him, but because she could destroy him if she was married to him. She only wanted to cut off his balls, and then the evening news would have been all hers.”
“And you, what did you want?” He edged a little closer.
She backed up a couple of steps. The edge was nearer now. The wind was gusting, and she leaned into it for a moment. “Well, you were useless, weren’t you?” She spat. “You wouldn’t free yourself of that dead-end job, so that you could get ahead. Barron was simply the best alternative. I didn’t love him, though; I loved you. Why do you think I kept seeing you?”
“You didn’t love me any more than you loved Barron or Sasha, Cary.” He stepped closer; he could grab her now. He put a foot forward but kept his weight on the rear one. He reached out and snaked a hand around her waist.
There was a howl from behind him, and the wind struck his back. Involuntarily, his weight shifted onto the forward foot, and then to the toe. He let go of Cary. Slowly waving his arms for balance, he fell toward her, still pushed by the wind. Cary stepped instinctively back from him, and her calf struck the railing. In desperation, she reached out and grabbed at his coat lapel. Then they both toppled over the railing, out into the night. Sixty-five stories of thin air welcomed them.
Stone stopped short; something had his ankle. He ignored it, watched Cary slip from him and fall, facing him, revealed by flashes from lighted windows, all the way down until she struck the top of what looked like a Yellow cab.
Chunks of gravel were spilling from the top of the building now, falling past Stone to the street. Whoever had him was slipping over the side with him. He’ll let go, Stone thought, and I’ll join her. Then he stopped moving.
There was a chorus of grunts and muffled shouts from above, and, inch by inch, he was hauled back to the top of the building, scraping his shin quite badly. When he was back on top, lying with his cheek pressed gratefully to the gravel, he could see Dino hanging on to his ankle, and Barron Harkness and Hi Barker hanging on to Dino. They let go of each other reluctantly.
Stone crawled over to a ventilator and sat down with his back to it. “Thanks, Dino,” he was finally able to say. “You did it again.”
“And it’s the first time you ever thanked me for it,” Dino puffed.
“I don’t believe any of this,” Hi Barker said to nobody in particular. “But it’s going to make one hell of a story.”
Only Barron Harkness seemed to give a thought to Cary. “She’s gone,” he said absently. “My wife is gone.”
Dino was the first to answer him. “Get used to it, pal.” He snorted. “She’s New York Dead.”
Chapter 52
Stone sat with his client and watched the jury file back into the courtroom. He had a sinking feeling about this. He didn’t like his client much, and he wasn’t sure the man was innocent. He was afraid the jury didn’t share his indecision.
“Has the jury reached a verdict?” Judge O’Neal asked.
Stone thought she was looking particularly attractive today, as much as she could in judicial robes.
The foreman stood. “We have, Your Honor,” he replied. “The foreman will hand the verdict to the clerk.”
The clerk received the verdict, read it to himself, then handed it to Judge O’Neal. She read it and handed it back to him.
“The defendant will rise and look upon the jury; the jury will look upon the defendant.”
Stone stood with his client.
“The clerk will read the verdict.”
The clerk looked at the piece of paper. “We, the jury, unanimously find the defendant guilty as charged.”
Stone’s client sighed audibly.
Well you might sigh, Stone thought. I tried to get you to plead to the lesser charge, you dumb schmuck. But you thought you could beat it.
“The jury is released with the thanks of the court for a job well done,” Judge O’Neal said. “Sentencing is set for the twenty-fifth of this month; bail is continued pending.” She struck the bench with her gavel and rose. The courtroom rose with her.
Stone turned to his client. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get a better verdict.”
“You warned me,” the man said. “Can I go home now?”
“Yes. We have to decide whether to appeal; I really think you should consider the expense.”
The man sighed again. “Why bother? I’ll do the time.”
“You’re free until sentencing, but you’d better be prepared not to go home after that. Bring a toothbrush.”
They shook hands, and the man walked sadly away. Stone began gathering his notes.
“Mr. Barrington?”
Stone looked up. Judge O’Neal was standing to one side of the bench, behind the railing.
“In my office, please,” she said primly.
Stone groaned. He had pressed his luck often in cross-examining the prosecution’s witnesses, and she had repeatedly called him down for it. Now, the lecture. Hell, he thought, I’m lucky not to have been held in contempt. He trudged into her chambers, ready to take his medicine.
She had perched on an arm of the big leather sofa. She undid her robes, and they fell aside to reveal a bright red dress that went particularly well with her blonde hair. She crossed her legs.
They look awfully good, he thought. Something stirred in him for the first time in a long while.
“I read about the Nijinsky case, of course,” she said. “I believe you discovered Ms. Nijinsky in a thoroughly dead condition.”
“That’s right, Judge. She was what a friend of mine calls ‘New York Dead.’”
“In that case, I will remind you of our wager of some time past,” O’Neal said, uncrossing her legs and recrossing them in the other direction.
He had forgotten.
“You, sir, owe me a dinner,” she said.
Stone smiled. “Yes, Your Honor,” he replied.
Acknowledgments
The Public Affairs Department of the New York City Police Department was not helpful in the research for this book. Individual officers were, however, and I would particularly like to thank Detective Jerry Giorgio of the 34th Squad Homicide Team for some enlightening conversations.
I thank Elaine Kaufman for keeping the home fires burning on Second Avenue and for running a place where a writer can get a decent table.
I am grateful to my editor, Ed Breslin, my London publisher, Eddie Bell, and all their colleagues at HarperCollins for their appreciation of this book and their hard work on its behalf.
Once again, I want to extend my gratitude to my agent, Morton Janklow, his associate, Anne Sibbald, and all the people at Janklow amp; Nesbit for their continuing care and concern for my career.
“We Are Very Different People”:
