Dirt (Stone Barrington 2)

“Which branch?”

“I don’t know; I’m not really sure of the military thing; it was just an impression. He also gave me the feeling that he and his family didn’t talk. Believe me, he’s the perfect candidate for black sheep.”

“Any brothers or sisters?”

“Not that he mentioned.”

“What about school or college?”

“He said he went to a small Eastern college; I asked him which one, but he said I would have never heard of it.”

“Do you know if he ever lived in other cities?”

“Washington. He said he was there for several years.”

“Did he say what he did there?”

“Something about selling some kind of equipment to the government. I don’t know what.”

“Did he have any hangouts in the city? Bars? Restaurants?”

“We always went to restaurants, and do you know, I don’t think we ever went to the same one twice. He liked to order elaborate meals, liked expensive wines.”

“Any bar hangouts?”

“Not when he was with me, but he gave you the impression of knowing every place in town. He liked to stay up very late, later than I did, anyway. I had the feeling that when he left me he usually went someplace else, but I never knew where.”

“When you were at his place did he ever get phone calls?”

“Often.”

“Did you ever know from who?”

“No, but most of them were probably women. He never called anybody by name on the phone. I only ever saw him make one phone call – it was long distance, but I don’t know to whom. Is this helping at all?”

“You’ve told me a lot, but nothing that would help me find him.”

“Now that he’s gone, why would you want to find him?”

“It’s possible that he might be involved in this DIRT business. Would that surprise you?”

“Nothing about Jonathan would surprise me. If you told me he was a Russian spy I wouldn’t be bowled over.”

“Anything else you can remember about him?”

“He wasn’t the kind to be very forthcoming; if anything, he always seemed to have something to hide.”

The phone rang, and Stone picked it up.

“Hi, it’s Cantor.”

“Hi.”

“I checked out things at the Spirit cologne office. Turns out Dryer wasn’t hired through a modeling agency. A girl who works there met him at a party and thought he looked right; she got her boss to hire him as a one-shot thing.”

“Can you find out how they paid him? I’d love to have a Social Security number.”

“He insisted on cash. The phone number she had for him was the East Ninety-first apartment.”