New York Dead

recanted on the stand, and the jury would have believed her.”
    “I’ve still got her for the gun, though,” Dino said. “I’ll nail her for that. I won’t let the DA deal on it either. I’ll send her up for it.”
    “Dino, stop it. You’re dreaming. You can’t even convince
me
she had anything to do with Nijinsky, so how is the DA going to convince a grand jury, let alone get a conviction? The woman had nothing to do with it.” A hard voice behind him caused Stone to spin around.
    “Horseshit,” Leary said. “You better get with the program, Barrington, or the world’s gonna fall on you.”
    “You mean Deputy Commissioner Waldron?”
    “And the chief of detectives, and the district attorney, and
me
, and the whole world. We’ve got a chance for a good bust on this one, after you’ve fucked around getting nowhere all this time, and you’d better not get in the way of it.” Stone felt anger rush through him. “That woman had nothing to do with Nijinsky’s fall, and you’re not going to prove she did. If I thought you could make a jury believe it, I’d testify for the defense myself.” “If you pull something like that,” Leary said, his voice low and cold, “I’ll take you out in the alley and shoot you myself.” The lieutenant turned and walked away.
    Stone turned to Dino. “What about you? Is that how you feel?”
    “I’ll hold you while he pulls the trigger,” Dino said, his voice shaking.

Chapter
26

    As Stone trudged up the front steps of the Turtle Bay house, his downstairs tenant, dressed in a white nylon coat, came out of the professional suite and caught up with him.
    “Mr. Barrington?”
    “Hello, Dr. Feldstein,” Stone said.
    Feldstein was a short, stocky, pink-faced man in his late sixties. Stone had always liked him, not least because he had overlooked chronic problems with the downstairs plumbing in return for a reasonable rent. Feldstein thrust an envelope at Stone.
    “What’s this?”
    “It’s my notice of leaving, Mr. Barrington. Thirty days, as my lease requires. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you more notice, but my wife’s recent illness has made me decide to retire. We’re moving to Venice, Florida, next month.” The news struck Stone like a spear in the ribs. That was twelve hundred dollars a month of income gone, and he knew he couldn’t rent the place again without major improvements, which he could not afford. “I’m sorry to hear you’re going, Dr. Feldstein. You’ve always been a good tenant.” “And you a good landlord, like your great-aunt before you,” Feldstein said.
    “I wish you and your wife a happy retirement in Florida.”
    “She’ll like the sunshine; she always has.”
    They both seemed at a loss for words for a moment, then Feldstein shook Stone’s hand and walked back down the front steps.
    Stone let himself into the house and tossed Feldstein’s letter onto the front hall table with the mail. Nothing but bills there, and he didn’t bother opening them. He had a nearly overwhelming urge to call Cary; he needed desperately to talk with somebody, but he couldn’t forget that technically, at least, Cary was press, and he couldn’t let his thoughts escape in that direction. Normally, Dino would be the one to talk to, but he and Dino were on opposite sides this time. He wished his father were still alive.
    He changed into jeans and a work shirt and went down to the kitchen. He had hardly cooked anything since the room had been completed, and now all he could manage in his mood was to microwave some frozen lasagna. He had a bourbon while he waited for the oven to do its work. He felt a curious numbness, a distance from reality. Not even the loss of his income-producing tenant, on top of everything else, could penetrate. He simply felt nothing. When the microwave beeped, he took out the lasagna and ate it immediately, in spite of the instructions to let it sit for five minutes. His was a simple, animal hunger, and he didn’t care what he was eating or how it tasted. It was like taking aspirin to make a headache go away. You don’t enjoy the aspirin.
    He finished the meal and put his plate in the dishwasher, then poured himself another bourbon and went into the study. The room was spotlessly clean now, and an air cleaner was running to remove the dust caused by the constant sanding by his helpers for the past week.
    The bookshelves stood empty and bare of finish, ready for varnish, the first of ten coats he planned.