“They had no passports. They were thrown out of the Soviet Union and given asylum here. They had no records of any kind, not even birth certificates. The Soviets refused to supply them. The State Department, as was usual at the time, issued them documents based on sworn statements from the parents.”
“And Georgi Nijinsky swore that little Vladimir was a girl named Sasha?”
“Precisely. I never got the whole story – God knows, I would never have asked Sasha – but I surmise that, from birth, the little boy exhibited female traits, and the parents accepted that and raised him as a girl. I did find out that they took her to Morocco on a six-week vacation when she was twelve, and I believe she must have had hormone treatments and a sex-change operation at that time. After all, the onset of puberty was at hand, and people would have begun to notice if little Vladimir wasn’t developing breasts, et cetera.” Barker looked at Stone closely. “You don’t seem particularly surprised. I thought I would knock you right out of your chair with this story.”
“I figured it out when you began to tell me, but I had the advantage of an important clue.”
“What was that?”
“The handwriting expert who compared this note to a sample of Sasha’s writing said that both letters were written by a man.”
“Oh, that’s a wonderful touch for my
“Well, I have an ace up my sleeve – my source for the information about the flight and the money. This would be a reluctant witness, but a subpoena can work wonders, especially if the witness may be an accessory to the crime because of withholding information.”
Barker looked down at the table. “Stone, I know you were seeing Cary Hilliard – you brought her to my house, remember? Might Cary be your source?”
Stone played cagey. “Why do you ask?”
“I didn’t want to bring this up; I got the impression at that time that you and Cary were close.”
“You could say that.”
Barker’s voice was sympathetic. “Stone, I have to tell you that Barron Harkness and Cary Hilliard are being married this afternoon, at three. I was invited to the wedding.”
Stone took a quick breath. “I wasn’t,” he said.
“And, Stone, after they’re married, Cary can’t be subpoenaed to testify against her husband, can she?”
“No,” he said.
Chapter 46
The carpet layers took up much of Stone’s time on the afternoon of Cary Hilliard’s wedding, but his mind was not on the work. He walked through the house looking for the thrill that usually came when he thought about its completion, but it did not come.
He mustered his defenses and thrust the thought of Cary into a corner of his mind from which he was determined not to let it escape. Instead, he thought about Barron Harkness, of his every contact with the man, their every conversation, trying to remember something that would help connect him with Sasha’s fall.
He told himself that his desire to nail Harkness had nothing to do with the loss of Cary, but, when he looked at his watch and saw that it was a little after three, he fantasized that he was interrupting the ceremony at the point where the minister asks for reasons why the marriage should not take place. “Reverend,” he would say loudly from the back of the congregation, “I am here to arrest the groom for murder. I should think that sufficient cause for the wedding not to take place.” For some reason, in his fantasy, he spoke these words with an English accent.
He used an old technique for when he was stumped on a case – go back to the beginning and review possible suspects. But in his attempt to incriminate Barron Harkness, he came up dry. There was only one other conceivable suspect, now that Hank Morgan had removed herself from the scene: Herbert Van Fleet. But, in spite of his obsession with Sasha, Van Fleet had come up clean. Dino didn’t think so, he remembered, and Dino’s instincts were often good; but, for that matter, so were his own, and he could not bring himself even to dislike Van Fleet, strange as he was.
Then, he remembered something else odd about Van Fleet, though it did not seem connected to Sasha. Van Fleet had finished medical school but had been rejected during his internship as “unsuited for a medical career.” That was the statement Dino had read to him, something one of the investigative teams had turned up, a statement from somebody at Physicians amp; Surgeons Hospital, where Van Fleet had served his abortive internship.
When the carpet layers had finished, Stone retrieved his badge from a dresser drawer and caught a cab uptown. Dino was still on his honeymoon, he reasoned, and there was nobody he could turn to for the original record of the investigation, so he would have to do this himself. Anyway, it kept his mind off Cary.
The hospital was the most prestigious of its kind in the city, having treated the great and near great for more than a century. There was as much cachet attached to checking into Physicians amp; Surgeons as there was to moving into a Fifth Avenue apartment.
“Can you tell me who is in charge of interns?” he asked at the front desk.
“The chief resident,” a young woman replied.
No good. The chief resident would not have been at the hospital long enough. “And who does he report to, ultimately?”
“The chief of medicine,” the young woman replied. “His name is Garfield. Did you wish to see an intern, sir?”
“No, I just need some information, and I think the chief of medicine is the person I should see.”
“Well, his office is on the fifth floor, but I shouldn’t think he’d see you without an appointment.”
“Thanks, I’ll just have a word with his secretary. By the way, how long has Dr. Garfield been chief of medicine?”
The woman shrugged. “I’ve been here for twelve years, and he had the job when I arrived. Since Adam, I guess.”
Stone took the elevator to the fifth floor and followed the signs. The chief of medicine occupied a spacious corner suite, and two secretaries guarded his door. Stone showed the badge to one of them. “My name is Barrington. I’d like to see Dr. Garfield.”
“I’m afraid he’s in a staff meeting at the moment, and he has another appointment immediately after that,” the woman replied, unimpressed.
“Would you please take him a note saying that I’m here and that I would like to see him? This is a serious matter.”
The woman seemed uncertain, but she disappeared through a door for a minute, then returned. “Dr. Garfield will be finished with his staff meeting in just a few minutes. He asked that you wait.”
Stone took a seat and picked up a magazine.
Shortly, a tall, elderly man dressed in a long white coat appeared in the reception room. “I’m Garfield. What can I do for you?”
“I wonder if we could talk privately?” Stone asked, glancing at the two secretaries.
“I suppose so,” Garfield said, striding toward his office door, “but I haven’t got a hell of a lot of time.”
“This won’t take long,” Stone said, following him.
The doctor did not sit, and he did not ask Stone to. “Well?” he said impatiently.
“I’m inquiring about a former intern at this hospital named Herbert Van Fleet,” Stone said.
Garfield didn’t reply immediately. “There was somebody here about him a few months ago,” he said finally.
“Well, somebody’s here again, Doctor, and it’s important.”
“Why is it important?”
“Let’s just say that it’s in connection with a serious crime.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Were you in charge when Van Fleet was interning here?”
