Two-Dollar Bill (Stone Barrington 11)
“Yeah, sure you were. We got a whole new ball game here, you know.”
“Well, neither Billy Bob’s story nor mine is going to change.”
“Actually, Billy Bob’s ass is covered.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. One of my people just talked to Warren Buffett’s office; they confirmed that Billy Bob was there in time for a two o’clock meeting yesterday and didn’t leave until four. That gives him time to leave your house when he said he did, drive to Teterboro and fly to Omaha in time for his meeting.”
“Good for Billy Bob.”
“Unfortunately, while his ass is covered, you
rs is not.”
“Oh, come on, Dino.”
“I don’t really think you killed the girl, Stone, not even accidentally, but the consensus around here is that you’re looking like the only suspect, and I can’t squelch that. You know as well as I do that investigations follow the path of least resistance until some new fact stops them. Right now, the path to you is free and clear and well oiled. You better come up with some new facts.”
Stone was about to reply, when the phone made a noise that indicated someone was at the front door. “Hang on a minute, Dino.” He punched the hold button, then the button for the front door intercom. “Yes?”
“Mr. Barrington, it’s Detectives Morton and Weiss; please open the door.”
“I’m buzzing you in,” Stone said. “I’m in the kitchen.” He pressed the button for the buzzer, then went back to Dino. “I’m back.”
“That was Morton and Weiss at your front door, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. What do they want?”
Morton and Weiss appeared in the kitchen, and Morton held up a document. “We’ve got a warrant to search your house,” he said. There were four uniformed officers standing behind them.
“Anything in particular?” Stone asked.
“We’ll need the combination to your safe,” Morton said.
“There are two of them; give me a second, and I’ll open them for you.” He turned back to the phone. “I guess you know about this.”
“Yeah. Sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner. Call me when they’re done.”
“Right.” Stone hung up and pressed the intercom button for his secretary’s office.
“Yes, Stone?” Joan said.
“The police are here to search the house; open your safe, but lock the filing cabinets containing clients’ files.”
“Okay,” she said.
Stone turned back to the two detectives. “My secretary is opening the big safe in her office, but not the clients’ files. Those are privileged, and your warrant doesn’t cover them.”
“Let’s get it done,” Morton said.
“Come upstairs, and I’ll open my personal safe in my dressing room.” He led them up to his bedroom and opened the safe. “Help yourself,” he said, standing back.
Morton and Weiss shone a flashlight into the safe and began removing items, beginning with the handguns stored there.
“You have a permit to keep these weapons?” Morton asked. He held up Billy Bob’s Colt sixgun.
Stone got out his wallet and handed them his permit. “The serial numbers are listed on the back of the license,” he said, hoping they wouldn’t check and find out that the Colt wasn’t on his license.