Stuart Woods - Worst Fears Realized

Ten minutes of dead time passed before another door opened and a guard escorted a small man into the room.

“There you go, Herbie,” the guard said. “Let yourself out and lock the door behind you when you’re through.” He handed the prisoner a key.

Herbert Mitteldorfer was five-six, 130; he had gone bald on top and gray on the sides; his hair was cut short, not the longer, frizzier hair of Stone’s memory. He stared at Dino and Stone. “Well,” he said, “to what do I owe this great pleasure?”

“Sit down,” Dino said. “We want to ask you some questions.”

“I think I read in the papers that you, ah, retired, Mr. Barrington,” Mitteldorfer said, taking a seat. “Do you spend your time visiting prisoners now?”

“Only on special occasions,” Stone said. “I understand you’re a trusty here.”

“Since my second year inside,” Mitteldorfer replied. “I’m a trustworthy sort of fellow.”

Dino spoke up. “Where were you last night, Herbert?”

Mitteldorfer burst out laughing, and Stone had to restrain himself from joining him. “I think you could say I have an iron-clad alibi,” he replied.

“Yeah? Alibi for what?”

“You tell me; I’ve no idea why you’re here.”

“Tell me about your day yesterday.”

“Easy question. I rose at six, showered and breakfasted, then went to work. I broke forty-five minutes for lunch, then returned to work. I finished work at four-thirty, then wrote some letters and watched TV until dinner at six. After dinner I went to the library and read for two hours, then I returned to my cell and read myself to sleep.”

“Did you run any errands outside the prison yesterday?” Dino asked.

“Asked and answered,” Mitteldorfer replied.

“You’ve been here how long?”

“Just finished my twelfth year.”

“So you’ll have a parole hearing coming up soon?”

“Yes.”

“Well, unless you’d like me to show up at your hearing and tell the board what a dangerous little shit you still are, you’d better start answering my questions with a little more feeling.”

“I apologize,” Mitteldorfer replied, chastened. “I’ll be happy to answer anything you’d like to ask.”

“How often do you leave the prison?”

“Once or twice a week, depending on what errands have to be run.”

“What sort of errands do you run?”

“I buy stationery and office supplies; I go to the computer store; sometimes I’m allowed to do some personal shopping.”

“What sort of personal shopping?”

“I buy underwear and socks, batteries for my portable radio, a new toothbrush. Sometimes I’ll have an ice-cream cone; they don’t serve Häagen-Dazs in here.”

“Do you have a son?”

“No.”

“Any male relatives who are younger than you?”

“No, not in this country.”

“Where else?”

“In Germany; I have a nephew, my sister’s son.”

“What’s his age?”

“Oh, mid-thirties, I suppose. I only met him once, when he was a teenager, when I visited her.”

“What’s his name?”

“Ernst Hausman.”

“Has he ever been to this country?”

“No. I hear from my sister several times a year; I think she’d have told me if he came here.”

“Where does he live?”

“In Hamburg. I don’t have his address. He works at a cigarette factory, I believe.”

“Social work, huh? Helping out his fellow man.”

Mitteldorfer shrugged. “He doesn’t have my conscience.”

“Stone, you got any questions?”

“Mr. Mitteldorfer,” Stone said, “do you have any regular correspondents besides your sister?”

Mitteldorfer hesitated for a moment. “There’s a woman I once worked with,” he said finally. “We write from time to time.”

“Anyone else?”

“No.”

“Do you have any regular visitors?”

“Just the woman,” he replied.

“What is her name?”

“I do hope you won’t drag her into whatever this is about,” Mitteldorfer said, pleading in his voice.

“What is her name?” Dino demanded.

“Eloise Enzberg,” he replied softly.

“She live in the city?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

He gave Dino an address in the East Eighties. “I hope you won’t find it necessary to visit her. She’s a very proper sort of person, and she would be shocked if the police knocked on her door.”

“What sort of work do you do here?” Stone asked.

“I’m the office manager,” Mitteldorfer said. “I oversee the prison bookkeeping, and I hire and train other prisoners to do office work.”

Dino broke in. “Have you cut anybody’s throat lately, Herbert?”

Mitteldorfer looked horrified. “Please. I think you’re aware that my crime was one of passion. I’m not the sort of person ever to repeat it.”

“Does Ms. Enzberg know what you’re in here for?” Dino asked.

“Yes, she does. She read about it in the papers when you arrested me, and after the trial she wrote to me.”

Stone was becoming uncomfortable with this. Mitteldorfer was a mild little man, much different than Stone remembered. He seemed to have served his time well, and there was no point in persecuting him. “That’s it for me, Dino,” he said. “You ready to go?”

Dino ignored him. “Something I remember about you, now, Herbert,” he said. “You enjoyed killing your wife, didn’t you? She was fucking somebody else, and when you found out about it, you took pleasure in cutting her throat, didn’t you?”

Mitteldorfer looked at the tabletop. “Please,” he said.

“Let’s go, Dino,” Stone said.

“All right, get out of here,” Dino said to Mitteldorfer.

Mitteldorfer rose and, without another word, let himself out of the room. They heard him lock the door behind him.

Stone stood up and tried the door by which they had entered. “Locked,” he said. “I wonder how long it’ll be before Captain Warkowski remembers to let us out of here.”

It was nearly an hour before Captain Warkowski turned up and unlocked the door. Stone made a point of keeping his body between Warkowski and Dino.

Dino drove like a wild man all the way back to the city.

THEY WERE CROSSING THE HARLEM River Bridge when Dino’s cell phone rang. He got it out, said hello, then held it away from his ear.

Stone could hear a woman’s voice, practically screaming.

“Not so loud!” Dino yelled into the phone, still holding it away from his head.

“It’s me!” the woman yelled.

“Mary Ann? What’s going on?”

She was still shouting, but not screaming; Stone could hear her clearly. “A man just attacked me! I shot him!”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m not hurt, if that’s what you mean.”

“Where did this happen?”

“On the street, outside the building.”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m in the apartment.”

“I’m on the West Side; I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. I’ll have a squad car sent. Lock the door, and don’t let anybody in but cops.”

“All right.”

Dino hung up and dug out the flasher again. “Did you get that?” he asked Stone.

“All of it.”

Dino dialed another number. “This is Bacchetti; who’s got the duty?” He paused. “Anderson? Get over to my apartment right now.” He gave the detective the address. “But first, get a squad car there. Somebody’s attacked my wife. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” Dino hung up and concentrated on his driving, roaring down the Henry Hudson Parkway, weaving in and out of the heavy traffic.

Stone put his hands on the dashboard and braced himself. He had always thought it a good possibility that he would die in a car with Dino at the wheel, and he wondered if this was going to be the day.