Stuart Woods - Worst Fears Realized

“Absolutely not,” Stone said. “I’m not holding anything back.”

“Then he must have a witness,” Bill said. “Otherwise, why would you be a target of the investigation?”

“A witness to what?” Stone said.

“Look,” Dino said, “I’m happy to go down to the grand jury and tell them that my squad conducted a thorough investigation and that we cleared Stone.”

“Then Marty will ask you about your relationship with Stone, and he’ll discredit your testimony, because you’re former partners and close friends. Anyway, he’s not going to call you, because you wouldn’t help his case.”

“This just doesn’t add up,” Stone said. “Marty must know that he can’t get an indictment of me.”

“A good prosecutor can get anything he wants from a grand jury,” Bill said.

“But he couldn’t get a conviction, so why get an indictment?”

“There are two things here,” Bill said. “One, he could have a witness to cast doubt on your story, or even to claim you murdered the girl.”

“Then that would either be a perjurer or a frame-up,” Dino said. “Or both.”

“Right,” Bill said. “The other thing is, suppose he thinks this case isn’t going to be solved, so he wants to feed somebody to the press as the murderer. The day after your testimony, I can see a headline in the News that you’re the chief suspect, but that they don’t have enough evidence to indict you, yet.”

“Oh, shit,” Dino said.

“Well, Dino,” Bill said, “at least you’re getting the picture.”

“But that won’t wash,” Stone said.

“It’ll wash with enough people to ruin you in this town,” Dino said.

“And,” Eggers chipped in, “it would end your usefulness to Woodman and Weld. The firm couldn’t be seen to employ – even on an occasional basis – the chief suspect in a gaudy murder.”

Dino put down his glass. “You’d be the new O.J.”

Stone sat and thought about this, ignoring his steak. “Martin Brougham doesn’t strike me as that malicious,” he said. “So who is?”

Dino’s eyebrow’s went up. “I smell Tom Deacon.”

“Who’s Tom Deacon?” Bill asked.

“He runs the DA’s investigative division, under Marty, and he doesn’t like Stone and me.”

“Oh.”

“Something else,” Dino said. “Marty wants to be the next DA. He might like a flashy case to help imprint himself on the voters’ frontal lobes.”

“That all makes sense,” Bill said. “You think this Deacon guy is just trying to make himself look good?”

“I think that fits right in with his character,” Dino replied. “He knows a few reporters; he could make himself look good and Stone look bad. It would be easy.”

Stone spoke up. “I’ve already told him that if he did something like that, I’d sue him for libel.”

“It could come to that,” Bill said. “How much faith do you think Brougham has in Tom Deacon?”

“A lot,” Dino said. “If he’s willing to put Stone through this on Deacon’s say-so.”

“We need other witnesses besides you, Dino, witnesses from the NYPD. Are you the actual investigating officer on the Susan Bean Murder?”

“No,” Stone answered for him. “That would be Andy Anderson and Michael Kelly.”

Dino shook his head slowly “No, not Kelly; not anymore.”

“What, did you kick him out of the precinct?” Stone asked.

“No, he left voluntarily.”

“Congratulations,” Stone said. “I don’t expect you’ll miss the little prick.”

“He went to work for the investigative division of the DA’s office,” Dino said. “Starting tomorrow morning.”

“So,” Bill said, “we could have one of the investigative officers on the case testifying against Stone?”

“What could he possibly say?” Stone asked. “Anyway, Dino and Andy Anderson could refute any lies.”

“I don’t like any of this,” Eggers said, “so what I’m going to try to do is to nip it in the bud.”

“How?” Stone asked.

“I’m going to go see Marty Brougham tonight, at home, if he’s in, and try to straighten this out. Can either of you think of anything else that might help me do that?”

Stone sipped his beer thoughtfully. “There was something that Susan Bean said to me. I didn’t give it much thought at the time.”

“What did she say?” Eggers asked.

“We were walking up Madison Avenue, just chatting, and I congratulated her on her team’s getting a conviction in the Dante case.”

“Is that the Mafia guy?”

“Right. She didn’t seem all that thrilled to have won it, which surprised me; I would have thought she’d have been walking on air.”

“What, exactly, did she say about it?”

“She said she was happy to have won, but she didn’t like the way they’d won it.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Eggers mulled this over. “So there might have been some sort of prosecutorial misconduct during the trial?”

“That could be what she meant.”

“You have any idea what kind of misconduct?”

“No, but the very mention of it to Brougham might have some sort of effect.”

“Maybe so,” Eggers said. “It might give him pause about a subpoena if he thought you might testify about something like that. It’s not much, but it might help as a bargaining chip.”

“I wish I had more to tell you,” Stone said. He turned to Dino. “There are cops on the DA’s investigative staff, aren’t there?”

“Sure; Deacon is a cop.”

“You know anybody in Internal Affairs that you might interest in an investigation of the evidence in the Dante case?”

“I know some guys, but they would be reluctant to open that can of worms, especially after a successful conviction of a guy the department has been after for years.”

“Do you know somebody in IA who hates Tom Deacon?”

“Now that might be a possibility; lots of people do. I’ll give it a shot.”

Eggers looked at his watch. “I’m going over to Marty Brougham’s house now; you guys can fight over the check.” He tossed his napkin on the table and stood up. “Stone, you might lay low for a day or two, until I’ve had a shot at sorting this out.”

“Sure. I’ll be at…”

Eggers cut him off. “I don’t want to know where you are, if they ask me. Just call me in the morning, and if I’m not available, keep checking in. Don’t leave a number”

“Okay.”

Eggers shook both their hands and left.

Stone tossed a credit card on the table and waved for a waiter.

“So, where are you off to?” Dino asked.

“You don’t want to know that. If you need me, try my car phone or my cell phone.”

“I’ll let you know if I have any luck with Internal Affairs,” Dino said.

Stone signed the check, said good night, and got into his car. He’d had another thought on how to learn more about the Dante trial.

STONE TURNED INTO DOLCE’S BLOCK IN the East Sixties and punched her phone number into his car phone. As the number rang, he squeezed past an elderly Mercedes 600 limousine that was double-parked in the street.

“Hello?”

“It’s Stone; I’m in the block.”

“I’ll open the garage door; park next to my car and take the elevator to the second floor. And leave your luggage in the car,” she said.

It sounded as though he would not be staying the night. Stone ended the call and looked for her house number. It turned out to belong to a large, handsome redbrick town house. He drove down a short ramp and through the open garage door; it closed behind him. He parked next to the Ferrari and took the elevator to the second floor. The door opened into a hallway; Dolce was waiting for him.