Stuart Woods: Worst Fears Realized

“Only what I’ve seen of her through the window,” Stone said.

“While you were playing Peeping Tom, did you ever see a man in the place?”

Stone shook his head. “Not until tonight. After the performance with the vacuum cleaner, she always closed the curtains.”

“Downstairs, too?”

“Yes.”

“How many times did you watch her undress?”

“A dozen, fifteen, I guess.”

“You’re lucky I was with you tonight,” Dino said, “or Kelly and Anderson would be pulling you in, making a case for how you were overcome with passion by her performance.”

“That’s not a bad line to pursue,” Stone said. “They should be canvassing my side of the block; the perp could be living over there, and I’ll bet there were other witnesses.”

“Could be, but nobody called it in. You said something before I left your house; you said you knew the perp?”

“I do, but I’m damned if I can remember where from.”

“Come on, Stone, think.”

“I am thinking,” Stone replied testily. He looked at his feet. “We were together on it, I think.”

“On what?”

“On this guy. We arrested him for something, I’m sure. A long time ago.”

“Well, come on, give me a hint.”

“I just can’t put it together,” Stone said. “Give me a minute, will you?” The two were quiet for a moment.

“Mitteldorfer,” Dino said suddenly.

“What?”

“Mitteldorfer; that was his name. Accountant; killed his wife.”

“Herbert Mitteldorfer!” Stone exclaimed. “How the hell did you remember that?”

“He cut her throat,” Dino said. “That’s how I remembered. How long ago was that?”

“Eleven, twelve years ago,” Stone replied. “There was no death penalty then; he got life.”

“There was no life without parole, either,” Dino said. “He’s been in long enough to get paroled.”

“Where was he sent?”

“I don’t remember. Dannemora, Attica?”

“I don’t remember either. Find out.”

Dino got out his cell phone and started dialing, then stopped. “Stone, are you sure it was Mitteldorfer? I’m damned if I can remember exactly what he looked like.”

“He looked just like the perp, that’s what he looked like.”

Dino resumed dialing. “This is Bacchetti. Dig up a record on a Herbert Mitteldorfer.” He spelled it. “Sent up eleven or twelve years ago for murder. I want to know what joint he was sent to and what his current status is. I’ll hold.” He looked up at Stone. “Two’ll get you ten he was paroled last week.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Stone said.

“You remember much about this guy?” Dino asked.

“Not much. Not very big; tightly wound; borderline psycho, I’d say.”

“But what the hell would he have against you?”

“I arrested him, remember?”

“Yeah, but so did I, and so far, he isn’t out there killing people I know.”

“So far,” Stone said.

Dino’s face fell. “Oh, Jesus,” he said.

Stone muttered something.

“What did you say?”

“I said, ‘worst fears realized.’”

DINO WAS DOING A LITTLE OVER A HUNDRED miles an hour on the New York State Thruway when the flashing lights appeared in his rearview mirror. Stone reflected that Dino always drove as if he’d just stolen the car.

“Well, shit,” Dino said. He dug into the glove compartment for his flasher, set it on the dashboard, and plugged it into the cigarette lighter. When he saw the flashing light, the state trooper turned on his whoopers.

Dino slammed on his brakes, nearly causing a rear-end collision, then, in a spray of gravel, ground to a halt on the shoulder. He got out his badge, rolled down the window, and waited for the trooper to come to him. The man was on the radio, obviously checking Dino’s plates.

“Dino,” Stone said wearily, “the speed limit on the thruway is sixty-five miles an hour. Why can’t you drive seventy-five or eighty, like a normal human being?”

“Like you never drive fast,” Dino replied.

The beefy young trooper appeared in the driver’s window.

Dino held up his ID. “And what the fuck do you want?” he asked pleasantly.

“I want your driver’s license and your registration,” the trooper said, not quite as pleasantly.

“You’re looking at the only ID you’re going to get from me,” Dino said. “If you can read, you’ll see that I’m a lieutenant in the New York City Police Department. I’m on my way to Sing Sing on official business.”

“Your license and registration, and don’t make me ask you again,” the trooper said through gritted teeth.

Dino reached into an inside pocket for his cell phone, causing the trooper to jump back and put his hand on his pistol. “Tell you what,” he said, “let’s just call Colonel Joe O’Brien at the Poughkeepsie station and tell him that Trooper” – Dino squinted at the man’s name tag – “Warkowski is impeding a triple-homicide investigation of the NYPD by acting like a rookie asshole.” Dino started punching in a number.

“All right, all right,” the trooper said, holding his hands out in front of him. “Just slow it down, okay?”

“Tell you what, Warkowski,” Dino said. “You wait right here for a couple hours and you’ll see me going south again at a hundred and twenty.” Dino slammed the car into gear and left the trooper standing in a cloud of dust at the roadside.

“You really know how to make friends, Dino,” Stone said. “I’ve always said that about you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Dino said, watching the needle on the speedometer pass a hundred.

“Do you really know a Colonel O’Brien in Poughkeepsie?”

“He spoke at a dinner I went to last year. We didn’t quite meet.”

In Poughkeepsie they made their way to Sing Sing Prison, showed their ID at the gate, and were directed to a parking spot.

“Anybody know we’re coming?” Stone asked, as they got out of the car.

“I called the warden’s office before we left. We’re to ask for the captain of the guard.”

They entered a door marked VISITORS, presented their IDs at the desk, and asked for the captain of the guard.

“You’ll have to check your weapons,” the desk clerk said.

Dino handed over his pistol, and Stone opened his coat to show that he was unarmed.

A thickly built, crew-cut, uniformed man in his fifties appeared in the reception room and waved Dino and Stone through a door, locking it behind him. “And you wanted to see…?” he asked, not bothering to introduce himself.

“Herbert Mitteldorfer, Captain,” Dino replied, looking at Stone and shrugging at the man’s coldness.

“Wait a minute,” the man said, picking up a wall phone in the hallway. “Johnson?” he said. “Bring Herbie Mitteldorfer down to reception one; he’s got visitors.” He hung up the phone and led them on down the hallway to another locked door.

“Is Mitteldorfer a trusty?” Dino asked the man.

“Yeah.”

“Was he, by any chance, out on the town last night?”

The captain stopped before a door. “He gets to shop for office supplies in the town; he’s always back inside by five P.M.”

“Yesterday, too?”

“Yesterday, too.”

He unlocked the door, let them walk into the room, and slammed it behind them.

Dino sat down in a steel chair and rested his elbows on the table. “What’s with that guy?” he asked. “Some reception for the NYPD, huh?”

“You didn’t see his name tag?” Stone asked.

“No.”

“His name is Warkowski,” Stone said.

“War…?” Dino stopped in mid-name.

“We’ll be lucky to get out of here without serving time,” Stone said.