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“Stop dodging my questions.”
“Stop wasting my time,” Stone said.
“Are you carrying a gun?”
“Not today, but I sometimes do. I’m licensed for concealed carry.”
“What is the caliber of your gun?”
“I own several: .45, 9mm, .40, and .380.”
“Why so many?”
“I like the right tool for the work at hand. What was she shot with?”
“A .38.”
“I haven’t owned or carried one since I got out of the academy and sold it to a fellow student.”
“Who might that have been?”
“It was a fellow called Dino Bacchetti.”
“How convenient.”
“It might have been convenient when the sale occurred, twenty years ago.”
“Do you expect me to believe that story?”
“I don’t give a damn whether you believe it or not. Do you have any more questions? If not, I’ll get out of your way.”
“What time did you leave?”
“The police academy?”
“This house. Today.”
“About three-twenty-five.”
“Anybody see you go?”
“No. I saw a butler and a maid when I arrived, but they weren’t around when I left. I took the elevator down and walked out the front door. My driver can confirm what time I got into the car.”
“How did you know about the shooting?”
“The butler called me about three-forty. He was shaky.”
“Why you?”
“You’ll have to ask him. I told him to call 911, and he said he would.”
“He did. Do you represent Mrs. Charles’s estate?”
“Her will names me as her executor, so yes. I represent her husband’s estate, too.”
“So your firm won’t lose the business?”
“Not if it keeps her executor and her heir happy.”
