ebread didn’t make it any better; I mean, just about everybody on the force is micks, guineas, yids, spics, or niggers. They got that in common. But you’re fuckin’ J. Stone Barrington, for Christ’s sake. That sounds like a brokerage house, not a cop, and you never even let anybody call you Stoney. A lot of the men respect you – I do; but nobody trusts you, and nobody’s ever going to. You were never really a cop; you were always a college boy with a law degree and a badge.”
Stone took a deep breath and struggled from the chair.
Leary started shuffling papers. “Good luck,” he said.
“Thanks,” Stone managed to say as he turned for the door.
“And Stone,” Leary said.
Stone turned and looked at him.
“Stay out of the Nijinsky thing, you hear me? I don’t want to read any of your theories in the papers.”
Stone left, closing the door behind him. Numbly, he walked back to his desk. Dino was gone. On top of Stone’s desk was a cardboard box containing his personal effects. He looked around the place; everybody was busy doing something.
Stone picked up the cardboard box and walked out of the squad room. Nobody looked at him.
Chapter 28
The phone was ringing as Stone walked into the house. He picked it up. “Hello?”
“Detective Barrington?”
“Yes?”
“This is Jack Marcus at the Post. We’re doing a follow-up on the Nijinsky story; does your leaving the force have anything to do with your dissatisfaction with the way the investigation is being conducted?”
Stone was taken aback for a moment. The precinct was leaking again. “I’m leaving the force for medical reasons,” he said.
“Weren’t your superiors happy about the arrest of Henrietta Morgan?”
“You’ll have to ask them about that.”
“Do you think Hank Morgan pushed Sasha off that terrace?”
“I don’t have an opinion about that. I’m a civilian.” He hung up the phone. It rang again immediately.
“It’s Cary. It just came over the AP wire.”
“That’s pretty fast reporting. I only heard myself an hour ago.” He had walked home from the precinct.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m okay. Let’s have dinner tonight.”
“I wish I could. Barron’s doing a prime-time special on murder in New York for Friday night. He’s shooting every day, and we’re editing every night.”
“Come over here when you finish tonight.”
“I wish I could, Stone; God knows, I’d rather be with you, but you have to understand about my job. I’ll be working fifteen-hour days all this week.”
“I’m sorry I pressed you; I know the job’s important.”
“It is, but I’ll see you Saturday night for dinner at Barker’s.”
“Sure.”
“Why don’t you relax for the rest of the week? Do some work on the house.”