Dirt (Stone Barrington 2)

“We talked about it, and we decided it’s just not important enough to continue devoting all this effort and money to it, so will you send me a final bill?”

“Of course. There isn’t much; you’ve already paid most of it.”

“Good, just send it, then. Hope I’ll see you and Arrington soon.”

“Thanks, Amanda.”

“Bye.” She hung up.

Stone turned to Arrington. “Amanda and Hickock are calling off the investigation.”

“Good God! Why?”

“I don’t know. She said something about it not being worth the trouble, but I don’t buy that. They’ve both been very avid about it up to now.”

“This is very strange.”

“I think there’s something going on that we don’t know about,” he said.

“Are you going to stop looking for Jonathan, then?”

“Certainly not. I still have a couple of personal things to talk with Mr. Dryer

about.”

“Maybe you should just let it go, Stone. The whole thing is a little too scary.”

“No, I won’t let it go,” he said.

Chapter 49

Stone got out of the cab at the Washington Square Arch and walked along the north rim of the park, enjoying the clear, cold morning and looking at the small children playing in the new-fallen snow, their mothers or nannies watching over them like mother hens. He crossed the street to a row of elegant townhouses that were occupied by senior faculty and administrators of New York University, then climbed the steps to a highly varnished front door and rang the bell.

A uniformed maid answered the door. “Yes?”

“My name is Barrington; I have an appointment with Dr. Bernard.”

“Oh, yes, he’s expecting you; please follow me.” She led him up the stairs to the second floor, to a set of double doors on the south side of the house, and knocked briefly.

“Come!” a muffled voice cried.

She opened the door. “Dr. Bernard, your visitor is here.”

“Ah, yes; show him in, please.”

The maid admitted Stone, then closed the door behind him. He was in a good-sized library, which could not contain the books that had been stuffed into it. They were everywhere, on every surface, on chairs and on the floor. A row of high windows afforded a fine view of Washington Square Park.

“Mr. Barrington,” the old man said, rising and extending his hand.

“Dr. Bernard,” Stone said, shaking his hand. “It’s been a very long time.” About twenty years.

Bernard waved him to a chair before the fireplace, opposite his own. “Just dump those books on the floor. Yes, it has been a long time, though I’ve read of you in the papers once or twice. You were injured, weren’t you?”

“Yes, sir, a bullet in the knee; occupational hazard. It’s in pretty good shape now.”

“Ah, yes, the occupation you chose. I admit, I never understood it.”

“With hindsight, perhaps it wasn’t the best choice,” Stone said. “But it’s been an interesting life.”