Worst Fears Realized

“Measure the water in the kettle,” Stone said.

“What?”

“When I left, Susan said she was going to make some tea. Let’s find out how long it takes for the same amount of water to boil. That might help with the time frame.”

“Do it, Mick,” Anderson said. Kelly got up and went into the kitchen.

They continued talking until the kettle started to whistle. Anderson looked at his watch. “I make it three and a half minutes.”

“How much water was in the kettle?” Stone asked Kelly.

“A little under three cups,” Kelly replied sullenly.

“Here’s one scenario, then,” Stone said. “The killer arrives shortly after I leave. Within three and a half minutes. He kills her, then the kettle starts whistling. He turns off the kettle.”

“Why?” Kelly asked.

“Because nobody can stand around and listen to a kettle screaming like that,” Stone said. “Let’s see, five minutes for me to walk to the restaurant, I wait five minutes, and five minutes to come back, say fifteen to eighteen minutes. And when I get back, the killer is still in the apartment, maybe. So if he is, what does he do for fifteen minutes?”

“Searches the place,” Anderson said. “A robbery, maybe.”

The second uniform spoke up. “I had a look in the bedroom,” he said. “Neat as a pin. There’s a jewelry box on the dresser with some nice-looking stuff in it.”

“So it wasn’t a robbery,” Anderson said. “What was he looking for?”

“Something of value only to him,” Dino replied, standing up and walking to a desk in the living room. He opened the drawers one at a time, including a file drawer, then came back. “Everything is neat. No way to tell if the killer found something.”

Kelly spoke up. “And the killer turned on the kettle again before he left? What for?”

“To screw up our timeline,” Stone said. “He wanted us to think that he killed her, then left immediately. I think he followed us from Brougham’s place, or at least, picked us up on the street en route.”

“Did you see anybody?” Dino asked.

“No, but it seems to me that he followed us, waited for me to leave, then went upstairs.”

“How’d he get in?” Kelly asked.

“Rang the bell; maybe she thought it was me, even though she had given me the key.”

“And she let him in?”

“Maybe he forced his way in, or maybe she knew him,” Stone said.

“How’d he know when you were coming back?” Kelly asked.

“He didn’t; he thought I’d left to go home. He got lucky. I’ll bet he was getting on the elevator when I rang for it. Must have scared him.”

“Maybe,” Dino said. “Andy, send your patrolmen to talk to everybody in the building. Find out who came and went, and what time.”

“Right, Lieutenant,” Anderson said.

Dino looked at his watch. “I think it’s time to wake up Martin Brougham,” he said.

“The DA guy?” Kelly asked. “What for?”

“I want to take a look at her office,” Dino said. “Come on, Stone; I’ll drive you home; we can’t have you out on the streets with blood all over you. You’d just get arrested.” He turned to Kelly. “Apologize to Mr. Barrington for your behavior.”

Kelly turned beet red. “I apologize,” he said. “I thought you were the perp.”

“Something you should know, Mick,” Anderson said. “Mr. Barrington used to be a detective in the Nineteenth; he was Lieutenant Bacchetti’s partner.”

Kelly’s face fell. “I really am sorry,” he said, looking at the floor.

“Sorry about your nose,” Stone said. He took care not to sound as if he meant it.

4

STONE WAS AWAKENED BY A RINGING telephone. He rolled over, opened an eye, and looked at the bedside clock. Just past ten. He sat up on one elbow. He had been wide-awake until at least four, unable to sleep with the picture of Susan Bean’s body stuck in his mind. Finally, he had drifted off and overslept. He picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“It’s Dino.”

“Morning.”

“You get any sleep?”

“Some. You find anything in Susan’s office?”

“Everything was neat as a pin, just like the apartment; nothing missing that anybody could figure. Brougham was pretty upset. Apparently, he depended on her a lot.”

“Anything on the murder?”

“Nothing yet, but whoever used the elevator when you came back was the perp. Nobody else in the building had budged from their apartments.”

“Not that it does us any good.”

“No. There were no prints, no evidence of any kind.”

“He had to have a lot of blood on him,” Stone said.

“You’re right, but the patrol cars didn’t come across anybody. Listen, there’s something else.”

“What?”

“Where’s Alma?”

Alma was Stone’s secretary, who had worked for him almost since the moment he had begun to practice law, after leaving the NYPD. “She should be in her office,” Stone replied.

“Put me on hold and call down there,” Dino said.

Stone pressed the HOLD button, then dialed Alma’s extension. There was no answer. He pressed line one again. “She’s not answering. She worked late last night, typing up a brief for me, so she could have overslept, I guess.”

“A woman matching her description was attacked on the sidewalk in your block last night sometime after midnight, when we were at the Bean apartment. She took something like a claw hammer in the head.”

Stone sat up and put his feet on the floor. “Where is she and how bad?”

“Lenox Hill, and it doesn’t look good. Does she have any family?”

“A sister in Westchester, and that’s it,” Stone said.

“She wasn’t carrying any ID, but she was wearing a Cartier watch that sounds like the one you gave her.”

“I’ll get up to Lenox Hill right now,” Stone said.

“Let me know if it’s Alma,” Dino replied, then hung up.

Stone got dressed in a hurry, gave his bloody clothes from the night before to his housekeeper to take to the cleaner’s, took a cab up to Lenox Hill Hospital, and presented himself at the main desk.

“My name is Stone Barrington,” he told the woman behind the desk. “The police called me this morning to say that a woman answering the description of my secretary was admitted last night with a head wound. I’d like to see her right away.”

“Just a minute, please,” the woman said. She dialed a number and spoke for a moment, then hung up. “Dr. Thompson will be with you in just a minute,” she said. “Please have a seat.”

Stone paced until the doctor turned up five minutes later. They shook hands. “I’d like to see the Jane Doe brought in last night,” he said. “She may be my secretary, Alma Hodges.”

“Describe your secretary,” the doctor said.

“Five-seven, a hundred and forty, early fifties, dark hair going gray, wearing a pin-striped suit.”

The doctor nodded. “Sounds like her. I’m sorry to tell you she died twenty minutes ago.”

Stone slumped.

“Her injuries were massive,” the doctor said. “She was struck at least half a dozen times with a blunt object, perhaps a hammer. The police thought it was a robbery, since she had no handbag or identification.”

“I’d better see her,” Stone said.

“I’ll walk you downstairs,” the doctor replied.

They rode the elevator down to the basement, and the doctor led the way to the morgue. The tray was pulled out of the refrigerator and the sheet pulled back.

She looked utterly peaceful, Stone thought, and quite beautiful. He was glad he didn’t have to look at the back of her head. He nodded. “That’s Alma Hodges,” he said.

“Did she have any family?” the doctor asked.

“A sister. I’ll speak to her; then I’ll make some arrangements.”

“An autopsy is scheduled for this afternoon; I should think the body will be ready for release first thing in the morning.”

Stone thanked the doctor and left the hospital. He took a cab home and went down to his office. Alma’s desk was in perfect order, his brief stacked neatly on top, with a note saying, SEE YOU IN THE MORNING.