New York Dead (Stone Barrington 1)

“It’s my notice of leaving, Mr. Barrington. Thirty days, as my lease requires. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you more notice, but my wife’s recent illness has made me decide to retire. We’re moving to Venice, Florida, next month.”

The news struck Stone like a spear in the ribs. That was twelve hundred dollars a month of income gone, and he knew he couldn’t rent the place again without major improvements, which he could not afford. “I’m sorry to hear you’re going, Dr. Feldstein. You’ve always been a good tenant.”

“And you a good landlord, like your great-aunt before you,” Feldstein said.

“I wish you and your wife a happy retirement in Florida.”

“She’ll like the sunshine; she always has.”

They both seemed at a loss for words for a moment, then Feldstein shook Stone’s hand and walked back down the front steps.

Stone let himself into the house and tossed Feldstein’s letter onto the front hall table with the mail. Nothing but bills there, and he didn’t bother opening them. He had a nearly overwhelming urge to call Cary; he needed desperately to talk with somebody, but he couldn’t forget that technically, at least, Cary was press, and he couldn’t let his thoughts escape in that direction. Normally, Dino would be the one to talk to, but he and Dino were on opposite sides this time. He wished his father were still alive.

He changed into jeans and a work shirt and went down to the kitchen. He had hardly cooked anything since the room had been completed, and now all he could manage in his mood was to microwave some frozen lasagna. He had a bourbon while he waited for the oven to do its work. He felt a curious numbness, a distance from reality. Not even the loss of his income-producing tenant, on top of everything else, could penetrate. He simply felt nothing. When the microwave beeped, he took out the lasagna and ate it immediately, in spite of the instructions to let it sit for five minutes. His was a simple, animal hunger, and he didn’t care what he was eating or how it tasted. It was like taking aspirin to make a headache go away. You don’t enjoy the aspirin.

He finished the meal and put his plate in the dishwasher, then poured himself another bourbon and went into the study. The room was spotlessly clean now, and an air cleaner was running to remove the dust caused by the constant sanding by his helpers for the past week.

The bookshelves stood empty and bare of finish, ready for varnish, the first of ten coats he planned. Tomorrow, the helpers would come back to sand again. He opened a gallon can of varnish, selected a brush, climbed the ladder, and started at the very top, spreading the sealer with long, straight strokes. It was simple, mindless work, the sort that he needed for thinking. He let his mind wander at will over the events of the past days.

Stone knew he was not the first honest policeman to find himself in this position. When a police department had a major crime on its hands, especially one where the victim was a celebrity, what it needed was an arrest – preferably, but not necessarily, of the actual perpetrator. As time passed without a resolution of the crime, pressure increased on the department to produce results, and after a while the pressure could become too much for certain of its members. Assignments were at stake – promotions, careers, pensions – and policemen, just like everybody else, would finally act to protect themselves. Stone reckoned that most of the innocent people in prison had been sent there by police officers and prosecutors who reasoned that these victims were, after all, probably guilty of something, and better a conviction of an innocent person than no conviction at all.

He had seen it happen, but always from a distance. Now he was involved, whether he liked it or not, and he had a decision to make: he could keep his mouth shut and let Dino, Leary, and their superiors try to railroad Hank Morgan; or he could speak up – go directly to the mayor or the newspapers and create a stink. The first course would protect his job, his career, and his pension; the second would subject him to the contempt that came to any policeman who went against his partner and his department. He would be transferred to some hellish backwater, shunned, ridiculed, perhaps even set up to be killed – sent first through some door with death waiting on the other side. It had happened before. Most of all, he would be separating himself from the work to which he had devoted his whole adult life. He would be a man alone, with enemies, and with no friends or support. It was the law of the cop jungle, and no man could last long on the force when he was subjected to it. It was time for him to decide if he was, after all these years, a cop.

The doorbell rang, causing him nearly to topple from the high ladder. He climbed down, moving carefully, cautious of the bourbon inside him. He went to the front door.

Dino stood there. He was dressed to kill in a new suit, obviously on his way to some girl. “We got to talk,” he said.

“Come on in.” Stone led him to the study. “The booze is in the kitchen. I’ve got wet varnish going here; I can’t stop.” He climbed back up the ladder and started to paint again.

Dino came back with something in a glass with ice. “What are you going to do?” he asked. He didn’t have to explain; he knew Stone understood the situation.

“I don’t know,” Stone replied, brushing on the varnish.

“You know what’s going to happen, you go against the grain on this one.”

“I know.”

Dino still hadn’t drunk from his glass. “Stone, you got a lot of time in. A little more than five years, you can walk away with half pay and go practice law, you know?”

“I know.”

“You and I got four years in together. You’re my partner. I respect you.” Dino shook his head. “Jesus Christ, Stone, I love you like you was my brother.”

Stone kept brushing. “Thanks, Dino, I knew that, but I’m glad you told me.”

“I don’t want nothing to happen to you, Stone. I’ll feel responsible.”

“Dino, whatever I decide to do, it’s on my head, not yours. I know the score; I know what can happen. It wouldn’t be your doing.”

“Well, thanks for that, anyway.”

“You’re welcome.”

Dino stood looking up at him. “Stone, I gotta know what you’re going to do.”

Stone stopped painting and looked down at his partner. “Dino, I swear to you, I just don’t know.”

Dino looked down at the floor and shook his head. He set the untouched drink on the floor and left without another word.