Worst Fears Realized

“Some years ago, shortly after you left the police force and began practicing law, you represented a man named Marvin Herbert Van Fleet.”

“I did.”

“Do you recall who the opposing counsel was?”

“I believe it was Paul Haverty.”

“Do you recall who his second chair was?”

“No. I mean, it was a young woman; I don’t recall her name.” Stone blinked. “Was that Susan Bean?”

“You remember now?”

“I remember a rather plump, plain young woman who rarely spoke, at least, to me.”

“That was Susan Bean.”

“Really? She’d changed a lot by the time I met her at Brougham’s house.”

“So you were acquainted with Ms. Bean?”

“I was introduced to her, I suppose.”

“On how many occasions did you see her socially after meeting her in court?”

“None.”

“I ask you again, Mr. Barrington: on how many occasions?”

“None whatever.”

“You are an habitue of Elaine’s restaurant, are you not?”

“I’m in there a couple of times a week.”

“For how long?”

“For many years.”

“Have you forgotten that Susan Bean was also an habitue of Elaine’s?”

“I was never aware of that.”

“You have no recollection of seeing her there?”

“None.” Stone began to wonder where this was going.

“On at least one occasion, you picked her up at the bar at Elaine’s, took her home, and had sex with her, did you not?”

Stone was brought up short by the question. He racked his brain for any memory of such an incident. He had, he knew, met women at Elaine’s, and sometimes those meetings had resulted in sex, but that had not happened for a long time, not since he had left the police force. “I have no recollection of such an incident,” Stone said.

“Would it surprise you to learn that Susan Bean remembered such an incident?”

“It certainly would. When was this supposed to have occurred?”

“Do you have any recollection of meeting a woman named Jean Martinelli at Elaine’s?”

“The name doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Ms. Martinelli also works for the District Attorney’s Office, and she was also an habitue of Elaine’s, often in the company of Susan Bean. She recalls meeting you there on several occasions. She recalls your leaving the restaurant in the company of Ms. Bean, and she recalls being told by Ms. Bean the following day that the two of you had gone to her apartment and had sex. Do you deny that this occurred?”

“I have no recollection of any of this,” Stone said. “How long ago was this supposed to have happened?”

“That’s not relevant,” Deacon said.

“Relevant to what?”

“Relevant to the murder of Susan Bean.”

“I should think it would be very relevant,” Stone replied.

“Let’s say that the incident in question occurred before the Van Fleet legal matter.”

“Then you’re talking of more than six years ago?”

“Approximately.”

“And how does this alleged incident relate to the murder of Susan Bean?”

“If it’s not relevant, Mr. Barrington, why have you been lying to us?”

“I haven’t lied to you,” Stone replied, with some heat. “You’ve made an allegation that I had some prior relationship with Susan Bean, however brief, some years ago. I’ve told you that I have no recollection of such a relationship, and that’s the truth.”

“When you began speaking with Ms. Bean in Martin Brougham’s library, you were renewing an old acquaintance, weren’t you, Mr. Barrington?”

“I had no reason to think so.”

“In fact, when you introduced yourself to Susan Bean, she told you that you had met before, didn’t she?”

“She did not. She indicated nothing of the sort.”

“Describe your conversation with her.”

Stone tried to remember. “She was reading something when I sat down; we talked about that, I think. We talked about her name, Bean, I remember. She told me that she had assisted Martin Brougham on the Dante trial, and I congratulated her on the verdict. That’s about all I recall.”

“And what did you talk about on the way to her apartment?”

“It was just idle conversation; it didn’t seem to have any particular point.”

“Did you talk about her work?”

“I suppose so, in passing.”

“Did she tell you anything about her work?”

“I remember getting the impression that she was thinking of leaving her job.”

“What did she say that gave you that impression?”

“I don’t remember, exactly; she seemed tired of the work, I thought. She didn’t seem elated about the Dante verdict.”

“You’re aware that she went to a party celebrating that verdict?”

“Yes.”

“And you say she wasn’t happy about the verdict?”

“I recall that, at the party, she was alone in another room, reading, rather than taking part in a celebration. And I didn’t say she was unhappy about the verdict, merely that she was not elated.”

“Something I don’t understand, Mr. Barrington.”

“What’s that?”

“Why would you want to murder a woman you say you hadn’t seen for more than five years?”

Stone sat up straight. “I did not murder Susan Bean, and I had no motive to do so.” He looked at Simmons, who was still taking notes. “Write that down, please.”

“I’m writing it down,” Simmons replied.

Stone stood up. “I think that will be all,” he said to Deacon.

“I’m sorry you’re reluctant to answer my questions, Mr. Barrington,” Deacon said.

“On the contrary,” Stone replied, “I want it noted for the record that I have answered all your questions. For further information about the events surrounding the death of Susan Bean, I refer you to the detective squad at the Nineteenth Precinct. I have given a full statement to them. As for any further questions to me, I refer you to my attorney, William Eggers, of Woodman and Weld. Good day.”

Deacon got to his feet. “Woodman and Weld? Very elegant firm. I don’t suppose they’re going to be pleased about being involved in this mess.”

“I said good day,” Stone replied, opening the door and letting them out. He had to resist the impulse to plant his foot in Thomas Deacon’s ass as he departed.

17

STONE LEFT HIS HOUSE AND WALKED UP the block to where an unmarked police car was parked. He got in. “Are Anderson and Kelly in another car around here?”

“Yeah,” the driver replied.

“Can you reach them without using the radio?”