Shakeup Page 2

  Stone dealt with booze for everybody, then sat down himself. “Man oh man,” Myers said, taking a swig. “As if I didn’t have enough to do today. Now I have to go home and dress for four balls.”

  “I’m going to four, too,” Stone said, “but I’m only dressing for one.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “Question, Chief,” Stone said. “Do you know the victim?”

  She looked at him sharply. “How did you know that?”

  “Something in the way you dealt with her. Dino taught me that.”

  “She’s Patricia Clark, Pat. Her husband is Donald—Don—big business guy, who’s about to be the new secretary of commerce.”

  “I hope you won’t need to tell that to our new president before tomorrow morning. It might ruin her evening.”

  “Well, I’m going to have to tell the victim’s husband, and he might want to tell the boss. I’ll suggest he call in sick.”

  “Is he a suspect?” Stone asked.

  “They were planning a divorce, just as soon as he was confirmed by the Senate. That is conveniently unnecessary, now.”

  “Oops.”

  “Does anybody here know Don Clark?” Deb asked. Heads were shaken.

  “Then what was his wife doing in your hotel suite? Who has keys?”

  “The three of us. Ah, one other,” Stone said. “I think you can exclude her from your investigation, since I left her to come here, and she couldn’t have gotten here first.”

  “Name?” Myers asked.

  “For the present, unavailable,” Stone said.

  “Where were you, Stone, between one and three?”

  “Having tea at the White House with the Lees, then at the inauguration.”

  She picked up her large handbag, rummaged through it and came out with an envelope, which held a photograph. She handed it to him. “See anybody you know?” She asked.

  Stone looked at the photograph of Holly at the podium, delivering her address. Over her shoulder, he could see himself. He held it up. “That’s me.”

  “How about the two people right behind you?”

  Stone looked at them. “I don’t know them, so this is just a guess: Donald and Patricia Clark?”

  “Bingo.”

  “I was never introduced to them, and I didn’t see them at the luncheon for, among others, the new cabinet, at the White House.”

  “You expect me to believe that?” Deb asked.

  “I expect you to, once you’ve run down the speech and figured out the exact time this was taken.”

  “Okay, Stone. You’re no longer a suspect. Still, there’s something you’re not telling me.”

  Dino spoke. “You’re right. The name he has refused to speak is that of our new president. He’s her date for today and tonight.”

  “Oh,” Deb said, and polished off her drink.

  “Well, Deb,” Stone said. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll have a nap. I’d be grateful if you’d try not to ruin the president’s evening.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Deb said, rising. In a moment, she was gone, followed closely by Valentino.

  3

  Stone, Viv, and Dino were driven to the White House, where they were put through the entry drill again, then taken up to the family quarters. They were seated in front of the fireplace while a butler took their drink orders.

  Holly swept into the room as they took their first sip, and they were all on their feet.

  “Oh, sit down,” Holly said, taking a seat next to Stone. “It’s just us.”

  “You’d better get used to it,” Stone said. “It’s going to happen every time you walk into a room, for the rest of your life.”

  “I hate it when you’re right,” she said, accepting delivery of her drink. “This one’s going to have to last for the first half of the evening,” she said, raising her glass. “I’m going to have to remain semi-sober, which is a fine point somewhere between being charming and being an embarrassment.”

  “Don’t worry,” Stone said. “You’ll do fine.”

  Half an hour later the butler entered. “Excuse me, Madam President,” he said. “Your car is ready.”

  * * *

  —

  There were four balls at which Holly had to make an appearance. The first was for moderate donors and lower-level campaign staff, at an enormous armory somewhere. Holly shook about five hundred hands, then a unit of the United States Marine Band started to play a waltz. Stone took Holly’s hand and let her lead him to the floor, which everyone cleared, except photographers and cameramen with handheld TV cameras. They danced two numbers, then were whisked out of the building and on to ball number two, in a hotel ballroom, which was peopled by larger donors and campaign staff who were being retained to work at the White House.

  Holly shook another five hundred hands. She and Stone waltzed once and boogied once, in a restrained manner, then worked their way out of the building. Stone could see flashes of light in his eyeballs, induced by the strobes of the pro photographers.

  * * *

  —

  The third ball was in a grander hotel ballroom and their work was a carbon copy of the last stop. Finally, they were back in the car, and Stone was not surprised that the time was just past ten o’clock.

  * * *

  —

  The fourth ballroom was much smaller, with much richer people and top White House staffers and cabinet members. It was held in the ballroom of a large, private house, and Holly shook hands on a line that stretched across the room, where the host and a woman who looked like his mother greeted them with big smiles and hugs.

  “I’m so sorry Pat couldn’t be here,” the man said. “She’s down with a horrible migraine.”

  “That’s all right, Don,” Holly said to her new secretary of commerce. “We understand perfectly.”

  More perfectly than she knew, Stone thought.

