Palmer put down the bagel and sipped his coffee; he looked worried.

“Tell me, Mr. Palmer, did Herbert Mitteldorfer know with whom his wife was having the affair?”

Palmer swallowed hard. “I don’t know, for sure,” he said. “Arlene thought he was onto us, though. She didn’t know if he knew who I was. I was a client of the firm where he worked; I met her when she came into the office one day. It was the only time he saw us together, that I know of, and that was very casual. In fact, Herbie introduced us. Something passed between Arlene and me, though, and I waited outside for her. When she came down, I asked her out for a drink.”

“How long did it go on?”

“Four or five months, I guess; right up until she… died.”

“Did you ever write her any letters?”

“No.”

“Might she have had your business card?”

“No. If you’re screwing somebody else’s wife, you don’t give her things like that; you’re more careful.”

“Just how careful were you?”

“Very. I never went to her place, and she never came to mine. I had an office in the Schubert Building at the time, and she used to come up there. I had a little bedroom and a shower; I was living in Scarsdale, married, and I’d stay in town two or three nights a week.”

“Were you in love with her?”

“Not really. I liked her a lot, though; she was a nice girl in a bad marriage.”

“Was she in love with you?”

“She was in love with the idea of getting out of her marriage,” Palmer replied. “She knew I was married, but she knew mine was rocky, too, that I wanted out.”

“So she looked upon you as a way out?”

“Maybe, but I tried to discourage that. I knew that if I got a divorce, it was going to cost me most of what I had. I was right about that.”

“Did she talk about her marriage much?”

“Some; you know what women are like in those circumstances, don’t you?”

“Not really; tell me.”

“She’d complain about him, about how finicky he was about everything – their apartment, his clothes, her clothes. Apparently, he was very good with money, but she complained that she had no control over the money she’d brought to the marriage, which was considerable, I think. She was afraid that if she divorced him, she wouldn’t be able to get the money back, and it was all she had. Her parents were dead. That’s about all she ever told me about him.”

“Did she see a lawyer?”

“Yeah, just a day or so before she was killed.”

“Do you know his name?”

Palmer wrinkled his brow. “I used to know it; he was a well-known divorce lawyer at the time – even bigger, now. I see his name in the papers now and then.”

“It would help if you could remember it.”

Palmer looked at Stone. “Help who? What’s your interest in this?”

“Mitteldorfer disappeared after he got out of prison. I’m trying to find him.”

“Why?”

“I want to put him back in prison.”

“Goldsmith,” Palmer said.

“Bruce Goldsmith?”

“That’s the one. He’s a big-time divorce lawyer, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is.” Stone had gone to law school with him.

“Look, tell me what’s going on, will you?”

“It looks as though Mitteldorfer is taking revenge on people he thinks have wronged him.”

Palmer rested his face in his hands. “Oh, Jesus. I can’t get involved in this. Investors are hard enough to find; if my name turns up in the papers…”

“Mitteldorfer may already be responsible for the deaths of half a dozen people, including a police officer who happened to get in the way. He seems to be attacking people he thinks of as enemies and… people close to them. Did you see the story in the Times about the bombing at a gallery opening on Wednesday?”

“Oh, shit, yes. And I’ve got an opening tomorrow night.”

Stone wrote down Dino’s name and number on the back of his card and handed the paper to Palmer. “This is the detective in charge of the investigation; he was my partner in the murder investigation. I’d suggest that you get in touch with him, tell him about your past association with Mitteldorfer’s wife, and ask for his help.”

“But what if Mitteldorfer doesn’t know who I am?”

“Then you should have nothing to worry about.”

“But if he does…?”

“Then, in addition to calling Lieutenant Bacchetti, I’d hire some private security for your opening.”

“Oh, God.” Palmer moaned, resting his head on his arms.

“My number’s on the card, too; I’d appreciate a call if you think of anything else that might help me find Mitteldorfer. Good luck with your opening.”

Palmer said nothing. Stone left his office.

“Maybe you should be an actor,” the young woman at the reception desk said. “You’re good-looking enough.”

Stone smiled at her. “You, too,” he said.

STONE DROVE OUT OF THE GARAGE AND called information for Bruce Goldsmith’s number, using the hands-free phone. He remembered that he and Goldsmith had once been rivals for a girl, and that Goldsmith had lost. He dialed the number.

“Goldsmith, Craven, and Moyle,” a woman said.

“Bruce Goldsmith, please. My name is Stone Barrington.”

“Are you a client, Mr. Barrington?”

“No. An old acquaintance. Tell Mr. Goldsmith that it’s important that I speak to him right away.”

“Just a moment.”

There was a very long delay, time enough for Stone to get onto the West Side Highway, before Goldsmith came on the line.

“Hello, Stone, what can I do for you?” he asked, sounding in a hurry.

Stone remembered that Bruce Goldsmith had always been in a hurry. “Hello, Bruce; how have you been all these years?”

“I can’t complain. What can I do for you?”

“I can’t complain, either.”

“Stone, I don’t have much time; what is it?”

“You remember, about twelve years ago, a woman named Arlene Mitteldorfer came to see you about a divorce?”

There was a long silence.

“Bruce, you still there?”

“What’s this about, Stone?”

“I take it you remember her. You may also remember that she was murdered a day or two after you saw her.”

“How do you know about this?”

“I ask a lot of questions. What I want to know is, what did she say about her husband in that meeting?”

“I remember that you were the arresting officer. You know very well I can’t discuss that with you; the conversation was privileged; otherwise, I’d have called you at the time.”

“She’s been dead for twelve years, Bruce; privilege shouldn’t be a problem.”

“My notes from those days are in storage in Queens. It would take weeks to find them.”

“I don’t want your notes, Bruce; I just want to know what, you remember about that meeting. Mitteldorfer is out of prison, and I’m trying to find him. I’m hoping you can tell me something that might help.”

“I don’t remember much.”

“She was a beautiful woman, Bruce. I’m sure you remember the meeting very well.”

“I don’t see why I should violate a confidence to help you, Stone.”

“Let me give you a reason, Bruce: it appears that Herbert Mitteldorfer is going around New York City, killing people who have annoyed him in the past, and, sometimes, their friends. We’re at six bodies, and counting. If you gave her advice that might have been to his disadvantage, and I’m sure you did, then he might very well be annoyed with you.”

There was only a brief silence, and then Goldsmith was talking. “I took her to lunch; she was gorgeous, and I didn’t mind being seen with her. She told me her husband had appropriated the money her father had left her, and that she wanted to divorce him and get the money back. She wanted to know if that was possible, and I told her it certainly was. My recollection is that we were talking about something in the range of three or four million dollars, plus an apartment her father had given them when they got married. She was worried that he might become violent. I advised her to move out of the house immediately and file for divorce. I told her I could get her the apartment back very quickly, and she’d be able to move back in during the proceedings. She said she’d get back to me. I never heard from her again.”