Worst Fears Realized (Stone Barrington 5)

Deacon looked puzzled, but reacted by reaching for Stone’s hand.

Stone took hold of Deacon’s hand and held it while he snapped a cuff onto his wrist. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Susan Bean,” he said, and, before Deacon could react, Stone twisted Deacon’s arm behind his back, pushed him against the wall and cuffed his hands behind him. Then he spun Deacon around, ripped the pistol from his shoulder holster and removed his police identification from his inside pocket. “You’re not going to be needing this anymore,” he said.

There was a thud behind Stone, and he turned to see Mick Kelly, spread-eagled on the marble floor with Tim Ryan’s knee in his back, being handcuffed. “Take his gun and his badge, Tim,” he said, “and read them both their rights. I’ll call it in.”

He shoved Deacon onto a bench, reached for his cell phone, and called Dino.

“Hello?”

“It’s Stone. I’ve just made a citizen’s arrest.”

60

J EFF BANION WAS STANDING AT HIS POST IN front of the apartment building in the evening light, when he saw Howard Menzies’s big Mercedes coming down the block, with two men in the front seat. As it pulled to a halt at the awning, Jeff watched as a familiar-looking man got out from behind the wheel and came toward him. It took him a moment to recognize Mr. Menzies’s nephew, Peter Hausman, because Hausman had somehow acquired a very full head of hair.

“I am coming back after a moment,” the young man said in his heavily accented English. “No need to announce; Mr. Menzies is expect me.”

“Fine,” Jeff replied. He looked up the block and saw a uniformed traffic officer coming down the block, writing tickets. He opened the door of the Mercedes and got in. “Excuse me, sir” he said to the other man, whom he did not recognize. “I have to move the car; there’s a cop giving out tickets.”

“Good idea,” the man said. “Pretty nice car, huh?”

Jeff maneuvered the car to a space at the curb. “Sure is,” he said. “Let me just wait until this cop passes.”

“Like to buy it?” the man asked.

“Sure.” Jeff laughed. “Just take it out of my paycheck.”

“I don’t understand this guy Menzies,” the man said. “We only sold it to him less than two weeks ago, and now he’s sold it back.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m just here to drive Menzies to Kennedy and then take the car. It cost him a year’s depreciation on the car to sell it back like that.”

Jeff saw the cop turn the corner and got out. “Well,” he said to the man, “people do crazy things.” He went back to his post, wondering why Menzies would sell his new car. The house phone rang. “This is Jeff,” he said into the phone.

“Jeff, it’s Howard Menzies; could you come upstairs and help me with some luggage, please?”

“Of course, Mr. Menzies; I’ll be right up.” Jeff stopped at the de

sk. “Ralph, watch the door, will you? I’ve got to give Mr. Menzies a hand.” He rode up in the elevator to the sixteenth floor and found the Menzies door open. “Hello?” he called out.

“Come in, Jeff,” Menzies called back. “I’m in the study.”

Peter Hausman passed him, carrying bags, headed for the elevator.

Jeff went into the study. “There are some more bags in the bedroom,” Menzies said.

“Going on a trip, Mr. Menzies?” Jeff asked.

“Just for a few days,” Menzies replied, holding up a large briefcase. “Peter and I are taking my wife’s ashes back to her homeland for burial. A sad task.”

“Yes, it is; I’m very sorry about her death; I’ll get the other bags.” Jeff went into the master bedroom and found two cases on the bed. As he leaned over the bed to pick them up, his foot bumped against something, and he bent down to see what it was. He lifted the skirt of the bedspread and found an automatic pistol in a holster. Oh, well, he supposed some people were paranoid about living in New York City. He picked up the bags and took them to the elevator.

He rode down with Menzies and his nephew, both of whom said nothing on the ride. He thought of asking about the sale of the Mercedes, but it was none of his business, so he didn’t bring it up. When the elevator reached the lobby, he loaded the bags into the car’s trunk, which was so full, he had to rearrange it to close the lid.

Menzies held out his hand. “Thank you for all your help, Jeff,” he said. “I’ll see you…ah, the middle of next week.”

“Have a good trip, Mr. Menzies,” Jeff replied. There were folded bills in Menzies’s hand, and when Jeff had a chance to look he was surprised to find two hundred-dollar bills. He watched as the Mercedes drove down Fifth Avenue, then turned east.