Stuart Woods - Dark Harbor

“Still, he has a lot of skills that make him a suspect.”

“I actually had him go over this house and give me his opinion on the security features. He was impressed.”

“Let me get this straight,” Holly said. “You gave a high-class burglar a tour of your home, pointing out all the security features?”

“Yes, and actually he pointed them out to me, not the other way around.”

“God, you’re naive, Stone.”

“I am not.”

“Don’t you know anything about burglars?”

“Of course I do; I worked burglary for a year on the NYPD.”

“How many did you catch?”

Stone hesitated. “Not as many as I would have liked.”

“There you go,” Holly said. “A smart burglar is notoriously hard to nail. If he doesn’t get caught or seen on the property or leave fingerprints or DNA, and if he has a fence unknown to the police, he’s damn near bulletproof. These guys know this. Even the ones who get caught learn from their mistakes and go right back to work as soon as they’re out of the joint. Very high recidivism rate among burglars. There’s also a significant sexual component to these crimes; burglars are often rapists. They get caught for that rather than for the burglaries.”

“All right,” Stone said. “I’ll introduce you to the guy.”

Mabel Hotchkiss bustled into the kitchen. “Oh, you’re already eating,” she said. “I wanted to make breakfast for you.”

“We fixed our own,” Stone said. “How was your evening on the mainland?”

“We enjoyed it very much,” Mabel said, starting to clean up the pots and pans they’d used.

“You should have stayed longer.”

“No, one night there is enough. I like to get home.”

“Mabel,” Stone said, “can you ever remember anyone getting into this house who shouldn’t have been here? Anyone outside the family?”

Mabel shook her head. “Mr. Stone said that could never happen, because of steps he’d taken.”

“Has either you or Seth ever lost a key?”

“No, we each have one; mine’s in my purse, and Seth’s is in his pocket. Why do you ask?”

“I’m still trying to figure out everything.”

They finished their breakfast, then Stone got out the MG and they drove north on the island.

“I don’t know what our excuse is going to be for this visit,” Stone said.

“Why do we need an excuse?”

“I don’t want to appear to be harassing the man,” he said.

“Leave it to me.”

They turned into Hal Rhinehart’s drive and stopped next to the shop. Rhinehart was at his drawing table in his office, working on a set of plans. “Good morning,” he said.

“Morning, Hal. I want you to meet Holly Barker, a friend of mine.”

Rhinehart shook Holly’s hand. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked.

“I wanted to ask you about something,” Holly said.

“Go ahead.”

“You know the Stone house has Assa locks.”

“Yes, and they’re the best.”

“If you wanted to get past one of them, how would you do it?”

“I’d find another way in,” he replied. “I wouldn’t waste my time working on an Assa.”

“I’m talking about the Stone house, specifically,” she said.

“That’s a very tight house,” he replied. “If I really wanted to get in, I’d try and steal a key from somebody. Otherwise, I’d pass it up for something easier.”

“Could you get a duplicate key made?” Holly asked.

Rhinehart shrugged. “I’d try and bribe the locksmith who installed it. He’d have to order a key or a blank from Assa, in Sweden. The trouble is, there’s no locksmith on the island; Dick Stone would have to have found one in a larger city to come and do the work, and there’s no way to know which one.“

“Suppose the bribery didn’t work. How would you get a key?”

“If I were in New York, I’d follow the maid to the subway and steal her handbag. As you can see, getting past an Assa would be a major pain in the ass.”

“Could you pick it?”

“I tried that once for two bloody hours and got nowhere. When you put the key into an Assa and turn it, something like ninety-two things have to happen inside the lock before it will open.”

“Could you make a copy of a key?”

“Sure, if I could get a wax impression. Then it could be cut from a solid piece of metal. That’s also a major pain. There are simpler ways to make a living as a burglar.”

A young woman carrying an infant came into the office. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were busy,” she said.

“This is my wife, Helene,” Rhinehart said, “and our baby, Dede. She’s nine months old.”

Holly made the appropriate noises with the baby. “Thanks for your help,” she said. “We’d better be going.” They said their goodbyes and went back to the car.

“Well?” Stone said.

“All right,” she said, “Rhinehart sold me. He’s a reformed character.”

“Good questions about the locks,” Stone said.

“Yeah, but no good answers. I’m stumped.”

“So am I.”

“I guess we’ll have to pursue other leads.”

“What other leads?” Stone asked.

“Well, there is that,” she said.

BACK AT THE HOUSE, Holly came into the study where Stone was reading the New York Times.

“Have you got the key to Dick’s secure office?”

“Sure.” Stone took the key off his ring and handed it to her. “I guess Lance wouldn’t mind.”

“It’s Lance I want to contact,” she said, unlocking the door. She went into the little office, inserted a data card into the computer and switched it on. When prompted, she entered her user name and password.

“That’s a lot of digits for a password,” Stone said.

“Big-time encryption,” she said. She tapped in more keystrokes. “Ah,” she said. “I caught Lance at his desk.”

“What do you want to tell him?”

“I just want to bring him up to date, and I want to get more information about the Assa locks.” She continued typing, stopping now and then to read the replies.

“You’re using regular instant messaging?”

“It’s highly irregular instant messaging,” she said, “but the result is the same.” She typed a few more keystrokes, then ended the session. “He’ll get back to me.”

“I’m going back to the Times” Stone said. “There’s the crossword yet to do.” He went back to his chair, grabbed the paper and put his feet up on the ottoman.

“I’m going for a run,” Holly said. “Want to join me?”

“I’m too comfortable,” Stone replied. “Go armed.”

“You think that’s necessary?”

“How many more murders do you need on an island this size to make you cautious?”

“Oh, all right.”

“And stick to the roads; don’t run down any trails.”

“Oh, stop it.”

“I just want to know where to look for your body later.”

“All right, all right!”

HOLLY WENT UPSTAIRS AND changed into sweats and sneakers, strapped her 9 mm on, then left by the front door and headed toward the main road past the house. She stopped at the end of the driveway and did some stretching, then headed down the road, running lightly on the left side of the road, facing traffic. The day was bright and cool, perfect Maine weather. She had gone about a mile when a police car began coming toward her. It slowed as it approached, then stopped, and the passenger-side window rolled down.

“Morning,” a uniformed officer inside said.

“Good morning,” Holly said, stopping and going to the open window.

“I’m Sergeant Young of the Maine State Police,” the man said. “Who might you be?”

“I’m Holly Barker. I’m staying with Stone Barrington at the Dick Stone house.”