  * * *

  —

  This time, they were seated in comfortable chairs in the paneled library, where people wandered past for a handshake and maybe a selfie. They were even given some very good food, to keep them going a little longer.

  Stone’s eyes were glazing over, now, but he hung on, with Holly as his example, until they were back in the car. Dino and Viv were being driven directly to the hotel, while Holly and Stone were driven back to the White House.

  “You know you can’t come upstairs, don’t you?” Holly asked.

  “Of course,” he replied. “We play only in New York.”

  “I’m glad you’re being so understanding,” she said.

  “There’s something I have to tell you before you go up,” he said.

  “You mean about Pat Clark’s death?”

  “You already know?”

  “Deborah Myers stopped by earlier this evening and gave me a full briefing. I was amazed at the way Don stood up to the evening. It was too late to cancel, and he insisted on hosting.”

  “You stood up pretty well, yourself,” Stone said.

  “I didn’t have a choice,” she replied. “I tried to stay in the moment. Do you have anything new to tell me?”

  “Chief Myers knows everything I know. She gave me the perp interrogation for a while, but the ME’s report and the photograph of you, me, and the Clarks at the inauguration nailed it down, so I don’t have anything to worry about.”

  “Deb would have nailed you, if she could.”

  “I asked her not to tell you until tomorrow, but that didn’t work.”

  “It’s best this way. I don’t have to play dumb.”

  The car pulled up to the White House portico, and Stone began to get out with Holly.

  “No,” she said, stopping him with a kiss. “Not even to the door. We don’t want that photograph taken.”

  “I guess I have some things to get used t
o, as well,” he said. “Sleep tight. Call me tomorrow evening, when I’m back in New York.”

  “Will do.”

  After she got out, the car moved to the gate, then the rear door opened. “We have another car for you, Mr. Barrington,” an agent said.

  Of course you do, Stone thought, getting out. He couldn’t be seen being driven around alone in the president’s limo.

  * * *

  —

  Dino and Viv were sitting in the living room, watching TV, brandies in hand.

  “You didn’t stay the night?” Dino asked.

  “No, we’ve agreed that that will happen only outside Washington. We can’t even seem to be sharing a bed in this town.”

  “Is New York out of bounds, too?”

  “No, we reckon we can manage there.”

  “So, you’re going to be living a sex-free life most of the time?” Viv asked.

  “We’ve never denied each other the company of other people.”

  “It’ll be interesting to see how that works out.”

  Stone sat down on the sofa, sipped his cognac, and watched himself waltz on television.

  4

  They landed at Teterboro, and Dino’s official car dropped Stone off at home. As Stone was about to insert his key in the front-door lock, the door opened, and a man who looked familiar stood there, his right hand behind him.

  “Oh, hello, Mr. Barrington. I’m Agent Jeffs.”

  “Hello, Agent Jeffs,” Stone said. Jeffs holstered his weapon and shook Stone’s hand. “I’m alone, so you can stand down.”

  “I’m afraid not, sir. Washington has listed your residence and the Carlyle Hotel as places frequently visited by the president, so we’ll have one person on duty here at all times. Otherwise, whenever the president visits you here, we would have to perform a full-site security inspection, which might take a full day and would certainly be inconvenient for you.”

  It was damned inconvenient, Stone thought. “Glad to have you aboard, Jeffs.”

  “My first name is Jefferson,” the man said. “I’d be pleased if you’d call me Jeff.”

  Stone blinked. “Of course,” he managed to say.

  Fred, Stone’s factotum, got the luggage inside. Then Stone changed out of his suit and went down to his office, where he was greeted by his secretary, Joan Robertson.

  “Oh!” she enthused. “You waltz so divinely!”

  “If you keep that up,” Stone said, “I’m going to have to shoot you.” He went to his desk and started to go through the stack of mail and messages. “I assume you’ve made the acquaintance of Agent Jefferson Jeffs,” he said. “But you can call him Jeff.”

  The phone on his desk rang, and Joan picked it up. “The Barrington practice at Woodman & Weld,” she said, then handed the phone to Stone. “Dino for you.”

  Stone took the phone. “Didn’t I just see you somewhere?”

  “Yes, but I have news unavailable until now.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Deborah Myers called. Her department is trying to clear Donald Clark of anything to do with his wife’s killing.”

  “Well, there goes the easy suspect. Who do they like for it now? Me again?”

  “Her lover, possibly one of several.”

  “How did he get into our suite?”

  “There are ways to deal with electronic locks, and he apparently used one of them.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Unknown at this time. They got a phone tip from somebody, a woman, saying that Pat was screwing around and deserved what she got.”

  “Call me when they make an arrest,” Stone said.

  “Dinner tonight?”

  “Give me a rain check. I still haven’t recovered from all the waltzing.”

  “I thought you had more stamina.”

  “Not for waltzing. That really takes it out of you.”

