Stuart Woods_Stone Barrington 12

right-handed.”
    â€œMy crime-scene investigator, an experienced man, concluded that Mr. Stone laid his head on the desk before firing the fatal shot. That would account for the angle. I didn’t know he was right-handed, but there was nothing to prevent him using his left hand.”
    â€œOur consensus, based on Mr. Cabot’s investigation into Mr. Stone’s state of mind in the days and weeks before his death, is that an unknown person shot him in the head with a silenced pistol, then went upstairs and shot his wife and daughter.”
    â€œYou’re entitled to your theory, Mr. Barrington, but my investigation has not found any reason to believe that any person on this island had a motive to kill this family. I should point out that they resided in London for many years and they came into contact with the locals only for a few weeks a year and that no one knows of any local who had any animosity toward the family. Indeed, they were very popular summer residents. Also, my investigation revealed that no summer residents had yet arrived on the island at the time of the deaths. Mr. Stone’s brother and his family arrived only yesterday—we have the ferry operator’s testimony for that—and only one aircraft was parked at the airstrip, that belonging to a local. The people who live nearest the strip tell us that no aircraft landed or took off on the day or the day before the deaths. It’s a small island; people pay attention to who comes and goes.”
    â€œDid you take any photographs of the crime scene?” Stone asked.
    â€œYes, but I didn’t bring them with me. If you come to the inquest, I’d be glad to show them to you, and the gun, as well.”
    â€œThank you, Sergeant. I appreciate your taking the time to come to the island to brief us. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    The trooper handed Stone an envelope. “Here’s the original of the death certificate,” he said. “You’ll need it to file the will for probate.”
    They shook hands, and the trooper left.
    Stone turned to the group with a questioning look.
    â€œThe sergeant has some good points,” Dino said. “He did his job.”
    â€œHe didn’t spend much time on state of mind,” Stone said.
    â€œI wouldn’t have spent much more time on that, in the circumstances,” Dino said.
    Holly spoke up. “You didn’t mention to the trooper that Caleb Stone had been disinherited by Dick. That’s motive.”
    â€œNot really. It would be motive if Caleb had known that he was about to be disinherited, but there is no indication of that. Caleb was very surprised to learn that Dick had made a new will. I’d be surprised to learn that they’d even communicated in recent months.”
    â€œI can check Caleb’s home and office phone records, as well as Dick’s,” Lance said.
    â€œYes,” Stone said, “I would like you to do that. Maybe you’d better get started.”

6
    L ANCE WENT TO WORK on Dick Stone’s Agency computer while Stone called his office.
    â€œThe Barrington Practice,” Joan said.
    â€œHi, it’s me. What’s up?”
    â€œI trust you were met at the airport?”
    â€œYes, and we’re comfortably ensconced in the house. There are three phone lines, one for the fax.” He gave her all of them.
    â€œHow long will you be there?”
    â€œI’m not sure; there’s a lot to do. There’s the inquest tomorrow morning, and I have to file the will for probate.”
    â€œI take it you’re now the proud owner of a Maine house?”
    â€œIn a manner of speaking. I can’t seem to get used to the idea.”
    â€œOh, by the way, for your information, the three witnesses who signed the will, besides Seth Hotchkiss, were the pilot, copilot and flight attendant on the private jet that delivered the Stone family to Rockport the day before they died. Apparently, they were considering buying into some sort of fractional jet program, and the trip from D.C. to Rockport was a sort of test run.”
    â€œGood to know.”
    â€œThere’s no interesting mail. Can I reach you at this number?”
    â€œFor all of today; tomorrow morning, try the cell. I’ll talk to you sometime tomorrow.”
    â€œBye-bye.”
    Stone hung up and turned to Lance in the little office. The printer was spitting out sheets of paper. “What are you