Stuart Woods - New York Dead

“Look, Barron,” Stone said, “Sasha trusted you enough to put you in charge of her estate. There may be something here that will help us find out what happened to her, and we’re going to need your cooperation.”

Dino returned from the kitchen. “The supervisor at the movers’ says his guys didn’t open any boxes. I called the doorman on the house phone, and he confirms that they were sealed when he signed the receipt and let the movers out.”

“So,” said Stone, turning to Harkness, “somebody has been in here since the movers left.”

“Don’t look at me,” Harkness said.

“You’ve got a passkey, right?”

“I’m chairman of the cooperative board. Look, I thought the apartment was empty. Why would I want to come in here?”

“Who else besides the doorman has a key to this apartment?”

“The owners would, the people who were selling to Sasha. They live in Connecticut; I’ll get the phone number for you.”

“Who lives in the other apartment across the vestibule, number 10-K?”

“My assistant, Cary Hilliard. You met her the other night.”

Stone nodded. “And would she have a key?”

“No.”

“Did she know that Sasha was moving in here?”

“No. Sasha wanted her change of address kept quiet until she had moved. She liked to control what people knew about her.”

“Where do you normally keep your passkey?”

Harkness held up a gold key ring. “Here, with my other keys. They’re always in my pocket. Always. I lost some keys once, and it was such a pain in the ass that I’ve had a thing about it ever since.”

“Who else knew that Sasha was buying the apartment?”

“The owners; the board of directors, four other people besides me – they had to approve the buyer – the doorman, and, of course, anybody Sasha might have felt like telling.”

Stone remembered Sasha’s change-of-address cards, unmailed. “I want to go through this stuff. Are you going to cooperate, or am I going to have to go to the trouble of getting a search warrant?”

“All right” – Harkness sighed – “do what you have to do, but I’m going to be here while you’re doing it.” He walked across the room and settled his large frame in a chair. “Have at it,” he said.

Nearly two hours later, Stone wrote a receipt and handed it to Harkness. “I want her checkbook and her other financial records – these two boxes here.”

“When do I get them back?”

“When I’ve had a chance to go over them thoroughly, or when Sasha turns up alive, whichever comes first.”

Harkness stared at the two boxes.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” Stone asked.

“No,” Harkness replied. “If it will help to find out what happened to Sasha, you’re welcome to the records.”

They parted at the front door of the building, and the detectives lifted the two boxes into the trunk of their car. As they got in, Dino spoke up. “If Harkness keeps his keys in his pocket all the time, then his wife might have gotten to them when he was asleep. If he was fucking Sasha, the lady might have taken an interest in her moving into the building.”

“I didn’t think of that,” Stone said. “I don’t even know if Harkness has a wife.”

“He’s a big guy, isn’t he? Wouldn’t have much trouble tossing a lady off a balcony, he felt like it.”

“I thought of that,” Stone said.

“If you’re going to start out the evening kissing like that, then we’re never going to make it to dinner,” Stone said, feeling her breasts against him. The front door was still open, and he kicked it shut.

“Couldn’t help myself.” She grinned. “Say, all the way over here, I’ve been wondering where in this house you’re going to offer me a drink. I mean, the place is a wreck.”

“Follow me,” he said, and he led her to the kitchen.

She stood and looked around the room. “it’s beautiful,” she said. “You didn’t do this yourself.”

“I did, with a little help. I didn’t build it, I just restored it, refinishing all the original cabinetwork and fitting in the new appliances. It’s the only room in the house that’s done, except for the floors.”

“It’s like a turn-of-the-century dream,” she said, opening a cabinet. “And you’ve got your aunt’s china, too.”

“Hers and my mother’s. I could feed an army, if I had a working dining room.”

“We’ve got to find a way for you to keep this house, Stone. You deserve to live in it, really you do. I hate to think of your turning it over to some stranger, just for the money.”

“I hate the idea, too, but that’s the way it has to be. What would you like to drink?”

“Scotch.”

They sat at the kitchen table.

“So how’s the Sasha investigation going?”

“Stranger and stranger. Did you know she was going to be your next-door neighbor?”

Cary ’s jaw dropped. “In 10-J? You’re kidding!”

“Barron didn’t tell you?”

“Jesus, no.” She looked thoughtful. “I wonder why not. I know most of what goes on with him, and if he got her into the building, why wouldn’t he tell me that?”

“Did he get you into the building?”

“Yeah. Daddy paid, of course. Dammit, I’ll bet Sasha paid less. The co-op market is soft right now, and I’ve been there two years; I bought in at the top.”

“Did you know the people who lived there before?”

“The Warrens? Sure. I mean, they had me in for a drink when I moved in, and I had them in for a drink in return, and after that I just saw them in the elevator. The place was just a pied-à-terre for them; they live in Westport. He was in a Wall Street law firm, and he just retired.”

“Did you have a key to 10-J?”

“No.”

Stone told her about the day’s events.

“Spooky!” she said. “And you wondered if I went through her stuff?”

“Had to ask.”

“Did you talk to the Warrens?”

“I tried. The maid said they’re in London. That lets them out, I guess.”

“The painters have been in and out of there, but I guess they finished up before Sasha’s stuff arrived. Anyway, the doorman would have let them in and locked up after them.”

“Well, enough shoptalk. How was your day?”

It was nine before they reached the Tribeca Grill, riding in the inevitable black Lincoln. The headwaiter knew Cary and gave them a good table.

“Neat place,” Stone said. “I’ve read about it. Is De Niro in here much?”

“From time to time. Sometimes I think a third of the people in here came just to catch a glimpse of him.”

“Like those two couples,” Stone said, nodding at a table in a less desirable part of the restaurant. They watched as one of the men, dressed in a silk suit and a pearl gray tie, offered the headwaiter money and had it refused.

“Tourists,” Cary said.

“Not your ordinary tourists,” Stone replied. “They’re wise guys.”

“Mafia? You know them?”

“I know the look. The suits, the women’s clothes. Just about everybody else in here is casual, but they’re dressed to kill. Here’s how it goes: the wise guys like places they’re known, where they’re known to be connected; they’re treated like princes – the best tables, the best wines on the house. Tonight, though, the ladies wanted to break out, wanted to come to De Niro’s restaurant and see him up close. The guys went for it, because De Niro is Italian, he’s their hero, and they’re already regretting it. They got the worst table in the house, and the headwaiter won’t be bought. They’ll sulk all through dinner, and it’ll be the last time for a while the ladies will get to go to a new restaurant.”