“I’m afraid you’ve missed him.”
“Missed him? Is he in town, running errands?”
“Herbie got out yesterday.”
“I see.” This didn’t come as a complete surprise. “Can I have his release address?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know his new address.”
“May I have the name of his parole officer, then?”
“He doesn’t have a parole officer.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“He got an unconditional release.”
“He was released
“It’s rare, but it happens. Herbie was an outstanding prisoner, very helpful to the warden and me, and his psychiatric examination showed no likelihood of a repeat offense.”
“So you just cut him loose, and you’re hoping for the best?”
“That’s about it.”
“And you have no address for Mitteldorfer?”
“None at all; he’s as free as an eagle.”
“Thanks; sorry to trouble you.”
“No trouble at all,” Warkowski replied.
Stone could hear him laughing as he hung up. He returned to the car.
“Business all done?”
“Almost,” Stone said. He drove away from the prison and into the town, looking for something. It didn’t take him long to find it, and he drove into a parking place.
“I’ve got to run in here for a minute,” Stone said.
“Stone, darling, do you really feel an urgent need for stationery right
“I won’t be a minute.” He got out and went into the store; the sign over the door read, WILHELM’S STATIONERS. A young woman was behind a counter near the door. “Good afternoon,” Stone said. “I wonder if I could speak to Mr. Wilhelm?”
“I’m afraid he’s out for a couple of hours, delivering,” the young woman said.
“Oh.” Stone turned to go, then stopped. “Did a man named Herbert Mitteldorfer used to buy supplies here for the prison?”
“Herbie? Oh, yes. He was one of our better customers. He and Mr. Wilhelm used to speak German to each other.”
“How often was he in here?” Stone asked.
“Oh, practically every single day, even when there was a lockdown at the prison.”
“He bought office supplies
“Oh, no, not really. At first, he’d come in to see Mr. Wilhelm, then he started working here.”
“He worked for Mr. Wilhelm?”
“Well, not
Stone blinked as he tried to get his mind around this. “Did you know he was released yesterday?”
“Oh, yes. Herbie came by to get his stuff and to say goodbye.”
“Did he have a lot of stuff?”
“A couple of filing cabinets and his computer and printer; that was about all.”
“Do you think I could have a look at where Herbie worked?”
“Are you a friend of his?”
“I came up to see him today, but I didn’t know he’d been released until I got to the prison.”
“Sure, I guess you could see it; follow me.”
Stone followed the young woman through aisles of stationery and office equipment to a door on the other side of the store.
She opened the door and stood back. “This is where he worked,” she said.
Stone looked into a room furnished only with a desk, a chair, and a small leather sofa. “Do you have any idea what Herbie did in here?” he asked.
“Well, I know he traded stocks,” she replied. “I don’t know what else he did.”
Stone stared at her. “On the stock market, you mean?”
“Oh, yes; he was a very active trader; he spent every afternoon on the computer and on the telephone, talking to his broker. He gave me and Mr. Wilhelm a number of good tips; we made out real well. I was sorry to see Herbie go.”
“Thanks,” Stone said.
“Come see us again. Shall I tell Mr. Wilhelm you stopped in?”
“No, that won’t be necessary. By the way, do you have Herbie’s new address?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t; neither does Mr. Wilhelm. He did say that he was headed west.”
“How far west?”
“I don’t know, really; he did say that he’d let us know when he was settled.”
“I see. Tell me, how did Herbie take his computer and his file cabinets away?”
“He had a man with a van; I guess somebody he hired.”
“Was there a name on the van?”
“Nope, just a plain, black van.”
“Can you describe the man who drove the van?”
“I’m sorry, I just didn’t pay that much attention; I was helping customers.”
“Thanks again for your help,” Stone said. He walked back to his car, wondering why the hell Sing Sing would let a prisoner spend his afternoons in Ossining, trading stocks.
“All done?” Sarah asked, as he got into the car.
“Completely done,” Stone replied. He had no idea what to do next.
21
THEY CROSSED INTO CONNECTICUT ON I-84, and Stone soon turned off the interstate at Southbury and headed north. The car behaved like a living thing, clinging to curves and accelerating in the straights.
“When do I get to know where we’re going?” Sarah asked.
“When we get there, not before,” Stone replied. “Just enjoy the countryside; it restores your corpuscles, remember?”
“I can feel them pumping even now.”
In Woodbury, Stone turned left on Highway 47, and a few minutes later they entered Washington Township.
“Oh, Washington!” Sarah enthused. “I spent a weekend here a few years ago; what a lovely place!”
“I’m glad you think so,” Stone said, making a right turn at a sign that read, MAYFLOWER INN. They drove around a pond and up a steep hill, pulling up outside a handsome, shingled building.
“This is lovely,” Sarah said. “How did you find it?”
“It wasn’t hard,” Stone said. “It was voted the best country inn in America last year in some magazine. I clipped the article.”
“Well clipped,” she replied.
Someone took their bags upstairs and let them into a handsomely decorated suite overlooking the rear gardens.
“Have you reserved a dinner table, sir?” the young bellman asked.
“No. Could you do that for me, at eight o’clock?”
“Certainly. You’ll need a jacket, but not necessarily a tie.”
