New York Dead (Stone Barrington 1)

Stone heard the front door close. He kept painting, smooth and even strokes. He kept sipping the bourbon.

Chapter 27

Stone woke at seven and turned on The Morning Show. Nothing on the national news. He waited impatiently for twenty-five minutes past the hour and the New York affiliate’s news. Nothing. Surprised, he got out of bed and dressed.

His decision had been made while he slept. Over an English muffin, he reflected that he had always wondered what would happen if he had to choose between the right thing and the department. His choice surprised him.

He picked up a Daily News at the corner newsstand, expecting another headline about the arrest of Hank Morgan. Nothing. Suddenly, for some reason, the leaks in the precinct had dried up.

The squad room was filling up with the morning shift of detectives, and Dino was already at his desk.

“Hi,” he said. “Leary wants to see you.”

“I figured,” Stone said.

“You decide?” Dino asked.

“Yeah.” He turned away and started for the lieutenant’s cubicle; he’d let Dino stew for a while before he told him. He knocked on the glass door, and Leary waved him in.

Stone sat down and waited. He’d make Leary ask him.

Leary looked at him for a long time before he spoke. He reached into a large, yellow envelope and extracted a letter. “Stone,” he said finally, “the results of your physical came in.”

Stone was surprised. “The doctor said it’d be next week.”

“It’s today.”

“Great. The sooner I’m officially back on full duty, the better.”

“You’re officially retired, for medical reasons.”

Stone stopped breathing, stared at Leary, unable to speak.

Leary handed him the letter.

Stone read it.

Detective Barrington has suffered severe, perhaps irreparable damage to his left knee as a result of a gunshot wound received in the line of duty. In spite of extensive surgery and physiotherapy, the knee has not responded to treatment sufficiently to permit a return to active police duty. The prognosis is unfavorable. It is therefore recommended that Detective Barrington be retired from the force with immediate effect and with full line-of-duty disability benefits.

Stone dropped the letter and stared at Leary’s desktop, his eyes unfocused.

“You can ask for a reexamination after a year,” Leary said, “and, if the results are favorable, apply for reinstatement. Of course, if you were reinstated, that would mean a transfer to other duty and probably a loss of seniority.”

That was clear enough to Stone. Don’t come back. In a flash, he saw himself floundering through a series of unsuccessful appeals.

“There’s no point in appealing this,” Leary said, reading his mind. “You’re out, and that’s it.”

“I see,” Stone said, for lack of anything else to say.

“Let me have your ID card,” Leary said.

Mechanically, Stone removed it from his wallet and handed it over.

Leary took some sort of stamp from a desk drawer, imprinted the card, and handed it back. The word retired had been punched into the card. “You can keep your badge, and you’re entitled to carry your gun, like you were off duty.” He handed Stone a thick envelope. “Here are your papers. Fill out the insurance forms and send them in; you’ll still be covered under the department medical plan for life. Your pension will be three-quarters of your highest grade pay, tax free. That’s a good deal. There’s a check in the envelope for the first month.”

Stone couldn’t think of anything to say, and he couldn’t seem to move.

Leary leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk. “Look, Stone,” he said, not without sympathy, “you’re a good investigator, but you’re a lousy cop. What you have never understood is that the NYPD is a fraternal lodge, and you never joined. You always bothered people. Being whit