“Barron, I have it on the authority of an unimpeachable source that you were not on the flight from Rome that day, that your ticket was used by another person. Tell us, now, Barron, where were you when Sasha Nijinsky was thrown from her balcony?”
Harkness said nothing for a moment, clearly stunned; then his eyes narrowed and he sat up straight.
Stone was reminded of a contentious interview with Richard Nixon many years before, when Harkness had gotten angry with good effect. What was he up to?
“Let me tell you something, Hi,” Harkness said, with tightly controlled ire. “I don’t know who has misinformed you, but I have made that particular flight from Rome six times in the past twelve months, and I’ve gotten to know some of the crew. When that airplane landed at Kennedy, I was sitting in the cockpit jump seat, watching the captain execute an instrument approach. His name is Bob Martinez, he’s a senior captain with the airline, and he will vouch for my presence in his cockpit during that flight.” Harkness took a breath. “What’s more, I was traveling on that occasion in the company of Herman Bateman, the president of Continental Network News, and he will vouch for my presence on that flight. Now, do you have any other questions?”
Dino leaned forward and looked at Stone. “What the fuck is going on?”
“Shhh,” Stone said. He took a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to the director. “Please get this to Hi at once.”
Jimmy nodded and handed it to the young woman. “Just walk out on camera, and hand it to him.”
The woman left as Hi Barker continued his questioning.
“Yes, I do have another question, Barron,” Barker said, not intimidated. “A police source has informed me that when detectives went through Sasha Nijinsky’s financial records, it was discovered that a sum of two million dollars was missing from her funds. Another source has now told me that Sasha had transferred those funds to you for investment, and that they have not been seen since, that you have been unable to return these funds. Would you care to comment on that?”
“I certainly would,” Harkness said, not missing a beat. “It is true that Sasha asked me to invest such a sum for her; she had considerable faith in my financial judgment. In January of last year, she gave me a cashier’s check for two million dollars made payable to an offshore bank with which I sometimes invest. In the autumn of last year, she asked me to withdraw her cash in the investment, so that she could purchase a cooperative apartment. I did, in fact, receive into my account on the day Sasha disappeared the full amount of her investment, plus a considerable profit. The following day, not knowing of Sasha’s whereabouts or condition, I personally delivered a cashier’s check in the amount of two million, four hundred and thirty-nine thousand dollars to Mr. Frank Woodman, Sasha’s personal attorney.”
Before Harkness had finished speaking, Stone was dialing Frank Woodman’s home number.
“Hello?”
“Frank, it’s Stone; I must be brief – are you watching The Hi Barker Show, by any chance?”
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
“Is what Harkness just said true? Did he deliver those funds to you?”
“Yes, he did. They were disbursed as a part of Sasha’s estate.”
“Thanks.” He hung up and watched as the young woman walked onto the set and handed Barker the unfolded sheet of paper. Last chance.
Barker read the paper, and his eyebrows shot up. “Barron,” he said, “I have just received a news bulletin, and I wonder if you would like to modify any of your statements in the light of this.” He read from the paper
. “The New York City Police Department has just announced that Sasha Nijinsky has been found in a downtown Manhattan loft, alive and well.’ That’s all it says. What is your response?”
Barron Harkness smiled. “Why, that’s wonderful news! Is there anything about where she’s been?”
“No, but clearly Sasha will now be able to identify the person who threw her from that balcony to the street.”
Stone missed Harkness’s response to this, because his attention had been caught by a movement near the set. Cary Hilliard had stood up. Her eyes as wide as those of a frightened deer, she stood still for a moment, then walked quickly across the set, directly in front of the cameras. Barker and Harkness, distracted by the movement, both turned and watched her. The director pushed a button, and the show’s theme music came up again.
The announcer spoke up. “This has been the first Hi Barker Show. Tune in next Sunday night when Hi’s guest will be…”
Stone burst out of the control room and ran for the elevators. Cary was banging on the button as he approached, and, when she saw him, she bolted.
“ Cary!” he shouted down the length of the hallway. “Stop! Wait!”
She ducked down another corridor, out of his sight. He followed and was met with an expanse of closed doors. He began trying them.
A dozen doors down the hall, one was unlocked. He opened it and heard the clang of footsteps on fire stairs. He stopped for a moment and leaned against the wall. The memory of another set of steel stairs in another building flooded back to him. Now he knew whose footsteps those had been.
He started down, only to realize that the sound of footsteps was coming from above. He reversed his direction and followed the sound.
One floor up, the exit door stood open, and he found himself on a gravel roof. A gust of wind nearly knocked him off his feet. He grabbed at a ventilator pipe and held on. The view was all the more spectacular because there was nothing between him and the lights of the city but blustery air. Twenty feet away, only the modern building’s low railing separated him from the lights. He looked around and saw a flash of mink coat disappear behind an air-conditioning unit. He followed.
He came around the unit, and she stood perhaps thirty feet from him, her feet spread in something like a fighting stance, leaning against the wind. She was no more than six feet from the low railing. Stone began walking toward her.