Stone picked up the bedside phone and called Dino.
“Hello?”
“I’m looking at the Times. You notice anything about Mitteldorfer’s photograph and the police sketch?”
“Sure, they look alike. Remember the guy who cut your neighbor’s throat? He looked like Mitteldorfer with hair. That’s why we checked to see if he had any kids, and we drew a blank; just a nephew, and he’s living in Germany.”
“Dino, if Mitteldorfer has another wife, as Arlene said he did, maybe he’s got a kid by her.”
“Ah, good point.”
“You have any luck on the marriage records?”
“Not yet. The computer records only go back a few years, but I’ve got a couple of rookies going through the old files, on microfilm.”
“That’s it, I know it is. If we can find the first Mrs. Mitteldorfer, then we can find her son, and then we’ll find Mitteldorfer. Why don’t you check everybody by that name in the state? Hell, in the country; it can’t be that common a name.”
“I’ll get my people on it first thing tomorrow morning. How was your dinner last night?”
“I’ll tell you later; call me if anything comes up. Oh, I almost forgot: how’d it go at the theater opening last night?”
“Zilch; nothing happened.”
“Maybe Mitteldorfer doesn’t know Palmer’s name.”
“That’s my guess. When are you coming back to town?”
“I’m not sure; I can’t go back to the house.”
“Okay, talk to you later.”
Stone hung up. “I don’t suppose you’ve had any results yet from your inquiries at Sing Sing?”
“Let me make a call,” she said, picking up the phone on her side of the bed. She dialed a number. “You know who this is? What have you got?” She signaled Stone for paper and pen, and Stone got out of bed to get it. “Yeah. Spell it. You got an address? What’s the parole officer’s name? Thanks.” She hung up and handed Stone the pad. Three names were written on it. “The first two were in with Mitteldorfer; the third name is the parole officer for both of them; they were both released before Mitteldorfer was. My man couldn’t get an address, but he says they were both tight with your man.”
“That’s something to go on,” Stone said. “But not before tomorrow. Come on, let’s get dressed and out of the house. It’s a beautiful spring day, and there’s an auction up the road somewhere.”
“An auction of what?”
“You know, a country auction—lots of stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“Antiques, furniture, pictures, bric-a-brac.”
“Can’t do it; I’ve got to get back to the city.”
“But it’s Sunday.”
“I’ve got a board meeting tomorrow, and I’ve got to read over a hundred grant applications by then.”
“Aw.”
“Besides, there’s too much oxygen up here for a city girl. You said you don’t want to go back to your house?”
“Not yet.”
“Why don’t you stay with me?”