back to her homeland for burial. A sad task.”
“Yes, it is; I’m very sorry about her death; I’ll get the other bags.” Jeff went into the master bedroom and found two cases on the bed. As he leaned over the bed to pick them up, his foot bumped against something, and he bent down to see what it was. He lifted the skirt of the bedspread and found an automatic pistol in a holster. Oh, well, he supposed some people were paranoid about living in New York City. He picked up the bags and took them to the elevator.
He rode down with Menzies and his nephew, both of whom said nothing on the ride. He thought of asking about the sale of the Mercedes, but it was none of his business, so he didn’t bring it up. When the elevator reached the lobby, he loaded the bags into the car’s trunk, which was so full, he had to rearrange it to close the lid.
Menzies held out his hand. “Thank you for all your help, Jeff,” he said. “I’ll see you… ah, the middle of next week.”
“Have a good trip, Mr. Menzies,” Jeff replied. There were folded bills in Menzies’s hand, and when Jeff had a chance to look he was surprised to find two hundred-dollar bills. He watched as the Mercedes drove down Fifth Avenue, then turned east.
Jeff walked back into the building, thinking about what had just occurred. It didn’t add up: Hausman with hair; the resale of the Mercedes; the heavy tip. He had the very strong feeling that he wouldn’t be seeing Howard Menzies again.
For the tenth time, he took the newspaper clipping from his pocket and read it. Seven murders, it said. He put the clipping back into his pocket and made a decision. “Ralph,” he said to the desk man, “will you watch the door for a minute? I’ve got to use the phone in the package room.”
Jeff had very mixed feelings about this, but he had to do it.
61
STONE WAS RECEIVED AT THE BIANCHI home by Pietro, the butler, and taken straight through the house to a back terrace overlooking extensive gardens. Eduardo Bianchi was seated in a cushioned wrought-iron chair, and he stood to receive his guest.
“Good evening, Stone,” he said warmly, taking Stone’s hand and guiding him to a companion chair. “While the women are talking, I thought we’d have an aperitif out here. It’s such a lovely evening.”
“What would you like, Mr. Barrington?” Pietro asked.
“May I have a Strega, please?”
Pietro beamed his approval and went for the drink.
“It really is a lovely evening,” Stone said. The setting sun and the long shadows across the garden created a quilt of light and shadow. “Your garden is very beautiful.”
“Thank you, Stone,” Bianchi said. “I think it gives me more pleasure than any of my possessions. I am getting to be an old man, and it would comfort me to know that this house and its gardens would fall into appreciative hands when I am gone.”
“I’m sure it will,” Stone replied. “You seem to be in a reflective mood.”
“I find I am reflective more and more often,” Bianchi said. “It is the prerogative of old men, I suppose.”
“You seem anything but old, sir.”
Bianchi managed a small smile. “When you are my age you will find that old age is more than simply one’s physical condition; it is a state of mind. Try as I might, I can no longer think like a young man, or even a middle- aged one. Lucidity in one’s later years is a great gift from God; it gives one the opportunity for endless review: Have I done well in my life? Have I made others happy? Have my sins been forgiven?”
Stone said nothing.
“I had a long talk with Bill Eggers yesterday,” he said, “mostly about you.”
“Bill told me you had lunch,” Stone said.
“I understand that your difficulties with the District Attorney’s Office have been favorably resolved.”
“Yes, that seems to be true. I haven’t spoken to Dino since this morning; he’s questioning Tom Deacon and a police officer about Susan Bean’s murder, and I hope it’s going well.”
“Oh, I think it will go well,” Bianchi said, as if he had certain knowledge of it. “And I think you will have no further problems with this Brougham person.”
“I owe you a great debt,” Stone said.
Bianchi waved a hand. “I do not wish to have my friends indebted to me; if I am able to do a friend a service, then that is its own reward. It should be enough for any man. Besides,” he said, “I am not the sort of person to whom you should owe a debt. You must maintain your independence from all men, especially me.”
Stone didn’t know what to make of this.
“Bill Eggers told me many things about you,” Bianchi said, “and from those things I was able to answer many questions for myself, to create a more complete picture of you as a man. I must say that what I heard fully agreed with my instinctive judgment of you.”
Stone didn’t speak.
“It pleases me to learn that you are an honest man, a loyal friend, and that you have a finely developed sense of justice. I believe that I can use a man like you in many of my business dealings.”
“Eduardo,” Stone said, “I’m grateful for your confidence, but I believe I would rather be your friend than your employee.”
Bianchi smiled broadly, the first time Stone had seen him do so. “Then you continue to justify my confidence,” he said. “You must know how important Dolce is to me.”
“I can understand that,” Stone said, wondering why the conversation was turning to Dolce.
“Her happiness, her
Stone’s cell phone rang. Embarrassed, he dug into his pocket for the instrument. “Eduardo, I apologize, but only a couple of people have this number, and I should answer it.”
“Of course,” Bianchi said. “Please do so.”
“Hello?”
“It’s Dino; are you with Eduardo?”
“Yes.”
“Good thing I called.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ll explain in a minute; that’s how long it will take me to get to his front door. Meet me out front; you’re going to miss dinner.”
“Dino, what the hell is going on?”
“Mitteldorfer has surfaced.”
“I’ll be right there.” Stone closed the phone and stood up. “Eduardo, I’m very sorry, but I’m not going to be able to stay for dinner. That was Dino, and the man we’ve been looking for, the one who threatened Mary Ann and Ben, has turned up. Dino is coming for me now.”
Bianchi stood up. “I understand, Stone. I’m very sorry our conversation was interrupted. I hope we can resume it very soon.”
“Please make my apologies to Dolce and Mary Ann.”
“Of course.”
The two men shook hands, and Stone hurried toward the front door. As Pietro opened it, he heard the police siren growing closer.
