S TONE LET DEACON AND ANOTHER MAN IN through the street-level entrance, led them to his office, and pointed at two chairs. “Okay,” he said, sitting down. “What do you want?”
“This is Detective Simmons,” Deacon said. “We’re investigating the murder of Susan Bean.”
“I believe that’s being handled at the Nineteenth Precinct,” Stone said.
“Our investigation supersedes theirs,” Deacon replied.
“Lieutenant Bacchetti will be very surprised to hear that.”
“I don’t much care what surprises Bacchetti,” Deacon said. “I have some questions for you, and you’d better give me straight answers.”
“Listen, Deacon,” Stone said. “If you want my cooperation, you’re going about it in the wrong way. First, you wake me up at the crack of dawn, then you come into my house and encroach on a police investigation while behaving like the Gestapo. If you want to talk to me about anything, you’d better start acquiring some social graces.”
The two men stared at each other across the desk for a long moment. Finally, Deacon spoke.
“Mr. Barrington, I apologize for our intrusion at such an early hour this morning. An important official in the District Attorney’s Office has been murdered, and we would be very grateful if you would answer some questions for us in order to give us a clearer idea of what happened that evening.”
Stone threw a leg over the saddle and climbed down from his high horse. “I’d be happy to help in any way I can,” he said.
“Thank you. Could you give us an account of your actions on the night in question from the time you left your home?”
“Of course. I left my house around eight-thirty that evening and took a cab to Elaine’s, on Second Avenue between Eighty-eighth and Eighty-ninth Streets. I met Lieutenant Dino Bacchetti there for dinner. Later in the evening, sometime after ten-thirty, I believe, Lieutenant Bacchetti suggested that we attend a party at the home of Martin Brougham. We arrived there around ten-forty-five, I believe. After being introduced to our hosts, I took a drink into the library and there found Susan Bean. We conversed for a few minutes, then we agreed to go out for a late supper. Since most of the neighborhood restaurants seemed to be closed or closing, Ms. Bean suggested that we go to her house and order Chinese food to be delivered. On telephoning the restaurant, we learned that delivery was unavailable, and Ms. Bean asked if I would go there and pick up the food. I did so. When I returned, I found Ms. Bean lying on the kitchen floor; she was dead. I called nine-one-one and reported the murder, then waited for the police to arrive.”
Simmons was taking notes furiously.
“You said you met Lieutenant Bacchetti for dinner, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“But then, a couple of hours later, you were going to have Chinese food with Ms. Bean?”
“I wasn’t very hungry when I met Lieutenant Bacchetti at Elaine’s, and I only had a salad.”
“I see,” Deacon said, as if he didn’t see at all. He nodded to Simmons to take note of this discrepancy.
Stone rolled his eyes and sighed.
“When and where did you first become acquainted with Susan Bean?” Deacon asked.
“On that evening, at the home of Martin Brougham.”
“Had you ever met her before that?”
“No.”
“Had you ever heard of her?”
“Not that I can recall.”
“As an attorney, you sometimes try cases in criminal court?”
“I do.”
“Have you never dealt with Ms. Bean in your capacity as an attorney?”
“No.”
“Some years ago, shortly after you left the police force and began practicing law, you represented a man named Marvin Herbert Van Fleet.”