“Probably.”
“I’m going to ask the state police to get Don’s phone records, so we can find out who he might have called at Langley.”
“I don’t think that will work,” Lance said.
“Why not?”
“Because he would have called in on the WATS line and asked for a name or an extension. All the Agency would have would be a record that he called in, not which extension he asked for. It’s a deficiency, I know, and it’s being corrected, but it hasn’t been done yet.”
“Whatever you say.”
“That’s not to say that Don might not have made local calls in Maine that might be significant, so I’d ask the cops for his local records.”
“Thanks. When will you get back to me about the WATS line?”
“Later today, if I can.” Lance hung up.
Stone called Sergeant Young and asked for Don Brown’s phone records, and Young promised to fax them to him.
“I guess that’s all we can do for the moment,” Rawls said.
“A thought,” Stone said. “Did Don have an ex-wife who hated him?”
“No, his wife died less than a year ago. They were married for more than fifty years, and I don’t think she had learned to hate him yet. I’ve got a couple who hate me; so does Harley. Mack is a lifelong bachelor.”
“What was the medical condition that required Don to use the wheelchair?”
“It was some complication of diabetes, I think,” Rawls said. “He could get around a bit, not much more than a few steps. I mean, he could get to the bathroom at night, and he could get his scooter in and out of the trunk of his car.”
“Do you know where he kept the.45 that was used to kill him?”
“Bedside table drawer,” Rawls said.
“So it wouldn’t have been hard to find. The murderer could have come in with another gun and found it easily.”
“Yeah, especially if Don tried to go for it.”
“Who knew this house well, besides his housekeeper?”
“Harley, Mack and me; we played poker over here one night a week. Probably a few locals: repairmen, those sorts of folks.”
“So we don’t have any more to go on than we had with Dick’s murder.”
“Looks that way, don’t it.”
“Maybe Lance will be able to tell us something.”
“You’re grasping at straws,” Rawls said, “but then, that’s all we’ve got to grab at.”
“I know.”
“We’re having a little ceremony to scatter Don’s ashes at the yacht club tomorrow morning at ten, if you’d like to join us. I think Don would like that.”
“I’ll be there.”
Chapter 28
AFTER BREAKFAST the following morning Stone made a few phone calls and worked on Dick’s estate. He was clearing the desk when Peter came into the room and flopped down on the rug. He opened a book and began to laboriously write on a pad.
Stone came over and looked over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“I’m practicing my calligraphy,” Pete said. 'I’m copying this book, see?“
Stone glanced at the book, which seemed handwritten in a beautiful copperplate. “Do you study calligraphy at school?”
“I don’t take a class in it or anything, but I was having trouble with my handwriting, and my teacher said it would help if I copied from a book, just for practice.”
“That’s a great idea,” Stone said. “I have to go out for a while; when your mother gets up, please tell her I’ll be back in an hour or so.”
“Okay.” The boy went back to work.
Stone walked over to the yacht club and found a little group of people boarding a small motor yacht at the end of the pier. Rawls, Harley Davis and Mack Morris were there, along with a couple and their teenaged daughter, who was in tears. Rawls introduced them.
“This is Ralph and Martha Harris and their daughter, Janey,” he said. “Martha is Don’s sister.”
The boat was Ralph’s, apparently, and he got the engine started. They motored out a ways, then Rawls and Martha said a few words, and she emptied the ashes into the water. Janey seemed more upset than anybody, Stone thought.
They returned to the yacht club, and Stone excused himself and returned home.
Peter was still copying lines from the book, and Arrington was seated by the fireplace, drinking coffee with Dino. Stone poured himself a cup and was about to sit down when the phone rang, and he went to the desk to answer it.
“It’s Lance. I’ve got the phone information.”
“Great.”
“On the day Don Brown died, he called the Agency WATS line a little after three p.m. and was connected to an Operations officer named Jake Burns. I tried to call Jake, but he’s left on an assignment and is unreachable. An office assistant said that Jake did a criminal records search for Don, but she doesn’t know the results or even who the subject was. That’s all I could get.”
“Well, that’s very interesting, indeed, and very frustrating, too.”
“I know. I left a message for Jake, but there’s no way of knowing when he’ll be able to respond to it. I wish there were something else I could do.”
“Thanks, Lance. I appreciate that.” Stone hung up, called Rawls and told him the results.
“Shit,” Rawls said.
“That’s pretty much how I feel about it, too.”
“I guess we’ll just have to wait for Jake Burns to get back.”
“I guess so.”
“Thanks for coming this morning. Martha appreciated it.”
“I was glad to be there. Janey seemed particularly upset.”
“Yeah, Don was her favorite uncle; they were close.”
The fax machine rang and began to spit out pages.
“Hold on a minute,” Stone said. He went to the machine and retrieved two pages, then returned to the phone. “Sergeant Young faxed me Don’s phone records,” he said, looking over the pages.
“What’ve we got?”
“Not much. He called you a few times and a couple of other numbers.” Stone read them to Rawls.
“That’s Harley and Mack.”
“Then there’s the call to the WATS line, and that’s it for the past week.”
“Shit again,” Rawls said.
“Yeah. Do you have any idea at all whose criminal records Don could have been checking on?”
“Not a clue.”
“Do Harley and Mack have security systems in their houses?”
“Harley does. Mack’s having one installed today.”
“Good. Make sure they both use them, will you?”
“Don’t worry; they won’t need any prodding.”
“Talk to you later.” Stone hung up and returned to his coffee. Arrington was on her knees on the floor next to
