New York Dead

asked.
    Stone thought she was looking particularly attractive today, as much as she could in judicial robes.
    The foreman stood. “We have, Your Honor,” he replied. “The foreman will hand the verdict to the clerk.”
    The clerk received the verdict, read it to himself, then handed it to Judge O’Neal. She read it and handed it back to him.
    “The defendant will rise and look upon the jury; the jury will look upon the defendant.”
    Stone stood with his client.
    “The clerk will read the verdict.”
    The clerk looked at the piece of paper. “We, the jury, unanimously find the defendant guilty as charged.”
    Stone’s client sighed audibly.
    Well you might sigh, Stone thought. I tried to get you to plead to the lesser charge, you dumb schmuck. But you thought you could beat it.
    “The jury is released with the thanks of the court for a job well done,” Judge O’Neal said. “Sentencing is set for the twenty-fifth of this month; bail is continued pending.” She struck the bench with her gavel and rose. The courtroom rose with her.
    Stone turned to his client. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get a better verdict.”
    “You warned me,” the man said. “Can I go home now?”
    “Yes. We have to decide whether to appeal; I really think you should consider the expense.”
    The man sighed again. “Why bother? I’ll do the time.”
    “You’re free until sentencing, but you’d better be prepared not to go home after that. Bring a toothbrush.”
    They shook hands, and the man walked sadly away. Stone began gathering his notes.
    “Mr. Barrington?”
    Stone looked up. Judge O’Neal was standing to one side of the bench, behind the railing.
    “In my office, please,” she said primly.
    Stone groaned. He had pressed his luck often in cross-examining the prosecution’s witnesses, and she had repeatedly called him down for it. Now, the lecture. Hell, he thought, I’m lucky not to have been held in contempt. He trudged into her chambers, ready to take his medicine.
    She had perched on an arm of the big leather sofa. She undid her robes, and they fell aside to reveal a bright red dress that went particularly well with her blonde hair. She crossed her legs.
    They look awfully good, he thought. Something stirred in him for the first time in a long while.
    “I read about the Nijinsky case, of course,” she said. “I believe you discovered Ms. Nijinsky in a thoroughly dead condition.”
    “That’s right, Judge. She was what a friend of mine calls ‘New York Dead.’”
    “In that case, I will remind you of our wager of some time past,” O’Neal said, uncrossing her legs and recrossing them in the other direction.
    He had forgotten.
    “You, sir, owe me a dinner,” she said.
    Stone smiled. “Yes, Your Honor,” he replied.

Acknowledgments

    The Public Affairs Department of the New York City Police Department was not helpful in the research for this book. Individual officers were, however, and I would particularly like to thank Detective Jerry Giorgio of the 34th Squad Homicide Team for some enlightening conversations.
    I thank Elaine Kaufman for keeping the home fires burning on Second Avenue and for running a place where a writer can get a decent table.
    I am grateful to my editor, Ed Breslin, my London publisher, Eddie Bell, and all their colleagues at HarperCollins for their appreciation of this book and their hard work on its behalf.
    Once again, I want to extend my gratitude to my agent, Morton Janklow, his associate, Anne Sibbald, and all the people at Janklow & Nesbit for their continuing care and concern for my career.

“We Are Very Different People”:
Stuart Woods on Stone Barrington
An Interview by Claire E. White

    Stuart Woods was born in the small southern town of Manchester, Georgia on January 9, 1938. His mother was a church organist and his father an ex-convict who left when Stuart was two years old, when it was suggested to him that, because of his apparent participation in the burglary of a Royal Crown Cola bottling plant, he might be more comfortable in another state. He chose California, and Stuart only met him twice thereafter before his death in 1959, when Stuart was a senior in college.
    After college, Stuart spent a year in Atlanta, two months of which were spent in basic training for what he calls “the draft-dodger program” of the Air National Guard. He worked at a men’s’ clothing store and at Rich’s department store while he got his military obligation out of the way.