Dino looked at the paper again. “Eliot Darcy,” he said. “Murdered his wife, like Mitteldorfer, but nearly twenty years ago.”
“Let’s go,” Stone said, getting out of the car.
It was a shoe-repair shop, larger than most, with seats for customers to try on their shoes or get them shined. Two men worked at machinery behind their counter.
“Mr. Darcy?” Dino asked the older of the two.
Darcy looked at both Dino and Stone before switching off the machine. “That’s right,” he replied. “What can I do for you?”
Dino showed him a badge. “Is there someplace we can talk?”
Darcy lifted a panel and beckoned them behind the counter. He led the way to an office so small that Stone had to lean against the door while Dino took the only chair. “Okay, what’s it about?” Darcy asked.
“So,” Dino said, “how’s it going since you got out? How long has it been?”
“Nine months, and it’s going okay,” Darcy said. “I didn’t know the NYPD did follow-ups to see if parolees are happy.”
“Oh, we’re a very compassionate organization,” Dino said.
“And I rate a visit from a lieutenant?”
“We wouldn’t send out a patrolman to talk to a distinguished small businessman,” Dino said. He waved a hand. “This is your place?”
“It is.”
“Tell me, how’d you swing the capital to open up? This is a pretty good location.”
“I wasn’t broke when I went in,” Darcy said. “I pleaded to the charge, so the lawyers didn’t take everything.”
“How much did you have when you went in?” Dino asked.
“Not a whole lot; a few thousand dollars and some personal property—car, furniture, like that. I sold all my stuff.”
“And the money grew while you were inside?”
“Yes.”
“And Herbie Mitteldorfer was your investment advisor?”
“He was helpful, yes.”
“How did you meet Mitteldorfer?” Dino asked.
“We had the same work assignment—same department, that is.”
“What department?”
“The prison office. Later, I ran the shoe shop; Herbie got me transferred.”
“Herbie could do that?”
“He wanted somebody with computer experience.”
“He wanted?”
“Herbie sort of ran the office.”
“Where’s Herbie now?”