Carnal Curiosity (16 page)

“How are you, Stone?”

“I’m very well, Jack, and you?”

“Better every day.”

“We had a very interesting evening with you last week.”

“A little too interesting, I think. Shall we go in?”

Stone followed Jack to the dining room, and they were seated and ordered lunch.

“Something I’ve wanted to talk to you about,” Jack said. He looked uncomfortable for a moment, then sighed. “You and I have met before, you know. Last year.”

“That was something that hadn’t crossed my mind until yesterday, when it was mentioned to me.”

“It was the detective, wasn’t it? O’Brien?”

“Is that his name?”

“He arrested me once, twenty-five years ago, but he couldn’t make it stick. He has a long memory.”

“I’m impressed, Jack. How have you managed this transformation? I never twigged, until Dino brought it up. His detective had mentioned it to him.”

“I’ve always been a good mimic,” Jack said. “You should hear my Jimmy Stewart.”

Stone laughed.

“I was living at the Breakers, in Palm Beach, when I met Hillary and her brother, Winston, and his wife. Before I knew it, I was talking and behaving like them. After a little of that, I managed to fit in. Then Hillary and I fell in love, and here we are.”

“And a member of the Brook, too!”

“Winston engineered that. He’s very much an insider here. There’s no formal admission process—one day you get an invitation, and that’s it.”

“Saves a lot of letter writing, I guess.”

“Stone, I’m concerned about this thing with the detective. He thinks, naturally enough, that with my background I might have some connection to the robbers. I don’t. A couple of decades’ separation from that life, and when you get back, everybody is either dead or in prison.”

“Dino and I had this conversation yesterday, and I think I convinced him that you weren’t involved.”

“Well, it’s a relief to hear that.”

“I’m glad I could be of help.”

Lunch arrived, and they tucked in.

“It occurs to me,” Jack said, “that I might be helpful in this
matter, but I don’t want to become directly involved, for obvious reasons.”

“I understand.”

“In thinking about the robbery, I remembered that I once knew a very smart fence. His name is Jacob Sutton—born Schwartz, I think. He had—probably still has—one of those stalls in the diamond market, over in the West Forties.”

“I know the place.”

“In a robbery like the one at our place, it would be smart to get the proceeds out of the country quickly—remove the stones and ship them, then melt down the gold and platinum. But Jake worked another way. He’d remove the stones, sometimes recut the larger ones, reset them, retail what he could and sell the rest to the trade. He’d get double what he would have gotten in Amsterdam or Tel Aviv, but it took patience, something most criminals don’t seem to have much of. Everybody wants to get paid now, you know?”

“That’s very interesting. Is Jake known to the police?”

“When I knew him, he had never once been arrested. He was a pillar of the Hasidic community in Brooklyn and something of a philanthropist. He worked his stall every day. Everybody knew him, trusted him.”

“I’ll see that he’s looked into.”

“Something else: we recently had our security system updated. We were having a lot of false alarms with the old equipment, and on the recommendation of our insurers, it was replaced by a man named Dugan. I mentioned this to the detectives.”

“Between you and me, Don Dugan is a prime suspect,” Stone
said. “Believe me, no stone will be left unturned where he’s concerned.”

“I’m glad to hear that, and I’d like to know what comes of the investigation.”

“I understand that one of your dinner guests had his own home robbed.”

“Robert Quincy,” Jack said. “I talked to him yesterday. He had no connection with Dugan, though. His most important loss was a number of gold bars—he wouldn’t say how many, but my impression was that it was considerable. That would be very easy to dispose of—melted down and recast in one of a number of ways.”

“I’ve heard about that case. You’re right, Dugan didn’t sell him his security system. What connects your robbery with his is that you are both insured by Steele. They’re my clients, and believe me, they’re going to be all over this. The total of the claims is going to be enormous.”

“I would imagine so. They’ve already been to the apartment and investigated. We’re fortunate in having photographs of and receipts for most of Hillary’s things, and what we don’t have, Harry Winston or Tiffany or Cartier will have in their files.”

