Fresh Disasters (Stone Barrington 13)

“Helen Gable, the woman who owns the house.”

“This has got to be the guy I told you about,” Stone said, “and he’s probably still in the neighborhood. He’d get a thrill out of watching all the activity.”

“Description?”

“Five-nine; a hundred and sixty pounds; longish dark hair; artsy looking. He drives a white BMW M6 coupe. It’s possible he had this done, though.”

“Come out on the porch,” Sample said.

Stone and Eliza followed the detective onto the porch, where Sample paused by the sheet-covered object. “This isn’t going to be pretty,” he said, reaching for the sheet. He took it in both hands and lifted it away.

Stone took a quick breath. She sat, naked, in the porch chair; her head was gone. Given the size of the headless corpse, it could only be Celia.

Eliza stepped forward and examined the corpse without touching it. “Very tall female, twenty-five to thirty-five. Her assailant used a sharp knife, probably a hunting knife with a partly serrated blade; he wasn’t delicate about it. The condition of the neck indicates that he was very angry, probably in a killing frenzy.” She looked around. “She was probably killed inside, then undressed and brought out here.”

Sample nodded. “We found a lot of blood upstairs and a trail descending the stairs. We think he encountered the other woman first, killed her immediately, before she had time to cry out, then went upstairs after Celia.”

“Did you find the head?” Stone asked.

“No. It’s not in the house or on the grounds.”

“He took it as a trophy,” Eliza said. “I’d be willing to bet he brought the means for preserving it with him, maybe a container of ice or dry ice.”

Sample produced two plastic bags: one held a sheet of notepaper with Stone’s cell number written on it, the other a semiautomatic pistol. “We found these in her hands,” he said.

“The gun is mine, Charley,” Stone said. “I loaned it to her for protection, when she was at my house in Connecticut. I didn’t know she brought it with her. I know she has my cell number.”

“I’ll see that you get the gun back in due course,” Sample said. “Let’s go sit down in the dining room.” He pulled the plastic sheet back over the corpse and led the way inside, where they took chairs at the table.

“Tell me everything you know about her, from the beginning,” Sample said.

Stone related the story in as much detail as he could muster, omitting the sexual nature of their relationship but including the trips to Connecticut and the incident with Daltry’s car at the Mayflower Inn, while Sample both recorded the interview on a dictator and took notes, asking an occasional question. Stone told him about the delivery of the bronze head, as well.

“Did you ever meet Celia?” he asked Eliza.

“Not until tonight,” she replied.

“Daltry found her very quickly,” Stone said. “She didn’t even know she was coming out here until this morning. I talked to her around six o’clock, after the bronze head was delivered to my office, and she was certain he wouldn’t be able to learn where she was.”

Sample’s cell phone rang, and he talked for a moment, then closed it. “The NYPD found Daltry at an opening for another artist in downtown Manhattan. Witnesses put him there from six o’clock onward. There were no grounds for an arrest.”

“Then he has an accomplice,” Stone said. “He had me run down by a car last week when he had established an alibi elsewhere.”

“We’ll run down all his contacts and see if we can isolate a suspect who doesn’t have an alibi. I don’t think we need keep you any longer, Stone. Thanks for coming out here. You, too, Dr. Larkin.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help,” she said.

They left the dining room and walked outside. The corpse had been removed from the front porch, and an ambulance was driving away from the house.

“A neighborhood kid spotted it,” Sample said. “The porch light was on.” They had started down the steps, but Sample pulled Stone back, out of Eliza’s earshot. “Stone, were you fucking her?”

“Yes, but we’d only known each other a short time.”

“I’ll try to keep that out of the record, since it doesn’t seem relevant.”

“Thanks, Charley,” Stone said. The two men shook hands, and Stone and Eliza walked back to his car.

No one spoke for another ten minutes, then Eliza said, “You don’t lead a dull life, do you?”