“Sure.” Caleb retrieved two beers from the counter and set them on the table. He tore open the FedEx package and removed a blue-bound document, scanned it quickly and handed it to Stone. “That’s the previous will, which was superceded by the one you gave me.”
“Thanks, Caleb.” Stone tucked it into his pocket.
“The substance of it was that he left all his assets to Barbara and she to him. If she predeceased him, then everything would go to Esme in trust, until she was thirty, with me as the sole trustee. If they died together, say, in a car crash-or as they did die-then everything would come to me.”
“I understand,” Stone said. Their burgers arrived, and they began to eat. “Caleb, I know you’ve already been through this with the state police, but I’d like to go through the time line with you. Until all this is substantiated, they’ll still consider you a suspect, but I’d like to do what I can to eliminate you as such.”
“I’m a suspect?”
“Everybody on this island is a suspect until eliminated by an alibi, and the police are trained to always start with family. This whole thing is baffling to the police and to me, and the only way they can clear the case is to start with everybody and narrow it down.”
“I understand. Do I need a lawyer?”
“No, I’m not a policeman; I’m just doing what I can to help.”
“All right, ask me anything you like.”
“Let’s talk about the day before the night of the murders. Can you give me an account of your day and evening?” Stone took out a notebook and opened it. This was a common cop technique with suspects: If they knew everything was being written down, it concentrated their minds on getting it right.
“It was a normal day. I was at the office by eight-thirty a.m., as usual. I worked through the morning, ordered in a sandwich, ate lunch at my desk, then worked until six-thirty. I had a lot of dictation, letters involving several estates. My wife came to the office at six-thirty, and we had a drink. Then, at seven, we went to a retirement dinner at the Ritz-Carlton for Alden Hayes, head of our litigation department. It was Alden’s last day; he was retiring to Florida. We got home around ten, watched a program on television, then the eleven o’clock news. We were asleep by eleven-forty-five.”
“Who else was in the house?”
“Only the twins; we don’t have any live-in help. The boys had gone out to dinner and come home late.”
Stone noted all the times. “Tell me about the following day.”
“I had breakfast with my wife; the boys were still asleep. I was at my desk by eight-thirty. Shortly after that I got a call from Seth Hotchkiss, telling me what had happened. We had planned to leave at noon that day for Islesboro; I called home, gave the family the news and told them to get ready for an immediate departure. We were on the road by ten-thirty, in two cars. My wife and I drove the Suburban, and the boys followed us in their car.”
“What kind of car do the boys drive?”
“A BMW convertible. One of the nice things about having twins is that they don’t mind sharing.”
“What time did you arrive on the island?”
“We came over on the three o’clock ferry, so we would have landed at three-twenty, and fifteen minutes later we were at home. I went over to Dick’s house and talked with the state police, who were still there.”
“Were the bodies still in the house then?”
“No. Thank God, I didn’t have to see that.”
“You still had the key to Dick’s house at that moment?”
“Yes, the one I gave to you later.”
“Where was the key?”
“It was in a little key cupboard in th e butl er’s pantry. There are so many keys in our lives these days, I keep the spares there, all labeled.”
“Did you have the security alarm code?”
“Yes. The key wouldn’t have been much use without it.”
“Do you know if Dick set the alarm at bedtime, as a matter of habit?”
“No, I don’t. I think Dick probably had the alarm installed to use when he wasn’t on the island, but I don’t think he would have used it every day. He mentioned to me when he was building the house that, with Seth and Mabel living on the property, he wouldn’t have bothered with the security system, except that the State Department insisted.”
“Did you know much about Dick’s work?”
“Not really. When it came up in conversation I got the impression that it was pretty unremarkable diplomatic work.”
“Did you know that he didn’t work for the State Department?”
“But he did,” Caleb said. “His degree was in international relations, and he took the foreign service exam before graduation, then went to work at State shortly after that”
Stone shook his head. “That was a cover. Dick was a career CIA officer.”
Caleb appeared dumbfounded. “Are you certain about that?”
“Perfectly. Operations people at the Agency commonly have diplomatic cover.”
“But when he was still in this country and I called him at work, it was through the State Department switchboard.”
“It may have sounded that way, or State could have rerouted the call to Langley.”
“You’re saying that my brother was a spy?”
“He was a high-ranking officer in the Operations Division of the CIA. I don’t know how much actual spying he did. At the time of his death he had been promoted to Deputy Director, Operations, but he hadn’t started the job yet.”
“I knew he was coming back to Washington, but I thought it was as an Assistant Secretary of State.”
Stone shook his head. “That job is a key position at the Agency, one of the top three.”
“Well, I’m glad Dick did well at his work,” Caleb said.
“From what I know, he was highly regarded.” They had finished their burgers now, and Stone had most of what was needed. “Just one more thing, Caleb.”
“What’s that?”
“When did you last see Dick?”
“He came to the house for drinks after his return from London. He was on the way to Washington. That was a week or so before his death.”
“Did you spend any time alone with him?”
“A few minutes.” Caleb looked over Stone’s shoulder toward the water; he seemed to be remembering the occasion.
“What did you talk about?”
Caleb looked down at the table. “Family business.”
“Tell me about it, please.”
Caleb shook his head.
“This is important, Caleb. If you don’t tell me about it, then you’re going to have to tell the police.”
“It had nothing to do with his death, if that’s what you mean.”
“Caleb, immediately after you saw him, Dick changed his will, excluding you. I have to infer that his action was a result of your conversation with him on that occasion.”
“It was deeply personal and not relevant to the investigation,” Caleb said. “I won’t discuss it with you, and if you’re in touch with the state police, you can tell them that I won’t discuss it with them, either. Ever.” Caleb stood up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Stone. Lunch is paid for.” He left the table and walked out the door.
As Caleb left, the commodore of the yacht club entered the club, deep in conversation with another man. They spoke to other people, and whatever they were talking about seemed to spread around the room.
Stone got up, walked over to the commodore, shook his hand and asked what was going on.
“There’s been another murder,” the man replied.