“I hope your guests were as smart as that.”

“The insurance company insists on it when they’re covering big-ticket items. Nobody is going to get burned, except the insurance company.”

“I’m glad to see you land on your feet, Jack. I hope this business is not going to make life difficult for you.”

“I hope that, too. That’s why I want to do whatever I can to help the police break this—but with you as an intermediary.”

“Dino Bacchetti, whom you met, is chief of detectives and my closest friend. I’ll do everything I can to see that undue attention isn’t directed at you.”

“Thank you, Stone.”

The two men chatted about other things, finished lunch, and said goodbye.

As soon as he got back to his office, Stone called Dino and told him about the conversation with Jack Coulter.

“He really wants to help, Dino. He’s not involved in this.”

“I’ve never heard of this guy Sutton,” Dino said. “But I’ll see that he’s thoroughly checked out.”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d do what you can to keep your people away from Jack. Anything you want to know, I’ll ask him for you.”

“Okay, we’ll work it that way. I understand the guy’s position, and I don’t want to expose him. I’ll keep O’Brien off his back. I know how to do that.”

34

S
tone was about to call it a day when Joan buzzed him. “Jeb Barnes, from Steele, is here to see you. He didn’t call for an appointment.”

“Send him in.”

Jeb Barnes came into Stone’s office looking as though he had bad news.

“Come in, Jeb, and have a seat.” Stone directed him to the sofa. “It’s late in the day. Can I get you a drink?”

“Thank you, yes. Scotch, any kind, rocks.”

Stone poured the scotch and handed it to Barnes, then poured himself a bourbon and sat down. “What can I do for you, Jeb?”

Barnes knocked back half the scotch and took a couple of deep breaths before speaking. “I’m in a terrible jam, Stone, and I don’t know who else to go to.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I know you and I haven’t had the best relationship, but you’re the only person I know who understands these things.”

“It’s all right, Jeb. Just tell me what’s happened.”

“I had a visit from the police this afternoon.” He stopped as though that would explain everything.

“Go on.”

“As you know, since you were there, there was a big jewelry robbery at the home of Jack and Hillary Coulter. We insured the bulk of the things taken from the guests. About seven million dollars’ worth.”

“I know. Is the company blaming you for insuring those people?”

“Of course not. We’re delighted to have that sort of business. It’s unusual, though, for so many clients to be hit in one robbery.”

“I imagine so. You still haven’t told me what the problem is.”

“The police asked me who among our employees would have access to customers’ files, files that would hold information that might be used to put together that kind of robbery.”

“Did you give them names?”

“Yes, of course—half a dozen of them. There was one name I didn’t give them.”

“Why not?”

“No longer an employee. That doesn’t matter, though. I’m talking about Crane Hart.”

“That’s right, she left Steele. Did she have that sort of access to client records before she left?”

“Yes, she did.”

“Then why didn’t you give her name to the police?”

“Because when she was still an employee, she and I were having an affair.”

Stone took a couple of deep breaths himself. “But she would
have still had access to the records if you weren’t involved with her, wouldn’t she?”

“No, she wouldn’t have. You see, the most sensitive of our records, the files of our richest and most heavily insured clients, are kept in a room adjacent to my office. Nobody gets to them, except through me.”

“I see, except I don’t see, really.”

“Our affair, such as it was—it was only sex, without much romance—was conducted mostly in my office. There are times when I have to pull all-nighters or work weekends, so there’s a Murphy bed and a bathroom in my office suite. That’s where most of the, ah, screwing went on.”

“And how did that give her access to your customer files?”

“I’m a heavy sleeper, and sex pretty much renders me unconscious. A number of times I would wake up in the night to go to the bathroom, and Crane would be gone. This would be three, four a.m. I don’t know how long she stayed after I fell asleep or what she did during that time.”

“And you think she may have used those opportunities to rifle your files?”

“Possibly. Obviously, I couldn’t tell the police about the affair. Knowledge of it within the company could get me fired, and, incidentally, I do have a wife, if not much of a marriage.”

