Stone Barrington 36 - Scandalous Behavior (12 page)

Stone took the man’s wrist, spun him around, shoved it behind his back between the shoulder blades, and bent him over the back of a sofa.

“Let me go, you son of a bitch!”

Stone found a wallet in his hip pocket and flipped it over.

“Ah, Mr. William Givers of Los Angeles,” he said. “I thought you might be from the Associated Press. Now tell me, what do you want from Peter Barrington?”

“I don’t want anything from him.”

Stone pushed the hand up farther and got a groan of pain from him. He continued to flip through the wallet with his free
hand until he found a card. “What a surprise,” he said. “You’re the director of public relations, New York, for the Chosen Few, and you told me only this morning that you were from the AP.”

“You’re going to be sorry you did this,” the man said.

Stone reached around the man, feeling his waist, and found a handgun in a holster. He extracted it. “Is this a common tool for a director of public relations?” he asked.

“None of your fucking business.”

“Funny, looking through your wallet, I didn’t find a Connecticut carry permit. If you have one, show it to me.” He let go of the man’s arm and stepped back, while popping out the magazine and clearing the breech.

The man backed away from him. “Stay away from me.”

“You’ve got it all backwards,” Stone said. “You stay away from me. As it happens, I have both a Connecticut and a New York carry permit, so maybe I should keep the gun for you.” He picked up the magazine and thumbed the cartridges until it was empty, then slapped it back into the pistol.

The man turned and ran from the library. Stone picked up the cartridges and dropped them into his pocket, then he walked quickly through the lobby, slipping the gun also into his pocket, and out onto the front porch, just in time to see a black SUV departing. It had a New York plate, and he jotted down the number, then he went back into the dining room. “Sorry about that,” he said, sitting down to his main course.

“Anything wrong?” Eggers asked.

“Not anymore,” Stone replied.

19

T
hey drove back to Stone’s house in two cars and went inside. Susan had a look around with Margo and took a lot of pictures with her iPhone, then they sat down at the kitchen table, and Susan got her laptop set up. They began looking at rooms, changing the colors and fabrics with her computer program. Stone went upstairs and packed what few clothes he had there into a suitcase, then took it down to the car.

As he was opening the trunk the black SUV drove past. Stone got out his phone, looked up the number of his friend Dan Brady, who was commandant of the Connecticut State Police.

“Hey, Stone, what’s up?”

Stone told him about Peter’s new movie.

“Yeah, I saw about the explosions on the news.”

“They have an operative in New York who called me this
morning, pretending to be from the AP, looking for Peter, then followed me to Washington this morning. I took a gun away from him, but he’s still following me. I’m at my house, and he just drove by in a black Grand Cherokee with a New York plate.” He gave Dan the number.

“Do you still have the gun?”

“Yes.”

“Stay where you are. I’ll call the Litchfield troop and get a car over there, then get back to you.”

“Thanks, Dan, you have the number and the street address.”

“Sure.”

They hung up and Stone went back into the house. As he was going inside, a car pulled up and a woman got out, carrying a briefcase. “Can you tell me where to find Bill Eggers?” she asked.

“Right this way.”

Eggers greeted her, took her into the dining room, and told her to get set up. “Are you ready to close, Stone?”

“You betcha.” Stone went into the dining room and he and Eggers signed the many documents necessary to close a real estate sale, then Eggers handed him a cashier’s check for two million dollars.

“Thank you very much,” Stone said. “I wish you a happy time in the house.”

They were in the kitchen when the doorbell rang, and Stone went to answer it. Two uniformed state troopers stood on the porch with William Givers, handcuffed, between them.

“I’m Sergeant Miller,” one of them said. “Mr. Barrington?”

“That’s me.”

“I understand that you have a firearm that you took from this gentleman?”

“Correct, except for the gentleman part.” Stone took the weapon and its cartridges from his pocket and handed them to Miller. “It’s been cleared.”

Miller cleared it again himself, then turned to Givers. “William Givers, you are under arrest for the unlawful possession of a firearm in the State of Connecticut. You will come with us. Thank you, Mr. Barrington. We’ll be in touch to get a written statement.”

“I’ll fax you one on Monday,” Stone said. He went back into the house and took Eggers on a tour of the house’s systems, then called the security company and gave them the names of the new owners.

Stone and Eggers watched a football game on TV, while Susan and Margo continued working on the computer. As it grew late, Stone booked a room at the Mayflower and a dinner table at the West Street Grill, in Litchfield. The ladies joined them for a drink, then Stone and Susan went to change.

—

T
hey were having dinner in Litchfield when Stone’s cell phone vibrated.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Dan. I thought you’d like to know that Givers was bailed out by a local attorney a few minutes ago.”

“No arraignment?”

“The attorney brought a judge with him. Givers will have to make a court appearance on Tuesday. Where are you?”

