Dino was looking in her wallet. “Miranda Hirsch,” he said, handing Stone her business card. “Executive VP in charge of loan operations at the Manhattan Bank.”
“Big job,” Stone said, looking at the card.
“Did you know her at all?”
“Only what I’ve seen of her through the window,” Stone said.
“While you were playing Peeping Tom, did you ever see a man in the place?”
Stone shook his head. “Not until tonight. After the performance with the vacuum cleaner, she always closed the curtains.”
“Downstairs, too?”
“Yes.”
“How many times did you watch her undress?”
“A dozen, fifteen, I guess.”
“You’re lucky I was with you tonight,” Dino said, “or Kelly and Anderson would be pulling you in, making a case for how you were overcome with passion by her performance.”
“That’s not a bad line to pursue,” Stone said. “They should be canvassing my side of the block; the perp could be living over there, and I’ll bet there were other witnesses.”
“Could be, but nobody called it in. You said something before I left your house; you said you knew the perp?”
“I do, but I’m damned if I can remember where from.”
“Come on, Stone, think.”
“I am thinking,” Stone replied testily. He looked at his feet. “We were together on it, I think.”
“On what?”
“On this guy. We arrested him for something, I’m sure. A long time ago.”
“Well, come on, give me a hint.”
“I just can’t put it together,” Stone said. “Give me a minute, will you?” The two were quiet for a moment.
“Mitteldorfer,” Dino said suddenly.
“What?”
“Mitteldorfer; that was his name. Accountant; killed his wife.”
“Herbert Mitteldorfer!” Stone exclaimed. “How the hell did you remember that?”
“He cut her throat,” Dino said. “That’s how I remembered. How long ago was that?”
“Eleven, twelve years ago,” Stone replied. “There was no death penalty then; he got life.”
“There was no life without parole, either,” Dino said. “He’s been in long enough to get paroled.”
“Where was he sent?”
“I don’t remember. Dannemora, Attica?”
“I don’t remember either. Find out.”