“I understand.”

“Crane was the aggressor. She could be very seductive, wanton, even. It was the best sex I’d ever had in my life. I couldn’t believe my luck.”

Stone nodded; he knew exactly what Barnes meant.

“Stone, I know you have contacts in the police department. Could you speak to somebody there about this? I want them to
have the information, I just don’t want it to get back to the company.”

“I can do that, of course, Jeb, but you must understand: if Crane had any involvement in the robbery, and she’s caught, she could be tried, and you may then have to testify. Not necessarily, but very possibly.”

“At that point, there would be nothing else I could do but testify. Would it have to be in open court?”

“If it came to that, yes.”

“Then I’ll have to let the chips fall where they may.”

“Jeb, there’s something you could do that might help the police and make them grateful to you.”

“Name it.”

“Put together a list of the names of your customers who might be candidates for a robbery. I can ask them that the names be kept in confidence.”

“So if others were robbed, they might establish a connection to Crane?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want to get her in trouble, if she’s innocent in all this.”

“I can understand that, but if she’s innocent, they’re not going to make a fuss about it. They’ll just have a chat with her.”

“All right. If you like, I can write down a list of likely clients right now, from memory.”

Stone went to his desk, retrieved pen and paper, and set them on the coffee table before Barnes. He picked up the pen and began to write. Finally, he handed two sheets of paper to Stone. “You’ll keep these in confidence, won’t you? I mean, you won’t let anyone see this, except the police?”

“Of course, Jeb.” He took the sheets and put them into a file folder.

“I also wrote down the approximate sum each of them is insured for. There are some quite large numbers there.”

“Good. I’ll get right on this, Jeb, and I’ll let you know if the police have any further questions. I’ll ask them not to return to your office, unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

Barnes stood up, looking relieved. “Thank you, Stone,” he said, offering his hand. “I’m very grateful for your help.”

“I’m happy to help, Jeb. Good night.” He opened his office door and saw him to the street door.

“Wasn’t that guy not your favorite client?” Joan asked as he passed her office.

“Maybe not, but now I’m his favorite attorney.”

35

S
tone and Dino met for drinks and dinner at P.J. Clarke’s. The bar was jammed, as usual, so they took their drinks to a table.

“Okay,” Dino said, “who goes first?”

“I will. You already know about my lunch with Jack Coulter, but late in the afternoon Jeb Barnes, from Steele, turned up at my office, very worried.”

“That’s the one my guys talked to at Steele?”

“That’s the one. He was upset because he hadn’t told you everything you wanted to know.”

“What did we want to know?”

“You wanted a list of names of people in his office who could have had access to customers’ files, who might have used the information contained therein to choose robbery victims.”

“We got that, as I recall.”

“No, there was a name missing: Crane Hart.”

“And why didn’t he want to give us her name?”

“Because he was fucking her—or rather, vice versa. She was the aggressor, he says.”

“The lady gets around where beds are concerned.”

“Seems that way. Jeb says the files of the richest clients are housed in a room off his office, and nobody has access without his permission.”

“And he gave Crane that permission?”

“No. He has a bedroom and bath there, and when he woke up in the night, she’d be gone. He says he’s a heavy sleeper, and she would have had the opportunity to get at the files.”

“Weren’t the file cabinets locked?”

“He didn’t say, but apparently not.”

“That’s all very interesting.”

“There’s more. In my conversation at lunch with Jack, he told me that his insurers—Steele—recommended Don Dugan for the replacement of his security system.”

“And the person at Steele recommending Dugan could either be Crane or someone she could influence, like Barnes.”

“Right. If I’d thought of this earlier, I’d have asked him. Also, I remember when I switched my household insurance to Steele, after they became my clients, they sent a representative over who went through my house with a fine-toothed comb, making lists of items to insure and commenting on my security arrangements. The other Steele client, who was robbed of his bearer bonds and gold, would have had a similar visit. That could be how the safecracker found the safe concealed behind a panel.”