“Stone, darling, do you really feel an urgent need for stationery right now?”

“I won’t be a minute.” He got out and went into the store; the sign over the door read, WILHELM’S STATIONERS. A young woman was behind a counter near the door. “Good afternoon,” Stone said. “I wonder if I could speak to Mr. Wilhelm?”

“I’m afraid he’s out for a couple of hours, delivering,” the young woman said.

“Oh.” Stone turned to go, then stopped. “Did a man named Herbert Mitteldorfer used to buy supplies here for the prison?”

“Herbie? Oh, yes. He was one of our better customers. He and Mr. Wilhelm used to speak German to each other.”

“How often was he in here?” Stone asked.

“Oh, practically every single day, even when there was a lockdown at the prison.”

“He bought office supplies every day?”

“Oh, no, not really. At first, he’d come in to see Mr. Wilhelm, then he started working here.”

“He worked for Mr. Wilhelm?”

“Well, not for Mr. Wilhelm; Mr. Wilhelm rented him office space. He had a computer and everything.”

Stone blinked as he tried to get his mind around this. “Did you know he was released yesterday?”

“Oh, yes. Herbie came by to get his stuff and to say goodbye.”

“Did he have a lot of stuff?”

“A couple of filing cabinets and his computer and printer; that was about all.”

“Do you think I could have a look at where Herbie worked?”

“Are you a friend of his?”

“I came up to see him today, but I didn’t know he’d been released until I got to the prison.”

“Sure, I guess you could see it; follow me.”

Stone followed the young woman through aisles of stationery and office equipment to a door on the other side of the store.

She opened the door and stood back. “This is where he worked,” she said.

Stone looked into a room furnished only with a desk, a chair, and a small leather sofa. “Do you have any idea what Herbie did in here?” he asked.

“Well, I know he traded stocks,” she replied. “I don’t know what else he did.”

Stone stared at her. “On the stock market, you mean?”

“Oh, yes; he was a very active trader; he spent every afternoon on the computer and on the telephone, talking to his broker. He gave me and Mr. Wilhelm a number of good tips; we made out real well. I was sorry to see Herbie go.”

“Thanks,” Stone said.

“Come see us again. Shall I tell Mr. Wilhelm you stopped in?”

“No, that won’t be necessary. By the way, do you have Herbie’s new address?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t; neither does Mr. Wilhelm. He did say that he was headed west.”

“How far west?”

“I don’t know, really; he did say that he’d let us know when he was settled.”

“I see. Tell me, how did Herbie take his computer and his file cabinets away?”

“He had a man with a van; I guess somebody he hired.”

“Was there a name on the van?”

“Nope, just a plain, black van.”

“Can you describe the man who drove the van?”

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t pay that much attention; I was helping customers.”

“Thanks again for your help,” Stone said. He walked back to his car, wondering why the hell Sing Sing would let a prisoner spend his afternoons in Ossining, trading stocks.

“All done?” Sarah asked, as he got into the car.

“Completely done,” Stone replied. He had no idea what to do next.

THEY CROSSED INTO CONNECTICUT ON I-84, and Stone soon turned off the interstate at Southbury and headed north. The car behaved like a living thing, clinging to curves and accelerating in the straights.

“When do I get to know where we’re going?” Sarah asked.

“When we get there, not before,” Stone replied. “Just enjoy the countryside; it restores your corpuscles, remember?”

“I can feel them pumping even now.”

In Woodbury, Stone turned left on Highway 47, and a few minutes later they entered Washington Township.

“Oh, Washington!” Sarah enthused. “I spent a weekend here a few years ago; what a lovely place!”

“I’m glad you think so,” Stone said, making a right turn at a sign that read, MAYFLOWER INN. They drove around a pond and up a steep hill, pulling up outside a handsome, shingled building.

“This is lovely,” Sarah said. “How did you find it?”

“It wasn’t hard,” Stone said. “It was voted the best country inn in America last year in some magazine. I clipped the article.”

“Well clipped,” she replied.

Someone took their bags upstairs and let them into a handsomely decorated suite overlooking the rear gardens.

“Have you reserved a dinner table, sir?” the young bellman asked.

“No. Could you do that for me, at eight o’clock?”

“Certainly. You’ll need a jacket, but not necessarily a tie.”

“Thank you.” Stone tipped him generously, and he let himself out of the room. “Well,” Stone said, “we’ve got two hours until dinner; how shall we amuse ourselves?”

Sarah walked into his arms. “I’ll need an hour to bathe and dress. That leaves a whole hour of free, unsupervised time.”

Stone kissed her. “Unsupervised?”

“Well, not entirely,” she said, working on his buttons. “I’ll do the supervising.”

At seven-thirty they walked downstairs, now showered, changed, and entirely relaxed, and entered the handsome bar, taking a table near a window.

“I could live here,” Sarah said. “All I’d need would be this table and the bed upstairs.”

“I’ve heard worse ideas,” Stone agreed.

A young woman appeared. “Would you like a drink, Mr. Barrington?”

Stone nodded at Sarah.

“A vodka gimlet, straight up, shaken very cold, slightly sweet,” she said.

“Two,” Stone replied.

Shortly they were sipping the clear, green-tinted liquid. The waitress returned. “Mr. Barrington, there’s a phone call for you at the front desk.”

“Excuse me,” Stone said to Sarah, taking his drink with him. He went into the front hall and was shown to a phone booth. “Hello?”

“It’s Dino; I hear you’re driving something alarming.”

“Entirely so; I’ll show you the first of the week.”

“Okay; how’d it go with Mitteldorfer?”

“It didn’t.”

“Warkowski wouldn’t let you see him?”

“He wasn’t there to see.”

“I don’t get it.”

“He’s out.”

“Paroled?”

“Unconditionally released.”

There was a long silence before Dino spoke again. “Well, the little shit. He must have spent the last twelve years bending over for Warkowski.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. I went by the stationery store where he bought supplies and found out that Mitteldorfer was keeping an office there.”

“An office? What the hell for?”

“That was pretty much my reaction. The lady in charge said he had a computer in there and that he was trading stocks.”

“Holy shit, and I bet I know who for.”

“Warkowski.”

“Damn right, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t for the warden, too.”

“The lady said he gave her and the store’s owner a few hot tips.”

“You ever hear of anything like this?”

“Never.”

“So where’s Mitteldorfer now?”

“Nobody knows, or, at least, nobody’s saying. The lady in the store said he said he was going west.”

“Jesus, I hope so,” Dino said. “I never want to see the little bastard again.”

“Somebody came up with a black van and took his computer and his files away.”

“So he’s not without friends.”

“Not while Warkowski’s alive. I wouldn’t be surprised if the captain helped him move. What have you got to report?”

“I’ve had two detectives going through every case we worked as partners, and I’m damned if there’s anything that looks good. Just about everybody we sent up for anything serious is still inside.”

“You had any new experiences that would indicate that our guy is still out there?”

“Nah. I think he’s licking the wounds that Mary Ann gave him. He’d be pretty noticeable with a big bandage on his ear.”