The building was a small postwar apartment building in the East Sixties that had been refurbished for its current purpose. An elderly man in a blue suit was behind the desk.
“Good afternoon,” Stone said. “My name is Willoughby; I believe I’m expected.”
The man consulted a list. “Yes, Mr. Willoughby, you’re in 9-B. You just need it for the afternoon, I believe?”
“Not even that. I just needed a place to do a little work, and they were kind enough to offer me the apartment.”
The man produced a key. “To your right as you leave the elevator. Do you have any luggage?”
“Just my briefcase,” Stone said, holding it up. “Is there anybody using the apartment next door? I may have to do some shouting on the telephone.” He smiled.
“Shout all you like,” the man said. “9-A is empty at the moment.”
Stone thanked the man and went to the elevator. When he got off, he put an ear to the door of 9-A and listened for a long moment. No sound. He let himself into 9-B and looked around. The place was handsomely, if impersonally furnished, with good upholstered pieces and one or two antiques. There were two bedrooms, a master and a smaller one, and two baths. After a quick look around, he went next door and let himself into 9-A.
The apartment seemed to be a mirror image of the other, but there was a difference. 9-A had been lavishly done to someone’s particular taste, and probably by a very expensive designer. The furnishings were richer and more distinctive than those in 9-B, and the art on the walls was probably a part of the company’s collection of expensive paintings. He checked both bedrooms and decided that the master was where the assignation would take place. There was a gorgeous, canopied bed, with a matching silk bedcover, and every stick of furniture in the room dated from the eighteenth century, Stone reckoned. He was about to reenter the living room when he heard the front door open and close.
Oh, shit, he thought, trying to think of some plausible reason why he should be in the apartment. There was a rustling of what sounded like paper bags, followed by a feminine cough. He looked around the bedroom for someplace to hide, should the woman come his way. Her footsteps on the carpet told him she was doing just that.
He ran on tiptoe across the room and practically dove behind the bed. She came into the bedroom, then he heard the hollow click of the bathroom light being turned on. Please close the door, he said to himself, be modest. She did not. He peeped above the edge of the bed and saw it standing wide open and her shadow against the door. There was the sound of water running, then the toilet seat being raised. The water continued to run while she peed. Sitting on the toilet, she would be facing the bathroom door, he knew, so he could not make a run for it. He arranged himself more comfortably and waited.
The woman came out of the bathroom, and he could hear her footsteps approaching the bed. Stone pressed himself closer to it. He heard the rustle of the silk bedcover being turned down and the creak of the springs as the woman lay down.
Stone lay motionless for the better part of a half hour, while the woman tossed and turned, then finally settled down for her nap. When her breathing told him she was sound asleep, he stirred from his position as silently as possible, wincing at the cramps that had formed in his legs. He slipped off his shoes and started for the bedroom door. As he approached the door he glanced back at her, just as she stirred, her back to him. He froze until he was certain she had not actually awakened. Then he made his way across the deep Oriental carpet in the living room to the front door, where he spent several seconds turning the knob as silently as possible. As he closed the door, he saw two large shopping bags from Bergdorf Goodman lying next to a living-room chair.
A moment later, he was back in 9-B, running cold water over his face in the master bathroom. He had done some undercover work in his time, but nothing in his police career had ever prepared him for being a second-story man. Now he knew that burglars are just as frightened as their victims.
He let himself out of the flat and left the building before the lady next door finished her nap.
At home, there was only one message on his answering machine: “Hi, it’s me. I’m sorry you aren’t in; I wanted to hear your voice. And now I have to go to a production meeting, so you can’t even call me back. I’m so looking forward to Saturday; I want to hear this important news of yours – and it must be important, if you want a table at Lutece. I booked that, which was no problem. Barron goes there all the time, and they know me. After dinner, and after hearing your news, I’m going to make you the happiest man in New York City, I promise. I’ve missed you so. Until Saturday night, my love.”
Stone felt the sort of glow that comes with a double brandy. Saturday night was no longer the loneliest night in the week; it was the only night in the week.
The phone rang. “Hi, it’s Bill. We’re on for Friday. My client reckons they won’t be in the apartment until near midnight.”
“Right. I’ll let my man know.”
“Stone, my client says that this is likely to be the only shot we’re going to get at this, so tell him not to fuck it up, okay?”
“Don’t worry, he’s as steady as they come.”
He hung up and called Teddy. “It’s Friday night,” he said. “I’ve cased the place already, so be at my house at nine, and I’ll brief you and give you the camera.”
“Looking forward to it, lad,” Teddy said.
“And, Teddy, no booze that night, all right?”
“Lad,” Teddy replied, sounding hurt, “I only drink
Stone hung up the phone feeling a certain order in his life. There was money in the bank, and he had handled his first assignments for Woodman amp; Weld in a way that was earning their confidence.
He allowed himself to be troubled for a moment about the ethics of what he was doing, but he brushed the thought aside. An errant wife deserved whatever came her way. Stone was on the side of the angels – or, at least, on the side of the wronged party, his client.
He put the last coat of varnish on the library shelves that night, then slept the sleep of the righteous.
Chapter 37
Late Friday morning it started to snow. The big flakes floated straight down, with no wind to blow them into drifts, and, gradually, the city grew silent as traffic decreased and the noise of what was left was muffled by the carpet of white.
As delighted as a child, Stone forgot working on the house and trudged up to Central Park, where he watched children sledding and building snowmen. As it started to get dark, he hiked down Park Avenue, watching the lights come on and the taxis and buses struggle through the deepening snow. By the time he got home, twelve inches had fallen on the city, and it seemed to be getting heavier. Then it occurred to him that Teddy O’Bannion lived in Brooklyn. He grabbed the telephone.
“Don’t worry, Stone” – Teddy chuckled – “the subway is just down at the corner, and I can get a cab from your place. I’ll start early, so I’ll be sure to be on time.”
Stone hung up relieved. The thought that he might have to replace Teddy on this mission had never occurred to him, and even the possibility made his knees tremble.
In the study, he pulled the drop cloths off the crates holding his books – his and his great-aunt’s and his father’s and his mother’s. He estimated there were more than two thousand of them. He took them from their boxes and began arranging them carefully on the shelves. This was a job he would not want to do again. He arranged them by category – art books, fiction, philosophy, politics, biography – and alphabetically by author. It was slow going, and he often had to shift books to keep them in order.
At eight o’clock, he fixed himself some dinner and ate it at the kitchen table, watching the news on CNN.
When he had finished his dinner, he returned to the arranging of the books and became so absorbed in the job that it was nine forty before he realized that Teddy O’Bannion had not arrived.
Worried, he called Teddy’s number. It was busy, and it remained busy during his next ten attempts. He called the operator and had the number checked: out of order, she would report it. What was going on?
