“I know some guys, but they would be reluctant to open that can of worms, especially after a successful
conviction of a guy the department has been after for years.”
“Do you know somebody in IA who hates Tom Deacon?”
“Now
that
might be a possibility; lots of people do. I’ll give it a shot.”
Eggers looked at his watch. “I’m going over to Marty Brougham’s house now; you guys can fight over the check.” He tossed his napkin on the table and stood up. “Stone, you might lay low for a day or two, until I’ve had a shot at sorting this out.”
“Sure. I’ll be at…”
Eggers cut him off. “I don’t want to know where you are, if they ask me. Just call me in the morning, and if I’m not available, keep checking in. Don’t leave a number”
“Okay.”
Eggers shook both their hands and left.
Stone tossed a credit card on the table and waved for a waiter.
“So, where are you off to?” Dino asked.
“You don’t want to know that. If you need me, try my car phone or my cell phone.”
“I’ll let you know if I have any luck with Internal Affairs,” Dino said.
Stone signed the check, said good night, and got into his car. He’d had another thought on how to learn more about the Dante trial.
S
TONE TURNED INTO DOLCE’S BLOCK IN
the East Sixties and punched her phone number into his car phone. As the number rang, he squeezed past an elderly Mercedes 600 limousine that was double-parked in the street.
“Hello?”
“It’s Stone; I’m in the block.”
“I’ll open the garage door; park next to my car and take the elevator to the second floor. And leave your luggage in the car,” she said.
It sounded as though he would not be staying the night. Stone ended the call and looked for her house number. It turned out to belong to a large, handsome redbrick town house. He drove down a short ramp and through the open garage door; it closed behind him. He parked next to the Ferrari and took the elevator to the second floor. The door opened into a hallway; Dolce was waiting for him.
“This way,” she said, beckoning him into a large study. Stone walked into the room and found Eduardo Bianchi sitting in a chair beside the fireplace. He got up to greet Stone.
“How good to see you again,” Bianchi said, offering his hand and indicating that Stone should sit opposite him.
Stone sat down, and Dolce brought him a drink, then perched on an ottoman.
“I understand you have bought a country house,” Bianchi said.
“That’s right; in Connecticut.”
“It’s a very good idea. One needs to get away from this city from time to time.”
“Yes,” Stone replied. He wondered if the man knew that his daughter had spent the night with him in that country house.
“I understand, too, that you are acquainted with my friends Lou Regenstein and Vance Calder.”
He knew. “Yes, that’s right. I spent some time in Los Angeles last year, and Vance arranged for me to fly out there with Lou on his studio’s airplane.”
Bianchi nodded. “I think that airplane is a dreadful extravagance, but Lou says he couldn’t hold up his head in Hollywood if he didn’t have it. I suppose such things mean something in that place.” He spread his hands. “What would I know about it?”
Stone didn’t buy that.
“Has the information Dolce obtained for you been of any help?”
“I won’t know until tomorrow,” Stone said, “but I’m very grateful for any leads in finding Mitteldorfer.”
“If there is anything else I can do to help, please let me know.”
“Actually, there may be,” Stone said.
“Tell me.”
“You may recall that the district attorney recently got a conviction of a man named Dante.”
“Salvatore Dante? I’ve heard the name, I believe.”
Stone thought he caught a hint of irony in the statement. “A prosecutor, Susan Bean, who worked on the trial was murdered, and before her death she hinted to me that there may have been some irregularity in the way Dante was prosecuted, possibly some prosecutorial misconduct.”
Bianchi’s eyebrows went up. “Oh?”
Stone thought he looked
very
interested. “I’ve just had dinner with Bill Eggers, from Woodman and Weld, and Bill tells me that the lead prosecutor on the Dante case may be making me a target of the investigation of Susan Bean’s murder, even though the police have cleared me of any involvement. He’s not concerned that I could be convicted, but he is concerned that such a move on the DA’s part could be very damaging to my reputation.”
“Which would not be good for Woodman and Weld,” Bianchi said, nodding.
“Nor would it be good for my ability to function as a lawyer,” Stone said.
“I see your problem. And you think that if you knew what was, shall we say, fishy, about the Dante prosecution, it might improve your bargaining position with the District Attorney’s Office?”