“In Litchfield.”

“So is Givers, so watch yourself.”

“Did you give him his gun back?”

“No, and we kept the shotgun we found in his car, too, and the two boxes of ammo for the handgun and the shotgun, or riot gun, I should say; it has a short barrel.”

“So much for public relations,” Stone said.

Brady laughed. “Yeah.”

“I’ll fax you an affidavit on Monday morning. Will I need to make an appearance?”

“Not unless he’s tried. I expect he’ll plead to a lesser charge, pay a fine, and walk.”

“Well, I’m glad to have caused him some trouble, anyway.”

“Do you think you’ve heard the last of these people?”

“I doubt it, but I’m leaving the country at the end of next week, and they won’t know where I am.”

“Good idea. Let ’em cool off.”

“Thanks, Dan, and take care of yourself.”

“Same to you. Thanks for helping us get him off the street, at least for a while.”

Stone hung up and went back to his dinner.

20

T
hey spent a lazy Sunday morning in bed, watching the political shows and reading the
Times.
“How’d you and Margo do with your computer program?”

“Very well, with only a couple of glitches, and I’ve already e-mailed that news to the software team. Margo and I are going to meet at your house in a couple of days and nail down the materials she’ll need, and my team will ship them to her late next week. They’ll get to work on the draperies, too, and she’ll have them in about three weeks. A firm in New York I’ve worked with before will do the painting and installations, and we’ll find an upholsterer to redo some of the furniture.”

“So long-distance design works, huh?”

“I am absolutely delighted with the computer program, and with the client’s willingness to make decisions from looking
at pictures on a screen. This is going to make me a lot more productive.”

“I’m glad to hear it, if it will make it easier for you to come to New York.”

“It just might,” she replied.

They had lunch downstairs and then left for New York.

—

T
hey drove back to I-84 West, and as they crossed the state line, they passed a black BMW SUV, parked on the shoulder. Stone watched in his mirror as the driver started the car and pulled into traffic behind them.

“What is it?” Susan asked.

“Another black SUV. Let’s see if he follows us when we get onto I-684.” The SUV followed. Stone called Dan Brady.

“Sorry to trouble you again, Dan, but I’ve got another one on my tail, this time a black BMW SUV.”

“Where are you?”

“In New York State, and I don’t know anyone on the state police here.”

“I’ll call somebody, and they’ll be in touch. What’s your position?”

“On I-684 South, middle lane, coming up on the Hardscrabble Road exit. I’ll be turning off at the Sawmill, at Exit 5.”

“What are you driving?”

“A Blaise. I hope they’ll know what that is.”

“I’m on it,” Dan said, then hung up.

Stone tried driving faster, then slower, and the BMW kept pace, always two or three cars back. As he left the interstate and turned onto the Sawmill his phone rang. “Yes?”

“Mr. Barrington, this is Lieutenant Schwartz of the New York State Police. We hear from Colonel Brady in Connecticut that you’re driving a Blaise and being pursued by a black BMW SUV. Is that correct?”

“That is correct.”

“We should have eyes on you and him within about five minutes.”

“I’m on the Sawmill now, passing Katonah.”

“Stand by.” He was quiet for a moment, then came back. “We’ve got you,” he said. “Pull off the Sawmill at the next exit, and I’ll have him stopped there. You stop, too.”

“Lieutenant, your trooper should know that the last one who followed me was armed with a handgun and a shotgun, both loaded.”

“I heard that from Colonel Brady,” he said. “We’ll have two cars on the stop. Slow down to forty when you’re off the Sawmill, and stay on this line with me.”

“Will do.”

Stone saw an exit coming up and put on his blinker. He left the Sawmill and slowed to forty mph; so did the BMW. As he watched in the mirror he saw two New York State Police cars coming up from behind. One passed the BMW, and the other pulled in behind. Once they had him boxed, their lights came on, and they pulled him onto the shoulder.

“Stay in your car,” Schwartz said.

“Yes, sir.” He watched in his mirror as two troopers pulled a man from the BMW, while two other troopers stood behind his car, weapons drawn. He saw the man being frisked and relieved of a handgun, then cuffed. One of the troopers then opened the rear door and removed what looked like an assault rifle.

“That’s it,” Schwartz said, “he’s in custody, and he doesn’t have a carry license. You may proceed on your way now, and we’ll be in touch if we need you further.”

“Thank you very much, Lieutenant, and goodbye.” Stone made a U-turn and got back on the Sawmill.

“You seem to have very good relations with the police,” Susan said, “and in two states. I’m impressed.”

“Dan Brady did all the work,” Stone said.

“Do you think that man really meant you harm?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t think he was armed to protect himself from me.”

21

S
tone was at his desk the following morning when Dino called. “I’m messengering something to you,” he said. “I want you to read it immediately, then messenger it back to me.”