“Yeah, just a day or so before she was killed.”
“Do you know his name?”
Palmer wrinkled his brow. “I used to know it; he was a well-known divorce lawyer at the time—even bigger, now. I see his name in the papers now and then.”
“It would help if you could remember it.”
Palmer looked at Stone. “Help who? What’s your interest in this?”
“Mitteldorfer disappeared after he got out of prison. I’m trying to find him.”
“Why?”
“I want to put him back in prison.”
“Goldsmith,” Palmer said.
“Bruce Goldsmith?”
“That’s the one. He’s a big-time divorce lawyer, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is.” Stone had gone to law school with him.
“Look, tell me what’s going on, will you?”
“It looks as though Mitteldorfer is taking revenge on people he thinks have wronged him.”
Palmer rested his face in his hands. “Oh, Jesus. I can’t get involved in this. Investors are hard enough to find; if my name turns up in the papers…”
“Mitteldorfer may already be responsible for the deaths of half a dozen people, including a police officer who happened to get in the way. He seems to be attacking people he thinks of as enemies and…people close to them. Did you see the story in the Times about the bombing at a gallery opening on Wednesday?”
“Oh, shit, yes. And I’ve got an opening tomorrow night.”
Stone wrote down Dino’s name and number on the back of his card and handed the paper to Palmer. “This is the detective in charge of the investigation; he was my partner in the murder investigation. I’d suggest that you get in touch with him, tell him about your past association with Mitteldorfer’s wife, and ask for his help.”
“But what if Mitteldorfer doesn’t know who I am?”
“Then you should have nothing to worry about.”
“But if he does…?”
“Then, in addition to calling Lieutenant Bacchetti, I’d hire some private security for your opening.”
“Oh, God.” Palmer moaned, resting his head on his arms.
“My number’s on the card, too; I’d appreciate a call if you think of anything else that might help me find Mitteldorfer. Good luck with your opening.”
Palmer said nothing. Stone left his office.
“Maybe you should be an actor,” the young woman at the reception desk said. “You’re good-looking enough.”
Stone smiled at her. “You, too,” he said.
39
S TONE DROVE OUT OF THE GARAGE AND called information for Bruce Goldsmith’s number, using the hands-free phone. He remembered that he and Goldsmith had once been rivals for a girl, and that Goldsmith had lost. He dialed the number.
“Goldsmith, Craven, and Moyle,” a woman said.