“Yes. It occurs to me that if, for instance, evidence
had been fabricated, Dante would certainly know that, and so would his attorneys.”
“A reasonable supposition,” Bianchi said. “Dolce, why don’t you take Stone into the kitchen and give him something to eat?”
“Yes, Papa,” she said, rising and taking Stone’s hand. She led him into the kitchen. “Papa wants to telephone,” she said. “You said you’d eaten; would you like some dessert?”
“Yes,” Stone said.
“How about a nice piece of Italian cheesecake?”
Stone wiggled his eyebrows. “Yes, please.”
Dolce laughed and removed a cheesecake from the refrigerator and cut a slice, handing it to him. “You can have the other Italian cheesecake later.”
Stone ate his cheesecake, drank some coffee, and chatted with Dolce for three-quarters of an hour, then Eduardo Bianchi came into the kitchen.
“Was the cheesecake good?” he asked.
“Absolutely delicious,” Stone said.
“Rosaria makes a wonderful cheesecake. Now. I have spoken to…certain parties and, I believe, have made some progress. It seems that the prosecution of Mr. Dante turned on what was said on some surveillance tapes made by the district attorney’s investigative division. The odd thing is that, in spite of the evidence, which was played in court for the jury, Dante denies ever having spoken the words on the tape.”
“So the tapes were doctored?”
“Mr. Dante’s lawyers, of course, had the tapes examined by experts, but they were unable to find any evidence of their being tampered with. They will have them examined
again, by other experts. The parts in question, although they comprised hardly more than a minute of the tapes, were crucial to the conviction of Mr. Dante, and he still insists that he never spoke those words. Since he did not testify in his own defense, he was unable to make the denial in court, not that it would have helped.”
Stone nodded. “May I use a telephone?”
“Please use the one in the study,” Bianchi said. “I think I will have a little cheesecake.”
Stone went into the study, hoping against hope that Martin Brougham’s telephone number was not unlisted. It was not. He called the number, and when a woman answered, asked to speak to Bill Eggers, hoping he was still there. He was.
“Hello?”
“Bill, it’s Stone; listen carefully: the tapes that Marty used to convict Dante were somehow falsified by Deacon, or somebody in his division. I have this on very good authority.”
“Thank you,” Bill said. “That’s very interesting.”
“How’s it going?”
“Call me tomorrow.” He hung up.
Stone hung up and went back to the kitchen.
“This information was helpful?” Bianchi asked.
“I believe so; I won’t know for sure until tomorrow.”
“I would very much like to know the outcome of this,” Bianchi said.
“I will certainly let you know.”
“It is terrible to see such abuses of power by public officials,” Bianchi said. “To think that a man like Brougham could destroy another’s livelihood for nothing more than his own political benefit. He
wants to be district attorney, of course, when the present occupant of that office finally vacates.”
“I’ve heard that.”
“Perhaps it would be a public service if that could be prevented,” Bianchi said.
“Perhaps so.”
“I will give it some thought.” Bianchi looked at his watch. “Well, it is getting late; I must go. I will leave you young people to your evening.” He shook hands with Stone, and Dolce walked him to the front door.
Stone had another cup of coffee and waited for her to return.
She came in. “Now you can bring your bags up,” she said, kissing him.
Stone went to the garage for his luggage and returned.
“Your father knows we were together in Connecticut,” he said.
“He talked to Lou this morning, so that cat is out of the bag. Still, I didn’t think he would like to see you arrive with luggage.” She kissed him again. “Now, how about another slice of Italian cheesecake?”
“I’m starving,” Stone said.
Half an hour later, Dolce stroked Stone’s face. “What’s the matter?” she asked.
“I don’t know; just tired, I guess.” He had discovered that he could not think of Arrington and make love to Dolce at the same time.
“You’ll get over her,” Dolce whispered into his ear.
Stone pretended to fall asleep.
D
INO’S DRIVER DOUBLE-PARKED THE CAR
and put down the visor with the police badge. “There’s the shop,” Dino said. “You want to take the back or the front?”
“He’s not going to run, Dino,” Stone replied. “He’s a legit parolee with no violations.”