  “Bye.” He hung up.

  “Poor baby,” Joan said. “All tuckered out?”

  “Completely tucked.”

  “I’ll leave you to your nap, then.”

  “Will you ask Helene to send me a ham sandwich and a beer upstairs? I’ll nap better if I’m fed.”

  At the word fed Bob, Stone’s yellow Labrador Retriever strolled into the room, his tail clearly saying, I’ll have something, too.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Joan said.

  Stone scratched Bob behind the ears, then down his spine, his dog’s favorite thing. The tail told him Bob was glad to see him.

  * * *

  —

  Stone woke at half past six, and his first impulse was to head up to Elaine’s, his favorite joint since he was on foot patrol in Germantown. Then he remembered that Elaine had died a few years back, and her restaurant had soon followed. He picked up the phone, glanced at his watch, and called Dino.

  “What?” Dino said.

  “I changed my mind. P.J. Clarke’s, half an hour?”

  “Done.” Dino hung up.

  * * *

  —

  Half an hour later, Stone strolled into Clarke’s. Dino was already drinking Scotch. The bartender saw him coming and put a glass of ice on the bar, then filled it with Knob Creek bourbon. Stone nodded his thanks.

  “So,” Dino said, “what happened to your waltzing fatigue?”

  “A nap cured it. Where’s Viv?”

  “On her way to Hong Kong. Business, as usual.”

  The headwaiter signaled from the door to the back room that he had found them a table, and they elbowed their way through the crowd at the bar and were seated.

  “I got a call from a guy at DCPD that somebody saw Pat Clark with a man at the Hay-Adams.”

  “Did they get an ID?”

  “No, just a description.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Tall—six-three—on the slim side, dark hair, big hands.” He nodded toward the door where a tall, slim man with dark hair and big hands stood, staring at them. He started walking toward their table.

  “Did you conjure him up?” Stone asked.

  The man stopped, dug out a wallet, and flashed a badge. “Evening,” he said. “Art Jacoby, DCPD.”

  5

  Dino looked him up and down. “Have a seat,” he said.

  Stone introduced himself. “How are you, Art?”

  “Not so hot.”

  “I’ve never known a cop who didn’t have a complaint. What’s yours?”

  “I’ve just been transferred.”

  “To where?”

  “New York. From Washington. We have a liaison office here.”

  “I know about that,” Dino said. “A guy named Smith holds that spot.”

  “Not anymore. He’s already on a train home.”

  “How’d you get so lucky?” Dino asked.

  “Bad lucky. This is my first time in New York, and I don’t know how to live here.”

  “It’s a lot like living anywhere else,” Stone said. “You’ll get used to it.”

  “How’d you find us at Clarke’s?” Dino asked.

  “I heard you could get a decent steak here, and I just wandered in.”

  “Your luck is improving,” Dino said, handing him a menu.

  They all ordered dinner and a second drink.

  “So,” Dino said, sipping his Scotch, “did you screw up, or did the guy you’re replacing?”

  “I guess I did, though I wouldn’t have thought it was screwing up to have an opinion about a case.”

  “What case, and what opinion did you have?”

  “The Clark homicide,” Art replied. “It was my opinion that the husband did it.”

  “He had a pretty good alibi,” Stone said. “He was standing right behind the president at the inauguration when his wife was killed. I know, because I was there, too.�
�

  “I shouldn’t have said he did it,” Jacoby said. “I should have said he had it done.”

  “That’s a different ball game,” Dino said. “Motive?”

  “A divorce that turned sour and was going to cost him half of everything he has, and he has a lot.”

  “How much does he have?” Stone asked.

  “Roughly half a billion, and half of that is a bad divorce.”

  “Unarguable,” Stone replied. “Who disagreed with your conclusion?”

  “Little Debby Myers,” Jacoby said.

  “Ah,” Stone said. “We’ve met.”

  “I heard. She doesn’t like you much, either. But that’s what she thinks of more than half the world. And she’s always right, of course.”

  “Has she persuaded the president that she’s right? That Clark is innocent?”

  “That’s what she’s trying to do.”

  “Well, the president is an ex-cop,” Stone said, “so she’s no pushover. Do Myers and Clark have a personal connection?”

  “Rumor has it that they’ve been in the sack together, off and on, for years.”

  “The plot thickens,” Dino said. “How good a rumor?”

  “There are three or four important people around D.C. who claim certain knowledge.”

  “Were they in bed with them?” Dino asked.

  “Funny you should mention that,” Jacoby said.

  “How many of them?”

  “At a time, you mean?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Apparently, three is the magic number for both Clark and Little Debby.”

  “Male or female?”

  “They both like girls and boys. I confess that, on a couple of occasions, I was in there.”

  “Gee, I’m glad I’m not on that case,” Stone said. “Who’s screwing whom is always tough, but with a third party involved, it gets a lot more complicated.”