Lucid Intervals (2010)

abbreviated mourning.”
    “I guess,” Stone agreed.
    Herbie stopped by their table. “Hey, Stone. Hey, Dino. I’d like you to meet Stephanie Gunn, with two n ’s. Stephanie, this is Stone Barrington and Dino Bacchetti.”
    “How do you do, Stephanie,” Stone said.
    “I’m very well, thank you. And you?”
    “Very well. So is he.” He nodded toward Dino.
    “Can’t he speak for himself?” she asked.
    “I’m very well, thank you,” Dino said.
    “See?” Stone said. “Fully functioning person.”
    “I’m relieved to hear it,” Stephanie said. “I believe I’ve heard Herbert mention your name, but not Mr. Bacchetti’s.”
    “Dino is hardly ever mentioned by people who know him,” Stone said.
    Stephanie laughed.
    “Well,” Herbie said, “if you’ll excuse us.” He led the girl toward their waiting table.
    “What’s wrong with this picture?” Stone asked.
    “Well, both Herbie and his girlfriend sounded uncharacteristically normal,” Dino replied.
    “That’s it: I’m unaccustomed to that. Maybe Herbie has entered another lucid interval. If so, that’s twice it’s happened.”
    “That’s a record for Herbie,” Dino said. “Do you suppose that having his girlfriend jump off his penthouse terrace to her death has somehow matured him?”
    “There were signs of maturation before,” Stone replied. “Like when he asked Sheila to sign a prenup.”
    “I agree, that’s unusually sensible of him,” Dino said. “Have you talked with Bob Cantor about this?”
    “No, Herbie’s uncle Bob wouldn’t believe me if I told him.”
    They ordered dinner and were halfway through when Felicity showed up, sat down and ordered a single-malt Scotch on the rocks.
    “No Rob Roy?” Dino asked.
    “Not tonight,” she replied, taking a swig of the pungent liquid. “I need to go directly to the source, without the sugar and fruit.”
    “I know the feeling,” Dino said.
    “You look perplexed,” Stone said.
    “I think that sums up my mood very nicely,” Felicity replied, “at least, until I finish this drink and start another one.”
    “What is driving you to drink?” Stone asked.
    “I’ve been back and forth with my documents people for the past four hours. They’ve found the photograph of Hackett that was on the file I sent them but not on his own folder; it was affixed to the dossier of one Timothy Timmons, another soldier in the regiment.”
    “That’s a familiar name,” Stone said.
    “Oh? How?”
    “Hackett told me that he had a friend called Tim Timmons, who left the regiment before he did and went to work for a security company. He later persuaded Hackett to leave and join him there. Eventually they both left and formed their own company. Timmons was later killed in some sort of bomb blast, and Hackett got his share of their company.”
    “That’s very interesting,” Felicity said, “since it’s all we’re going to learn about Mr. Timmons.”
    “Why is that?”
    “His dossier was in the same state as Hackett’s: sodden. Only the photograph survived.” She emptied the glass of Scotch and signaled a waiter for another. “I’m increasingly baffled by all this.”
    “Let me suggest the simplest explanation,” Stone said.
    “Please do.”
    “Some addled clerk in the regimental offices inadvertently stapled the same photograph to two dossiers.”
    “That’s too simple,” she said. “He affixes the same photograph to the dossiers of two men who were friends, later business partners? I don’t like coincidences.”
    “Like them or not,” Stone said, “they happen.”
    “There’s more,” Felicity said. “In addition to faxing my people Hackett’s dossier, I snipped slivers from the folder and several pages and had them analyzed.”
    “And?”
    “And they were identical in makeup and age to the folders found in storage at Camberly.”
    “So the dossier is authentic?”
    “Either that or Hackett has gone to a great deal of trouble to make it seem so.”
    “I gather you’re inclined to the latter explanation.”
    “Well, yes, I am,” she said, sipping the new Scotch.
    “Felicity,” Stone said, “I think there is only one way for you to proceed in this matter.”
    “And what is that?” she asked.
    “Since you are unwilling to accept any evidence that Hackett is Hackett and not Whitestone, you will just have to operate on the basis that they are one and the same. Otherwise, you’ll go crazy.”
    “I may have already gone crazy,” she said. “I