Dino looked at the paper again. “Eliot Darcy,” he said. “Murdered his wife, like Mitteldorfer, but nearly twenty years ago.”
“Let’s go,” Stone said, getting out of the car.
It was a shoe-repair shop, larger than most, with seats for customers to try on their shoes or get them shined. Two men worked at machinery behind their counter.
“Mr. Darcy?” Dino asked the older of the two.
Darcy looked at both Dino and Stone before switching off the machine. “That’s right,” he replied. “What can I do for you?”
Dino showed him a badge. “Is there someplace we can talk?”
Darcy lifted a panel and beckoned them behind the counter. He led the way to an office so small that Stone had to lean against the door while Dino took the only chair. “Okay, what’s it about?” Darcy asked.
“So,” Dino said, “how’s it going since you got out? How long has it been?”
“Nine months, and it’s going okay,” Darcy said. “I didn’t know the NYPD did follow-ups to see if parolees are happy.”
“Oh, we’re a very compassionate organization,” Dino said.
“And I rate a visit from a lieutenant?”
“We wouldn’t send out a patrolman to talk to a distinguished small businessman,” Dino said. He waved a hand. “This is your place?”
“It is.”
“Tell me, how’d you swing the capital to open up? This is a pretty good location.”
“I wasn’t broke when I went in,” Darcy said. “I pleaded to the charge, so the lawyers didn’t take everything.”
“How much did you have when you went in?” Dino asked.
“Not a whole lot; a few thousand dollars and some personal property—car, furniture, like that. I sold all my stuff.”
“And the money grew while you were inside?”
“Yes.”
“And Herbie Mitteldorfer was your investment advisor?”
“He was helpful, yes.”
“How did you meet Mitteldorfer?” Dino asked.
“We had the same work assignment—same department, that is.”
“What department?”
“The prison office. Later, I ran the shoe shop; Herbie got me transferred.”
“Herbie could do that?”
“He wanted somebody with computer experience.”
“
He
wanted?”
“Herbie sort of ran the office.”
“Where’s Herbie now?”
“I don’t have the slightest idea. I saw his picture in the paper; I don’t believe a word of it. Herbie would never hurt anybody.”
“He killed his wife.”
Darcy shrugged. “So did I, but I wouldn’t hurt anybody, either. You don’t know how crazy a wife can make you.”
“When was the last time you talked to Mitteldorfer?” Stone asked.
“The day I was released from prison.”
“Darcy,” Dino said, “do you want to go back to Sing Sing? I can arrange it.”
“I haven’t done anything to get sent back,” Darcy said.
“I could arrange for you to do something.”
“All right, I understand that you can do anything you want, but I’m telling you, I don’t have any information at all about Mitteldorfer. Herbie would never contact me, anyway.”
“Why not?” Stone asked.
“He considers me his social inferior,” Darcy said. “After all, I’m only a cobbler. Herbie would never mix with me; he’s a terrible snob.”
“Then why did he help you invest your money?” Stone asked.
“Because I paid him a percentage of my profits,” Darcy replied. “So did the others.”
“Which others?”
“There were half a dozen prisoners who had some money outside, that I knew about.”
“Who were they?”
Darcy counted them off on his fingers. “Middleton, Schwartz, Alesio, Warren, and me.”
“That’s only five.”
“Okay,
about
half a dozen. Plus the prison staff, of course.”
“Of course. How many of them were there?”
“Half a dozen, or so.”
“Who’s out besides you and Alesio?” Stone asked.
“Alesio’s out? I didn’t know. I guess we’re the only ones; the rest are still inside.”
“You in touch with any of them?”
“I’ve had a couple letters from Schwartz; he wants to go into business with me when he gets out next year.”
“What has he said about Mitteldorfer?”
“Only that he hasn’t heard a word from him since Herbie got out. According to Schwartz, Herbie went around and said goodbye to them and told each one that he wouldn’t be hearing from him again, that they were on their own. He told them they’d have to find a broker.”
“Who had Mitteldorfer used for a broker?”
“I’m not even sure he had one. He had some way of trading on the computer, I think; he could do it right from the prison office, but then he started working outside the pen. When I got out, he had my assets transferred to my local bank. I don’t even know how he did it. He kept twenty-five percent of my profits for his fee.”