Стюарт Вудс - Shakeup

“So,” Dino said, “what happened to your waltzing fatigue?”

“A nap cured it. Where’s Viv?”

“On her way to Hong Kong. Business, as usual.”

The headwaiter signaled from the door to the back room that he had found them a table, and they elbowed their way through the crowd at the bar and were seated.

“I got a call from a guy at DCPD that somebody saw Pat Clark with a man at the Hay-Adams.”

“Did they get an ID?”

“No, just a description.”

“Tell me.”

“Tall — six-three — on the slim side, dark hair, big hands.” He nodded toward the door where a tall, slim man with dark hair and big hands stood, staring at them. He started walking toward their table.

“Did you conjure him up?” Stone asked.

The man stopped, dug out a wallet, and flashed a badge. “Evening,” he said. “Art Jacoby, DCPD.”

Dino looked him up and down. “Have a seat,” he said.

Stone introduced himself. “How are you, Art?”

“Not so hot.”

“I’ve never known a cop who didn’t have a complaint. What’s yours?”

“I’ve just been transferred.”

“To where?”

“New York. From Washington. We have a liaison office here.”

“I know about that,” Dino said. “A guy named Smith holds that spot.”

“Not anymore. He’s already on a train home.”

“How’d you get so lucky?” Dino asked.

“Bad lucky. This is my first time in New York, and I don’t know how to live here.”

“It’s a lot like living anywhere else,” Stone said. “You’ll get used to it.”

“How’d you find us at Clarke’s?” Dino asked.

“I heard you could get a decent steak here, and I just wandered in.”

“Your luck is improving,” Dino said, handing him a menu.

They all ordered dinner and a second drink.

“So,” Dino said, sipping his Scotch, “did you screw up, or did the guy you’re replacing?”

“I guess I did, though I wouldn’t have thought it was screwing up to have an opinion about a case.”

“What case, and what opinion did you have?”

“The Clark homicide,” Art replied. “It was my opinion that the husband did it.”

“He had a pretty good alibi,” Stone said. “He was standing right behind the president at the inauguration when his wife was killed. I know, because I was there, too.”

“I shouldn’t have said he did it,” Jacoby said. “I should have said he had it done.”

“That’s a different ball game,” Dino said. “Motive?”

“A divorce that turned sour and was going to cost him half of everything he has, and he has a lot.”

“How much does he have?” Stone asked.

“Roughly half a billion, and half of that is a bad divorce.”

“Unarguable,” Stone replied. “Who disagreed with your conclusion?”

“Little Debby Myers,” Jacoby said.

“Ah,” Stone said. “We’ve met.”

“I heard. She doesn’t like you much, either. But that’s what she thinks of more than half the world. And she’s always right, of course.”

“Has she persuaded the president that she’s right? That Clark is innocent?”

“That’s what she’s trying to do.”

“Well, the president is an ex-cop,” Stone said, “so she’s no pushover. Do Myers and Clark have a personal connection?”

“Rumor has it that they’ve been in the sack together, off and on, for years.”

“The plot thickens,” Dino said. “How good a rumor?”

“There are three or four important people around D.C. who claim certain knowledge.”

“Were they in bed with them?” Dino asked.

“Funny you should mention that,” Jacoby said.

“How many of them?”

“At a time, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Apparently, three is the magic number for both Clark and Little Debby.”

“Male or female?”

“They both like girls and boys. I confess that, on a couple of occasions, I was in there.”

“Gee, I’m glad I’m not on that case,” Stone said. “Who’s screwing whom is always tough, but with a third party involved, it gets a lot more complicated.”

“Well,” Jacoby said, “I’m out of it. I’ve said my piece and filed a report to that effect, which has probably already been shredded.”

“Did you keep a copy?”

“I did.”

“Hang on to it,” Stone said. “We’ve had word of a suspect. Is there some reason his description matches yours?”

“Sure. Isn’t everybody six-three and skinny?”

“Hardly anybody,” Stone said.

They hashed this over until their steaks arrived.

“Art,” Dino said, “have you got an alibi?”

“Yeah, I was home, watching the inauguration. I wasn’t on until six.”

“Swell alibi,” Dino said. “Were you in bed with anybody at the time?”

“Fortunately, I was,” Jacoby said.

“Anybody the world knows?”

“A girl who has been rumored to spend time in bed with Clark and Little Debby.”

“Perfect,” Stone said.

“She’s not anxious to be questioned, especially by Little Debby.”

“Does the chief have a reputation as an interrogator?”

“She was an assistant DA for fifteen years and, as such, she terrified everybody.”

“I think your girl should retain an attorney,” Stone said.

“Stone’s a lawyer. He always says things like that,” Dino interjected.

“I can’t afford to start hiring lawyers,” Jacoby said.

“You might give some thought to that for yourself,” Stone said, “but not the same one that the girl hires.”

“See what I mean?” Dino asked.

“Look at it this way,” Stone said. “A good lawyer might get the case tossed in a hurry, especially if your mutual alibis hold up. If he can do that, he’s a bargain.”

“I don’t think she wants to talk to a lawyer any more than she wants to talk to Little Debby,” Jacoby said.

“You’re forgetting that you are her alibi,” Stone said, “just as she is yours. It’s in your mutual interests to eliminate you both as suspects as soon as possible.”

“He’s not thinking like a lawyer,” Dino said to Stone. “He’s thinking like a cop.”

“And he can go right on thinking that way, until other cops lock him up. Then he’s going to start looking for a lawyer, and the media will have already had their field day with you.”

“All right, will you represent me?”

“I’m not licensed to practice in D.C.,” Stone said, “except at the Supreme Court. But I’ll find you somebody good.”

“How soon?”

“First thing in the morning. All the lawyers I know are dining on steaks and fine wines right now. Where are you staying?”

Jacoby scribbled something on a notepad, ripped out the page, and handed it to Stone.

Stone gave him his own card. “I’ll call you,” he said. “Try to resist calling me.”

Dino gave Stone a ride home. “What do you think of this guy Jacoby?” Dino asked.

“I’m not sure what to think of him or his story,” Stone replied.

“I’ll check him out from our end,” Dino said.

“I also don’t know what to think of a grown man who’s never been to New York City before.”

“Weird,” Dino said.

They pulled to a stop in front of Stone’s house. As he got out of the car, he saw his front door open an inch or so, then close.

“Something wrong?”

“Yes,” Stone replied. “The Secret Service is camping out here.”

“They suspect you of something?”

“No, they have instructions to maintain watches at the Carlyle and here, on the grounds that the president will be visiting often.”

“And the bad news is that you can’t get laid in your own house with them hanging around.”