Stuart Woods: Family Jewels

“I’ll look forward to it.”

“You’ve got the address. Use the ground-floor street entrance.”

“See you then.”

Stone hung up and called Eggers. “You free for lunch here tomorrow? I’ve got a new client for you, name of Nicky Chalmers.”

“Ah, the great-grandson of the Tire King, now a dilettante art collector of some note. Knew him at Yale. Delighted to have him, and I’ll join you for lunch.”

“Twelve-thirty. See you then. Come to the office.” He buzzed Joan: “Tell Helene we’ll be four for lunch tomorrow, serve something manly. We’ll sit down at one.”

“Got it. I’d better take Bob out, it’s on his schedule.”

“You two enjoy yourselves.”

Around five Stone was cleaning up his desktop, in preparation for a drink and the TV news, when Bob came and sat next to him. “What’s up, Bob?”

Bob didn’t move, just fixed his gaze on Stone.

“Joan?”

She came in.

“Why is Bob staring at me?”

“Ah, his schedule says he dines at five. I’ll serve him.”

Bob got down his dinner, then returned to sit next to Stone and stare. “Joan?”

She came back. “I forgot, he gets a cookie after his meals and his trips outside.” She handed Stone the biscuit, and he handed it to Bob, who then curled up beside Stone’s desk and went to sleep.

Late that evening, as Stone was getting into his nightshirt, Bob came and sat down in front of him and gave him the staring treatment.

“What is it, Bob?”

Bob made a little noise, then went to the door.

“Ah, you want to go out?”

Bob wagged all over.

Five minutes later, Stone found himself walking around the block in his trench coat and slippers in the pouring rain, waiting for Bob to find just the right spot. This process took fifteen minutes. Back inside, Stone had to find a towel and rub Bob dry, or at least, drier. Bob then insisted on his cookie.

Stone turned on the late-evening news and caught up on the day. Bob curled up in his bed and went straight to sleep.

“Not a care in the world,” Stone muttered.

Stone had a good lunch with Nicky Chalmers, his business manager, and Bill Eggers, and all were agreed that Nicky would join Woodman & Weld as Stone’s client. He saw them off after lunch, then went down to his office to find Sergeant D’Orio, in a civilian suit, waiting for him.

“Good afternoon, Sergeant.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Barrington.”

“Would you like some coffee?”

“Your secretary gave me some, thanks.”

“Then what else can we do for you?”

“I finally caught up with Harvey Biggers at his apartment.”

“Good. And what did he have to say?”

“He said he picked up Darla Henry at a place called Bobby Van’s.”

“When?”

“On New Year’s Eve. He said he didn’t have a date for the party, so he invited her along. They got drunk, and late in the evening, had sex. He slept for a while, then decided to leave, but he couldn’t wake her up, so he just left her there.”

“So they weren’t old friends?”

“He denies ever having met her before that night.”

“Have you any reason to doubt his word?”

“I’ve got no evidence that he’s lying, it’s just a feeling.”

“I know that feeling. Biggers came to see me last week, claiming that his ex-wife, who is my client, was trying to kill him.”

“And what did you do about that?”

“I showed him the door.”

“Did he have two black eyes at the time?”

“Yes, he did.” Stone told him the whole story.

“He’s not quite over them, yet. There’s something else. I didn’t mention it before, but we found Darla’s cell phone in her purse. We’ve had time to get the records, and I was surprised to see that she called you three times.” He handed Stone the record sheet. “I thought you said you didn’t know her.”

“I didn’t, and I don’t.” He ran a finger down the list and found the calls. “The calls are all to this office, and at a time when I was in England.” He buzzed Joan, and she came in. “Did we receive three calls from a Darla Henry on these dates?” He handed her the sheet.

“Now that you mention it, you had two or three calls from a woman who wouldn’t give her name and hung up. You can see that none of these three lasted more than half a minute.” She handed the sheet back, and Stone handed it back to D’Orio.

“There you go,” he said. “I never spoke to her, and she didn’t leave her name.”

D’Orio sighed. “Every time I think I have something in this case, it just melts away.”

“Would it help if I confessed to her murder?”

D’Orio’s eyebrows shot up. “Yes, sir!”

“Sorry, I was just trying to make you feel better. I’m completely innocent, and so, I suspect, is Harvey Biggers.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Just a gut feeling. Also, his story makes perfect sense, and I’ll bet the bartender at Bobby Van’s will back him up.”

“It was a long time ago,” the cop said.

“Jim Carlton remembered her from the same night, and he’d never seen her before. She must have been a memorable lady.”

“You have a point. I’ll stop by Bobby Van’s on the way home.”

“If you hurry, you’ll miss the worst of the rush-hour traffic.”

“Right.” D’Orio stood up.

Stone walked him to the outside door. “Listen, I used to be a cop, and sometimes you get ahold of a bad situation that turns out not to be a crime. I think it’s highly probable that Harvey and Darla met at Bobby Van’s, he took her to the party, succumbed to her charms, then left, and Darla, who was probably drunk, died of a mixture of sleeping pills and alcohol. And I’ll bet, when your tox screen comes back, that’s what it’ll say.”

“I have a feeling you’re right,” D’Orio said. “Thanks for your time.”

They shook hands, and he went on his way.

Joan had gotten into her coat and had Bob on his leash. “Turns out Bob’s annual physical is due. I’m taking him uptown to see his personal physician and get his rabies inoculation updated, et cetera, et cetera. Fred will man the phones while I’m gone.”

“Okay, see you later.” He looked into her office and found Fred at her desk.

“Nice dog, Bob,” Fred said. “I had one like him as a boy.”

“I never had a dog as a boy. My mother was allergic.”

“Good thing you’re not, then.”

“I guess it is a good thing.”

“Want to make a small wager?”

“On what?”

“I’ll bet you twenty quid — ah, bucks — that when the lady comes home, she won’t get her dog back.”

“You’re on,” Stone said, “and I’ll enjoy taking your money.”

Stone was back at his desk when Dino called. “I hear you were caught in bed with a dead woman in the Hamptons.”

“You have big ears, but faulty hearing. I reported a dead woman, and she was in no condition to go to bed with. Who have you been talking to?”

“Their chief out there, Don Ferris. Known him for years.”

“Did he tell you what his latest theory is? He has lots of them.”

“His latest theory is you.”

“Well, his sergeant just left here, after being straightened out on that point. I’m no longer a suspect, if I ever was.”

“What’s your theory?”

“A guy named Harvey Biggers—”

“That’s a name? Sounds like somebody out of Country Gentleman magazine, circa 1950.”

“It does, doesn’t it? You want to hear this, or you want to talk?”

“Go.”

“Harvey Biggers meets her at the bar at Bobby Van’s and invites her to Jim Carlton’s New Year’s Eve party. They get drunk and hit the sack. The girl takes a few Ambien. Biggers decamps at dawn, says he can’t wake her. Carlton goes to London for three months, and I discover the body, which is three months old.”