMG, the German tuning shop that does a lot of work on various Mercedes models. It’s in obsidian black with parchment-leather upholstery.”

The car was a lot like the E320 on display, but seemed lower and meaner-looking. “Just what, exactly, has AMG done to that car?”

The man went to his desk and removed a folder from a drawer. “This is very out of the ordinary,” he said, reading from the folder. “The car has a five-and-a-half-liter V8 that’s more powerful than the one in the S500, at three hundred fifty-four horsepower, and with the S500 transmission. The body is lowered, and the suspension has upgraded shock absorbers, antiroll bars, and springs. It’s got eighteen-inch wheels, Z-rated tires, and the brakes from the SL600.”

Stone sucked in a breath.

“The windows are tinted darkly enough to make the occupants unrecognizable, and, after it arrived in this country, we sent it to a specialist to be lightly armored.”

“What, exactly, does ‘lightly armored’ mean?”

The salesman opened a door, pressed a button, and a window rolled down halfway. “As you can see, the glass is a lot thicker than standard – half an inch thick, in fact – and the roof, all the door panels, and the floorpan have been reinforced with lightweight, but very tough materials like Kevlar. The car will repel small-weapons fire, even heavy machine-gun fire, but it won’t, of course, stop a bazooka or a land mine. You’d need the fully armored version for that level of protection.”

Stone got into the car and looked around.

“You’ve got sport seats and special trim; there’s also a concealed radar scrambler on board,” he said, looking around to see that no one was listening. “It detects, then makes police radar useless; it’s legal in most states.”

“It’s very nice,” Stone said. “How much?”

“It doesn’t belong to us, actually,” the salesman replied. “It’s the property of the widow of a former client, a South American gentleman.”

“And why is she a widow?”

“The car was delivered a couple of days too late to serve the purpose the gentleman had intended.”

“You mean he was in another car when…”

“When he needed the extra protection that this car affords.”

“How much does the widow want for it?”