“Eduardo Bianchi is an old friend of mine,” Hackett said, “and it distresses me almost as much as Eduardo that his daughter is in such a state.”
Stone had been wondering how Hackett had known that he and Dolce had been briefly married, and now he knew.
“Did sight of my service record make any impression on Dame Felicity?” Hackett asked.
“I can’t comment,” Stone replied, “but it made an impression on me.”
AFTER LUNCH, STONE’S briefing session continued until mid-afternoon. Hackett showed him to the elevators. “I’ll have an assignment for you before long. In the meantime, the Mustang is there if you need it.”
Stone walked back to the Plaza, enjoying the afternoon. At the hotel there was a message from the Assistant District Attorney, Carla Rentz, and he returned the call.
“We’ve completed our investigation of Sheila Seidman’s death,” she said, “and I agree that there is insufficient evidence to prosecute Mr. Fisher.”
“Insufficient evidence?” Stone asked. “You mean no evidence at all, don’t you?”
“All right, all right, no evidence. Her prints, not his, were on the sliding door, and that did it for my investigators. Mr. Fisher is off the hook.”
“I’ll let him know,” Stone said. “Thanks for calling.”
“Would you like to have dinner sometime?” she asked.
Stone was stopped in his tracks for a moment. “I have a guest in town at the moment, but maybe in a week or two.”
They exchanged cell numbers.
44
The Plaza was boring. Felicity sent to her office for a computer system, and after it arrived at the hotel she was mostly fully occupied while Stone watched old movies on TV and talked to Joan on the phone.
“Herbie came by,” Joan said. “He was pitifully grateful to you for getting the murder charge dropped.”
Stone sighed. “Well, that’s what he pays me for. I thought he was a fool for giving me such a large retainer, but I’m beginning to suspect I’m going to earn every buck.”
“Nothing unfair about that,” Joan said.
“Seen anything of Dolce?” Stone asked.
“If I had, she’d be dead,” Joan replied. “I’ve been to the range a few times to practice my shooting.”
“Please do not shoot anybody,” Stone said, “not even Dolce.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a lot more trouble than not shooting anybody. Talk to you later.” Stone hung up.
Across the room Felicity was just finishing a call. “Well,” she said, hanging up, “we found Hackett’s old colonel just as you said, at his cottage in Sussex.”
“And…?”
“He remembers hosting Hackett at lunch one day and drinking a lot of port, but he doesn’t remember giving him the dossier; maintains he was too drunk.”
“He admitted being drunk at lunch, but wouldn’t admit giving Hackett his dossier?”
“My man believed him about being too drunk,” she said. “Looks like we’re at a dead end.”
“Are you convinced now that Hackett is not Whitestone?”
“Not entirely,” she said.